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Chapter 188: Needs and Contributions
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 10:46:06 +0000 UTCChapter 188: Needs and Contributions
The stark white lights of the surgical bay illuminated the open chest cavity in merciless detail. Even the smallest capillary was exposed under the cold glare.
'Gareth, you must focus.'
The whisper could have come from his comms, or from a memory.
The medicae bay, filled with precision instruments, was brutally bright. Every mistake, every tremor of his hand, was magnified in this sterile theater. His colleagues at the adjacent surgical stations had already departed, one by one. The surgical team was shrinking. Some had completed their assigned tasks and moved on to further training in other Orders. Others had returned to their posts to begin compiling the surgical reports they would submit to the Legion's archives.
And in this one, brightly lit operating theater, Gareth watched them go, his own eyes fixed on the exposed thoracic cavity before him, his hand unable to make the first cut.
No one offered help. No one reprimanded him.
Everyone had their own duties.
Dark Angels were perfect. They could all handle their own problems.
Aside from the rhythmic pulse of the life-support machinery and the scrolling readouts of the surgical procedure, there was only silence.
The silence made Gareth's face grow darker. He suddenly remembered his father's words from long ago. You have no talent for the healing arts. If you can, you should hold a sword. You should become a knight.
A pressure as heavy as a mountain settled on his shoulders.
'But I just want to—'
He could feel the familiar gazes of disapproval and doubt on him again. His scalpel faltered.
He had caused a bleed. An artery, exposed for too long, had ruptured. Gareth was suddenly at a loss.
A Dark Angel should not make such a mistake. The skilled swordsman fumbled through the instruments, searching for coagulant gel, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy.
'Perhaps I should not have insisted on becoming an Apothecary,' Gareth thought, a wave of regret washing over him.
Caliban was gone. His father and mother were gone. Who was he trying to prove himself to now? He was like a fool, stubbornly chasing a ghost from the past.
But just then, a pair of medical forceps precisely clamped the bleeding area. A suction tube quickly cleared the pooled blood.
"Do not question your own decision, Gareth."
A cool voice cut through the silence, like a clear spring washing away the turmoil in Gareth's heart.
"Perhaps I truly cannot become a competent Apothecary, my Prince," Gareth said. Arthur's arrival brought an instinctive sense of calm, but also a deepening shame. This was an unprecedented failure.
"No one who passes the Astartes' trials is a mediocrity," Arthur stated plainly, assisting in cleaning up the surgical field and stabilizing the patient.
"Continue. Remember what I taught you, and continue."
He did not intervene in the surgery itself. No questions, no reprimands. He could bear the responsibility for both lives on the table.
"...Yes, my Prince."
Gareth let out a long breath, like a drowning man pulled from the water. He nodded slightly and began to recall. His transhuman mind replayed the images of his training with perfect clarity, every detail as vivid as if it were happening before him now.
Preserving the necessary organ structures. Dissecting and carefully isolating the blood vessels for transection. Then, implanting the new organ, anastomosing the vessels and nerves. Closing the incision, injecting the anti-rejection drugs.
And then, repeating the process.
Gareth's hand was steady with the scalpel, just as it was with a sword. The doubts in his mind receded with each suture, the voices fading from his perception until he could no longer hear them.
"Well done."
As he tied off the final bio-suture, Arthur's voice came from behind him.
Gareth looked around and realized the operating theater was empty. Only the chronometer on the wall marked the passage of time. In a state of absolute focus, he had completed ten surgeries in less than an hour. And Arthur had been there the whole time, reviewing each and every augmentation report. The first phase, which included gene-seed from both the Blood Angels and the Dark Angels, covered the augmentation records of one hundred and thirty Astartes.
Well, one hundred and twenty. Gareth still had to write his.
"Remember to write your reports," Arthur reminded him, then turned to leave.
"Wait, my Prince," Gareth suddenly called out, stopping the departing knight.
Arthur looked slightly surprised. Outside of mission briefings, it was rare—no, unheard of—for a Dark Angel to initiate a conversation with him. More often than not, it was he who would take the opportunity during a briefing to explain the reasons behind his orders.
He stopped, turning. The data-slate in his hand closed with a crisp click. Arthur looked directly at Gareth and said, "Speak."
Of course, he was willing to listen to what these exceptional warriors had to say. Thanks to the tireless work of his childhood friend, although he was now in charge of frontline military operations, his own workload was not yet overwhelming. He had the time.
Gareth let out a breath and quickly cleaned his instruments. After sealing the medicae bay, he joined Arthur, who had been waiting for him in the corridor. Then, this warrior, who had been only twenty-eight when Caliban was destroyed, a man barely over a century old even including his time as a bondsman, finally voiced the question that had long troubled him.
"When I first met you, I thought you would be like the Lion... a proud and distant figure."
"You are born to perfection, that is beyond doubt. And yet, you have shown me such patience..." His throat worked. "I am grateful to you, my Prince."
"In this galaxy, it takes great courage to choose a path you believe in, and to know that it is right," Arthur said with a small smile, a nostalgic look in his eyes.
"In the future, the ranks of the Dark Angels will swell. No matter how many there are, no matter what issues each member may have, I will give them all the same patience I have given you. But I am not a god. I cannot always have the time to listen to every man's story, to help every single one, to discern every right from wrong."
"When that time comes, I hope that you will be able to pass on the patient guidance you have received from me to others. To your other battle-brothers, and also to me."
He knew they were being watched. In the shadows of the corridor, in the seams of the metal walls, there were perhaps a few pairs of prying eyes. Their locations flashed through Arthur's mind, but he did not acknowledge them.
Many people wish for others to be harsh with them, while demanding leniency for themselves. Of course, there are also those who are equally harsh with themselves and with everyone else. The Emperor was like that, as were many of the Primarchs.
Arthur held himself to a high standard because he knew this galaxy was a terrible place, and he had no choice but to strive. And he was lucky. His post-transmigration "hardware" was top-tier, his "system" was powerful, he had three reliable companions, and he could evade the gaze of the Ruinous Powers.
But others were different.
Until Ramesses developed a safe method for disseminating knowledge of the warp, even he, a transmigrator, was unsure how much of the truth he could reveal to the natives of this universe. And if you could not even reveal the truth, how could you demand more of them?
Needs and contributions. Sometimes, it is very difficult to find a balance.
"Yes, my Prince," Gareth said, offering a solemn bow.
Arthur returned the nod. "Thank you for your words, Gareth." He looked at the warrior who seemed to be still living in the past, and he saw this conversation as a breakthrough. In truth, he was often at a loss as to how to better reward these warriors. He knew he could not simply rely on stereotypes to judge them. They deserved more than just cold orders and harsh training.
"You are all exceptional men. But even the most exceptional, without communication, are a mystery to me. I cannot always know what you need. I have times when I do not know how to proceed, and so I imagine you do as well."
Gareth unconsciously straightened his spine, a small movement that did not escape Arthur's notice. Bathed in the warm white light, Arthur's face seemed less stern.
"If it is possible, I hope we will have more opportunities like this. To understand one another, to solve our mutual difficulties and doubts, and to advance together."
