Chapter 252: Someone Must Transcend Instinct, to Do "Foolish" Things
This was a day to be remembered, a day that the entire Dawnlight Sector, the entire world of Dawnstar, would never forget.
Romulus, clad in gold and azure, tossed aside his documents. With a soaring heart, he strode forward, leading his companions down the long-prepared grand promenade. Drakus, who had been waiting for orders, saw this and quickly commanded the Invictarus Suzerain to follow. Behind the Primarchs, behind their guard, were the representatives of the various Chapters and mortal regiments.
As the star first peeked over the edge of Dawnstar's ring, its light slanting across the Imperial Starport, a million cheers erupted.
A controlled smile touched Romulus's lips. His gaze swept slowly over the resolute faces of the warriors, then out to the countless Imperial citizens craning their necks in the distance. These were the people who had endured great hardship, traveling from their bleak homeworlds just to catch a glimpse of a Primarch. He could see the tears shining in their eyes, hear their suppressed sobs.
For years, they had struggled to survive. At this time of year, they would most likely be on their way to earn their rations, shivering in a cold cabin with only a thin wall separating them from the void. Precious alcohol was only used to numb their nerves and warm their bodies. A single lick was the limit of their luxury. But it was different now.
They had waited for this moment for so long. Ten thousand years of waiting, the desperate struggle of countless generations. They had all been waiting for the arrival of hope.
And the Primarchs, in their eyes, were that hope.
The rising star stretched the Primarchs' shadows long, all the way to the feet of the cheering crowd. Magnificent war machines stood like ancient giants around the military plaza, or lined the colonnaded avenues leading to the starport. Nearly twenty thousand Space Marines were assembled here, their ranks grim and imposing. The neat formations of the mortal auxiliaries stretched to the horizon, clad in newly designed uniforms.
One unit was particularly unique. To a greater or lesser degree, its members were all fitted with mechanical prosthetics. Their ranks ranged from general to private. The Phalanx of the Maimed. This was a sign of a strong social system. Soldiers were respected, their status special, not just a profession. Wounds and sacrifices were a source of honor; you could see the pride of the soldiers. Their excellent physical and mental state, the prosthetics they wore, represented that the treatment of wounded veterans was being properly implemented. So to display them so openly... this wasn't just the military system. This represented that the entire Dawnlight Sector government possessed an extremely high degree of organization.
In an instant, compared to the awe and worship directed at the demigods and the Emperor's Angels, the formation of mortals drew a look of longing from the Imperial citizens who had come on pilgrimage.
In the crowd, a child born in the starport stood on tiptoe, his small hands gripping the metal mesh of the barrier.
Compared to an operation to build a trade route, this was more like a military parade. It was a military parade.
Mortal auxiliaries, the Battle-Sisters of the Sacred Rose and the Bloody Rose, a large number of Freeblade Knights who had come seeking glory, and nearly ten thousand Astartes under the command of the Dawnbreakers. Including several companies of Black Templars, Crimson Fists, and Executioners, they would all, under the leadership of the Dawnlight Fleet once more, set out for a new destination.
These three Son of Dorn Chapters were all Chapters that had received their resurrected Ancients. Their journey to Cadia was at the request of these old-timers. After the Dawn Crusade, the various Chapters had all returned to their homes, but the first Chapter Masters, including Pollux and Rann, had not chosen to resume command of their Chapters, but instead acted as something akin to Dreadnought Ancients within them.
And the current galaxy, in the cool-down period after the Tyrannic War, was full of small troubles but no major ones. The level of intensity was something the Astartes could easily handle. Their journey to Cadia was because these Chapters all had honour-monasteries there. The old-timers, resurrected by the "Stormcast" ritual, were bored out of their minds and planned to camp out there to see if there were any "old friends" whose feuds could be settled. After all, the old faces among the Iron Warriors they had met during the Dawn Crusade had made them very nostalgic.
In short, an Ancient had a whim, felt the Chapter was the same with or without them, and decided it was better to find a good place to fight. The various Chapters were thrown into chaos again, and in the end, about half the Chapter had come along. Of course, there was also a sense of responding to the Primarchs' call to action. After all, the concern the Primarchs showed for the various Chapters was very real.
After ten years, Romulus had finally boarded the Dawnlight again. Outside the viewport, the entire fleet was unfolding in a spectacular array. In these ten years, although the starport was still busy producing charter fleets to supply the various parts of the sector and fill the logistical gaps, with the efficient mobilization of resources and the support of Archmagos Cawl's creative accounting, the number of combat vessels had still changed.
Three Overlord-class battlecruisers and ten Dictator-class cruisers, forming several long-range anti-piracy fleets, had joined the ranks of the sector's combat forces. These fleets, due to the functions they shouldered, varied greatly in size and composition. Even so, even the smallest fleet had over a dozen beautiful warships and twice that number of logistical support ships. These warships would, in the future, assist the sector government in deploying technical personnel and forge-ships to the various node-worlds, and ensure their safety.
Romulus knew very well that to endlessly expand the size of a single fleet was impractical and a waste of resources. To gather such a large military force to traverse the unpredictable warp, only to strike a new star system with absurd overkill... what was the point? Even if the assembled Imperial army did not only fight in this way, at the same time as they were completely crushing one enemy, they would undoubtedly be unable to respond to other threats. Such a clumsy and foolish risk could not be taken. So Romulus had the fleet further divided into several battle groups. They would be stationed at the three planned node-worlds as they progressed along their route.
At this very moment, there were still several splinter fleets, supported by Astartes units, patrolling the sector with the Imperial Navy, guarding the safety of the various trade routes.
"It's beautiful," Karna said, not looking at the magnificent fleets, but down at the exuberant people. Having spent a long time walking among the crowds, he had to admit that such a sight was what most stirred his fighting spirit. A thousand planets had changed with their arrival. Countless worlds had been revitalized.
"This path has only just begun. We must ensure that our banner will always fly over Dawnstar. Some things must be done," Romulus said, not yet satisfied, looking at the stars. Just a thousand systems, not even one ten-thousandth of the galaxy. He seemed to see Colonel Kovek of Cadia, the Chaplain of the Black Templars, and many, many others who had died, watching from beyond.
People die. And the dead can allow more people to live, and to live better. Perhaps that is the meaning of war.
Romulus looked down from the window. He saw that countless citizens were still not satisfied. Countless people were choosing a new path for themselves, heading for areas they had never set foot in before. Those places had been opened for them. They did not need to worry about food, clothing, or shelter. So they were looking for a way to better interpret the value of their own lives.
He glanced at the rapidly passing earth below, at the shipyard that was being built around the fragments of the shattered moon. His eyes gradually grew heavy. It had been twenty years. He was finally setting out again. He had come with nothing, with only three familiar companions by his side. He was leaving a hero, with countless people following behind him. From the moment he had left that safe house, from the end of the Dawn Crusade, there had been no day without war.
From at first just trying to lead the stranded Sacred Rose and Cadians to find a place to rest, and then to use the identity of a Space Marine to establish a homeworld and develop, he had, without realizing it, gone from "Elder" to "Primarch," and now ruled a sector, every decision determining the deaths of hundreds of millions. Countless people worshipped him, countless people wanted to kill him.
Everything faded away with the "humming" of the engines starting up. The Dawnlight would not stop. The Dawnlight never cared for past glories. Just like this ever-expanding land, there were too many places that needed him to explore and to govern.
"My companions, are you still willing to walk this path with me to the end?" Romulus held out his hand.
"If our blood can paint a new era, I will walk on," Karna said, his golden-red gauntlet pressing down firmly on the back of Romulus's hand.
"It seems the meaning of your battle has been elevated," Arthur said, lightly touching the hilt of his sword, his lake-green eyes reflecting the last rays of light on the edge of the star-river. He then reached out his hand.
"Not as much as you," Karna said, looking sideways at Arthur.
Anyone, when faced with a blow that transcends reality, will feel pain, fear, or show a flaw, fall into confusion, or adjust their emotions with an optimistic attitude. But Arthur would not. His straight back seemed to pierce the deepening night, never blending in with anything, but instead, forcefully changing his surroundings.
Arthur didn't think he was so great. He just wanted to do some things, so he did them. And since he did them, he had to do his best. Just like in the past. The images of his memory flashed in his mind, making his eyes grow deep. He didn't need any meaning for his battle. He just hoped that he was still living in the past. In a way, he was more willful than the others.
Seeing his companions playing at their "childish" departure declarations, Ramesses, who had been silent all this time, quietly placed his hand on top. Laziness is an instinct. If it were him, he would prefer to find a comfortable area and stay there, instead of worrying about things that would only bring trouble.
But this world still needs idealists. Someone must transcend instinct, to do "foolish" things.
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