Chapter 193: The Closest Anyone Came to Sleeping in Luther's Top Bunk |
The relationship between the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves was highly delicate.
If one called it good, they would strike fighting stances the moment they met. It gave the impression that the two factions were completely at odds with each other, and those unaware of the inside story would often assume they were about to fight to the death.
If one called it bad, both sides surprisingly knew their limits. Aside from exchanging insults upon meeting, they rarely did anything overly extreme. Beneath their tense, swords-drawn interactions always lay a certain unspoken understanding.
The forging of this bizarre connection traced back ten thousand years, to the time when the Primarchs of both sides were still present.
During the Dulan Campaign in the 30th Millennium, Leman Russ and the Lion came to blows due to clashing ideologies. Afterward, Lang Wang was laid out for quite a long time, knocked flat by a single punch from the enraged Lion.
Fortunately, the two sides eventually reached a reconciliation.
After that, the martial exchange between Lang Wang and the Lion was passed down between the two Legions in the form of honor duels.
These duels usually followed the rule of first blood. Whoever inflicted the first wound upon their opponent claimed victory. The combatants were always the champions of their respective groups, regardless of any disparity in rank or status.
This tradition also led to the famous scene during the era of Imperium Secundus, where the Lion stepped forward as the "Legion Champion" to accept a duel invitation from Wolf Lord Fafnir.
In the eyes of the Dark Angels, this was a matter of their own honor, and the competition served to spur their own growth.
In the eyes of the Space Wolves, this was a ceremonial exchange, a way to foster brotherly bonds.
Of course, winning was still the goal. After all, victory in itself was a matter of immense pride for both sides.
Neither the Space Wolves nor the Dark Angels wanted to hear songs or read encrypted missives at their drinking tables or secret gatherings about how "so-and-so lost to such-and-such in an honor duel on a certain day."
"So, you are asking us to use your people in an honor duel?"
At a tavern table meant for private conversations, Arlm Ironoath's voice was low and gravelly, sounding like the howling winds from the deep frozen tundras of Fenris. His sharp wolf-like eyes were locked onto the two men across from him—
Gareth and Kai.
Gareth sat across from Arlm with a calm expression. He displayed neither the cold aloofness typical of the Dark Angels, nor any deliberate intent to pander.
Although he did not fully understand these ideological differences born of culture, and cared little for so-called honor, he chose to be respectful. During his upbringing, his mother had taught him to respect others, just as she had respected him.
Kai, on the other hand, entirely clashed with the typical style of the Dark Angels. He possessed no filter and spoke with flamboyant exaggeration. The other Dark Angels all believed he would have been better suited as one of the Emperor's Children.
The Space Wolves, surprisingly, found the man to be exactly to their tastes. Based purely on his talent for bragging without batting an eye, he would have easily been a famous bard on Fenris.
These two were the Dark Angels members who had gotten along best with the Space Wolves during their time aboard the ship.
After all, the majority of the Dark Angels still strongly disliked the conduct of the Space Wolves.
Even though someone had circulated the "Three Barbarian Jokes" throughout the ship, allowing the Dark Angels to see through the disguise of these "savages," that unabashedly wild demeanor still made them feel as if they were dealing with a pack of beasts clad in power armor.
"It is a request, and merely an option,"
Gareth added, having sensed the displeasure in Arlm's tone.
Arlm listened in silence, his rugged face betraying no emotion, though the sharpness in his wolfish eyes softened ever so slightly.
Had the other party made such a request in public—even as a mere hint—he would have refused without hesitation. For the honor of his Great Company, he absolutely could not tolerate any proposal that might be perceived as an insult.
But at this moment, they were sitting at a private tavern table. The only ones present were himself and a Wolf Priest. There were no outside witnesses, no extra ears.
More importantly, the Dark Angel's tone and phrasing were impeccable. There was no condescending arrogance, nor any aggressive overbearingness. Instead, it carried a rare sense of... respect?
The recent battles had gone entirely too smoothly, almost a one-sided slaughter all the way through. There was no fierce bloodshed, no glorious clashes worth singing about. There was only one suspense-free victory after another, leaving the Space Wolves feeling rather bored.
Yet ironically, after every battle, the Dark Angels would host a celebratory feast for them. The mead flowed freely, equipment was theirs for the taking, and their Iron Priests and Wolf Priests were even allowed to visit and study the hosts' armory and surgical augmentation techniques.
This particular group of Dark Angels was genuinely trying to make friends.
This left the Space Wolves, fancying themselves as civilized men, in a very awkward position.
Fenrisians were notoriously receptive to persuasion but impervious to coercion. Faced with provocation, they would unhesitatingly swing their fists in a display of savagery. Yet, when confronted with genuine goodwill and requests made with mutual respect, it was as if they had met their kryptonite. Even refusing felt unreasonable.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being played.
There was definitely something off about these Dark Angels.
Arlm narrowed his eyes, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his mug.
Logically speaking, the Space Wolves' barbarian facade should have been intimidating enough. But in front of these guys, they felt completely seen through, unable to project even the slightest bit of deterrence.
Gareth seemed oblivious to the subtle change in Arlm's expression, continuing in that same calm and sincere tone,
"As a cousin, I suppose I shouldn't interfere in your major affairs—however, we truly do need an opportunity to make contact with this group of Fallen Angels. Ideologically speaking, we are enemies. I can explain this to you—"
"Stop!"
Arlm abruptly raised his hand, nearly knocking over his mug.
He stopped the other man from continuing almost by sheer reflex, as if Gareth was about to spout some explosive secret that could blow all of Fenris sky-high.
As a Wolf Guard retainer ready to take the mantle of Wolf Lord at any moment, Arlm already knew more than enough secrets—
For instance, the "soulless dreadnoughts" over at the Iron Hands. The Space Wolves had even lost an excellent Wolf Priest over that, resulting in a temporary standoff between the two chapters. But ultimately, being the ones in the wrong, the Space Wolves had no choice but to swallow their pride and stop picking fights.
"Let me guess,"
Arlm took a deep breath, staring at Gareth with eyes that clearly screamed, 'Say no more.'
For the sake of his lads' safety, he figured it was best not to know the gritty details.
After all, once you knew certain things, you could never pretend you hadn't seen them.
"Alright,"
Gareth replied with a single, brief word.
A brief silence followed.
Arlm's fingers tapped lightly against the metal tabletop, producing a dull thud. The dim lighting of the tavern cast varying shades of shadows across his rugged face, making him look like an ancient stone statue.
"If I understand correctly,"
Arlm spoke slowly, his voice low and cautious.
"The current Dark Angels cannot know of your existence, because for certain reasons, you are ideologically enemies."
He knew there was a high probability these guys were ancient veterans from ten thousand years ago. After all, the Sons of Dorn weren't even bothering to hide it anymore, so a sudden batch of old-school Dark Angels popping up was nothing to be surprised about.
Gareth gave a slight nod. "Yes."
Arlm's brow furrowed imperceptibly. Deciding not to delve further into a dangerous topic that could easily drag them into the Warp, he continued,
"And your encounter might spark a larger-scale conflict. You want to use us as a bridge to communicate with the Consecrators Chapter, covering your tracks and making it easier for you to achieve certain goals?"
This seemingly brutish Wolf Guard had hit the nail squarely on the head.
"Correct."
This was the true nature of the Space Wolves. Beneath their bold, unrestrained exteriors hid incredibly meticulous minds.
The surrounding Dark Angels exchanged a covert glance, unable to help but sigh inwardly.
They really had underestimated them in the past.
That was enough.
Arlm's fingertips stopped tapping. He stared at Gareth, his gaze turning razor-sharp.
"You won't drag other Imperium factions into this conflict, and there's no Chaos trickery involved."
"Of course."
Gareth answered without a shred of hesitation. This was an internal matter.
No matter how fiercely the knights opposed one another, they were ultimately one body. "Betrayal" truly existed, and that was something outsiders never needed to know.
If His Highness had not conducted a comprehensive review of the Horus Heresy for all the Dark Angels—proving that the Lion had never turned traitor, nor had the vast majority of them, thereby thoroughly erasing ten millennia of festering internal paranoia—this band of Space Wolves would have likely been purged in the name of loyalty long ago for brushing up against such secrets.
"I cannot agree to hand over the honor of my Great Company to you."
Arlm finally shook his head. He could not accept a scenario where an honorable duel required a third party to don their armor and fight as a substitute.
The raucous noise of the tavern seemed to fade away at that moment, the air between the three growing heavy.
"However,"
His lips suddenly curled into a meaningful grin, squeezing a few cunning wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
"I don't know who else is in this fleet. All I know is that this ship only carries Space Wolves and the mortal warriors who invited them as guests. Fenrisians have always only associated with upright heroes."
It was a promise, yet also a warning.
"Thank you for your understanding."
Gareth smiled.
"And thank you for your respect."
Arlm's lips turned up slightly, revealing sharp canines. Compared to the green-clad ones, he definitely preferred this black-armored lot.
They had proven through their actions that they were worthy of that innate, noble pride.
This realization suddenly sparked an idea in Arlm's mind. From the bottom of his heart, he wanted to meet the Primarch capable of inspiring such a transformation in these Dark Angels.
In fact, through their interactions over this period, he had more or less guessed exactly which two Legions those two mysterious Primarchs hailed from.
Arlm raised his mug, gesturing toward Gareth.
"Then I wish you a successful hunt, cousin."
This group of Dark Angels suited their tastes perfectly. There was no Chaos taint, and they handled things in a straightforward manner. That was enough.
As for a civil war within the Legion, Arlm scoffed inwardly.
They themselves had chopped down a Grand Master of the Grey Knights, and it wasn't as if there hadn't been bloody clashes between their own Great Companies. So what if the Dark Angels were tearing each other apart internally?
As long as Chaos wasn't involved, he couldn't care less about the rest.
In the corner of the tavern, several Space Wolves were loudly singing an ancient battle hymn, their gruff voices echoing against the metal bulkheads.
Arlm threw his head back and drained his drink in a single gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow.
'I'll help this likable lot.'
Slam!
The heavy mug slammed onto the tabletop. The loud crash caused the entire tavern to fall silent. The gazes of all the Wolf-Pups snapped toward him. Arlm stood up with a booming laugh, snatching his storm axe leaning against the table.
"Come, let us go welcome our cousins!"
The surrounding warriors immediately understood, erupting in deafening battle cries.
Some pounded their fists against their breastplates, while others smashed their bottles on the floor. The entire tavern boiled over in an instant.
The Space Wolves rose to their feet, the clashing of their power armor sounding like war drums. Laughing uproariously, they marched toward the shuttle bay doors leading to The Dawnlight.
That was simply how the Space Wolves were. These men of Fenris would only ever do what they felt was right, and would only ever fight the battles they deemed just.
——