Chapter 175: The Muscle Has Arrived |
New guests had appeared aboard the "Silent Vow".
The Space Wolves, chasing the phantoms of the Thousand Sons, had successfully boarded this Relic Cruiser—whose design was vastly different from mainstream Imperial vessels—right before the fleet entered The Warp.
However, before they could even begin their investigation, they were astounded by the sheer scale and complexity of the vessel's interior.
There were elite Mortal auxilia, Sisters of the Imperial Cult, tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and even Culexus Assassins composed of Untouchables.
And that was not all. It was not merely these individuals—
Their presence was not merely representative of isolated elements. They possessed a complete organizational structure, forming integral components of an even more complex organization.
Given the Space Wolves' hearty nature, they quickly mingled and bonded with the Mortals on the ship who had once fought alongside them.
One of the Space Wolf warriors clapped the shoulder of an auxiliary soldier beside him, laughing as he asked about the origins of this mysterious ship, only to be met with silence.
Another leaned close to an Adeptus Mechanicus tech-priest, curiously observing the flashing data streams, even though he clearly understood nothing of the technology.
On the surface, the Space Wolves could only learn through the oral accounts of the Mortals that these complex factions were all components of the warship's internal educational structure.
From the age of six, the children among them would undergo a six-year divergent education program.
During this period, the fleet covered all expenses for the family's children. The education was designed entirely around helping them construct a comprehensive worldview.
Afterward, they would be sorted based on the talents they displayed during this process. They would enter academies established by the various organizations to learn how to become warriors, technicians, or administrative officials. Those who were not Untouchables might even earn the opportunity to become Adeptus Astartes.
During their brief patrol, the ship had already revealed the teaching environments of its various branches.
Cadets in the combat academy conducted tactical drills inside simulation pods. Apprentices in the mechanical academy hotly debated around a dismantled engine. Meanwhile, preparatory officials from the administrative department stood before holographic sand tables, analyzing resource distribution plans for a certain Planet.
However, this entire educational system was currently just in its infancy. It would still be a long time before the first batch of students fully matured. The senior-level education in each department was also primarily focused on the re-education of the fleet's existing crew.
"I feel like we might have made a redundant trip."
At a banquet arranged by the Eternal Vow Garrison—Pierred's First Phalanx Legion, Wolf Guard Retainer Alm Iron-Oath sat astride an elegantly understated carved pedestal. The amber liquor swirled gently in the heavy goblet in his hand.
He leaned over and whispered to the Wolf Priest beside him, his voice drowned out by the cheerful chatter and the clinking of cutlery around them.
The order here was perfect. He had peeked at the threads of fate surrounding these Mortals, seeing that they would sail smoothly through the oceans of their remaining lives, carried by favorable winds.
"Everything is under the control of our cousins."
The Wolf Priest nodded slowly, his rough fingers caressing the holy wolf-fang emblem hanging from his chest. Not far away, several young Space Wolves were laughing and clinking glasses with the auxiliary soldiers, completely unbothered by the beer foam splashing onto their armor.
This was exactly why they were willing to bring the Wolf-Pups along to drink with the Mortals.
Those mysterious cousins were treating them as hired muscle.
A meaningful smirk tugged at the corners of Alm's mouth. He tilted his head back and drained the liquor in his goblet, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.
Naturally, words spoken over heavy drinking were always the most honest, serving as a crucial method for gathering necessary intelligence.
It was through this that he recognized the profound composure of this ship.
"But the boys are still in high spirits, and that is enough."
The Wolf Priest stroked the long staff in his hands. Its rough, jagged runes constantly radiated a blue glow. This was a weapon he had forged by melting down the armor and blades of a Thousand Sons sorcerer he had slain.
"During the era of the Legions, because of our duties, we were always far removed from the heart of the Imperium and those cousins of ours. Perhaps it has been this way for ten millennia. But given the changes over the past century, even the wisest of the Great Wolves must admit that the Imperium has become vastly different."
Following the First War for Armageddon, the internal reasons behind the Months of Shame that erupted on Fenris were incredibly complex. At its core, it was an experimental move by the High Lords to seize control of a First Founding Chapter.
In the era following the Horus Heresy, the High Lords of Terra—especially after experiencing the Black Templars twice marching on Terra with blades drawn—had continuously attempted to bring the Adeptus Astartes under their thumb.
The attempts during the Cursed Founding allowed them to successfully "control" a Minotaurs Chapter that could be "used for their own purposes", while the Space Wolves, due to their profound incompatibility with the wider Imperium, were viewed as the weakest link among the First Founding Chapters.
Of course, everyone knew how that turned out.
The incident ultimately ended with an Inquisitor Lord's head being cleaved off, conclusively declaring the failure of the various Imperial factions' attempts to control the Space Marine Chapters.
However, this event also inflicted a grievous wound on the Space Wolves that was difficult to heal. At the same time, it made them keenly aware that if the modern Imperium relied solely on them, a turnaround was already impossible.
"Right now, an entirely new framework is being consolidated outside the Imperium. In the past, such work could only be accomplished by Mortals, but this time is completely different."
The Dark Angels, the Blood Angels, the Ultramarines, and the Thousand Sons.
The Dawn Crusade had four leaders, though naturally, only two of their names were known.
Compared to Romulus and Karna, the remaining two had not a whisper of rumors surrounding them on the outside. Those entities capable of guessing their true identities had reached a tacit understanding to ignore the issue entirely.
Yet, the changes they brought to the futures of countless lives were genuinely and indelibly etched into The Warp.
Sensing the shifting threads of fate within the turbulent tides of The Warp, the Wolf Priest spoke.
"This is a revolution, and we must not be left behind. We need to find our own place within this new framework."
The Wolf Priest's words sounded incredibly much like Tzeentch. In truth, peering into fate was inherently a power belonging to Tzeentch.
Warp Sorcery was always like this. As those emotional entities gradually grew stronger, the more Spells one used, the closer Tzeentch drew to them.
But upon hearing this, Alm simply nodded casually.
Fenris's reverence for the power of The Warp could be traced back even before Russ's arrival. Their mastery over various "Rune Spells" far exceeded the Librarians of other Space Marine Chapters.
It was just that the barbaric outward appearance of the Fenrisians perfectly concealed this fact.
Very few people would associate a pack of savages, who seemingly only knew how to hack with axes or tear out throats with their teeth, with the highly precise and delicate operations required for Warp Sorcery.
Not everyone was like the Thousand Sons, waving around toxic gas bombs like children and trying to promote their usage everywhere.
"Hmph, a bunch of imprisoned fools who don't even realize their own captivity. Why didn't the Allfather choose Russ?"
Alm slammed his goblet down onto the table. The splashing liquor accidentally soaked a female warrior, drawing roaring laughter from those around them.
Understanding the situation was one thing, but being annoyed by it was very real.
What, was their Primarch somehow inferior to those four?
The first three could be excused—at the end of the day, they were loyalists. But what was the deal with that last one?
It was even a Thousand Sons!
His fist slammed onto the tabletop, knocking over several empty bottles.
The sound of shattering glass was exceptionally piercing in the suddenly quiet hall. A few sleeping Mortals twitched unconsciously.
At some unknown point, the Mortals in the banquet hall had fallen asleep.
Their faces were flushed with an unnatural red hue, and they lay slumped over the dining tables, breathing heavily.
Naturally, when the Space Wolves partook in a feast, alcohol was a necessity. And, of course, any brew potent enough to affect the Adeptus Astartes was no ordinary Creation.
Both the Space Wolves and the people of Fenris shared a tradition of drinking Honey Mead. This Honey Mead was a beverage brewed from the tissues and bodily fluids of various beasts native to Fenris, and most of it carried a certain level of toxicity.
They would enthusiastically share their Honey Mead, but they also carefully controlled the dosage to prevent the Mortals from dying because of it.
Even so, the inebriation brought on by the Lethal Toxin was not something Mortals could withstand.
The room was littered with slumped figures; only the men of Fenris remained upright.
"Oath-father!"
Uvam Red-Mane stood up abruptly, the marble bench crashing to the floor behind him.
Blood-tinged mist plumed from the corners of his mouth. His chest heaved violently, as if a raging fire burned within his body. In the dim light, his amber, beast-like pupils contracted into thin slits, glaring fixedly toward the bulkhead door.
He had long been unable to suppress the urge to crush his enemies.
Especially after being humiliated by the Dark Angels, he was desperate to use his own actions to find the flaws in those arrogant cousins and pay them back in full.
The young warrior's knuckles turned white from the sheer force of his grip. The haft of his Power Axe let out an overwhelmed creak against his palm.
This young Blood Claw was still in that phase of life where he was dominated by his feral nature—impulsive, quick to anger, and prone to making mistakes.
Yet, it was exactly this kind of vigorous spirit that drove a warrior to improve rapidly.
"Hahaha, then let's go."
Alm laughed uproariously. The muscles on his thick arms bulged as he snatched up the Power Axe leaning against the wall. The runes carved into the axe blade abruptly flared with a crimson, blood-like radiance.
In an unnoticed corner, Yulia, who had been doused in liquor and seemingly passed out, lay sprawled on the floor. Her disheveled hair obscured half her face, but her fingertips twitched rhythmically in time with her steady breathing.
This was not some sort of cipher. Rather, each twitch obscured the background from a specific angle, systematically providing information to an observer who knew what to look for.
Clang!
The Space Wolves all hoisted their weapons, gently placing their unfinished goblets down onto the tabletops.
They would finish the rest when they returned.
"For Russ and the Allfather!"
The Space Wolves departed the banquet hall. Moving with a speed that left everyone reeling, they charged straight toward the deep corridor.
The entire warship was divided into two sections. The area near the public port belonged to the Mortals, while the central section was an overlapping activity zone where The Angel and Mortals could interact face-to-face.
However, the garrison of The Angel strictly prohibited any unauthorized entry by outsiders.
Because there were no secrets within it.
Yulia's fingertips stopped twitching. Her body relaxed, and she fell into a deep, heavy slumber.
It had to be said, the liquor of Fenris...
...was truly excellent for sleep.