With her announcement, the detailed data of that blood-red star sector was retrieved. A portrait exuding an aura of primitive brutality, along with a Legion's emblem, appeared before everyone.
World Eaters.
And their Primarch — Angron.
Fogremia looked at that portrait, at that face twisted by endless rage, and her exquisitely beautiful brows furrowed elegantly.
"Angron."
She whispered the name, her tone carrying a visceral disgust from the marrow of her bones, the kind an art connoisseur feels when looking at a clumsy doodle.
"This 'brother' of mine, a beast who has nothing but rage and slaughter."
Her assessment was sharp and precise, carrying the unique arrogance of a Phoenix.
"His fighting has no beauty to speak of. No tactics, no technique, only pure, sickening destruction. He and his equally insane sons are like a pack of butchers wielding chainaxes, staining the noblest art of war into the basest of bloody farces."
For Fogremia, who pursued ultimate perfection her entire life, Angron's very existence was the most thorough blasphemy against the word "perfection."
Leticia did not refute her assessment; she simply turned her head, her deep black eyes watching her quietly.
"Then do you know why he is like this?"
Fogremia was taken aback.
Leticia did not wait for her answer, but reached out and swiped gently across the holographic projection.
Angron's life, like a scroll soaked in blood and tears, slowly unfolded before them.
"He was not raised in a laboratory on Terra, but fell onto a slave world called Nukeria. Since he could remember, he was a gladiator, forced to fight his own kind and beasts to please his slave masters."
"To better control them, the slave masters implanted a cruel biochemical device called the [Butcher's Nails] into his cerebral cortex."
Leticia's voice was very soft, yet it seemed to carry the weight of a thousand tons, striking against Fogremia's soul.
"That thing strips the host of all positive emotions except for rage and hatred. Every attempt to feel joy or peace is converted into intense, bone-deep pain. Only through slaughter and violence can he find a moment of peace."
"He was stripped of the right to feel beauty and forcibly turned into a beast that could only gasp in rage."
A slight tremor appeared in Fogremia's proud, purple eyes.
Leticia continued.
"It is not that he did not resist. He led his gladiator brothers and Sisters in an uprising; they fought side by side and shook the rule of the entire planet. Just as they were about to face their final battle, prepared to perish with the slave masters' armies and embrace a glorious death..."
Leticia paused, her tone carrying a hint of icy mockery.
"Their 'father', the Emperor, descended."
"He did not go to help his son, nor did he save the warriors who fought alongside him. He simply, cold-heartedly, forcibly teleported Angron alone from the battlefield. Because what he needed was a Primarch, not a group of 'useless' slaves."
"Angron was forced to watch helplessly as his family, all his comrades-in-arms, were surrounded and slaughtered by the slave masters' armies, down to the very last one."
"From that day on, he died. What remained was merely a walking corpse, filled with the pain of the [Butcher's Nails] and the hatred of being betrayed by his own kin."
The story was finished.
Inside the bridge, there was dead silence.
Fogremia fell into a long silence.
Her heart, belonging to a Primarch and proud enough to disdain understanding any "vulgar things," was, for the first time, occupied by a complex emotion she had never experienced before.
It was not pity.
At least, not entirely.
It was the... shock that arises when an artist who pursues ultimate perfection suddenly discovers that behind a seemingly ugly work lies such a tragic, grand, and breathtaking core of tragedy.
Angron's rage was no longer just the roar of a beast.
It was a ten-thousand-year-long aria of despair, about betrayal and loss.
Just then, a slight, suppressed sob broke the heavy silence.
Leticia and Fogremia turned their heads simultaneously.
They saw Terrania, that Blonde Girl who had been sitting quietly beside Leticia, had stood up at some point.
Her small hand was tightly clutching the corner of Leticia's clothing. In those golden eyes, which should have been as bright as the sun, were now filled with tears, which rolled down her pale little face in large drops.
She did not cry out loud, but wept silently, and that pure sorrow seemed capable of infecting all things in the world.
"He..." Terrania looked up, using those tear-filled eyes to look at Leticia, her voice intermittent due to sobbing. "He... is so pitiful."
She did not think about Primarchs, betrayal, or the great cause of the Empire.
As a soul possessing the purest kindness, she simply felt the most primitive, most direct... heartache for the unfair fate suffered by another soul.
"Sister Leticia..." Her small hand gripped even tighter, as if using all her strength, and looking up, she made a request from the depths of her soul to Leticia. "Can... can we save him?"
This question, like a holy light, dispelled all the heaviness and hesitation within the bridge.
It became the final catalyst.
In that instant, Leticia's heart softened completely.
She reached out, gently pulling Terrania into her arms, and softly stroked her smooth blonde hair.
"Yes."
Leticia's voice carried an irrefutable promise.
She raised her eyes and looked at the still-silent Fogremia.
"Did you hear that, Fogremia?"
"This is our answer."
"No matter how violent he is, no matter how 'imperfect' he may be."
"We are going to bring him home."
Fogremia's gaze slowly shifted from the tearful Terrania to Leticia's face, which was filled with determination.
She watched them—one, a goddess existing to protect, and the other, a princess existing to be protected.
Finally, her tense, Phoenix-like pride seemed to finally relax.
A barely audible sigh escaped her lips.
Immediately, a faint smile, mixed with helplessness, relief, and a hint of playfulness, blossomed on her exquisitely beautiful face.
"Fine." She shrugged as if resigning herself to her fate, her posture still impeccably elegant.
"Since my goddess and the little princess of our Sisterhood have both issued the highest directive."
Her tone carried a hint of her own unique sense of humor.
"Then, going to pick that mad dog up from the garbage heap, cleaning him up, and putting a pretty collar on him..."
"Could also be considered a kind of avant-garde and chic 'performance art'."
These words instantly diluted the tense atmosphere.
Leticia couldn't help but laugh as well. She knew that this proud Sisters had already accepted the mission in her own way.
"Then, it's settled." Leticia nodded and turned back to the command console, her eyes flashing with confidence.
"Prepare to enter the history slice — [Angron's Lament]."
She extended her finger, preparing to press the rune representing "Enter" on the operation interface.
However, just at the moment her fingertip was about to touch the screen.
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