In the Warp, a dimension where the laws of reality failed and bizarre phenomena were rampant, a fleet of several large smuggling ships was facing utter annihilation. They had unfortunately stumbled into a "hunting ground" marked by the Black Legion. Chaos battleships, painted in a dark black base and adorned with blasphemous runes and brass spikes, bit down on the convoy like sharks scenting blood.
One of the largest smuggling ships, the "Far Star Wanderer," had already been boarded. The interior of the hull echoed with the roar of bolters, the hiss of energy weapons, and the desperate screams of dying mortal crewmen. The air was thick with the heavy scent of blood, ozone, and the unique, sulfurous and putrid stench of the Chaos Astartes.
Black Legion Warriors, clad in dark power armour covered in spikes and twisted symbols, were meticulously searching every possible hiding place within the ship's compartments, dragging trembling mortal crewmen from behind cargo containers and out of ventilation shafts. These unfortunate souls would be offered as sacrifices to the hungry Dark Gods, in exchange for more power and favor.
In a relatively spacious corridor connecting several main cargo holds, two Black Legion Warriors noticed an anomaly ahead. One was a Brute clad in heavy, spiked black terminator armour; the other was a Chaos Space Marine in standard power armour. They had just cleared a storage room and were preparing to move to the next area.
Just then, their gaze was drawn to a silently standing figure at the end of the corridor, near a large viewport.
It was a girl.
She appeared to be of human child age, with long, dazzling golden hair flowing over her shoulders. She wore a pure white, seemingly soft dress, and stood barefoot on the cold metal deck. Her face was as delicate as a doll's, and a pair of sapphire blue eyes unblinkingly and curiously surveyed the ship, which was filled with death and despair, as if everything before her was incredibly novel. Her pure and flawless beauty formed an extremely strong, almost eerie contrast with the bloody, defiled environment around her.
"Hmm?" the warrior in power armour uttered, his head, covered by a twisted faceplate, tilting. "Am I hallucinating? Staying in the Warp for too long, one always sees strange things." His tone carried a numbness that hovered on the edge of madness.
"Hmph," his companion, the Terminator Warrior, let out a dull, mocking snort, his Power Fist rubbing together with a grating sound. "You've been in the Warp for so long, and you're still not used to these messy illusions? Yesterday I 'saw' a phantom of Warmaster Horus asking me who was more handsome, him or the False Emperor on the Golden Throne… Go check it out. If it's some clueless psyker playing tricks, just crush her."
The two strode with heavy steps towards the golden-haired girl. The sound of metal boots striking the deck echoed in the empty corridor.
Hearing the footsteps, the girl turned her head, her clear, seemingly unblemished eyes curiously looking at the two towering black giants, who resembled moving fortresses and exuded malice and bloodlust. There was no fear on her face, only pure curiosity, as if she were observing two peculiar creatures she had never seen before.
The warrior in power armour walked up to her, looking down at the little figure who didn't even reach his waist. His voice, distorted by a vocalizer, spoke, attempting to project cruel mockery: "Child, to appear here, one can only say you are too unfortunate. But don't worry, your soul will…"
His words abruptly stopped.
Not because he didn't want to continue, but because—his head, along with the helmet covered in twisted symbols, was instantly and completely separated from his body below the neck by an utterly incomprehensible and unreactable force, flying backward as if struck by an invisible high-velocity projectile!
"Clang—crunch!"
The flying head precisely smashed through the thick reinforced glass viewport nearby, and amidst the scattering glass shards, was instantly swallowed by the bizarre, surging energy currents of the Warp outside, disappearing without a trace. The headless body stood rigid for half a second, then collapsed with a thunderous crash like a falling mountain, black blood gushing like a fountain from the severed neck.
All of this happened too quickly, too suddenly! The Terminator Warrior hadn't even fully comprehended what had just occurred. He had just realized his companion was under attack and instinctively tried to raise his Storm bolter and sound an alarm—
However, a dark, almost shadow-blended, fatal cold light, like a long-lurking viper, suddenly thrust out from his blind spot!
It was a grotesquely shaped power halberd, shimmering with a ghostly blue disintegration field! The halberd tip pierced his power armour from the back with pinpoint accuracy, penetrating ceramite, flesh, and bone, emerging from his chest with chilling efficiency! The disintegration field instantly churned his internal organs into a bloody mess!
The Terminator Warrior's massive body convulsed violently. He wanted to roar, to retaliate, but all strength dissipated with the excruciating pain that pierced his body and the rapid loss of life force.
Immediately after, a hand covered in dark plates, with long, powerful fingers, holding a bolter pistol fitted with an efficient silencer, silently pressed against his heavily helmeted temple like a phantom.
No warning, no judgment, not even a flicker of emotion.
"Puff!"
An extremely faint thud, like a heavy object falling into cotton. The bolter round exploded inside the sealed helmet, turning everything within into a paste of bone fragments and metal shards. The Terminator Warrior's heavy body swayed, then finally lost all support, crashing heavily onto the deck like a felled tree, emitting a dull thud.
Only then did the attacker's figure slowly emerge, as if peeling away from the shadows.
The leader was Sevatarion, Chapter Master of the First Company of the Eighth Legion. He wore the Night Lords' distinctive dark power armour, adorned with pale skulls and bat-wing motifs. Beneath his helmet, with its unique winged decorations, his gaze was as cold as ancient ice. The power halberd, "Night's Spear," which had just completed its deadly assassination, its ghostly blue field slowly dimming, was in his hand.
Behind him, two other Night Lords Warriors, like his shadows, silently emerged from the shadows on either side of the corridor, their weapons still emitting faint wisps of smoke.
Sevatarion didn't even glance at the two bodies on the ground. His gaze fell upon the golden-haired girl who still stood there, seemingly oblivious to the bloody scene that had just transpired. His voice came through his helmet, carrying a hint of imperceptible weariness and warning:
"Too dangerous, Otani. You shouldn't be so close to these wretches."
Otani seemed to only then notice the bodies on the ground and the splattered blood. Instead of being afraid, she blinked her large eyes, then took small steps to the side of the headless Terminator Warrior's corpse, and with some effort, picked up the blood-stained chainaxe, which was several times larger than her entire body.
Holding the heavy axe, she turned around and, facing Sevatarion, tried to make what she thought was a "fierce" snarling expression. Paired with her delicate, flawless face and pure white dress, it looked both strange and… had a peculiar cuteness.
After making this expression, she seemed to lose interest in the place. Carrying her oversized trophy, she ran barefoot, skipping and hopping, towards the other end of the corridor, quickly disappearing into the shadows, as if she were just an unreal phantom on this death-laden ship.
Sevatarion watched her leave, shaking his head slightly. Then, he raised his hand and issued a concise command over the tactical link.
"Purge initiated."
At his command, the Night Lords First Company's Third Company Warriors, who had already infiltrated various parts of the smuggling ship, swarmed out like true night bats from every shadowy corner and every ventilation shaft! They were silent, efficient, and deadly, utilizing their absolute mastery of dark environments and precise infiltration skills to ruthlessly hunt down the Black Legion members on board.
bolter fire picked off targets with precision from the darkness, silent blades slit throats, and power weapons erupted with deadly hums at close range. The Black Legion Warriors were often taken down by attacks from behind before they even figured out where their enemies were. Panic spread like a plague among the invaders; they had been the hunters, but now they were the hunted, pursued by more professional and ruthless predators.
Meanwhile, on another, larger smuggling ship, which served as the Black Legion's temporary command vessel for this operation, the battle unfolded in a different, more direct and brutal manner.
Zso Sahaal, leader of the Black Guard, personally led his most elite Black Guard, descending like death itself, directly confronting the commanders of this Black Legion faction—a burly Chaos Lord adorned with even more skulls and spikes.
The battle erupted near the bridge. Sahaal's Lightning Claw tore through the air, trailing ghostly blue arcs, clashing fiercely with the Chaos Lord's blood-drinking power sword! Sparks flew, and the clang of metal was deafening. Surrounding Black Legion Warriors attempted to aid their lord but were fiercely held back by the other Black Guard with precise firepower and ferocious close combat.
Sahar's fighting style was sharp and efficient, without a single wasted movement. He seized a tiny opening in his opponent's defense, and his Lightning Claw shot out like a venomous snake, instantly tearing through the connection of the enemy's shoulder guard. Then, following through, he ripped off nearly half of the Chaos Lord's chest along with one arm!
In the instant his opponent's movements were sluggish due to intense pain and severe injury, Sahar's other arm, equipped with a Power Fist, delivered the fatal blow!
As the headless body of the Chaos Lord fell heavily to the ground, the outcome of this boarding action was already decided. The leaderless remnants of the Black Legion were quickly and thoroughly purged by the disciplined and well-coordinated Night Lords.
After the battle, the Night Lords began systematically collecting their spoils. The supplies, weapons, and energy from these smuggler ships were undoubtedly important additions for the Eighth Legion, which currently relied almost entirely on "self-sufficiency" for its logistical support. Like the most professional scavengers, they moved everything of value to their own warships, leaving behind a ship full of corpses and silence as proof of their presence.
Travel in the Warp is always accompanied by danger and opportunity. This time, the Night Lords became the hunters, not the hunted.
The bridge of the nightfall was enveloped in a nearly sacred silence, broken only by the low hum of the cogitator arrays and the subtle thrum of energy flow. Konrad Curze stood silently before the main observation screen, his pale, angular face illuminated by the screen's eerie glow, adding to his profound and mysterious aura.
The communication screen showed Lion El'Jonson's face, as resolute as the rocks of Caliban, but now clearly tinged with a hint of helplessness and annoyance. However, this displeasure was not directed at Koz, but rather stemmed from a silver-haired little head peeking out from the edge of the screen, full of innocent curiosity—Koreni.
"He's golden! And fluffy! Like a big golden cat!" Koreni pointed at Lion on the screen, speaking to Koz beside her in the crisp, pleasant, yet fatally innocent tone of an Eldar. Her purple eyes, similar to her sister Kolesa's, were filled with pure curiosity about the "big golden cat," completely disregarding the increasingly stiff expression on the "big cat's" face.
Lion's mouth twitched visibly, and his power armour-clad fingers unconsciously tightened, as if he was trying his best to restrain something. He took a deep breath, his voice coming through the communicator with a painstakingly maintained, almost rigid patience:
"Child," he tried to make his voice sound gentle, but still couldn't hide the majesty of a lion, "I am a lion. A majestic lion. Not... a cat." He deliberately emphasized the words "lion," as if to correct this embarrassing perception through emphasis.
However, Koreni, who grew up on an Eldar Craftworld and lacked concepts of Imperium of Man culture or even the biodiversity of Terra, obviously couldn't understand the essential difference between a "lion" and a "big cat." She tilted her head, blinked her big eyes, and stubbornly insisted on her view: "But... he really looks like a big cat, golden and very pretty!"
Lion: "..."
He felt a vein throbbing in his temple. The Lord of the First Legion, who remained unperturbed in the face of Chaos armies, traitor Primarchs, and various terrifying entities across the galaxy, was now somewhat at a loss when faced with an eighty-year-old Eldar child on the issue of "species classification."
Koz's almost perpetually frozen lips tugged upwards almost imperceptibly, forming an extremely subtle arc. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Koreni's head, ruffling her silver hair with a rare touch of gentleness.
"Koreni, go play somewhere else for now. Find Sahar or the other Warriors and see if they have any new 'toys'." His voice was low, but it effectively diverted the little girl's attention.
"Okay!" Koreni nodded obediently, then looked curiously at the "big golden cat" on the screen again before skipping off, her bare feet making soft pattering sounds on the cold deck.
After she left, Koz's gaze returned to Lion on the screen, the imperceptible hint of a smile quickly vanishing, replaced by his usual coldness and profundity.
"Lion," he cut straight to the chase, "Is there another 'directive' from Terra?" He imbued the word "directive" with a barely noticeable sneer.
Lion seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, having escaped the "big cat" debate. His expression became serious and solemn again. He shook his head: "No, there's no new news from Terra for now. Those fools... are still digesting the 'impact' of your return."
He paused, his tone containing a hint of understanding for his brother's predicament, and even a touch of... sympathy? "I just wanted to tell you that Robert is practically fuming trying to argue your case and the Eighth Legion's situation with those idiots on the High Lords of Terra council. I saw him stomp his feet several times in frustration after walking out of the meeting last time, that expression... tsk tsk."
Imagining the Lord of Ultramar, known for his rationality, political acumen, and elegance, losing his composure and stomping his feet due to a group of bureaucrats, Koz was silent for a moment, then calmly remarked:
"Robert stomping his feet? That must be a... very beautiful sight." His tone was flat, but the implication in his words made Lion on the other end of the communication pause slightly, then shake his head with a hint of helplessness. That was indeed something Konrad would say.
After a brief, slightly dark humorous interlude, Lion's expression became serious again, his sharp gaze seemingly piercing through the screen: "Are you currently in the Warp?"
Koz did not deny it: "Yes."
"The Warp fluctuations are reaching my castle," Lion said, with a hint of inquiry in his voice.
"We're cleaning up some Black Legion scum here," Koz replied casually, as if it were a trivial matter, "They've been entrenched here, raiding merchant convoys. They've 'contributed' greatly to our current supplies and weaponry." He paused, his tone laced with a self-evident sarcasm, "I can't exactly expect Robert to willingly part with some resources from his Five Hundred Worlds to help us out, can I?"
Lion grunted, acknowledging the point. He understood Guilliman's situation and Koz's choices. Until the Imperium of Man officially recognized the Eighth Legion's status, they could only rely on themselves.
Then, Lion's topic shifted to more serious matters, his voice deepening: "Konrad, I've received some fragmented but alarming intelligence from Imperial frontier outposts. Abaddon... the Warmaster, shows signs of gathering his forces again to launch the Fourteenth Black Crusade."
The light in Koz's crimson eyes flickered slightly, but he did not interrupt.
"This time, we cannot let him tear through the Imperial defenses as easily as before," Lion continued, his tone resolute, "I need you, and your Night Lords, to conduct preemptive deployments. If the signs of the Black Crusade become clear, if Abaddon's armies begin to surge into real space..."
His gaze fixed on Koz: "I need you to stop them first! Utilize your operational advantage in the Warp and the fringe territories to delay their advance, harass their supply lines, and exhaust their strength as much as possible! Buy valuable time for the assembly and deployment of other Imperial defensive forces!"
This was a heavy and dangerous task. It meant the Eighth Legion would directly confront the vanguard of the Black Crusade, enduring the most ferocious initial impact of the Chaos main force. This was tantamount to using themselves as a shield to buy the rear a moment to breathe.
Koz listened quietly, his face devoid of any change in expression. It was as if Lion was not entrusting him with a mission that could once again severely cripple the recently reunited Legion, but merely an ordinary patrol.
After a few seconds of silence, he slowly nodded.
"Understood." He only spoke two words, his voice flat, yet carrying an undeniable weight.
No bargaining, no complaints about difficulties, just a simple acceptance of the most dangerous position.
Lion looked at the pale and calm face on the screen, his heart complex. He knew this was Konrad Curze's way of expressing his return and atonement—proving it through the most direct, most dangerous actions.
"Stay in contact, Konrad," Lion said finally, "May... the Emperor protect you."
Koz did not respond, only raised his hand and abruptly cut the communication.
The screen darkened, once again reflecting Koz's solitary and upright figure. He turned, gazing out at the eternally shifting, bizarre and colorful Warp vista outside the bridge, and in the depths of his crimson eyes, a cold flame seemed to burn.
Black Crusade... Abaddon... A new storm was brewing, and the returned Night Lords would no longer be disorganized stragglers. They would, in their own way, guard this human territory they had sworn to redeem, even if a flood of destruction lay ahead.
Meanwhile, amidst the bizarre and turbulent currents of the Warp, the vast Ultramarines Fleet, like steadfast blue reefs, cut through countless twisted illusions and whispers, steadily navigating towards its predetermined destination.
On the command throne of the Macragge's Honour, Calgar was reviewing the preliminary report on the target planet, sent back by the reconnaissance forces.
The datapad clearly displayed:
Planet Name: Valenda
Type: Agricultural World (Primary produce: grains and various edible fungi)
Status: Heavily garrisoned by Planetary Defense Forces.
Recent reports indicate widespread, suspected Slaanesh corruption across the globe, manifesting as, but not limited to: abnormal behavior, distorted senses, the emergence of bizarre art creations, and biological tissue mutations...
"An agricultural world... Slaanesh corruption..." Calgar repeated the keywords in a low voice, his brows furrowed.
Slaanesh's insidious influence often began with the senses and desires.
Its outbreak on a relatively peaceful agricultural world raised concerns about the underlying causes and the current severity of the situation.
Just then, an Honor Guard Warrior, clad in master-crafted power armour, strode steadily into the bridge and approached the throne, saluting with a fist to his chest.
"Chapter Master, an urgent message has been received from the Rock Fortress, forwarded via encrypted astropathic channel.
Sender: His Highness, Lion El'Jonson."
Calgar immediately looked up, his expression solemn: "Speak."
"His Highness Lion El'Jonson warns that, based on a comprehensive analysis of intelligence from outlying outposts, there is a high probability that Abaddon, the master of the Black Legion, is once again gathering his forces to launch the Fourteenth Black Crusade.
His Highness requests that Ultramar remain vigilant and pay close attention to the movements of Chaos forces, especially any unusual massing of the Black Legion."
The Fourteenth Black Crusade...
This news weighed heavily on Calgar's heart like a leaden block.
Abaddon had never given up his ambition to destroy the Imperium, and every Black Crusade brought endless suffering to the worlds of mankind.
Though the Cadian Gate was destroyed, the Warmaster's threat never receded.
"I understand," Calgar responded in a deep voice, committing this warning to memory.
As a vital pillar of the Imperium, Ultramar would undoubtedly be one of Chaos's primary targets.
After reporting the official business, the Honor Guard Warrior paused slightly, his tone softening as he added: "Also, Chapter Master, the Librarian has just submitted Tech-Aspirant Elara's first comprehensive soul scan report.
The results show... no abnormalities whatsoever.
Her soul is pure, unaffected by any Chaos corruption or lingering influences."
Upon hearing this news, the perpetually tense expression on Calgar's face finally relaxed, showing a genuine sense of relief.
He leaned back against the throne, letting out a long, silent sigh, and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with two thick fingers.
"What a blessing..." he murmured, a hint of barely perceptible lingering fear and relief in his voice, "The Emperor protects."
The mischievous little one was safe; this was perhaps the best news he had heard in days.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the battleship, in the corridor near the First Company's main living quarters, a "relocation" was underway.
Elara's new chamber i-10-a had been strictly assigned next to Captain Cassius's, as per the Chapter Master's orders.
Several combat servitors were silently and efficiently moving Elara's mountain of "treasure" parts, oddly shaped tools, and her characteristic makeshift bed— cobbled together from various cushioning materials and discarded parts—from her old room to the new chamber i-10-a.
Elara herself, holding Luna's small hand, stood at the entrance of the new room, watching the servitors work.
Her usually vibrant and curious little face was now pale and listless, her pink short hair drooping dispiritedly.
Her large green eyes still showed the redness from crying, and her gaze held clear signs of lingering fear and unease, having temporarily lost her usual fearless sparkle.
Her small hand clutched Luna's fingers tightly, as if they were her only anchor.
Luna had temporarily set aside all her repair and technical tasks, staying by her side constantly.
She could feel the coldness and slight trembling in Elara's palm.
"Lady Luna..." Elara looked up, her voice timid and thick with a nasal tone, "Is Chapter Master very angry?
I... I'm so scared...
Will I not be able to stay on the Macragge's Honour anymore?
Will Chapter Master send me away...?"
What she feared most was not the big red creature, but losing this place she considered home, losing these tolerant blue giants.
Luna knelt down, bringing her gaze level with Elara's.
She reached out and gently wiped away the fresh tears welling in Elara's eyes, her movements unusually tender.
Her voice, through her helmet, was also deliberately softer:
"No, Elara," Luna said with certainty, looking at her with steady eyes, "Chapter Master is not angry with you.
He was very happy to learn that you are safe and sound.
He said himself that once you recover, you can still live on the battleship as before, doing your favorite research and inventions."
She paused, then continued to guide patiently: "However, Chapter Master also hopes that you will remember this lesson.
From now on, please don't casually bring unfamiliar or unknown things, especially those that look... like they're not good things, like that red helmet, back to your room, okay?
We need to learn to distinguish danger."
Listening to Luna's words, the fear on Elara's small face gradually dissipated, replaced by serious thought.
She nodded vigorously, her voice still tearful: "Mhm! I remember!
I won't pick up random things again!
That helmet... was too scary..."
This incident had indeed left a deep psychological shadow on the fearless little one, making her truly understand the meaning of "danger" for the first time.
Meanwhile, on the Ultramarines Fleet's target—the agricultural world of Valenda.
Night shrouded a continuous field of fungal crops; giant, oddly shaped fungi presented bizarre silhouettes under the faint starlight, and the air was filled with a damp, sickly sweet, decaying scent.
A squad of Planetary Defense Forces soldiers was on night patrol, their footsteps echoing particularly clearly in the silent fields.
Suddenly, a soldier at the end of the line stopped with stiff movements.
His body began to twitch uncontrollably, and strange sounds, like sobs or snickers, emanated from his throat, devoid of meaning.
"Hey, Joel, what's wrong?" His companion, walking ahead, noticed the anomaly, stopped, and turned back to ask in confusion.
However, it was already too late.
Under his companion's horrified gaze, the soldier named Joel began to undergo a terrifying transformation!
His bones emitted a bone-chilling "crack," and his muscles inflated and twisted wildly as if being pumped up, instantly tearing his once-fitting uniform!
His skin turned paper-white, bloodless, and began to show countless outlines of twisted, pained, ecstatic, and malevolent faces, which seemed to writhe and shriek on his body as if alive!
In just a few seconds, his physique surpassed mortal limits, becoming as tall and robust as an Astartes Brother, but his form was even more grotesque and blasphemous!
Finally, the mutation ceased.
A terrifying entity, replacing the original soldier, stood under the moonlight.
He was clad in power armour as pale as cadaverous skin, the armor's form ornate and twisted, covered in winding thorny reliefs and indescribable symbols of pleasure.
Most chillingly, his entire body, both armor and exposed pale skin, was densely covered with countless twisted, horrifying human faces, seemingly condensed from extreme pain and ecstasy; these faces continued to subtly writhe, emitting silent screams or moans.
His own face was equally pale and distorted, his features arranged in an inhuman manner, bearing an eternal hunger for sensory stimulation and a cruel delight.
He was Slaanesh's chosen, feeding on the suffering of others, seeking pleasure in eternal torment—the Undying, Lucius.
Lucius's twisted lips slowly parted into a horrifying smile that could shatter a mortal's sanity.
He savored the extreme fear and disbelief on the soldiers' faces, which to him, was an excellent appetizer.
"How... sweet the fear..." A voice, a mix of countless echoes, both hoarse and eerily magnetic, emanated from within him.
The next second, he moved!
So fast that only a pale afterimage remained in his place!
A flash of a sword!
Like a viper striking, or an artist's most casual yet fatal stroke.
The Planetary Defense Forces soldiers, who hadn't even had time to raise their weapons or even scream, instantly froze in place.
Their pupils dilated, the light of life rapidly fading, and a thin line of blood slowly appeared on their necks, followed by their heads rolling off, blood gushing like fountains, staining the sweet-smelling fungi around them a dark red.
Lucius stood amidst the headless corpses, extending his forked, snake-like tongue to lick the warm blood from his blade, his pale, twisted face revealing an expression of utter rapture and satisfaction.
"The revelry... has begun..." he whispered, his figure melting back into the darkness, like a pale nightmare, slinking towards the dimly lit settlement in the distance.
Valenda's nightmare had already descended.
In the relatively peaceful environment of chamber i-10-a, Kolesa finally succumbed to days of mental and physical exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep.
The sensory assault of Warp travel, the fear of Slaanesh's whispers, and the old wounds deep within her soul, like countless unseen hands, dragged her into the abyss of memory.
The dream, like a shattered kaleidoscope, began to spin...
She was no longer the psyker clad in Autarch robes, wielding psychic power.
She reverted to her younger self, a dancer full of aspirations for the future, gracefully stretching her lithe body beneath the crystal-forest-like domes of the Ark World of Aethel's Tear.
Starlight, filtering through the wraithbone structure, bathed her in a silver glow.
Then, he appeared. Kai. The Aeldari warrior with a sunny smile and resolute eyes.
He would sit quietly by her side, watching her practice one difficult dance move after another, his eyes full of admiration and tenderness.
After training, he would accompany her on walks under the starry sky, listening to her talk about her understanding of dance and her dreams for the future.
And she, in turn, would silently accompany him during his warrior training, gracefully handing him weapons or gently wiping the sweat from his brow with dance-like movements.
Two young hearts gradually drew closer in the long and peaceful years of the Craftworld.
When she finally made up her mind, for the fate of her people, to abandon the path of a dancer, which had already brought her considerable success and acclaim, and instead embark on the more arduous path of a Farseer, fraught with unknowns and dangers, he showed no hesitation or opposition.
"Do what you believe is right, Kolesa," he said, holding her hand, his gaze as steady as the stars. "No matter which path you choose, I will be by your side."
At that moment, the starry sky seemed to brighten just for them.
Under the witness of the vast sea of stars, they embraced tightly, kissed passionately, and made eternal vows.
The warmth and happiness of that moment, like the sweetest honey, permeated her entire soul.
However, the dream abruptly changed!
The warm starlight was replaced by the fires of war and smoke.
Deafening battle cries, like thunder, tore through the tranquility of the Craftworld:
"No pity! No remorse! No fear!"
"For the Emperor! For Dorn!"
Overwhelming black figures surged forward like a tide of destruction! They were the Black Templars, one of the most extreme and xenophobic Adeptus Astartes Chapters in the Imperium of Man!
Their figures, clad in pitch-black power armour, were like true reapers of death, their bolters and chainswords unleashing destruction without mercy.
Exquisite wraithbone structures collapsed under artillery fire, familiar kin were torn apart amidst the roar of chainswords, and piercing screams intertwined with battle cries, forming a desperate elegy.
In the perception of Kolesa and many Aeldari, the immediate threat posed by these mad black giants, who relentlessly hunted them and destroyed their homes, even at one point surpassed Slaanesh, who eternally pursued their souls!
She saw Kai.
He fought fiercely, cutting down approaching enemies, trying to carve a path for her and the other kin to escape.
But the Black Templars were too numerous, their fanaticism and combat prowess far exceeding the ordinary.
"Go! Kolesa! Hurry!" Kai shouted back at her, his once sun-filled eyes now holding only determination and protectiveness.
She was pushed backward by the crowd, watching helplessly as Kai turned back without hesitation, facing the most surging black tide, trying to buy even one more second for her escape with his body.
Then, she saw it — a massive, roaring chainaxe, swung upwards with ruthless force!
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
Kai's figure halted, the light in his eyes rapidly dimming.
The chainaxe tore through his body, and utterly ripped apart Kolesa's world.
And the Black Templar warrior who wielded the chainaxe, the ferocious, uncompromising black cross emblem on his pauldron, seared itself deep and permanently into the innermost depths of Kolesa's soul, becoming a symbol of her fear, hatred, and endless sorrow.
"No—!!!"
Kolesa abruptly sat up in bed, letting out a piercing scream, drenched in cold sweat, her heart pounding wildly, almost bursting from her chest.
Immense sorrow and fear, like a cold tide, instantly engulfed her.
She clutched her head with both hands, as if to prevent those terrible images from replaying in her mind, and uncontrollable sobs escaped through her fingers.
"W-w-w... Kai... w-w-w..."
Her cries were exceptionally clear and helpless in the silent chamber.
However, these cries were soon drowned out by louder, more regular sounds coming from outside the chamber — the heavy footsteps that made the deck slightly tremble.
"Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!"
Like war drums beating, never ceasing.
Under Chapter Master Calgar's almost draconian orders, the entire Macragge's Honour entered an unprecedented state of internal alert.
Honor Guard, First Company, and even Terminator squads from other companies that could be mobilized, were deployed almost en masse.
Terminators of various patterns — the steady and robust Saturnine Pattern, the assault-oriented Ironclad Pattern, the heavily armed Indomitus Pattern — formed a dense patrol network, covering every major corridor and critical node of the battleship.
They were fully armed, their storm bolters ready to fire, their Power Fists or Thunder Hammers humming in readiness, and their crimson visors, like searchlights, vigilantly scanned every corner and every shadow.
The internal defensive strength of the battleship at this moment reached an astonishing level.
It could be said that even if a Chaos Astartes Company somehow managed to board at this moment, it would be instantly detected, surrounded, and utterly annihilated by this omnipresent, swiftly reacting heavy firepower network within a very short time of its appearance.
And on the lower decks of the battleship, near the engine room and large storage areas, the environment was more complex, with crisscrossing passages and dense piping, creating potential blind spots for hiding.
Captain Cassius personally led an elite squad on patrol here, including Kai and Dorian.
They had been searching this area for several hours, the servo systems of their power armour emitting a low hum, and their footsteps echoing on the empty lower deck.
Aside from occasionally discovering some normal energy leaks or structural corrosion due to age and disrepair, no anomalies were found.
But this did not make Cassius relax his vigilance; the Chapter Master's wrath and orders hung over him like the Sword of Damocles, and he dared not slacken in the slightest.
Just as they passed a particularly dimly lit corner, piled with discarded spare parts, a sudden change occurred!
A twisted figure, as fast as lightning and almost merging with the surrounding shadows, suddenly darted out from behind a stack of rusty metal crates!
It moved on all fours, as swift and silent as a ghost, lunging directly at Cassius, who was leading the squad!
The thing had dark purple, hairless skin, a hunched but explosive body, and a tail with sharp bone spikes — it was a Purestrain Genestealer!
It had evidently been lurking in this lower area for an unknown period, perhaps smuggled in with some undetected cargo, or infiltrated from an earlier port, and now finally could no longer suppress its desire to hunt, choosing the core of the patrol squad — the First Company Captain — as its target.
Its ambush was silent, its angle cunning, and its speed astonishingly fast, its sharp claws aiming directly for Cassius's vital neck!
However, Cassius Venus, as the Captain of the Ultramarines 1st Company, possessed combat experience and reaction speed that were far from ordinary!
The moment the Genestealer pounced, his battle instincts, honed through countless trials, had already reacted!
He did not retreat, nor did he try to draw his sword, but in a flash, he exerted force with his waist and abdomen, slightly shifted his body, and at the same time, his right fist, covered in master-crafted power armour, shot out like a cannonball, with a scream that tore through the air, striking first and accurately, directly at the pouncing, twisted face!
"Boom!!!"
A deep, muffled thud, like a heavy hammer smashing rotten wood!
Cassius's Power Fist landed squarely on the side of the Genestealer's face!
The immense force instantly erupted; the Genestealer's tough skull simply could not withstand such a furious impact, and half of its head exploded on the spot like a smashed watermelon!
Pale brain matter, black blood, and bone fragments splattered everywhere!
The Genestealer's pounce abruptly ceased, its headless body, propelled by inertia, rushed forward a short distance, then softly fell to the ground in the distance, twitched twice, and then stopped moving.
All of this happened too quickly; from the ambush to the counter-kill, it was only a matter of one or two seconds.
Only then did Kai, Dorian, and the other Astartes Brothers following behind fully react.
"Enemy attack!" Dorian roared, his Thunder Hammer already raised.
"Stay alert! Scan the surrounding area!" Cassius calmly ordered, shaking off the filth clinging to his gauntlet, his gaze sharp as an eagle's, sweeping over the mountainous piles of discarded parts and the deep shadows.
Almost simultaneously with his command, two other Terminator patrol squads, hearing the commotion, also rushed over at top speed.
Heavy footsteps, like thunder, instantly surrounded the area.
"Genestealer detected! Cleared by Captain! Repeat, threat cleared, but thorough sweep of this area is required!" Kai quickly reported via the tactical link.
The next moment, without further orders, the storm bolters, assault cannons, and other heavy weapons in the hands of the arriving Terminators, as if unleashing the pent-up tension of recent days and the Chapter Master's wrath, aimed at the corner piled with discarded parts and the surrounding shadowed areas, delivering several minutes of covering, saturation firepower!
"Bang bang bang bang bang—!!!"
"Boom! Boom!"
Deafening gunfire and explosions echoed wildly on the lower deck, the scorching barrage riddling the discarded parts with holes and sending sparks flying, metal fragments and dust filling the entire space.
Any corner that might have hidden other threats was thoroughly ploughed over by this furious metal storm.
The gunfire gradually ceased only after confirming there were no further signs of life or anomalous energy readings.
Cassius looked at the chaotic area before him, as if it had undergone a small war, his face beneath his helmet incredibly solemn.
A Genestealer had infiltrated the lower decks of the Macragge's Honour... This once again proved the unacceptable vulnerabilities in the battleship's internal security.
"Record this incident, and send samples back to the lab for analysis," he commanded in a deep voice, then looked at Kai and Dorian. "Continue the patrol. Our work is far from over."
Within the shadows of the battleship, the hidden dangers were more numerous than imagined.
There were three standard hours left until the Ultramarines Fleet exited the Warp and reached the target agricultural world of Valenda.
Inside the Macragge's Honour, it operated smoothly, like a precisely wound clock, in a state of high alert and battle readiness.
Just then, a small, fast assault craft, uniquely designed, covered in a silver-grey coating, and inscribed with countless exorcism runes and Imperial Aquila insignias, silently caught up with the massive Ultramarines Fleet like a silver arrow tearing through the void.
It passed identity verification and was authorized to dock in a sparsely populated auxiliary Armory on the Macragge's Honour.
The hatch opened, and three giants in silver-grey artificer power armour stepped onto the flagship's deck with steady, powerful strides.
Their appearance seemed to bring with it an invisible, unsettling sense of oppression.
These were the Grey Knights, members of the Grey Knights Chapter, the Imperium's secret weapon against daemons and Warp threats, who had arrived in response to Chapter Master Calgar's plea for aid.
Although Lord Regent Guilliman had abolished the extreme and inhumane rule of 'mortals who witness Grey Knights are to be silenced' decades ago, when the mortal crew and Tech-Sergeants in the Armory, who were maintaining equipment or transporting supplies, saw these three silent silver-armoured giants, they still involuntarily felt a chill and fear from the depths of their souls.
They instinctively lowered their heads, quickened their movements, or moved far away, not daring to make any contact with those cold gazes.
The pure killing intent emanating from these warriors, specifically aimed at unnatural evil, was too heavy for mortals to bear.
The three Grey Knights stood in the Armory like three silver statues from a mythical age.
The Grey Knight Captain at the forefront had a particularly unique helmet, not a traditional skull or warrior's faceplate, but a large, forward-jutting, sharply defined eagle-beak-like structure.
Below it, a pair of pure white glowing visors scanned the surroundings with the sharpness of a hawk, evaluating any potential, subtle Warp disturbances.
On his back, he carried a nemesis force halberd, which was not made of ordinary iron; the haft was wreathed in faint silver psychic flames, possessing immense power to restrain and destroy daemons and Chaos creations.
The Grey Knight standing to his left was noticeably taller and more robust than the other two, like a small mobile fortress.
On his back, he carried a heavy daemon smasher hammer, its head covered with exorcism runes; merely standing still, it conveyed an impression of invincible power.
His left arm guard was additionally fitted with a precisely designed neural scrambler, emitting dangerous energy, clearly intended for dealing with special threats or subduing targets.
The Grey Knight on the right had an exquisite vertical crest mounted on top of his helmet, signifying his different status or achievements.
His posture was relatively reserved, and he wore a slender nemesis force sword at his waist, its scabbard glowing with faint runes.
His gaze, hidden by the faceplate, seemed to carry a hint of curiosity as he looked at a little mortal girl in the distance who, out of fear yet irresistible curiosity, was secretly peeking at him—at his glance, the girl immediately recoiled behind a cargo crate like a startled rabbit.
This was not their first time aboard the Macragge's Honour.
For certain areas and certain people on this battleship, they could even be considered 'regulars'.
Soon, heavy footsteps approached.
Honour Guard Captain Vitrius arrived in the Armory with a squad of Honour Guard Warriors in artificer power armour.
Vitrius's gaze swept over the three Grey Knights, lingering for a moment on the distinctive eagle-beak helmet, his expression complex but quickly returning to professional composure.
"Grey Knight brothers," Vitrius's voice, modulated through his helmet, carried a formal politeness, "welcome to the Macragge's Honour.
Please follow me; Chapter Master Calgar awaits in his office."
The three Grey Knights nodded silently, without superfluous pleasantries, and followed Vitrius out of the Armory.
They traversed the vast and complex internal structures of the Macragge's Honour.
Wherever they passed, whether patrolling Ultramarines or working mortal crew, all cast glances of reverence, curiosity, or veiled resistance.
The very presence of the Grey Knights signified that the mission they were about to face was extraordinary, and it stirred up many unpleasant memories for the veterans.
They transferred three times between different area elevators, passed through several heavy isolation doors requiring high-level clearance, and finally arrived outside the Chapter Master's office on the upper level of the battleship's core area.
Vitrius stopped before the massive alloy door, carved with the Imperial Aquila and the ring of macragge, and turned to gesture to the three Grey Knights.
"The Chapter Master awaits inside."
Then, he and the other Honour Guard Warriors stood like sentinels on either side of the door, not advancing further.
The Grey Knight Captain, the warrior wearing the eagle-beak helmet, was the first to step forward and push open the heavy door.
The other two Grey Knights followed closely behind him.
Inside the office, the atmosphere was solemn and grave.
Marius Calgar sat on his obsidian throne, a symbol of power and responsibility, but his expression at this moment was... very grim.
Not because of the arrival of the Grey Knights, but because of the giant electronic pen in his hand, comparable to a warhammer, and the seemingly endless administrative reports on the data slate before him.
Days of internal crises, preparation pressure, and tedious sector management affairs had almost exhausted the Chapter Master's patience.
Hearing the door open, Calgar looked up and saw the three silver-armoured giants entering.
His brow remained tightly furrowed, but he slightly tilted the electronic pen in his hand to the side.
The two Honour Guard Warriors in Saturnine-pattern terminator armour, standing like iron statues behind the throne, immediately understood and stepped forward with heavy strides.
One of them respectfully and carefully took the huge electronic pen with both hands, as if receiving a sacred relic, then retreated to his original position and continued to stand at attention.
Calgar was thus temporarily freed from the mountain of documents and meetings.
He picked up a specially designed, huge coffee cup beside him, large enough for a mortal to drink from all day, and took a large gulp, trying to dispel some of his fatigue and annoyance with caffeine.
"Chapter Master Calgar, we meet again," the Grey Knight Captain at the head spoke first, breaking the silence with his processor-modulated voice, which sounded ancient and flat.
Calgar put down the coffee cup, his gaze sweeping over the three Grey Knights once more.
The eagle-beak helmet, the nemesis force halberd, the tall, burly man carrying the daemon smasher hammer and neural scrambler, and the warrior with the vertical crest and nemesis force sword... this combination... why did it look more and more familiar?
An unpleasant memory gradually surfaced.
He carefully scrutinized that eagle-beak helmet, and that nemesis force sword, and the neural scrambler on the left arm of the big guy with the daemon smasher hammer... No!
He remembered!
Wasn't this Moreno, Kaldor, and Valerius?!
These were the three Grey Knights sent by the Grey Knights Chapter to perform the longest surveillance mission when Gaius was still serving in the 7th Company and was just discovered to possibly be involved with Tzeentch!
Especially Captain Moreno and his team member Kaldor, whose attitude was extremely firm at the time, even attempting to forcibly take Gaius away for "purification."
When they were obstructed, Valerius even used his damned neural scrambler to incapacitate Luna, who was trying to protect Gaius!
Kaldor had also clashed with Dorian, which escalated into a duel, with Kaldor pinning the impulsive warrior to the ground and teaching him a lesson.
That time, the situation almost spiraled out of control, and Calgar had to urgently deploy the First Company to exert pressure to prevent a more serious direct conflict between the Ultramarines and the Grey Knights.
Although the matter was eventually settled after Lord Guilliman's intervention and Gaius's self-vindication, these three Grey Knights, especially their uncompromising and extreme approach of viewing potential threats as needing complete eradication, left a very bad impression on Calgar and many Ultramarines.
What a small galaxy!
Why was it these three again?!
Calgar felt his temples begin to throb again, and an unbidden anger mixed with past displeasure almost overwhelmed his reason.
He suppressed the urge to beat these annoying silver cans and throw them out the airlock, speaking in a voice as calm as possible, but one in which anyone could hear the suppressed emotion:
"It's you three again?
I hope that during our brief cooperation this time, no... unpleasant 'accidents' will occur, Captain Moreno."
He emphasized the other's name, reminding him that there were lingering resentments between them.
Moreno's eagle-beak helmet moved slightly, the white visor lights steady, seemingly unaffected by the undercurrents in Calgar's words.
He responded in his usual ancient, unruffled tone:
"As you wish, Chapter Master Calgar.
We have come by order of the Grey Knights Chapter and the Grand Inquisitor, with the aim of purifying the Chaos defilement of the target planet.
During this period, we will follow your strategic deployment and commands, focusing on the mission itself."
He paused, then added, as if making a promise, yet also stating a fact, "There will be no extraneous complications."
Calgar stared at his cold eagle-beak helmet for a few seconds, as if trying to penetrate the metal and discern the true thoughts hidden behind it.
Finally, he waved his hand somewhat wearily, indicating that they could withdraw.
"Vitrius will arrange temporary quarters and equipment staging areas for you.
In three standard hours, the fleet will exit the Warp, and at that time, we will need to formulate a specific purification plan."
"Understood," Moreno responded concisely, then led Kaldor and Valerius in a standard aquila salute to Calgar, before turning and leaving the office with steady strides.
The heavy alloy door slowly closed behind them.
Silence returned to the office, broken only by the low hum of the power armour servo systems.
Calgar leaned heavily back into the wide backrest of his throne, raising his massive hand to vigorously rub his cheeks, as if trying to rub away all his frustration and worry.
He hoped... Moreno's assurance just now was sincere.
He hoped this mission would proceed smoothly, without any further complications.
He truly had no more energy to deal with the historical issues and ideological conflicts between the Ultramarines and the Grey Knights.
The Slaanesh corruption of Valenda was already enough of a headache; he did not want any more instability internally.
He leaned back on his throne, closed his eyes, and silently thought, "I hope this cooperation goes as smoothly as they promised."
After a long and tense patrol of the lower decks, Kai and Dorian removed their heavy power armour in the Armory, revealing the sweat-soaked black training suits beneath. Fatigue washed over them like a tide, but more than that, there was a mental tension. The appearance of Genestealers had once again sounded the alarm.
The two parted ways at the Armory entrance; Dorian mumbled about needing to replenish his energy bars, while Kai headed straight back to his cabin at I-10-A. He just wanted to get back to Kolesa as soon as possible. The Warp journey had taken a far greater toll on her than on others, and he hoped to offer her some comfort.
When he pushed open the heavy hydraulic hatch, the sight that greeted him instantly tightened his heart.
Kolesa was not quietly resting or reading Aeldari texts as usual. Instead, she sat alone on the edge of the bed, her hands tightly wrapped around her knees, her shoulders trembling slightly. Her silver hair, like moonlight woven, was somewhat dishevelled, covering part of her face, but Kai could clearly hear her suppressed, broken sobs.
Sensing Kai's presence, Kolesa abruptly looked up. Her eyes, normally as clear and enchanting as amethyst, were now brimming with tears, her eyelids red, her long eyelashes wet with tears and matted together. The look in her eyes as she gazed at Kai was filled with helplessness, fear, and a vulnerability that desperately sought comfort, like a startled fawn in a storm.
"Kai..." Her voice, thick with a nasal tone, choked with grievance.
Kai's heart ached, and he immediately strode forward, sitting beside her and wrapping her slightly trembling body in his solid arms. His embrace was warm and strong, as if it could shield her from all external fears.
"What's wrong, Kolesa?" Kai's voice was extremely soft, with unmistakable concern. "Are you feeling unwell again? Has the Warp's influence not receded yet?"
Kolesa clutched him tightly, burying her face in his broad, warm chest, as if to merge herself into his body, seeking the most direct sense of security. She shook her head forcefully, her tears soaking Kai's thin clothing.
"No... Kai, I dreamt of... the Black Templars..." she said, her voice trembling, every word seemingly carrying an icy chill. The black crusader cross, etched deep into her soul, had reappeared in her dream, bringing with it endless slaughter and the pain of losing loved ones.
She ultimately did not speak Kai's name. That deeply ingrained love and the subsequent, heart-wrenching loss were the softest, most untouchable scars deep within her heart. She was afraid that Kai would care, that it would create a rift between them, even though she knew Kai was not that kind of person. But the fear stemming from loss made her choose to hold back.
Upon hearing this, Kai's arms tightened further. He fully understood what the Black Templars meant to the Aeldari—they were synonymous with destruction, massacre, and endless sorrow. He did not press for details, nor did he offer any empty words of comfort. He simply conveyed silent support and protection with his steady heartbeat and warm embrace. He knew that any words at this moment would be pale; only companionship and a solid reliance could dispel the chill brought by her nightmare.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the battleship, Eiras was walking towards her new cabin, head down and sulking, clutching her uniquely ugly Guilliman metal statue. The little one's mood was still very low; her usual bouncy, energetic self was gone, and even her pink short hair seemed to have lost its luster.
Her little head was filled with all sorts of worries and fears: "Is Chapter Master Calgar really angry?" "Will he not like me anymore?" "Can I not be the little tyrant of the Macragge's Honour anymore?" "Will everyone think I'm a troublemaker?"... These thoughts, like tangled balls of yarn, made her feel distraught. The more she thought, the more lost in thought she became, completely unaware that three tall, silver-grey figures were approaching around the corner of the corridor ahead.
"Thud!"
A dull thud.
Eiras felt as if she had crashed into an exceptionally hard and cold metal wall. Her little nose stung, and tears almost fell. She cried out "Ah!" in pain, clutching her throbbing forehead, and looked up with teary eyes, wanting to see which clumsy giant had blocked her way.
What met her gaze was the imposing, tall figure and the characteristic, stern, sharp, aquiline helmet. The pure white glowing eye lenses were now like searchlights on an ice plain, looking down dispassionately at this "little one" who had suddenly bumped into him.
Moreno's voice, processed by his vocoder and devoid of any emotion, rang out with a cold judgment based on databases and dogma:
"Xenos?!"
These two words ignited a powder keg!
Eiras, already in a low mood, sensitive and feeling wronged, upon hearing someone dare to call her that, instantly became like a little cat with its tail stepped on, completely bristling! All her fear and worry were replaced by fury in that moment!
"I am not a xenos!" She leaped up abruptly, green eyes burning with anger, and without thinking, raised her foot, clad in a small boot, and fiercely kicked Moreno's leg armour, covered in silver-grey artificer power armour!
"I am the most amazing Tech-Sergeant! Lady Eiras!" She stood with hands on hips, puffing out her cheeks, head tilted back, glaring at this unfamiliar silver giant. "Are you new here? You don't even know me?! Which Company are you from?!"
Having long "reigned supreme" on the Macragge's Honour and being accustomed to the Ultramarines' indulgence, Eiras was completely unaware of the kind of being she was facing—a terrifying harbinger of death, specialized in purging xenos and daemons. Her mind was still stuck in the belief that "no one dares to mess with me on this ship," completely oblivious to the approaching danger.
Moreno looked down at this audacious Dark Eldar, who had not only bumped into him but also dared to launch an "attack." The white eye lenses beneath his aquiline helmet seemed to flicker slightly. Based on Grey Knights' behavioural logic, a potentially threatening, actively attacking xenos—the method of dealing with it... His silver-armoured hand had already silently and steadily moved towards the grip of the nemesis force halberd, wreathed in silver psychic flames, behind him. A cold killing intent, almost palpable, began to emanate.
Eiras, however, was completely oblivious. She was still glaring indignantly at this "rule-breaking" silver giant, her little mind even rapidly searching: A Chapter with silver livery? Where are they from? Iron Hands? Doesn't look like it... Iron Warriors? Ptooey, ptooey, ptooey, they're traitors! Who is it then?
Just as Moreno's fingers were about to close around the halberd shaft, and an irreversible conflict was on the verge of erupting—
A much taller, deep blue figure, like a mobile fortress, abruptly stood like a mountain between Eiras and Moreno! It was Vitrius! He had already arrived, his heavy Saturnine Pattern Terminator Armour exuding undeniable authority.
Almost simultaneously, two other Honour Guard Warriors patrolling nearby instantly raised their weapons, the clear "clack" of bolters being cocked audible! And the other two Saturnine Terminator Warriors, like loyal bodyguards, strode with heavy steps to stand behind Valerius and Kaldor respectively. Although they did not raise their weapons, the silent pressure already indicated their stance.
The atmosphere in the corridor instantly became tense!
Vitrius's helmeted face turned to Eiras, his voice coming through the vox-caster with an undeniable tone of command: "Eiras, leave here immediately and return to Tech-Sergeant Luna! Now!"
Eiras was startled by this sudden display. Looking at the tall back of Lord Vitrius in front of her, and then at the three cold-looking silver figures opposite, as well as the visibly tense Honor Guard around her, even if she was slow, she realized that something seemed amiss. She shrank her neck, gave a small "Oh," and holding her Guilliman statue, ran off quickly, looking back three times.
Only after Eiras's figure disappeared around the corridor corner did Vitrius slowly turn around, his cold gaze fixed on Moreno. His tone was steady, but every word seemed to carry an icy edge, filled with undisguised killing intent:
"Grey Knights," he said in a deep voice, "the internal affairs of us Ultramarines, and our internal personnel, do not require your interference. Remember the Chapter Master's command, and remember your own promise—do not cause any further trouble."
He deliberately emphasized the last four words. The relationship between the Ultramarines and the Grey Knights, due to various past incidents, had long since plummeted to freezing point. Its severity among the various Adeptus Astartes of the Imperium was almost "on par" with the Space Wolves Chapter, known for their fiery tempers.
Moreno's aquiline helmet tilted slightly, his white eye lenses sweeping over Vitrius and the vigilant Honor Guard around him. He did not speak, nor did he make any further movements. The hand that was about to grip the nemesis force halberd slowly lowered.
He silently glanced in the direction where Eiras had disappeared, then made a simple gesture to Kaldor and Valerius behind him.
The three Grey Knights, like three silent silver statues, no longer heeded the hostile gazes of the Ultramarines. They left through another side corridor with steady, uniform steps, as if the imminent conflict had never occurred.
But the lingering chill in the air and the aftertaste of the confrontation clearly reminded everyone that the cracks of trust remained deep, and this cooperation was destined not to be peaceful.