Chapter 127: We Will Respond
"Remember, you just need to know what this creation is. Do not try to associate it with anything else."
In the Knight production line area of the House of Gavin, Ramesses was leading a group of Librarians in identifying Chaos corruption.
In fact, most stable psykers were not very sensitive to changes in the Warp, because the sensitive ones had already lost control on the spot. Ordinary psykers could not learn from Ramesses, because in the eyes of daemons, the four transmigrators did not exist. They could naturally get away with a lot of outrageous maneuvers.
So what Ramesses had to teach these Librarians was how to quickly identify creations that had been influenced by the Warp, without strengthening their own connection to it. Of course, this was just one of the subjects in the entire educational curriculum.
But the results were mixed.
For the chosen ones like Mephiston and Te Kahurangi, Ramesses didn't even have to teach them. Daemons, upon seeing them, would instinctively feel that they were not to be trifled with, rather than seeing them as a meal. So for these characters, it was more about teaching them new applications of their psychic powers.
But some of the Librarians were more troublesome. They couldn't control their psychic habits. If they hadn't been stable enough after the Imperium's rigorous screening, and lucky enough, the habits inherited from another user who was completely different from them would have killed them long ago.
And Ramesses had enough case studies. Plenty of daemons gave him the opportunity to constantly construct different types of souls for his experiments. By now, he could basically customize a psychic usage plan for each of these Librarians.
"When you are operating with me in the future, you can try to use the psychic power originating from me. This will help you build better usage habits."
After the brief lesson, Ramesses did not overwork them. Librarians had to ensure their minds were sharp. The most taboo thing in psychic-related research was a lack of clarity.
"I'm sure many of you have already tried it. You can constantly try to release spells, to find that feeling."
What Ramesses had always emphasized was to not get involved in those flashy, convoluted rituals. The possibility of being manipulated was too high. What was needed was for a thought to move, a spell to be cast, and then to disconnect from the Warp, preferably before the user themselves had even realized it.
No matter how many times they heard it, the Librarians all felt that Ramesses's words were truly absurd.
Psychic power, as one of the few means of drawing power from the Warp for use in the real universe, had a terrifyingly high risk factor. Every time you cast a spell, you were betting your own life. And as you continued to cast spells, the probability of losing the bet would get higher and higher.
But the man before them could reduce the risk of casting a spell to zero.
"You are very different from us," Mephiston said in a low voice. This most mysterious of the elders... the knowledge he possessed was truly terrifying. It was hard to imagine how much pain and tears were behind that knowledge.
"Of course. That's obvious." Ramesses glanced at him. Of course a cheater was different.
After the defense of Pierdra, Romulus had asked him to write a textbook. At first, he had thought it was a small matter, so simple. But then he discovered that the characteristics of each soul were different, and their application methods and tolerance thresholds for psychic power were also different, so the educational methods had to be different.
So he had first produced a pre-school reader to get by, and then had gone to scan the souls of those psykers to begin classifying them and writing specialized educational materials. The process had involved hand-crafting souls with similar properties, then experimenting with them one by one. These experiences were purely born from death. It was a good thing he had developed the pain-transfer mechanism early on, otherwise he would have been numb from dying so many times.
The current textbook was still too complex and needed to be polished for a while, but the Librarians could already be taught by hand.
"Do not try to trace it back, because you will not be able to. What you need to do is to find humans with the same characteristics as you, and then pass on this experience. For every one less person who falls into the tides of the Warp, we will have one more ounce of strength."
"We understand." The Librarians all nodded seriously. The elders truly valued the inheritance of knowledge. Even for someone like Ramesses, who was constantly trying to spread psychic knowledge, a being who in the eyes of the conservatives was a super-heretic, they could only feel a deep sincerity in his customized courses.
"Hmph~ What's everyone up to?" Ramesses came to Arthur's side, who was watching over the whole scene. He saw him looking at the Black Templars, who were praying to the Emperor before a burning banner.
"Karna is leading the Blood Angels and the Sisters in post-war rescue operations. The Black Templars, under the direction of the high command, are purging the planet. The Cadians have already begun the transfer of their armored vehicles. The Archmagos is still maintaining silence. The Inquisitorial fleet is consolidating the planetary report to have the surrounding sectors begin population transfers. The Prince of Leinster is in communication with Romulus. We should be able to leave tomorrow," Arthur replied.
Right. If you have a question, ask your partner.
Crossing his arms, Ramesses curiously moved behind Arthur, maintaining the same angle as his partner. "So what are you looking at?"
Ramesses didn't think Arthur was suddenly interested in psychic powers. Of the four of them, besides himself, Arthur had the most knowledge of psychic phenomena. But Arthur had always rejected this power, and it was for this very reason that psychic damage barely affected him.
"It is said that the Dark Angels are master carvers. They will inscribe the honor of their battles in hidden patterns on their armor. This way, a knowledgeable comrade within the Chapter can see the honor another carries at a glance," Arthur said softly.
"So?" Ramesses looked confused. He remembered reading this in the Black Library.
"Is the promotion of your reality-stabilizing anchor having problems?"
"Correct. Besides the Black Templars, the other Chapters are in a wait-and-see state," Ramesses explained. "It's mainly because it doesn't fit their Chapter culture."
"Can the traces of a burned daemon be left behind?" Arthur asked again. "For example, their name, their past sins, who vanquished them, and so on. After the daemon is killed, the information can be displayed on the banner or lantern in runes or a cipher known to the Imperium. The more powerful the daemon killed, the brighter the name and the story, the more magnificent the carving."
"What's the point of all that—oh, Master Arthur, you are a genius." Ramesses looked confused, but then he slammed a fist into his palm, understanding.
What was the most important thing to an Astartes?
Not loyalty.
It was honor!
Except for a few weirdos like the Sharks, Astartes cared more about honor. It was just that this honor was usually strongly related to loyalty. When a conflict arose—
Just look at the Chaos Astartes in the distance, folks.
"Your way of thinking hasn't caught up yet," Arthur said with a smile.
Why were the Black Templars so receptive to the idea of burning daemons? It wasn't just the existence of the reality-stabilizing anchor, which had a strategic benefit for them, who had no Librarians. Secondly, it was the honor that came with the act of burning daemons in their culture.
"Right! It's issued by the elders, you get to light it up by killing a daemon, it automatically records the story of the daemon and the victor, and it completely visualizes and makes tangible their honor. Isn't this just a walking certificate of honor?" Ramesses thought, the more he considered it, the better the plan seemed. Slightly modifying a real-space object with a connection to the Warp was actually very simple. He just needed to squeeze a few more daemons. It wasn't a waste.
"Yes. You can customize the style for different Chapter cultures. And then, only the company champion, the Chapter champion, gets to wear it, only the champion company gets to carry the banner. Plus, it's made by a ten-thousand-year-old veteran. You won't have to worry about promoting it. And after participating in an honor-battle, you get a special mark," Arthur added in detail. "Think about how we used to work ourselves to death for an achievement in games. There are very few things in an Astartes's life that they can cherish. Honor is one of them. By forming a systematic promotion model like this, their enthusiasm should also be mobilized."
"It's not a question of 'should.' You are a genius. I'm leaving now." Ramesses quickly opened a portal and jumped into the Warp to have his daemons start making the molds.
For artistic design, the Slaaneshi daemons were still okay. But he still had to do some research with the other Chapters. If they had their own, he would use theirs.
In orbit, the mid-level commanders of the various Chapters looked down at the planet, where the victory settlement had already begun, with a bit of sourness. The Chapter Master was down there, the company champions were down there. It was just them, because of the limited number of teleportation beacons, who hadn't been able to go down.
Mainly, there was no point in going down. The battle had been too fast, the serious fighting lasting only about an hour. The rest was just garbage time, chasing down stragglers.
The various Chapter or company champions had their say. This title of honor, I earned it by fighting. If you don't let me fight, what's the point?
And the various Chapter Masters also had their say. I have given so much for the Chapter, for so long. What's wrong with me fighting a little? I'm not the one in command. And as the Chapter Master, my authority is infinite. I leave the command of the ship to you.
There was no other way. They could only feel sorry for the various company captains.
Amidst the sighs of the captains, the white-helmed Astartes stood like statues, not knowing what to do.
The Apothecaries were also aggrieved.
Lord Romulus's command ability, combined with the one-sided nature of the battle, meant the casualty rate was too low. Except for a few unlucky bastards who had taken a high-explosive round to the face, no one had died. They had nothing to do after a battle.
"..."
Standing among the Invictarus Suzerains, Drakus, who had been fulfilling his duty as a guard, quietly breathed a sigh of relief at this battle-hungry atmosphere. It was a good thing Lord Romulus didn't like to go down and fight himself, and was also very rational. Otherwise, it would have been as nerve-wracking as when he had followed Lord Guilliman.
Oh, and Lord Arthur and the others were very good at fighting. They didn't need Lord Romulus to step in.
Drakus and his Invictarus Suzerains were experiencing the most leisurely guard duty of their lives. He was silently感慨ing when a communication from the planet's surface lit up.
"The revered Lord Romulus, I am Forsyth Leinster Gavin, of the House of Gavin, Principality of Leinster." On the other end of the comms, the Prince respectfully made the sign of the Aquila.
"Greetings, Prince of Leinster." Romulus nodded gently, then praised, "I have heard of your decisiveness and have witnessed your determination to resist. Without your contribution, this planet would surely have fallen into the clutches of Chaos."
"The victory in this war comes from your timely support, Lord Romulus," the Prince replied, overwhelmed.
"May I ask why you are seeking an audience with me?"
"It is like this, my Lord." The Prince quickly got to the point. "I wish to inquire about the length of the crusade fleet's stay, in order to present a glorious victory ceremony for you, my Lords."
"...What did you just say, Prince of Leinster?" Romulus asked in return.
"A victory ceremony." The Prince replied respectfully.
"Before that."
The Prince was slightly taken aback. After confirming that there was nothing wrong with his memory or his hearing, he said, "The victory in this war comes from your timely support, Lord Romulus."
"Yes. Timely support. You sent out a request for aid, and we responded in a timely manner." Romulus's expression was still calm and gentle. "There are countless beings like you among the stars, waiting for a timely response from us."
He replied seriously, "And I, Romulus, who bears the mission of the crusade fleet, and the crusade fleet under my command, we have received a request, and we will choose to respond."
The Prince looked at the commander of the joint fleet and couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise.
"...I understand, my Lord," he replied respectfully.
The prairie planet of Elks.
This planet had suffered a double blow from the Orks and Chaos. Their offensive was swift. Chaos was deploying its blasphemous weapons from portals at the planet's poles. The Orks had penetrated deep into the human core, as insidious as a nail in the throat. But millions of Astra Militarum were still holding their ground on this important resource planet, and they firmly believed that victory would ultimately be theirs.
Until, in the sky, hundreds of Stormbirds, braving the anti-aircraft fire of the Ork fortresses, plunged to the surface. Thousands of Astartes deployed on the flat plains and began a bloody and swift slaughter of the enemies of the Emperor.
"Commissar, look! It's the Emperor's Angels!"
On the front line of the battlefield, a captain was changing the power pack on his gun. Seeing the Astartes in the distance, he shouted with excitement, "The Imperium has received our request for aid! The Angel-lords are here to support us!"
"Is your pen still working?" the Commissar asked, looking at the absurd number of deployed troops and the war machines that were still raining down from the sky. He turned to the lieutenant at his side.
"Of course. I just mixed the ink before the battle, and it hasn't been damaged."
"Let me borrow it."
"Commissar?" The lieutenant looked at the Commissar, who had turned and walked away, completely bewildered. "What are we doing now?"
"Writing our wills."
(End of Chapter)