As for the tactical operations, the brothers had already reached a consensus. They would proceed with the plan formulated by Solas, engaging the Rangdan in a direct frontal confrontation.
The blood brothers did not fear the Rangdan Overlords. To the proud Primarchs, the betrayal of a brother was a far more pressing concern.
The underlying implication was clear: even if they followed the original plan, how could one person hold back so many brothers?
Blazkowicz had no other objections to the operational plan. Although Solas had betrayed the Imperium of Man, his brothers, and the Legion, his tactical deployment was indeed excellent, highlighting the Legion's strengths.
Was there a flaw in the plan?
A man who wanted both sides of the war to perish together had left behind intelligence on the Rangdan before departing. Solas wasn't so foolish as to commit a blunder that his Primarch brothers could easily see through. Proposing a flawed scheme while trying to deceive multiple Primarchs? That was pure fantasy.
Regardless of how ingenious or flawed a tactical plan might be, war ultimately depends on the army's performance in the field. Compared to the Rangdan, the Imperium's mid-to-low-level coordination struggled to match mental control, but the upper echelons were anchored by the Primarchs, with the Emperor standing as an undeniable pinnacle at the top.
Multiple Primarchs, united by the bonds of blood and wielding their transhuman abilities, were enough to level the playing field against superior numbers.
After reading the recent battle reports, Blazkowicz nodded heavily. The battlefield arrangements were in their final stages; the tactics were sound, and it was too late to change them anyway. A sudden, large-scale alteration now would leave them unprepared for the Rangdan encounter, leading to even more severe consequences. After calculating the risks, he agreed that the Imperial side's current position was solid.
Before Sanguinius could pick up the projector, a black stone pillar rose from the smooth floor, sparing the brother from having to stoop. Blazkowicz glanced at Russ beside him, then scanned his other brothers, understanding their thoughts.
The First Legion was responsible for deep strikes behind enemy lines for the extermination plan; the Space Wolves and Blood Angels would launch flanking attacks to harass the Rangdan host. As the primary assault forces, these three Legions would have almost no support nearby and desperately needed more effective military power to ensure their survival.
They had their eyes on the Blackstone Fortress!
A gentle smile appeared on Blazkowicz's face. He pushed aside Russ's arm and nudged the giant wolf at his feet away. Having brought the Blackstone Fortress, Doom never intended to keep it for himself. The purpose of a weapon of war is to serve as a deciding chip in the balance of victory. It should not be locked away simply because it is precious; true respect for the Blackstone Fortress lay in putting it to its full use.
"Do you have any thoughts?" Having made up his mind, Blazkowicz was in no hurry. Instead, he asked the Emperor for his plan.
The Master of Mankind had founded the Imperium and possessed supreme authority. As the question was asked, a black table rose between them, followed by chairs, as the group continued discussing the next steps.
"I have no objections to the tactical arrangements." The Emperor took his seat. A Custodian stepped to his side, first affirming the tactical plan before speaking on his master's behalf: "Before you arrived, we were discussing the Rangdan intelligence."
"The Rangdan intelligence is secondary now. I am more concerned with Moribas Solas. That he dared to collude with Xenos in an attempt to subvert the Imperium... I should have utterly annihilated him upon my return!"
The Custodian's tone was calm, but the Emperor's golden light atop the table was dazzling. Golden lightning crackled across the claws of the Master of Mankind's left arm, the power field tearing through the air with a sizzling hiss. Clearly, the Emperor was furious at the mention of Solas; a rebellious son siding with aliens had crossed an intolerable line.
The Primarchs sat upright. Even the usually boisterous Russ dared not act out, resting his hands on the table and bowing his head, unable to look directly at his father's wrath.
"Then, do you intend to kill him?" Blazkowicz did not shrink from the anger. He chose to face the Emperor directly, asking the question no one else wanted to touch.
This question had been hanging in the throats of the Primarchs, unasked only because no one wanted to be the "villain." Solas had betrayed them, but he was still a Primarch—one of twenty-one brothers. In the vast universe and their near-immortal lives, only their brothers could accompany them to the end.
To kill a brother? The others were prepared for it in their hearts, but they dared not dwell on it or speak it aloud.
Sure enough, the four Primarchs shuddered. Even the usually resolute Lion bit his lip, his heartbeat momentarily faltering. The Emperor did not answer. A deathly silence filled the magnificent hall, pressing down until everyone found it hard to breathe. The silence was an answer in itself.
The Master of Mankind used silence to confirm the fact: he wanted Moribas Solas dead!
Seated on their black stone chairs, the Primarchs tensed to hide their unease. Their breathing grew heavy, and some felt a twinge of regret. Why hadn't they claimed they were too busy to answer the Emperor's summons?
The decision to kill a blood brother had been made; now, an executioner was needed. No one wanted to be a kinslayer.
The golden radiance of the Emperor sensed his sons' trepidation. Having lived through eons, reading emotions was simple for him. He looked at Blazkowicz, his most powerful son, but immediately dismissed the idea.
The enemy of the Doom Astarte Legion was the Four Gods and their demons; they shouldn't be marginalized or doubted by other Legions due to the crime of kinslaying, which would diminish the Legion's authority.
Moving past Blazkowicz, his gaze shifted to Sanguinius. The gaze lingered only briefly—the Great Angel was a radiant icon of noble character who would become a symbol of the Imperium; he should not be stained by such filth.
Then, the Lion. When the Emperor's gaze landed on him, the Lion squared his chest firmly, willing to take on all responsibility, regardless of the judgment of others. The Lion might hesitate, but he would never retreat! Once a goal was set, he would discard all doubt and use every means to achieve it.
The Emperor's gaze did not linger long on his eldest, for the Lion already had a more important, specialized task in mind.
As for Ferrus, he looked up to meet the Emperor's eyes, his expression unshakable. If his father gave the order, the Iron Hands would not hesitate for a second to carry out the mission—even if it meant killing a brother!
Beneath the golden light, the Emperor nodded in approval. Ferrus was indeed a good candidate—firm and loyal.
"I'll do it!"
Just as the Emperor was about to speak the command, a low, growling voice spoke up, volunteering for the sin.
"Please, Father, allow me," Russ said, his face contorted, teeth grinding with a chilling glint from his fangs. "Allow me to take revenge on the brother who deceived me."
"Blazkowicz and I received Moribas Solas with generosity, yet he used the bond of brotherhood as a cover to spy on the Legion. He must pay for that deception with his blood!"
Everyone looked at Russ. His ferocious expression suggested a blood feud, as if he were truly consumed by rage. In reality, everyone understood that Russ was simply finding a plausible excuse to take on the kinslayer's mantle and bear the guilt.
By speaking up, the Great Wolf solved the Emperor's dilemma, but he also stepped onto a lonely path. It wasn't hard to guess the future of the Space Wolves after the death of Solas.
The Lion gave his brother a deep look. His "savage" label for Russ faded slightly; a man who steps up to shoulder such a burden, regardless of personality, deserves respect for his actions.
"Then it shall be your responsibility."
At the head of the black stone table, the Emperor himself spoke, his voice holy and grand, carrying a rare hint of gratification.
Russ shook his head dismissively, his anger fading into his usual rugged demeanor. He instinctively moved to rest his leg on the stone table, then remembered the Emperor's presence and put it back down.
"In that case, we must act quickly."
Blazkowicz withdrew his gaze from Russ. He didn't stop his brother, nor did he try to snatch the task away. The galaxy was too large, and every Primarch held different duties; he couldn't carry everything. That the Emperor didn't refuse Russ showed that the Master of Mankind considered his sixth son a suitable choice.
Without dwelling further, Blazkowicz swept his hand across the table. Light and shadow particles gathered into an image—technology far surpassing current human standards. The display hovered over the center of the long table, showing the various data points of the Blackstone Fortress: the Ultra-Heavy Vortex Cannon, primitive repair protocols, ancient psychic shields, and offensive psychic rituals.
As the various functions were revealed, even the Primarchs found their breathing quickening.
"The Blackstone Fortress is an ancient creation, extraordinarily powerful, but I can only lend it to you."
Blazkowicz shook his head with feigned regret, stating his "difficulty" after showcasing its power. The fortress belonged to him, of course; he was simply making an excuse so he could justify reclaiming it at a specific time.
The events involving the Second Legion proved that the loyalty of a Primarch was not unshakable, and the threat of betrayal did not vanish with shared blood. Solas's betrayal had also quelled Blazkowicz's intention to gift the fortress away. These heavy weapons of mass destruction were best kept under his own control, except during large-scale wars.
"Russ should have a Blackstone Fortress."
The one speaking was the Custodian, conveying the Emperor's will: a Blackstone Fortress would serve as Russ's reward.