Chapter 9: The Odds of My Brothers Going Bald Are Surprisingly High—Father, Could You Figure Out What’s Wrong?

Outside the city of Thebes, Malum was carrying heavy bundles, with an old, weary donkey slung over his back.

In Aaron’s eyes, Malum truly was a guardian of the celestial palace. Even though his father had transformed him into a human form, the power within him—the strength to cleave mountains and shatter stones—still remained.

If only he himself could possess such strength. He longed to give his father a good beating, at least enough to make him learn how to communicate with him properly.

But Malum was his father’s servant.

So Aaron could only watch the donkey on Malum’s back awkwardly stretching its body to pass the dull time on the road.

The donkey’s tongue kept trying to lick the ears of this interstellar warrior, its dark, rough tongue secreting saliva.

Its thin limbs and skinny legs were each tied to Malum’s arm and waist, occasionally letting out a few braying sounds, whining softly.

Such a lowly creature being carried by an Astartes—surely, it was an honor for the donkey.

But on the other hand, this was the Emperor’s property.

Therefore, Malum no longer felt insulted; rather, he grew even more respectful.

Aaron kicked stones along the path, walking beside Malum, occasionally glancing back at the city fading into the distance with a sentimental gaze.

It wasn't that he missed the companions or the peers his father had wanted to introduce to him, but suddenly the word “home” seemed to carry a new meaning.

Where exactly was his home? With his mother, or—

His eyes involuntarily fixed on the stooped figure silently walking ahead.

Malum constantly remembered his mission to maintain the bond between father and son to preserve the Emperor’s humanity. Having been nurtured by the culture of the Five Hundred Worlds, he could read the melancholy in Aaron’s eyes—a feat many other space warriors could not accomplish.

The Astartes spoke slowly, his voice reminiscent of a master orator from Makurag:

“Aaron, you are not without a dwelling. Home is wherever your family resides.”

Aaron rolled his eyes and whispered sideways:

“Honestly, I don’t like that solemn tone of yours. You just lied, didn’t you?”

Malum responded solemnly, “Descendant of Kiliman, an ultimate warrior, never uses the power of lies!”

Aaron waved dismissively, his expression saying, “Oh, come on,” and kicked a stone farther ahead.

“I already guessed it. Actually, that old guy wanted to go to Egypt from the start. When I was about to make a choice, it was you who gave me other options.”

“Thank you, but it won’t be necessary next time. I want to go to Egypt of my own will.”

“Logar, my brother, wait for me!”

“Oh, tell me something about the future. Fables say Zeus will be overthrown by his son.”

“The entire Mount Olympus will be set ablaze, even the Milky Way in the sky, those constellations formed by countless heroes, and the stars above will all fall.”

“The magnificent palaces will be toppled, and on the ruins will lie the corpses of celestial guardians. The destined future master of the heavens, a son, will face his father in the final battle.”

Aaron described the prophecy with a hint of excitement—tales his mother had shared with him.

These myths, popular in the Athens region, were also known in Thebes, confirming each other.

Malum seemed stirred by these words, as if awakening from a distant memory. He was reluctant to speak further.

Even if he wished to, the Emperor and the forces of fate made it difficult for him to reveal the future.

For he knew the prophecy was true.

That mountain, that palace, those stars in the sky...

Everything his father possessed would be destroyed by his son.

Those who truly understood the future all met untimely deaths.

He was only an Astartes; it was not his place to speak recklessly.

Seeing this, Aaron lost interest.

“Forget it, forget it. Let me ask something else, something not related to those specifics.”

Malum shook off his reverie. Though he hadn’t personally experienced the great rebellion, the genetic legacy passed down through generations and the records etched in the chapter’s library conveyed the feelings of that moment.

He finally nodded. “Please, ask.”

Aaron cleared his throat twice, looking ahead. His father had walked quite far and probably couldn’t hear their conversation.

That old man still had thick hair.

So why were he and Logar both bald?

Even Kiliman had short hair.

Aaron whispered, “When I was with my mother, I saw statues of the Olympian gods. Honestly, not many of them were bald.”

“But look at me,” Aaron tapped his head, “Kiliman has a crew cut, and just now I dreamed of another bald brother.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with that old guy? That’s why the children born later are all bald or have trouble growing thick hair?”

Malum involuntarily stopped walking, and the donkey on his back twisted with displeasure.

The Emperor’s firstborn dreamed of his brother again?

And he was bald?

Father above, I mean no disrespect to Your Majesty’s brother.

According to records before time travel, the firstborn’s dreams were vague.

It seemed he only remembered the obvious feature—the bald head.

Malum carefully chose his words, glancing cautiously at the Emperor in the distance, busily pressing forward.

That father, he didn’t even look back. What if he lost his own son?

Heaven forgive me, Your Majesty; this is not my intention!

“Aaron, it is difficult for me to explain genetics and heredity. Objectively speaking, the probability of your future brothers being bald is actually quite low, um—”

“One in four? Sorry, I was born after the era of the Primarchs, so much knowledge is already blurred.”

Aaron sighed.

“One in four? That’s kind of high. Maybe that old guy ate something wrong when those kids were born?”

It definitely couldn’t be the mother’s fault.

Haah—

Walking made him a bit drowsy again; Aaron rubbed his eyes and continued:

“By the way, Primarch, is that what you call my brothers?”

Malum nodded, straightening his posture and shifting all his burdens to one hand.

Then he invited:

“Yes, Aaron.”

“Climb onto my back; there’s still some room for you to rest, if you don’t mind getting close to a donkey.”

Aaron, barely able to hide his fatigue and eager to meet his brother and explain things properly—at least to avoid another punch that would send him into a sandpit—climbed up.

He wrapped his arms around the donkey’s neck and smiled:

“It was here when I was born. It came from the temple in Macedonia when my parents got married.”

“Look at how old it is—I even suspect it might be some kind of god.”

After saying this, Aaron fell into a deep sleep again.

When he opened his eyes once more, he had returned to Colchis, the place Logar had mentioned.

This was no longer the fiery altar from his dream, nor was it Vinisia.

Instead, it was an ancient fortress perched on a shadowy cliff, piled with massive stones and lit only by torches.

He stood in a corridor of the fortress; ahead lay the plaza atop the city walls.

Sounds of commotion came from there, as if something was happening.

“I hope the timing is right,” Aaron murmured to himself, “Please don’t let me see an old brother.”

He hurried around the corner and suddenly his vision opened up.

There was his brother Logar, the tall figure being torn apart by enormous wolves snarling wildly.

Unlike any wolves he had seen before, these beasts had twisted limbs and monstrous sizes.

Surrounding them were robed sorcerers—the unmistakable villains—controlling the giant wolves.

Together, these villains inflicted heavy wounds even upon his godlike brother.

“Damn beasts! Let go of my brother!”

Aaron roared, charging forward.