Chapter 160: Because Hope Remains |
"I assume you have some understanding of Chaos?"
Dracus asked in a low voice. The Power Axe in his hands steadily blocked a fierce slash. He took a slight step back, vigilantly watching the attacks coming from all sides.
"Yes. Those Chaos Traitors, especially the Word Bearers, have never ceased their harassment since Lord Guilliman fell into his slumber."
Servius's voice rang out from the Contemptor Dreadnought's vox-caster, echoing with an icy, metallic resonance.
His mechanical arm brandished a massive obsidian broadsword. Every swing carried the force of a thunderbolt. There was not a hint of sluggishness in his movements, as if that colossal metallic frame was still his former body of flesh and blood.
"I have seen many dead men. Those traitors tainted by Chaos seem to have merged with Daemons. I killed one of them many times over, yet he was still alive during one of my awakenings."
A trace of weariness tinged Servius's tone.
'Strictly speaking, it seems we are indeed the Emperor's Daemons.'
Dracus took a step back, deftly dodging a thrust from Servius, unable to stop himself from making that silent quip in his mind.
"Your honesty surprises me."
Servius's Dreadnought paused slightly before his movements grew even more ferocious. Every swing of his broadsword carried an aggressive momentum, as if trying to force Dracus into a corner.
"Give me an explanation."
"Do you know how the Imperial Cult preaches about the Emperor nowadays? A god possessing boundless power, capable of guiding loyal warriors back to the Golden Throne after death."
Dracus's voice was calm. His feet shifted slightly to the right, attempting to use a feint to slow Servius's offensive rhythm.
However, Servius's footwork remained flawless. His massive frame was as agile as a living person, and the tempo of his assault showed no signs of slowing down.
"Do not tell me you believe in that now, Dracus. I do not recall my brother being a Word Bearer. Where is the man who burned the Perfect City?"
A hint of mockery laced Servius's tone. The force behind his broadsword grew heavier, as if intent on tearing Dracus's armor apart.
His Old Comrade's words stirred unpleasant memories in Servius's mind.
Images surfaced in his mind of strolling through the Chapter monastery and passing by the chapels, seeing those devout warriors kneeling before the Emperor's holy statues, murmuring their prayers.
"I do not consider the Emperor a god, because in my understanding, a true god must be an omniscient and omnipotent being. If the Emperor were a god, the Galaxy would absolutely not be in this state."
Dracus replied firmly, his gaze piercing through the dreadnought's viewing slits to look straight into where Servius's eyes would be.
"But the Emperor has indeed transformed into some kind of entity within the Warp, and he truly is capable of guiding those loyal warriors to the Golden Throne."
Dracus fell silent for a moment, his brows knitting slightly as if rummaging through fragmented memories in his mind.
His voice was low and slow, carrying a trace of uncertainty.
"I do not have much concrete memory of residing within the Golden Throne. I can recall participating in certain battles, but most of the time, I felt like a manipulated corpse. My consciousness only truly awakened upon my recent revival."
"Heh. The Emperor has become the very thing he always sought to destroy."
Servius's voice echoed from the Dreadnought's vox-caster, laced with irony and resignation. His mechanical arm lowered slightly, the broadsword's edge glinting coldly in the dim light.
"How did you return?"
A note of wariness crept into Servius's voice. The Dreadnought's head tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing every subtle shift in Dracus's expression.
"The four lords prepared bodies for us. We can indeed be classified as a type of Warp entity now. According to them, the Primarchs were created by the Emperor in a similar fashion."
Dracus's tone was calm.
"Which four? The four in the Warp?"
Servius pressed with sudden urgency. The Dreadnought stepped forward, its offensive posture growing sharper.
"Those four over there."
Dracus pointed a finger, completely dropping his guard as he replied helplessly. His gaze swept the surroundings to ensure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation.
He would have to be insane to worship the Four Gods.
Ever since he learned what those entities truly were, Dracus could only maintain a respectful distance.
"..."
Servius's Dreadnought abruptly halted its movements. The broadsword in its mechanical grip hung suspended in mid-air, as if time had frozen in that very moment.
His voice was low and suppressed, tinged with a flare of anger.
"Do you want me to kill you?"
He already believed this was Dracus, but he still harbored suspicions that it might be a scheme orchestrated by the Evil Gods.
Because this figure was far too identical to the one in his memories—
Calm, rational, holding absolute trust in his Battle-Brothers, and brimming with hope.
It had been ten thousand years. Even he had been entombed within a Dreadnought. How could someone remain entirely unchanged?
How could anyone still be full of hope after witnessing the current state of the Imperium?
"No, I only meant to say that if you still wish to spar, we could find a better location."
Dracus scanned the area and noticed Grand Marshal Ledodes receiving a message and whispering a report, prompting him to offer a gentle reminder.
Although Rameses was masking their true words, the others present were still listening to the altered conversation and watching this sudden bout. Their eyes were filled with confusion and vigilance, ready to intervene at any moment.
"...I will take you to the training grounds."
Servius scoffed, but a note of compromise softened his tone.
The Dreadnought's head swiveled slightly, as if checking their surroundings.
He muttered quietly,
"You need to explain everything clearly to me. Otherwise, I cannot entrust these children to your care."
"Of course."
——
"I understand the general situation."
Inside the conference room of the Obsidian Blades' monastery, Romulus sat at the head of the table. His calm gaze swept over the report handed to him by Ledodes before he raised a hand, gesturing for the Grand Marshal to sit.
The transfer of various equipment required coordination, so they conveniently borrowed the allied forces' conference room.
Under the dim lighting, the Imperial banners hanging on the walls looked exceptionally solemn. The air carried a faint scent of machine oil and metal.
"You may listen in, Chapter Master Sextus,"
Romulus spoke up, lifting his head to look at Sextus, who was just turning to leave.
Sextus paused, glancing left and right. Seeing that even Grand Marshal Ledodes maintained a respectful posture, he simply replied, "Yes, my lord."
He stepped to the side, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed intently on the Star Map.
"The 41st Fleet has sent back a comprehensive report. This is the specific strategic deployment."
Ledodes's voice echoed through the room. He approached the Star Map, tapping his finger lightly on the location of the Tyran Fortress World before tracing the invasion routes of the Tyranid Hive Fleet.
On the Star Map, red lines spread outwards like blood vessels, outlining the threat radius of the swarm.
As Romulus began analyzing the battle reports one by one, the details on the Star Map gradually fleshed out. His fingers moved swiftly across the projection, as if directing an invisible war.
"The first line of defense formed by the Imperial Navy around Tyran has, for some unknown reason, dwindled to just over twenty Capital Ships after a year of engaging the swarm."
A heavy weight dragged at Ledodes's voice. His brows knitted tightly together, eyes locked onto the data displayed on the Star Map.
"Simultaneously, the Navy made a strategic misjudgment regarding the Tyranids, leading them to rashly advance beyond their defensive perimeter, only to be encircled and annihilated by multiple Hive Ships."
Romulus's gaze was as sharp as a falcon's. He remained relatively composed, tracing his fingers across the Star Map to mark the zones where the Imperial Navy had been decimated, mentally simulating every move the swarm made.
After the Mobile Fleet stationed at the Tyran planet was eradicated, the swarm did not bother wasting time engaging other Imperial forces along the defensive lines. Instead, they split into three tendrils, driving straight through various spatial sectors into the inner systems, launching indiscriminate attacks on every Planet in their path.
This quickly resulted in a severe shortage of mobile forces. As the Shadow in the Warp cast by the Tyranid Hive Fleet spread, communications were jammed. The scattered fleets behaved like headless flies, relying entirely on intuition to deal with the overflowing Xenos infestation.
And precisely while they operated on instinctual judgment, the swarm astutely captured the movements of the Imperium's last remaining mobile forces. Two massive tendrils swiftly pierced the Sector's defensive lines in a pincer maneuver, beginning to systematically dismantle the Starport nodes.
Romulus's gaze shifted slowly across the Star Map, his brows furrowing as if playing out every shift in the battlefield within his mind.
He had a rough idea of why the Ultramarines were struggling to hold the line.
Once the defenses were breached, the various combat zones became too scattered. Compounded by the interference of the Shadow in the Warp, it was completely impossible for Calgar to maintain unified command.
Each Planet was forced to fight independently, ultimately causing the situation to entirely collapse.
It was as if the Imperium was fighting a localized tactical war, while the bugs were executing a grand stellar campaign.
A flash of helplessness crossed Romulus's eyes. His fingers glided lightly over the Star Map, as if trying to untangle the convoluted battlefronts.
Of course, because the Galaxy was three-dimensional, a so-called defensive line was not merely composed of ground garrisons, but rather a network of mobile strongholds. As long as sufficient naval forces and planetary supplies were maintained to support high-intensity patrols, it would be extremely difficult for the enemy to bypass them.
After all, the patrol radius of the Imperial Navy could usually be measured in Sectors.
His eyes lingered on several critical nodes on the Star Map as his fingers gently tapped the table.
He continued reading through the battle reports.
Currently, nine Adeptus Astartes Chapters—including the Ultramarines, Black Templars, Scythes of the Emperor, Silver Skulls, Mortifactors, Astral Claws, Mantis Warriors, and Lamenters—totaling five thousand men, were establishing a defensive line stretching from Calth to Marella.
These were all Chapters stationed closer to the galactic core that had arrived as reinforcements.
However, the remaining Ultramarines successor chapters located on the outer fringes of Ultramar, such as the Vanguard Knights, were pinned down defending their own homeworlds, completely immobilized.
The Tyranid Hive Fleet had clearly recognized that these peculiar warriors possessed an understanding of them, and had initiated targeted countermeasures—assaulting their homeworlds directly.
Romulus's frown deepened. His fingers traced swiftly across the projection, marking the swarm's attack routes, his tone laced with urgency.
After breaching the inner systems and consuming vast quantities of Biomass, Hive Fleet Behemoth had truly begun to display the terrifying might of the swarm.
An endless stream of bio-ships was spawned from the skies of the planets they had devoured into dead rocks, and a dense web of feint attacks gradually converged toward Macragge.
As time ticked on, the Adeptus Astartes—who had relied on early tactical doctrines to secure a dominant advantage in the initial engagements—were beginning to find themselves stretched thin under wave after wave of the swarm's assaults.
Especially the Ultramarines.
"The Hive Mind has finished reading the Codex,"
Rameses evaluated succinctly.
"The Codex Astartes restricts the weapons and wargear that Space Marines can deploy. The swarm is specifically utilizing bio-forms that are highly resistant to those very weapons."
The Ultramarines were quite flexible when it came to managing their successor chapters. Many of the non-Codex armaments utilized by successors, including the Nemesis Chapter, had been shielded from scrutiny by the Ultramarines themselves.
Yet internally, the Ultramarines' own adherence to the Codex bordered on fanaticism.
In the future, after Guilliman's return, the Ultramarines 2nd Company fighting Hive Fleet Leviathan on Talsar would have to raid an Astra Militarum armory just to find melta charges to blow a bridge, simply because the Codex dictated that the Astartes should not stockpile such wargear.
It was a habit so deeply ingrained that not even their founding father, Guilliman, could completely eradicate it upon his return.
And this blind obedience to the Codex resulted directly in the Ultramarines suffering from severe strategic passivity.
Romulus quickly finished his almost exaggeratedly complex simulation.
No one chose to question if there were any oversights. Since the beginning of the crusade, he had not been wrong even once.
The densely packed clusters of fallen planets on the map were enough to make one's heart tremble.
"These are the findings from the Adeptus Mechanicus exploratory fleets."
Archmagos Cawl briskly produced a survey report gathered by one of his clones.
Planets invaded by the Tyranids would have all forms of life, including the atmosphere, soil, and every last scrap of nutrients, thoroughly stripped away, reducing them entirely to dead, silent rocks.
"..."
The warriors of the Invincible Iron Guard clenched their fists, a mixture of anger and helplessness burning in their eyes.
For a brief moment, they almost thought they were watching a group of Word Bearers fighting a war while clutching a copy of the Ecclesiarchy Holy Texts.
The Ultramarines had always been renowned for their flexibility and adaptability. How could they allow themselves to be shackled by a mere codex?
Lord Guilliman never wrote down instructions on how to fight a Tyranid swarm, did he? What on earth were they doing clinging to that book in the middle of a war?
This was a battle for absolute survival, and they were still placing limiters on themselves? Did they refuse to fight properly unless they were on the brink of death?
As the others read the reports detailing how the Ultramarines were being systematically countered and slaughtered by the swarm, solemn expressions settled on their faces, further cementing their resolve to absolutely ignore the Codex in the future.
The current state of the Galaxy truly presented an unprecedented challenge to the collective wisdom passed down through the Codex. It made no sense that the Elders who had actually met the Primarchs treated it with disdain, while these modern marines still cradled it like a priceless treasure.
They could still tell the difference between dying with Honor and dying a pathetic death.
Sextus sized up the Battle-Brothers around him, feeling distinctly out of place.
The Obsidian Blades were a standard Codex Compliant Chapter.
"...This is an unprecedented enemy."
Ledodes's expression was grim.
Whether they followed the Codex or not was irrelevant for the moment; the Black Templars only observed it symbolically anyway, using the Eternal Crusade to give the High Lords a convenient excuse to look the other way.
He stared solemnly at the Star Map, only now intuitively grasping just how terrifying the Tyranid Hive Fleet truly was.
In Romulus's post-battle analysis, the various strategic deployments of the Tyranids were laid bare before everyone, vividly demonstrating just how absurdly formidable the enemy's command capabilities were.
Real-time strategic deployment on a Sector-wide scale—this was something no other race in the current Galaxy could achieve.
The Aeldari had the capability but lacked the manpower; the Imperium had the manpower but lacked the capability; and the Four Gods of Chaos spent every day fighting among themselves, barely retaining their own lucidity.
As for the Orks...
Thankfully, their opponents were quite abstract, because the Orks themselves were an entirely abstract concept of warfare.
Moreover, ever since the War of the Beast, humanity had developed a standardized set of protocols for dealing with Orks. Relying on concentrated decapitation strikes by the Adeptus Astartes or deploying Untouchables to detonate Waaagh! fields were tried-and-true tactics.
"It's just this Navy..."
Romulus was at a loss for words.
It was slightly better than his initial expectations; at least they had only lost half of their forces.
And the fact that the swarm hadn't punched straight through to Macragge was already a blessing in disguise.
The Transmigrators tried their hardest to look on the bright side.
"What about the rest of the Navy?"
He could not help but ask.
"Unknown. We cannot rule out emergency reassignments by various factions, or severe misjudgments of the battle situation by the Navy themselves."
Ledodes shook his head. While their relationship with the Imperial Navy wasn't poor, they certainly did not command them.
"The allied fleet comprised a total of 51 battleships. Of those, 31 gradually withdrew from the Ultramar Defense Line after the war commenced."
Aglaia handed over her own report.
"Fifteen of those headed north to deal with an emergent Ork kingdom around Orpheus I. The other sixteen battleships formed a task force under the leadership of Inquisitor Roste, heading toward the Damocles Gulf to initiate a purge against a burgeoning Xenos race known as the T'au."
"Their reasoning?"
"They judged that the Tyranid threat would soon be resolved, and that Imperial forces needed to be deployed where they were more urgently required."
Look at that proactive initiative—truly the outstanding pillars of the Imperium.
"And the results?"
Romulus laughed out of sheer anger.
Since the Expeditionary Force's navigation route naturally passed through T'au territory, Romulus had notified them well in advance to leave that particular Xenos faction to him.
It just so happened that one of the T'au's technological advancements was highly valued by the Transmigrators.
The Imperium didn't need to lift a single finger regarding that matter.
"None."
Aglaia shook her head.
"..."
A colorful array of expressions bloomed across the faces of everyone seated.
"Am I to understand that certain individuals, in pursuit of their own interests or Honor, have directly caused the Imperium to lose hundreds of habitable Planets?"
Arthur glanced at the Star Map and continued, "And this number continues to climb with each passing day."
The sheer magnitude of that blunder forced everyone in the room to subconsciously hold their breath.
A single erroneous decision had doomed over a hundred habitable worlds. A loss of such scale would surely be etched into the annals of Imperial history.
Even the War of the Beast hadn't resulted in such permanent geographical losses; the casualty count was higher, yes, but planets ravaged by Orks could eventually be reclaimed and resettled.
Unlike worlds invaded by the Tyranids, which were stripped cleaner than if they had suffered an Exterminatus.
"Yes, Lord Arthur."
The Inquisitor who had entered the conference room affirmed.
Rarely had the group ever felt such thick, murderous intent radiating from this usually stoic Inquisitor.
"What is the Navy's current strategic deployment?"
Romulus was already feeling dizzy. Over a hundred planets' worth of lives—just thinking about it made his hands tremble.
It was a pity Dracus wasn't here to hand him blood pressure medication.
"The fleet at the Damocles Gulf has not responded. The Mobile Fleet that reinforced Orpheus I is currently en route back; they proclaim they will deliver the Emperor's Wrath and reclaim the Honor lost by their allies."
Aglaia replied.
"Don't!"
Romulus spat out hastily, his hand reaching out instinctively as if he could physically grab the fleet and drag them back. Yet, no one else betrayed any visible emotion at his outburst.
The Thunderforged Warriors were already driven mad with rage, especially the Ultramarines, as some of their own homeworlds had already been consumed by the swarm. Meanwhile, the Space Marines of the 41st Millennium fell into deep thought—
Were the leaders of the Imperial Navy truly out of their minds?
"What I mean is... can they just station themselves at Macragge first, to act as our final failsafe in this war?"
Romulus reorganized his words.
He finally understood: the Imperial Navy's greatest asset was simply their existence.
These absolute liabilities needed to stay completely still. The Macragge system was already crawling with Genestealers anyway; even with advance warnings, they couldn't cull them all. The fleet just needed to park itself there so the Hive Mind could sense their presence. At the very least, that would force the Hive Mind to continuously factor their Combat Power into its long-term calculations.
"Of course, Lord Romulus. I will handle it."
Aglaia nodded solemnly.
"Good. If you encounter any difficulties, mention them. We will resolve them step by step."
Romulus took a deep breath.
Looking on the bright side, at least the Tyranid offensive had been intercepted this time. They hadn't even touched Macragge yet, and currently, the Tyranid Hive Fleet was still bogged down just outside the third defensive line.
It was far better than the historical timeline where they scattered across the entirety of Ultramar, infesting the realm so thoroughly that they still hadn't been purged by the time Guilliman awoke.
But the other commanders found the situation somewhat difficult to stomach.
They knew just how much importance Romulus placed on the defense of Ultramar, sparing no cost to provide all manner of tactical guidance. He was practically holding their hands and showing them how to fight the war.
They had witnessed the relentless efforts of the four lords firsthand along this journey.
And yet, it had still come to this.
The circuitry of Archmagos Cawl began sputtering, spitting bright blue sparks.
These Vermin who made such decisions—how dare they? Even if they all died a thousand times over, they could never shoulder the cost of losing this war!
The room descended into a sullen silence, with some even beginning to doubt whether Macragge could hold out against the swarm long enough for their reinforcements to arrive.
"Let us begin discussing the upcoming route."
Romulus reassured everyone.
"Do not rush. Focus on fulfilling our own duties first."
Karna's mouth twitched slightly.
It must be incredibly difficult for Romulus, forcing such a composed expression at a time like this.
Inside the hall, whether they were ten thousand years old or nearly forty thousand, everyone present wore masks of profound suffering.
Karna and Rameses both turned their eyes toward Arthur, who had remained exceptionally placid from beginning to end.
"Everyone."
Arthur took a deep breath, lifting his head to gaze at the massive holographic tactical display in the center of the hall. Countless motes of light blinked across its surface, representing the troop deployments of both allied and enemy forces, like a sea of stars burning in the dark.
"As individuals, every single one of us is capable of making mistakes and suffering defeats."
His voice echoed through the vast conference chamber.
"But if we remember that we are part of a greater whole, if we refuse to bow to doubt and fear, and if we swiftly and effectively carry out our duties, then we can force our enemies to make mistakes—"
"And those mistakes will exact a bloody toll upon them."
His voice suddenly turned frigid, cutting through the air like a keen blade.
Arthur turned his gaze to the crowd, starlight shimmering in his eyes. He knew exactly what these commanders were truly afraid of. They had crossed the threshold of life and death countless times; mere defeat could never break them. What they truly feared was the attitude of their four 'Primarchs'.
They were terrified—terrified that this riddled-with-holes Imperium would drive the four newborn 'Primarchs' to abandon their cause, entirely forsaking a species that seemed hopelessly beyond salvation.
Therefore, Arthur only needed to make his stance clear.
"I do not know if our struggle will ultimately end in victory, but I can guarantee that we will never cease fighting for it."
His voice rang out like an Oath, solemn and unyielding.
The air within the conference room seemed to ignite at his words. Every gaze locked onto him, brimming with expectation and trust.
When he had first transmigrated, Arthur truly had considered just lying flat and giving up.
After all, transmigrating into the Warhammer universe was an abyss of terrible luck. If he didn't enjoy the present moment, he'd likely never get the chance later.
But as time marched on, he had witnessed the sacrifices of too many Mortals—the unwavering stand of Apothecaries amid despair, Cawl's ten-thousand-year promise, and the warriors now steadily gathering at their side, entrusting their faith and strength entirely to them.
He still believed that there was hope for humanity.
Meeting the gazes of everyone present, Arthur spoke earnestly.
"Because, hope remains."
His voice was calm and clear, carrying a vitality unique to a young soul. The ancient reliefs carved into the surrounding walls depicted the glory and Suffering of human history, and they seemed to bear silent witness to this very Oath.
For a fraction of a second, total silence ruled the hall, as if the air itself had frozen solid.
Then, Ledodes was the first to shatter the quiet. He straightened his posture, balled his right hand into a fist, and slammed it heavily against his chest plate with a dull thud.
"Hope remains."
His voice was deep and resonant, like a solemn vow.
"Yes, hope remains."
Aglaia's voice closely followed. A ripple passed through her typically stony eyes, like a frozen lake kissed by a gentle spring breeze.
Her fingers lightly traced the hilt of her sword at her waist, as if she had finally found an anchor to lean upon.
"Hope remains."
Archmagos Cawl continued to stand quietly. His backup chassis remained utterly still, occasionally spitting a few electrical sparks from overload. Deep within his processing units, a fleeting emotion known as reminiscence quietly surfaced.
Everyone's gazes ultimately settled upon Romulus.
His figure was tall and imposing, like an unshakable mountain that no force could ever crush.
"Then let us move, everyone."
Romulus inhaled a deep breath of the void-ship atmosphere, as if savoring its frigid chill.
He locked eyes with his companions, and they shared a synchronized nod, passing a silent, implicit understanding between them.
"We still have a war to plan."
——
"Do you truly believe this is the Emperor's guidance?"
Outside the conference hall, Servius hunched slightly as he muttered the question to Dracus.
His massive Contemptor Dreadnought chassis leaned forward slightly, its mechanical joints emitting a faint hum. The movement seemed somewhat clumsy due to the Dreadnought's structure, carrying an almost comical edge.
"Perhaps not?"
Dracus said softly, his voice drifting like a light breeze, laced with a hint of uncertainty.
His gaze pierced through the corridor's shadows, gazing out at the flickering starlight in the distance, as if searching for an answer himself.
"But I do believe it holds no malice."
He was practically certain that his revival was directly linked to the four lords. After all, Rameses had never kept secrets from them regarding matters of a specialized nature.
Dracus's tone carried a sense of certainty, as though stating the simplest of facts.
"I do not view the Emperor—or any Primarch, or Warp entity—as a god, unlike the Word Bearers. But their power truly cannot be ignored. If they so desire, yes, they can achieve a great many things."
Servius's mechanical frame shuddered slightly, seemingly expressing an emotion.
His voice crackled through the Dreadnought's speakers, carrying a raspy edge.
"That heavily challenges my entire worldview."
He let out a sigh, his voice thick with weariness. Perhaps he truly was just an old man whose ability to accept new paradigms had begun to fade.
His visual sensors then tracked down to the gash on Dracus's chest plate. It had been a fatal strike; had the blade penetrated just a fraction deeper, it would have skewered his Heart.
"You are exactly the same as before."
A wistful nostalgia colored Servius's tone, drifting back into bygone years.
"Naturally."
Dracus offered a faint smile, his eyes reflecting absolute tranquility.
"What if I had accidentally killed you just now?"
Servius asked playfully, seemingly probing for an answer.
"Then I would simply come back to life."
Dracus shrugged, his posture relaxed and casual, as if discussing an utterly trivial matter.
"Hehehe."
Servius chuckled under his breath. He was deeply envious of Dracus's mindset.
If you could spend every day cracking Primarch jokes alongside several optimistic lords, constantly devoting yourself to a truly noble cause, you would feel the same way.
Dracus chuckled and shook his head before asking, "How did you end up in a Dreadnought? Who managed to defeat Lord Guilliman's champion duelist?"
"Apologies, but my story is not nearly that glorious."
Faced with Dracus's curiosity, Servius sighed.
"This Planet possesses unique radiation. I fell ill. It is as simple as that."
Dracus nodded in understanding.
Of course. He was once the champion of the entire Ultramarines Legion. What could possibly defeat him?
The capriciousness of time was sometimes far crueler than any enemy.
Servius reflected on his own life.
Mundane battles, mundane creation of a Chapter, and a mundane internment into a Dreadnought due to a genetic flaw.
And then, watching familiar faces slowly fade away one by one.
Compared to other entities of his caliber, his life had truly lacked grandeur.
"Thanks to the guidance of fate, I have been able to see my Battle-Brothers once more."
Servius replied with a heavy sigh.
"You will continue to see us in the future."
Dracus smiled, extending an invitation.
"Why not journey with us? Fill in that missing piece of your life."
"I am already old. Close to death."
Servius murmured softly.
"And I am already dead."
Dracus extended his hand.
"The future is still long."
Indeed, the future was still long.
Servius quietly observed the crowd as they became busy once again. They were returning to their respective fleets, beginning their assigned tasks, and commanding their armadas to depart at maximum speed.
As for those four lords...
Arthur left first, offering a light nod as he brushed past the two of them.
Rameses and Karna departed together, throwing casual greetings their way—one flamboyant, the other warmly enthusiastic.
Only Romulus remained behind in deep thought. When the Dreadnought's gaze fell upon him, he pulled himself from his reverie and offered a gentle nod.
They possessed power, and they were constantly learning.
They were tirelessly expanding their knowledge, endlessly experimenting.
They genuinely hoped to forge a better survival for humanity across this Galaxy.
Clang!
Iron met iron.
After ten thousand years, the Dreadnought's iron fist once again met the Invincible Iron Guard. The two bumped shoulders, ringing out with a crisp echo.
"Count me in. I should still be able to fight."
He declared.
Because—
Hope remains.
——
Within the quiet administrative hall, a voice rang out.
"His Highness's orders have arrived."
Without even lifting his head, Evocatus, who was busy managing the Ravenwing's operations and processing official documents, replied, "Is this truly our Knight Sergeant speaking? Acting Grand Master of the Conclave of the Broken Crown, which Highness are you referring to?"
"Any of them, really."
Kai replied with a deadpan expression.
"Intelligence from the Mechanicus?"
Watching the subtle vibrations of ciphered signals Kai left in the air, Evocatus set down his documents and let out a long sigh.
This mountain of paperwork was simply inhuman. They were only responsible for a small fraction of it; heaven only knew how Romulus managed to process it all.
Truly worthy of being an ambitious Primarch. To stomach this kind of torture—he didn't even dare imagine what his ultimate goal might be.
Moreover, the Ravenwing's understanding of this current universe was genuinely stretched thin. They had missed out on far too much time, to the point where His Highness was frequently forced to rely on that Inquisitor or the Mechanicus magos.
"This will not do."
Zabriel materialized from seemingly nowhere, voicing the exact thoughts in Evocatus's mind.
As one of His Highness's retainers, he had also noticed severe issues while restructuring the Legion's framework.
There were certainly many Terran-born tough guys among the Fallen. Under their rigorous training, the New Recruits from Caliban quickly grew capable of holding their own. However, the Dark Angels possessed a drastically limited understanding of the modern Imperium.
They didn't even know where the Fallen's Rock was located, what their exact organization looked like, or how many successor chapters existed!
"Where are Lohr and Gareth?"
Evocatus waited a brief moment, noticing that the other two who theoretically should have shown their faces were absent.
"Those two have a mission."
Zabriel replied, a slightly sour note in his voice.
So what if they were Terran-born Ironwing veterans? Big deal that they actually intended to take over the Angels of Redemption's Apothecarion.
"We must reconstruct our intelligence network."
Evocatus stated seriously.
Everyone else had field assignments, while they were stuck here slogging through endless seas of paperwork.
Lately, they had been continuously establishing contact with numerous Fallen. They had used ciphers to arrange meeting times, and once the verification rituals were complete, those brothers could rejoin the Dark Angels. The gradual expansion of their ranks was only a matter of time.
An intelligence system was going to become increasingly vital moving forward.
"But building one will likely take a very long time,"
Kai muttered. As a dedicated duelist, he was hopelessly out of his depth with such logistical matters.
"Why build one from scratch?"
Evocatus asked pointedly.
Kai turned his head, noticing Zabriel gesturing with his chin.
"Oh."
Kai instantly understood.
"..."
Almost at that precise moment.
The eyes of all three men landed simultaneously on Alpharius, who was still working diligently.
This man currently held the highest performance record in the entire Ravenwing. He snatched up every irrelevant task no one else wanted to touch, directly sacrificing a slot for a duelist in the process.
Heaven only knew how he could endure it.
Evocatus hadn't wanted to be stuck here either; blame the fact that he lost his duel.
Damn it all, the men of the Broken Claw Conclave should crawl back to the Deathwing and pilot their Terminators! How did you even infiltrate the Ravenwing?!
"?"
Noticing the stares aimed in his direction, Alpharius looked up.
"Lord Zabriel!"
He addressed Evocatus.
"...He probably misremembered the cipher. I'll have the Conclave of the Five Points feed him some remedial knowledge later."
Feeling the two piercing stares from beside him, Evocatus awkwardly attempted to explain.
This Alpharius was a truly unprofessional spy. They had fed him countless overt and covert hints, and he still managed to mix things up. They were constantly having to cover up his blunders.
"The Lion's Pride is converging. You can put your work on hold for now, Brother Hydra."
Evocatus said.
"Even burdened with this work, I am fully capable of handling personnel coordination."
Alpharius replied immediately, brimming with confidence.
He had discovered that among the Dark Angels, confidence was key. Only by projecting unwavering self-assurance would these prideful lions entrust tasks to him, granting him the opportunity to glimpse their deeper secrets.
"If you insist, I will not object. But since the responsibility falls upon you, you must see it executed flawlessly."
Evocatus said sternly.
"Naturally."
Alpharius responded confidently. He then stood up with his documents in hand, reading the ciphers etched into the floorboards before turning to leave, preparing to return to the stronghold of the Conclave of the Nine Heads.
He had gradually mapped out the Dark Angels' secret internal communication networks during this period. Once he was fully accustomed to them, he should be able to infiltrate their upper echelons.
However, his most pressing priority was to gather his fellow operatives.
Alpharius's gaze drifted down to the documents in his hands.
The reforms being driven by this fleet truly defied imagination. They were directly interfering with the Military and Political Affairs of various Imperial territories, maneuvering to seize absolute control over them.
Unfortunately, processing just this small fraction of paperwork had drained a tremendous amount of his energy. Gaining a complete overview was no longer something he could accomplish alone.
Thankfully, this recent gathering of the Fallen presented him with an absolutely perfect opportunity.
Striding down the dimly lit corridor, Alpharius silently decoded the surrounding ciphers, carefully turning over his plans in his mind.
Alpharius needed to mobilize his Grand Company to monitor this mysterious faction, ensuring they posed no threat to humanity.
'Damn it all, that is the Ironwing's staging ground!'
Evocatus buried his face in his palm before waving a hand. Two shadows instantly darted forward to intercept him before he could wander in and get riddled with holes by the patrolling combat automatons. He then looked back at his Battle-Brothers.
"It's settled then, save for the need to monitor the associated risks."
"Risk is not an excuse; every operation carries its own hazards. Our duty is to neutralize them entirely. His Highness would not want us causing him unnecessary trouble."
Zabriel spoke up, offering his own solution.
"Later, we will have the Grand Master of the Five Points place a safeguard on their Souls. I am confident Lord Rameses will not turn down the assistance of such hardworking employees."
"Remember, hope remains!"
At the very last moment, Evocatus turned his head, only to find the two had vanished completely. With a sigh, he settled back down at his desk.
Monitoring aside, the work still needed to be done.
And it needed to be done flawlessly.