Chapter 145: Cat Food, and the Boss Cat |
The chaotic melee did not last long.
After scratching their opponents' faces bloody with their gauntlets, the Fallen Angels realized that as noble Dark Angels, they could not behave as savagely as the Space Wolves. By unspoken mutual agreement, they all stayed their hands.
At the same time, a wave of regret washed over them. Their secret was now known to that loudmouth from the Deathwing.
It was utterly humiliating. How had they failed to restrain themselves?
"Are you done fighting?"
Rameses's deliberately deep voice echoed once more, drawing angry glares from everyone present.
'I thought they would keep going. There isn't a single intact tile left in this temporary meeting hall.'
Following Arthur's command, the Librarian waved his hand. Several Deathwing Terminators stepped forward, carrying a set of mechanical instruments loaded with nanomaterials.
Everyone instinctively stepped back, only to find their armor completely locked down once again.
The Fallen Angels thought to themselves. The performance of these suits was absurdly powerful. Discarding them was out of the question; they had to find a way to truly make the armor their own.
But for now, it was nothing more than a pipe dream.
At this moment, all they could do was watch helplessly as the Deathwing approached.
Hum—
The instruments activated, and liquid-like nanomachines flowed out, crawling up their armor to rapidly repair the structural damage and restore the chipped paint.
Hailing from the Ironwing and capable of hand-crafting a suit of Mark VII power armor from scratch, Lohr recognized them instantly. They were memory-repair nanobots from Mars. Once a model was inputted, they could rapidly reconstruct the corresponding small-scale machinery.
Larger-scale variants existed, but those inevitably delved into the forbidden realm of AI.
'What a luxury,' he marveled silently.
He could not help but click his tongue in awe. Meanwhile, the cuts on his face were already closing up thanks to his accelerated Astartes metabolism.
"Follow me."
Click—
As the repairs concluded, their armor unlocked once more.
Rameses turned around and led the way. After a brief exchange of glances, the Fallen Angels chose to follow.
As soon as they stepped out the door...
"Zabriel, are you absolutely certain we are still aboard the Silent Vow?"
Kai asked in bewilderment, turning to one of the only two companions capable of linking with the ship's Machine Spirit.
Ahead of them stretched a grand corridor leading directly to the warship's main council hall. From this elevated vantage point, they could overlook a colossal storage bay measuring nearly three kilometers across.
The interior of the storage bay was no longer the pathetic sight of scattered, shabby firearms and battered armor. Instead, rows of heavy armored vehicles—such as Mastodons and Sicaran battle tanks—were parked in neat formations. Some were being repositioned under the direction of mortal auxiliary troops clad in void-armor, clearing space for even more incoming engines of war.
"Being here gives me the illusion that we've traveled back ten thousand years in time," one of them murmured.
The members of the Ironwing gazed at the familiar war machines, completely overcome by a profound sense of nostalgia.
Drifting through the void aboard the relic cruiser for so many years, it wasn't as if they had never seen Adeptus Astartes vehicles before.
But it was always just Land Raiders. Nothing but Land Raiders.
It wasn't that Land Raiders were useless, but could they truly serve as the backbone for a massive frontline assault?
Meanwhile, on the other side of the corridor, in the mortal habitation zone...
These mortals all appeared to have military backgrounds. They seemed to have recently transferred to the ship and were currently organizing their new living quarters.
"Greetings, warrior of the Imperium."
One of the Fallen Angels stopped a female soldier.
"How may I serve you, my Lord?"
Yulia immediately straightened her back and secured the ornament she was holding onto a clasp at her waist.
"May I ask what significance these decorations you are putting up hold?"
He asked politely, somewhat curious about the holy fire emblem that depicted an unknown Xenos breed burning within its flames.
When not fiercely guarding their dark little secrets, the Dark Angels were truly paragons among the Adeptus Astartes.
"This chronicles our meritorious deeds on our homeworld, where we fought alongside the noble Astartes against the Xenos,"
Yulia explained with deep pride.
She had been fighting alongside the Expeditionary Fleet for over two years now. Her extensive battlefield experience had made her fully realize just what a glorious victory the Defense of Pierred truly was.
Now, the hundred thousand survivors from Pierred had completely separated from the ranks of the Cadian Auxilia. Instead, they served as the dedicated auxiliary force for the Wings of Dawn, fighting alongside them while living and multiplying within the fleet itself.
Their unique culture and history would be carried on and inherited in a completely different way.
"Could you elaborate?"
"My apologies, Lord."
Yulia wore an apologetic expression as she pointed toward the door of her own quarters.
A plaque hung above it, marking it as a House of Merit, inscribed with a series of campaign records.
The Fallen Angel unconsciously furrowed his brow. He noticed that some of the engravings followed a pattern strongly resembling a cipher.
"Is this a secret?"
"Yes."
Yulia replied with utter earnestness. "We can never return to our homeworld. But through this method, we can remember our history and honor our ancestors."
"I will try my best to understand and remember them."
The Fallen Angel gave a solemn nod. This profound sense of ritual instantly won his approval and respect.
In truth, the Dark Angels deeply appreciated this kind of cultural pride. Because the original First Legion was drawn from all corners of Terra, their internal cultural exchanges were far more frequent and varied than those of other Legions.
Several Fallen Angels were already contemplating forming a study group just to blend in and decode it for fun.
"Thank you for your understanding, my Lord."
Yulia bowed slightly and rendered the sign of the Aquila.
The Fallen Angel waved his hand dismissively and turned to leave.
Continuing down the grand corridor, they observed assault formations of Stormbirds and the vast assembly lines for standard munitions. After marveling at the sheer military might of this Dark Angels force, the group finally arrived at the true council hall.
The Round Table Hall.
The underlying color scheme here was identical to the previous antechamber—seemingly monotonous yet undeniably majestic. The sharp, angular details of the architecture shattered the blocks of color, preserving a solemn dignity while exuding the deadly, oppressive atmosphere of a military fortress.
Banners from various Orders and Knightly detachments hung thickly from every windowsill. Atop nearly a thousand steps of pristine white marble sat a towering Round Table.
Magnificently armored Deathwing Knights stood in perfectly uniform ranks on either side. They remained as still as statues, letting the gentle breeze from the life-support air circulation system ruffle the long tassels of their helms.
This was the true heart of the Wings of Dawn, the bastion of the Wings of Broken Steel.
Standing right in the center, flanked by the bone-white knights, was a lone warrior in jet-black armor. He was admiring a Roman numeral 'I' bound to his wrist by heavy chains, which sparkled brilliantly under the lumen globes. The light sharply illuminated his features and physique, highlighting the deep crimson patterns on his battle-plate and tracing the faint golden trim along the edges.
The First Legion!
An inexplicable wave of suffocation washed over everyone present. It felt as though the Emperor Himself was gazing upon them—a sensation felt most acutely by the Terran-born veterans who had once marched beside the Master of Mankind.
"Be seated."
Arthur gazed down at the gathered knights.
It was not a suggestion; it was an absolute command.
The Fallen Angels quickly scanned their surroundings.
The hall was gargantuan, easily large enough to accommodate three thousand warriors. Knightly helms had already been placed upon specific sections of the grand table.
These seats had been prepared exclusively for them.
"Yes, Lord!"
The Fallen Angels immediately offered a respectful salute and strode toward their designated places.
As for how they knew which seat was theirs?
Kai's gaze fell upon the rich carpets draping the stone steps. Compared to the superficial decorations of the temporary hall they had just left, this place was truly worthy of bearing the immense historical weight of the Dark Angels.
Every single position had been meticulously carved and tailored. The distinct artistic cultures of their respective Orders, Knightly houses, and personal units were flawlessly integrated. Their service records and histories were woven directly into the fabric using their unique ciphers, forming intricate, mesmerizing lines.
It allowed the Fallen Angels to identify their own exact seats at a single glance.
This was perfectly in character. They had been wondering why something felt conspicuously missing earlier.
How could the First Legion ever act like those uncultured barbarians of the Space Wolves, completely devoid of class and elegance?
This was exactly what they craved: luxurious, yet profoundly low-key and restrained.
Running their hands over the knightly helms and admiring the personalized decorations, the Fallen Angels couldn't help but feel a deep sense of comfort.
That temporary staging room had been far too plain. It hadn't felt like the Dark Angels at all.
Unlike this magnificent hall, where only they and their brothers from the Orders could decipher the hidden meanings layered within.
"Lohr, what are you looking at?"
Noticing that Lohr, who stood beside him, had been staring intently at the carpet beneath his boots, Gareth tapped out a series of relatively well-known coded hand signals.
After their brawl, all the pent-up frustration had been thoroughly vented. At the very least, they could have a normal conversation now.
The destruction of Caliban was the Lion's fault, and the fault of those who had turned traitor. But the blame certainly shouldn't fall on the shoulders of these unfortunate, kindred souls who had suffered the same cruel fate.
"..."
Lohr remained silent, merely analyzing the complex ciphers in his mind—ciphers that only a tiny fraction of Terran-born Ironwing veterans could possibly translate.
'Although Lion El'Jonson chose to watch from the sidelines during the early stages of the Great Betrayal; although he gifted two relic General cannons to Perturabo in his bid for the title of Warmaster—weapons that ultimately battered Terra's walls and caused catastrophic casualties; although he let Typhon escape when securing the Tuchulcha Engine at the relic forge world; although he participated in founding Imperium Secundus on Macragge; although his very homeworld rebelled during the Horus Heresy; and although the First Legion failed to perform to its true standard throughout the entirety of the Horus Heresy...'
'...There is no doubt that the Lion is loyal. But Primarchs are still fundamentally human, not omnipotent gods. They, too, can make grave mistakes and possess their own crippling flaws.'
For the first time in his life, Lohr felt his absolute mastery over his own facial expressions face an unprecedented challenge.
"This is a secret that you need to uncover for yourself."
Lohr knew these cryptic words were meant entirely for him. He held his tongue for a long time before finally spitting out the carefully organized response.
"I understand."
Gareth nodded. Compared to these ancient Terran-born veterans, his life experience was severely lacking.
Of course, he had also managed to read exactly what he had wanted to see.
The multitude of Dark Angels realized just how deeply they were being respected. By unspoken agreement, they all looked toward Arthur, their gazes filled with profound awe.
This lord truly knew everything. The Legion really did possess an Inner Circle that monitored the Inner Circle.
But it was vastly superior to the insufferable Deathwing.
A secret was a secret. It was enough for them to know that he knew their secrets; actually speaking them aloud was completely uncouth.
'When it comes to the sense of ritual, Master Arthur is truly unmatched,'
Rameses clicked his tongue mentally. These Dark Angels had only been fighting for a few minutes, yet Arthur had already arranged everything to perfection.
Just look at them—they all looked as if they had finally come home.
"Everyone."
Arthur looked across the gathering of Dark Angels, somewhat relieved to see that not a single one was missing.
"Words of reunion and reconciliation are easy to speak, but they do not manifest on the edge of a blade. You could have easily delivered lethal blows to your former comrades, but you stayed your hands. For that restraint, you have earned the right to take a seat here."
These Dark Angels weren't too difficult to manage after all. At the very least, they weren't petulant children; though they were highly neurotic, they still possessed a degree of reason.
"I know that although I have provided answers to some of your questions, you still harbor many doubts."
Arthur spread his hands wide, looking much like an Emperor inviting his ministers to offer their counsel.
"Now, please speak freely. I do not wish for lingering suspicions to hinder your efficiency in the future."
His attitude heavily implied a foregone conclusion—that these defeated warriors would naturally fall under his command.
Yet, surprisingly, not a single one of them voiced an objection. Instead, they all began to seriously ponder his offer.
Evocatus worked his jaw for a moment before gritting his teeth and speaking up. "Lord!"
"Speak."
"Are you willing to give every single battle-brother like us a chance?"
"As long as they have not fallen to Chaos, yes."
Arthur answered with absolute solemnity. "We cannot make the same mistakes the Lion made. I, and indeed all of us, must thoroughly investigate the evidence and verify the truth from multiple sources. We cannot blindly assume betrayal or corruption without undeniable proof."
"..."
Many of the Fallen Angels struggled to maintain their composure. At the same time, it felt incredibly cathartic to hear someone else taking the lead in criticizing the Lion.
This was especially true for those who had successfully deciphered the hidden codes woven into the carpet.
They found it hard to believe that this lord hadn't participated in the Great Crusade, but they were absolutely certain he had never served directly under the Lion.
The Lion possessed an unfathomable arrogance—a fundamental refusal to be questioned.
With a personality bold enough to openly state that the Lion's conduct during the Heresy was flawed, losing one's head would have been getting off lightly under the Primarch's command.
"I understand, Lord. Thank you for your mercy."
Evocatus bowed in respect and sat back down.
"Lord."
Lohr raised his hand to indicate he wished to speak.
"Speak."
"Our bodies... did you subject us to some form of modification while we were unconscious?"
He had sensed something was wrong for a while now. He felt noticeably stronger, and his skeleton felt as though it was undergoing a secondary phase of growth.
"Yes. I subjected you to the Primaris Space Marine augmentations. In the future, your previous level of strength will be insufficient to face the myriad threats waiting for us. The exact medical data has already been uploaded to your personal dataspates."
Arthur offered a candid explanation. "And for that, I owe you an apology."
He knew he was wrong to do it without permission, but he had done it anyway.
Arthur simply did not have the time to individually motivate and convince each of them. He needed these Fallen Angels to integrate seamlessly and begin functioning at peak efficiency as quickly as possible. He preferred they realize through firsthand experience that the surgery had no negative side effects, rather than wasting precious time debating the procedure beforehand.
"I understand, Lord."
Lohr touched his face, forcing down his remaining doubts, and returned to his seat.
The others had no particular objections either.
The strong dominated the weak; it was the indisputable privilege of power.
However, they certainly took note of the surgical modifications and collectively decided to thoroughly research the matter later.
"Lord."
Gareth spoke up to ask the next question.
"What do you require of us next?"
"We are currently operating under a unified organizational structure known as the Wings of Dawn. Aside from the Dark Angels, this structure also includes Ultramarines, Blood Angels, and Thousand Sons. Because our identity is highly sensitive, we will primarily take on the roles of Apothecaries within this framework for the time being."
"Of course, that is only our public face. In reality, beyond your combat deployments, you will also gradually assume control of intelligence gathering and analysis. The specific protocols and databases will be made fully accessible to you."
On these operational matters, Arthur remained appropriately transparent.
"You will need to study the specialized knowledge required of Apothecaries. Naturally, if you encounter any highly technical issues, you may direct your inquiries to me."
The absolute best trait of the Dark Angels was that they didn't need to be spoon-fed; they only needed to be directed. Bereft of major physiological flaws, they would instinctively learn and adapt to their environment on their own.
'What a perfectly linked chain of events.'
The Fallen Angels quickly connected the dots.
So performing the augmentations without warning was all just a setup for this exact moment?
They felt entirely played.
Because there was no way they would rest easy without thoroughly researching the unconsented bodily modifications. And by the time they fully understood the underlying biology of the surgery, they would already possess the requisite medical knowledge to serve as fully qualified Apothecaries.
"Lord."
Another voice spoke up.
"What if we intend to leave?"
'Are you out of your mind?'
Several warriors stared at their battle-brother in sheer disbelief.
'We just got systematically beaten into the dirt and bagged up, and you still think you can just walk away?'
"If you insist on leaving, I will not force you to stay."
Arthur replied with perfect calm. "I will not tolerate unstable elements within my ranks. I shall only command those Dark Angels who are willing to obey me, those who truly wish to join our brotherhood."
The warrior who had asked the question felt the top of his neck, genuinely surprised to find his head still firmly attached to his shoulders.
Encouraged, the Fallen Angels began raising their queries one after another.
As the minutes ticked by, the barrage of questions from the Fallen continued unabated.
Yet Arthur simply stood in the center of the Round Table Hall, patiently answering every doubt and inquiry thrown his way.
Through this continuous back-and-forth exchange, the Fallen Angels finally realized the core issue at play.
This lord was simply far too patient.
As the absolute victor, he had absolutely no obligation to explain himself at all. Yet here Arthur was, standing illuminated beneath the lumens, speaking calmly with a group of displaced, disgraced exiles, indulging their every curiosity.
No, this couldn't go on.
Suddenly, as if guided by an unspoken consensus, every Fallen Angel fell completely silent.
This level of open, honest communication—where every question received a direct answer—was far too comfortable. It was a terrifying departure from their old days, where every secret had to be painstakingly uncovered in the shadows.
"Lord."
After a rapid, silent exchange of gestures and glances, the Fallen Angels ultimately pushed Zabriel to speak on their behalf.
"What can you offer us?"
They all knew that Lord Arthur held all of their darkest secrets, yet they still needed to hear the answer from his own lips.
"I cannot guarantee the survival of every single one of you, nor will I make grand promises of a future I cannot ensure."
Arthur's tone was measured, yet his words struck like hammers on an anvil.
"I will provide you with the prey to hunt, and I will chronicle the melody of your lives. If you fall in battle, I swear that I will carry the echo of your lives to the Lion and to your fallen brothers. As for who I truly am—you may witness that with your own eyes in the wars to come."
"Then you will find yourself fundamentally at odds with the current Imperium,"
One of the Fallen Angels pointed out, his tone dripping with profound implication.
"Let them come."
Arthur raised his right hand. The brilliant glow of the First Legion's insignia swept over the assembly, illuminating their faces one by one.
"We have verified our true intentions. We have reconciled with our former comrades in arms. Our engines of war still wield their devastating power after ten millennia. We are vastly stronger than the current scions of the Lion. We are all of the Lion's Pride. So tell me, Zabriel, are you afraid?"
Zabriel froze, staring up at the lord who had single-handedly broken him and so many of his brothers in direct combat.
The sheer scale of the military might displayed, coupled with Arthur's uncharacteristic mercy toward the Fallen, only cemented a single, undeniable truth.
He was capable of achieving things the Fallen Angels wouldn't even dare to dream of anymore.
He was willing to discern the truth. He was willing to deliver fair judgment upon the Fallen. And most importantly, he was willing to lead them to reclaim their long-lost honor.
"Forgive me, Lord, but I have already sworn my fealty to the Lion. I cannot serve another sovereign."
He pounded a gauntleted fist against his chest in a crisp salute, his features etched with utter solemnity and grave conviction.
"But if this is truly your intent, then I beg you to allow me to walk this path beside you. And until this shared road reaches its bitter end—"
"I swear upon my blade that I shall follow you."
Arthur took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the gathered warriors. Black and bone-white armor alike, the host stood in solemn, unbreakable ranks.
Beneath the brilliant lumens of the grand hall, he committed every single one of their faces to memory.
"We are the First Legion."
Framed against the austere backdrop of contrasting black and white, Arthur raised his blade high.
Nearly five hundred Fallen Angels rose to their feet in absolute, perfect unison.
"We shall know no fear!"