The air in the medical bay was filled with the slightly acrid scent of disinfectant and regenerative elixirs. Cassius Venus, Captain of the Ultramarines First Company, slowly opened his eyes after three days of deep restorative slumber.
The first thing he felt was an intense, crushing pain throughout his entire body, as if he had been run over by a heavy tank. His chest and abdomen were particularly affected; each weak breath tugged at the recently repaired and still fragile tissues and organs, bringing a burning agony. This was followed by a chaotic, throbbing pain deep within his brain, like a hundred Dorians shouting at him simultaneously, causing him to let out a suppressed groan.
"You're awake, Captain."
A calm, professional voice spoke from beside him. Cassius turned his head slightly and saw Apothecary Vorlak's face, half-covered by a bionic faceplate. The red glow of his bionic eye precisely scanned Cassius's vital signs.
"How do you feel?" Vorlak asked. At the same time, his bionically enhanced hands skillfully picked up a prepared syringe, slowly injecting the pale Golden liquid—a mixture of potent painkiller and high-concentration nutrients—into Cassius's arm vein. This was followed by another precious dose of medicine to stimulate the regenerative organs to their maximum capacity.
The cool liquid flowed into his body, quickly taking effect. The bone-deep pain and the chaotic sensation in his mind slowly receded like a tide. While not entirely gone, it was at least back to a tolerable level. Cassius let out a long sigh of relief, feeling his stiff body regain some control.
"Like... I've been taken apart and reassembled," his voice was hoarse and dry, tinged with the weakness of recent severe injury, but still maintaining the composure befitting a Captain. "What about that traitor... Lucius?"
He calmly asked the question that concerned him most, not even hiding his failure: "I was defeated by him."
Vorlak replied while recording the various indicators flickering on his data-slate: "That monster was torn apart by Brother Declan, and his remains were thrown into the incinerator. He intervened at a critical moment, saving you, Captain. But he himself was also severely wounded, with multiple areas of his body pierced by that bizarre venomous blade." Mentioning Dorian's recovery speed, Vorlak's tone carried a hint of imperceptible helplessness. "However, that fellow's physique... is extraordinary. He left the medical bay on his own after a few hours. The fact that both of you survived is truly the Emperor's blessing."
He paused, then added medical advice: "Your injuries are still unstable, Captain. The Belisarius Furnace and secondary heart both need time to fully synchronize with the repaired tissues. You are expected to stay here for some time for close observation and follow-up treatment."
Hearing that Lucius had been dealt with by Dorian in such a violent manner, and that he himself had been saved by him, Cassius fell silent for a moment. That reckless, boisterous fellow, who repeatedly violated discipline and always loved to spread rumors... had actually saved his life. A mix of emotions churned within him, an acknowledgment of the warrior's heroic act, but also a... subtle, awkward feeling, as if he now owed a favor.
'It seems,' he sighed helplessly in his heart, 'I can't settle the score with him for his previous antics, and the damages incurred while chasing him down, for now.'
He suppressed these thoughts and continued to inquire about Chapter affairs: "Recently... have there been any major incidents or battles?"
"None at present, Captain," Vorlak replied definitively. "The Chapter has entered a brief period of peaceful patrols. All company affairs during your unconsciousness were handled by Lieutenant Golden, and he managed them very well. The fleet's alert level has also returned to normal after the Lucius incident. You can rest assured and recover."
Cassius nodded slightly; he had no doubt about Golden's competence. Learning that there were no immediate battles, his taut nerves relaxed slightly, and he closed his eyes again, preparing to use this forced recuperation time to regain his strength as quickly as possible.
However, the Emperor's trials seemed not to be over. Just as Cassius thought he could enjoy a moment of peace, a familiar, buzzing blessed osseous unit silently glided into the medical bay, precisely hovering beside his medical bed.
This skull was one of the listening devices he had specially set up earlier to "better understand" what "profound theories" Dorian was spreading now.
Apothecary Vorlak frowned, about to wave away this mechanical construct that might disturb the Captain's rest, but Cassius raised a hand to stop him. He recognized the skull and knew what its presence here now meant—Dorian, that fellow, must have been running his mouth again during his unconsciousness.
With a sense of foreboding, and perhaps a curiosity he himself hadn't even noticed about what outrageous claims that reckless fool might concoct next, Cassius gestured with his eyes for the skull to play the recording.
The next moment, Dorian's distinctive, boisterous, and slightly excited voice rang out in the quiet medical bay. The content was precisely his "broadcast" in the communal lounge to the warriors of the Fourth Company, detailing his "major discovery" and detailed analysis that the First Company Captain "likes men" and "is probably the type like Lieutenant Golden." The air in the medical bay instantly solidified.
The light in Apothecary Vorlak's bionic eye seemed to pause for a moment. He silently lowered his head, pretending to be utterly absorbed in studying the complex vital sign curves on the data-slate, as if they were some top-secret information.
Cassius lay on the medical bed, expressionless and silent. But his face, which had just regained a little color, visibly turned pale again, then was quickly suffused with an unnatural flush. His hands, covered with sensor patches, clenched violently at his sides, veins bulging on the back of his hands. Even the nearby heart monitor emitted several urgent "beep-beep" sounds, indicating his heart rate was rapidly soaring.
The wounds in his chest and abdomen throbbed with sharp pain due to this sudden emotional fluctuation, but at this moment, this physical suffering was far less than the tumultuous rage and... an indescribable sense of exasperation welling up inside him!
This Dorian! This damned, incorrigible idiot! He had just decided in his heart to temporarily overlook his past transgressions, and even felt a tiny bit of... gratitude towards him! And what was the result? This bastard immediately turned around and spread such utterly absurd, reputation-destroying rumors throughout the entire ship! And the subject of his fabrication was his most capable lieutenant, Golden!
A powerful urge to immediately rush out of the medical bay, find Dorian, and use his Power Fist to smash that broken mouth of his, along with his equally dysfunctional head, into the reactor core, surged into Cassius's mind like a volcanic eruption.
He gritted his teeth, forcing out a few words, his voice so deep it seemed to come from the abyss: "De...clan..."
Seeing this, Apothecary Vorlak quickly stepped forward, his tone imbued with an unprecedented seriousness and a hint of urgency: "Captain! Please calm down! Your injuries absolutely cannot withstand such violent emotional fluctuations! Your wounds will rupture! Please control your breathing!"
He truly feared that the First Company Captain would be so enraged he'd leap directly from the bed, rendering all previous rescue and surgery efforts futile.
Cassius gasped several times, his chest heaving violently, pulling at his wounds and causing sharper pain. This forced him to regain a sliver of rationality. He glanced at the wildly fluctuating heart rate and blood pressure data on the nearby screen, and finally forced himself to slowly relax his clenched fists and take several deep, long breaths.
Don't get angry... don't get angry... getting angry over this idiot Dorian, and even worsening his injuries, was not worth it! That itself would be a failure!
He closed his eyes, repeatedly admonishing himself in his mind. After a long while, the alarm sounds from the monitoring equipment gradually subsided.
Silence returned to the medical bay, broken only by the regular ticking of instruments. But a sense of oppressive calm, like the calm before a storm, permeated the air.
When Cassius opened his eyes again, his gaze had returned to its usual calmness, though a lingering frost remained deep within his ice-blue pupils. He looked at Vorlak and said in as steady a tone as possible:
"Apothecary Vorlak, thank you for your treatment. I feel... much better."
He paused, then continued: "Also, I have a favor to ask. When my injuries are stable enough for me to get out of bed and move around... please notify me immediately."
His tone was calm, but Vorlak heard in it an undeniable determination, and... a deep "concern" for a certain unfortunate soul.
"Yes, Captain," Vorlak nodded, already having offered a silent one-tenth of a second of mourning for Dorian in his heart. He had no doubt that once Captain Cassius regained his mobility, Brother Declan would profoundly experience just how... heavy... the First Company Captain's "gratitude" truly was.
And the blessed osseous unit, which had caused all of this, seemed to have completed its mission, still unknowingly and hummingly suspended in place, recording this undercurrent-filled scene in the medical bay.
Meanwhile, in the First Company common lounge on the mid-lower deck of the warship, Dorian, the culprit who had sparked a potential "storm," was completely unaware of the impending disaster.
He sat on a sturdy alloy bench, his muscled upper body bare, still bearing the not-yet-fully-healed scars and bandage marks from his fight with Lucius, but this did not dampen his enthusiasm for grandiloquent talk.
Eiras was with him, curled up on the bench like a content kitten, holding a box of synthetic jelly, digging into it with a small spoon with great delight, her large green eyes happily narrowed into slits.
Luna sat quietly on Dorian's other side, holding a data-slate, occasionally recording something on it, or casting a calm glance at Dorian when he boasted too wildly, prompting him to rein it in a bit.
Opposite them sat three veterans of the First Company, clad in Custodian Guard power armour, like silent rocks, their crimson eye lenses occasionally sweeping over the spittle-flying Dorian.
Their hearts remained unmoved by his exaggerated combat achievements, which they had heard countless times.
Even if Dorian now claimed to have single-handedly defeated a Daemon Primarch, they would probably only raise an eyebrow slightly beneath their faceplates.
"Oh, you guys don't know!" Dorian waved his arm vigorously, as if holding his Thunder Hammer, which had achieved such glorious deeds.
"That Tyrant, hoh! It was bigger than a dreadnought! Its roar was louder than a hundred Ogryn barbarians combined! It flailed its several arms all at once! And then? I spotted an opening, dodged to the side, and hit it with a backhand hammer!
I heard a 'bang'!" He made a forceful striking motion with both hands. "That guy's head, it was like a rotten watermelon, it just split open on the spot! Brains splattered everywhere! Oh, easy peasy! Who do you think I, Dorian, am? I'm the best assault trooper of the Ultramarines! Personally decorated by Lord Guilliman!"
He patted his chest, making the not-yet-fully-healed wounds throb faintly, causing him to wince, but his boasting momentum remained undiminished.
Luna, at the opportune moment, softly reminded him, her voice calm and even through her helmet's loudspeaker: "Dorian, according to the mission report, the Seventh Company's heavy firepower team first suppressed the Tyrant's chitinous carapace, which allowed you to get close, and the thunderhawk gunship's airstrike almost killed the Tyrant; you merely delivered the finishing blow.
Also, it only had four arms, not 'several'."
Dorian, interrupted in his "spellcasting," grumbled with some dissatisfaction: "Oh, Luna, details aren't important! The result is what matters! And the result is that I hammered it to death!" He tried to regain his momentum, but the effect was clearly diminished.
As they chatted, the topic somehow drifted from boasting about his past achievements to a more dangerous direction—the "scandal" concerning Captain Cassius.
Dorian lowered his voice, looking like he was sharing top-secret intelligence, leaning closer to the Custodian Guard veterans opposite him (though they remained unresponsive): "Oh, brothers, seriously... do you think Lieutenant Golden... knows that Captain Cassius likes him?"
The three Custodian Guard veterans seemed to activate their soundproofing mode instantly; even the lowest-power hum of their power armour servo systems seemed to vanish.
They sat upright, looking straight ahead, as if suddenly developing a keen academic interest in the Imperial Aquila on the opposite wall of the lounge.
The First Company Captain's private affairs, especially such unfounded and extremely dangerous rumors, were something they absolutely dared not, and did not want to, get involved with.
Only Dorian continued to babble, using his meager imagination and excessive desire to express himself to analyze various "possibilities": "I think... Lieutenant Golden is such a smart person, he must have noticed long ago!
Think about it, Captain Cassius usually has a stern face for everyone, but when he's with Lieutenant Golden, his eyes soften just a little... though only a little!
And, doesn't Captain Cassius always make Lieutenant Golden stay with him to handle documents late into the night? Two lonely men... uh, no, two big men alone in a room... hmm, anyway, you get the idea! Don't you think so?"
The more he spoke, the more he felt his analysis was well-founded, completely oblivious to the look of "hopelessness" in Luna's eyes, and unaware that he was recklessly tempting fate on the edge of death.
Luna shook her head, no longer paying attention to Dorian's nonsense.
Her gaze fell on little Eiras beside her.
The little one had finished her last bite of jelly, letting out a loud, satisfied burp, her small face radiating pure happiness, mumbling indistinctly: "Mmm... when can I eat such delicious jelly again...?"
Then, as if her battery had run out, her head tilted, and she naturally snuggled into Luna's arms, rubbing against her and finding a comfortable position, falling asleep almost instantly, emitting soft, even breaths.
Looking at the carefree little one in her arms, who ate and then slept, Luna's usually expressionless faceplate seemed to reveal a faint trace of helplessness and tenderness.
She gently adjusted her posture to let Eiras sleep more soundly.
'In a few days, it will be this little one's birthday,' Luna thought.
'Perhaps... I can save some of my next month's ration allowance and exchange it at logistics for a larger, tastier synthetic cake for her.'
Meanwhile, in the Chapter Master's office, Marius Calgar had just finished another mountain of administrative reports.
He put down the electronic pen, which was comparable to a Thunder Hammer, rubbed his somewhat sore brow, and casually picked up a standard-issue tube of nutrient paste from the nearby table.
He unscrewed the cap and, expressionlessly, as if refueling, squeezed it into his mouth, chewing mechanically.
For him, food's only purpose was to provide the energy needed to keep his body operating efficiently.
Just then, a simply dressed servant carefully entered, holding a data-slate, and respectfully reported: "Lord Calgar, logistics records show that the ten special-grade synthetic jellies allocated to you this month have been... all taken by Brother Deklan Katania and Tech-Aspirant Elara.
Do you wish to reclaim them, or to... remind the relevant individuals?"
The servant's tone carried a hint of uncertainty, as it involved the Chapter Master's personal special provisions.
Calgar, upon hearing this, didn't even raise an eyebrow.
He merely waved his hand, interrupting the servant, and said in a flat tone: "No need.
It's just some jelly.
As long as Eiras doesn't bring back any more dangerous xenos artifacts or unauthorized STC fragments onto the warship, I'll be relieved.
Eating some jelly is nothing."
His attitude was very clear.
Compared to maintaining the warship's safety and ensuring the Chapter's stable operation, mere enjoyment of food was insignificant.
Eiras's abundant "collecting habit" and "research enthusiasm" had caused quite a few troubles in the past; in comparison, her simply liking sweets, in Calgar's view, could almost be considered a sign of "good behavior."
As for Dorian... as long as he didn't cause too much trouble, the Chapter Master was willing to turn a blind eye to some of his minor actions.
This was the atmosphere of the Ultramarines Chapter; beneath strict discipline and iron order, there was also the inclusiveness and warmth of "home."
As long as the bottom line was not crossed, the small "transgressions" and displays of individuality among the warriors were often treated by the higher-ups with a tacit, even slightly indulgent, attitude.
After all, they were first and foremost warriors protecting the Imperium of Man, but they were also brothers with their own personalities and emotions.
The servant acknowledged the order and respectfully withdrew.
Calgar continued to consume his tasteless nutrient paste, his gaze once again falling on the new documents awaiting his approval on the table.
The warship sailed steadily through the star sea, and the brief peace continued, but it was unknown how long this tranquility would last.
And in the lounge, Dorian was still recklessly analyzing the First Company Captain's "love life," completely unaware that a "storm" originating from the medical bay, aimed at him, was quietly brewing.
In the Obscurus Sector, the Hive City world of Kelbora.
The colossal structures that once symbolized the glory and order of human civilization have now become desolate ruins. The lower levels, in particular, have been transformed into a bloody slaughterhouse. The assault by the Word Bearers Warband was like a deadly plague; after breaching the outer defenses, the Imperial defenders were forced to make a cruel but necessary decision—to abandon the complex, densely populated, yet indefensible lower levels, consolidating their forces in the upper core areas.
This also meant that millions of residents in the lower levels were utterly abandoned, becoming sacrifices for the Chaos traitors to unleash their savagery and conduct dark rituals.
The air was thick with gunpowder, blood, and a cloyingly sweet, blasphemous scent of the Warp. Broken pipes hung like dying pythons, dripping murky oil and blood. Dim lights flickered in the pervasive smoke, casting distorted shadows on walls scarred with bullet holes and claw marks.
Deep within a narrow passage, cluttered with discarded metal and tattered fabrics, a pair of scrawny siblings huddled, trembling, inside a hollowed-out metal cabinet. The older sister, Aria, was about ten years old, and her younger brother, Leo, was only seven. Their humble home, where they had been hiding, had long since been reduced to rubble in previous firefights, and their parents had been separated in the chaos, their fate unknown. The two had managed to evade several sweeps, relying on their familiarity with the labyrinthine passages of the lower levels, but their luck seemed to have run out.
Heavy footsteps, scraping metal on the ground, approached from afar, accompanied by a low, blasphemous whisper, as if from a non-human throat. A colossal figure appeared at the passage entrance, blocking the already faint light. It was a Word Bearers Astartes, but his power armour had merged with writhing, sulfur-colored demonic flesh. Small tentacles protruded from the armor's seams, and eerie green flames burned in the helmet's eye lenses. He dragged a spiked mace covered in blasphemous runes, its head scraping the ground with a grating sound.
He seemed to sniff out the scent of living beings, the "fragrance" of fear and despair eliciting a low, prolonged, and joyous sneer from him. He abruptly ripped open the lid of the metal cabinet where the siblings were hiding.
Aria and Leo screamed in terror. Though Aria herself was trembling violently, almost collapsing, the sight of her brother's pale little face and tear-filled eyes sparked an instinctive urge from her bloodline. She fiercely pulled Leo behind her, shielding her brother from the terrifying giant with her frail body.
The Word Bearers seemed to relish the sight of his prey struggling in despair. He was not in a hurry to kill them but, like a cat toying with a mouse, slowly advanced step by step. His heavy footsteps were like a death knell, pounding against the siblings' fragile resolve. He raised his grotesque mace, his eerie green gaze fixed on Aria's small face, which was filled with fear yet still defiant.
Just as the mace was about to descend—
"Bang!!!"
A crisp, explosive roar shattered the silence in the passage!
The Word Bearers' head, fused with demonic flesh, exploded like a rotten fruit struck by a heavy blow! Pale bone fragments, dark red flesh, and eerie green energy fluid splattered everywhere! His headless body twitched rigidly twice, the mace in his hand clattering to the ground, and then his massive body, like a felled tree, crashed backward, raising a cloud of dust.
Aria and Leo were stunned by this sudden turn of events, even forgetting to cry.
Immediately after, more bolter roars erupted like a sudden storm from the other end of the passage, accompanied by loud, resolute battle cries filled with pure fury and the will to destroy:
"For the Emperor!"
Then came more, even more deafening, echoing like a mountain's roar and a sea's surge:
"He is our Shield!"
Deep blue figures surged out like a broken dam from the shadows and corners of the passage. They wore power armour painted in a deep blue base coat, with vivid red fist prints emblazoned on their shoulder pads. Their bolters spat deadly tongues of fire, and their chainswords roared, tearing through the air. They were like precise and efficient killing machines, engaging in fierce combat with the various forms of Word Bearers and their demonic thralls pouring in from all directions.
It was the Crimson Fists Chapter! The Emperor's loyal warriors!
Amidst the whistle of bolters and the roar of chainswords, the battle was swift and brutal. The Crimson Fists warriors coordinated seamlessly, their tactics skilled, often operating in small squads, providing covering fire, and precisely eliminating the fallen traitors. Although the Word Bearers were frenzied and empowered by Chaos, they steadily retreated before these resolute and well-trained loyal Astartes.
Soon, the Word Bearers in this area were completely annihilated. The air was filled with gunpowder and the smell of ozone from purified Daemons.
At this moment, a remarkably tall figure slowly emerged from the swirling dust, flanked by several Crimson Fists Chaplains and Company Captains wearing specially adorned power armour.
His appearance seemed to carry its own aura, instantly drawing all eyes. He wore a dazzling Golden power armour, ancient and majestic in style, adorned with numerous exquisite flying eagle reliefs and ornate Imperial sashes. A heavy, holy seal hung on his chest. His right arm was not flesh but a powerful, intricately structured bionic arm crafted from pure gold. His massive hand tightly gripped a lavishly decorated chainsword, its serrations stained with foul blood—the relic "Stormfang."
He wore no helmet, revealing a mane of short white hair like a lion's and a neatly trimmed, thick white beard. His face was like weather-beaten rock, marked by the ravages of time, but his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's, burning with an unquenchable flame of the lion's due/loyalty (great sword) to the Emperor and humanity. His gaze swept across the battlefield with scrutiny and authority, finally settling on the siblings, still shaken, huddled in the corner.
On his ornate Golden shoulder pads, black, clenched-fist emblems silently declared his identity and lineage—these were the supreme symbols of honor for the Imperial Fists and their successor Chapters, only to be worn by those who had achieved immortal Meritorious Service in the most brutal and glorious battles.
"For the Emperor, slay these traitors!" His voice boomed like a bell, carrying undeniable authority and power. Before he finished speaking, he had already swung his chainsword. The relic roared, cleanly cleaving a massive Word Bearers Champion, almost fused with a Khorne Bloodletter, in half, armor and all, like a hot knife through butter! Foul blood and entrails splattered everywhere. He then raised his giant foot, covered in a Golden war boot, and stomped heavily on the still-twitching remains, ensuring its complete destruction.
Having done all this, he sheathed his chainsword and walked with steady steps towards the siblings. His massive frame carried an invisible oppressive aura, but when he knelt, he deliberately reined in all his imposing presence, trying to appear gentle.
He extended his large, Golden bionic right hand, but his movements were gentle, as if afraid to startle them. His voice was low and filled with comforting power, completely different from the thunderous roar on the battlefield moments ago:
"Do not be afraid, children." He looked into Aria's eyes, still full of fear but now slightly calmer, and then at Leo, who was clutching her skirt behind her. "The Emperor's Angels have come to save you. You are safe."
His words seemed to carry a certain magic. Aria's taut nerves finally relaxed, and tears flowed again, but this time, they were tears of release after surviving a great ordeal. Leo also peeked out from behind his sister, curiously gazing at the Golden giant who seemed to have stepped out of a myth.
The battle quickly ended completely, and the Crimson Fists warriors began to clear the battlefield, purifying the remaining Chaos corruption. The Golden giant stood up and gave a few instructions to a Crimson Fists Company Captain beside him. Then, he looked at Aria and Leo, his tone gentle but unyielding:
"The Hive City's lower levels are no longer safe. Come with me, children, the Imperium will protect you."
He did not give them a choice, for it was the only way to survive. Aria tightly held her brother's hand, looking at the Golden giant who had saved them and exuded a reassuring aura, and finally nodded.
Under the solemn gaze of the Crimson Fists warriors, the lucky siblings were led away from the ruins filled with death and despair, following the Golden, lighthouse-like figure towards an unknown, but at least hopeful, future. As for the true identity of this mysterious Golden giant, every Crimson Fists warrior present knew it implicitly. It was a pride deeply ingrained in their blood and faith, and one of the Imperium's highest secrets that could not be easily spoken aloud.
Macragge's Honour, lower living quarters.
Eiras, with nothing to do, bounced like a pink bouncy ball to Gaius's cabin door. She skillfully used her self-made, somewhat irregular access code to open the door, poking her small head inside.
"Sister Kolesa!"
Inside the cabin, Kolesa had just woken up and was sitting by the bed.
She wore a pure white, soft nightgown, her bare, pale feet resting on the cool but clean floor.
Her beautiful silver hair was scattered loosely over her shoulders, with a hint of lazy beauty, and a trace of sleepiness still lingered in her purple eyes.
Seeing Eiras rush in, Kolesa's face broke into a gentle smile.
Eiras cheered, launching herself into Kolesa's arms like a small cannonball, her fluffy pink head nuzzling and rubbing against her, like a petted animal.
"Eiras, I heard you've been naughty again lately?" Kolesa gently hugged her, her fingers combing through Eiras's short hair, which was as messy as her own, her tone laced with a hint of teasing.
News traveled fast on the warship, especially the "deeds" of this little troublemaker.
"No, I haven't!" Eiras immediately looked up, her large green eyes wide, her small face full of "innocence" and "adamant denial."
"Those oil-heads are just talking nonsense! They're jealous of how smart I am, and that I've developed powerful weapons!" She waved her small fists, trying to add more conviction.
After all, in her self-proclaimed "Macragge's Honour Little Overlord Code of Conduct," the first rule was "The Overlord never makes mistakes."
After enough snuggling, Eiras looked up, her small face inquisitive: "Big Sister Kolesa, why do you always stay in your cabin? It's fun outside too! There are so many Thunderhawks to see in the hangar, and you can go to the kitchen to find delicious food!" For the energetic Eiras, the vast interior of the warship was her playground.
Kolesa smiled faintly.
Compared to the incessant engine hum, heavy footsteps, and various mechanical noises in the warship corridors, she indeed preferred the tranquility of her cabin.
Here, she could peacefully read the codex astartes that Calgar had lent her, trying to understand the history and logic of the Imperium of Man; or she could handle some of the verification and organization tasks for First Company's logistical supplies that Lieutenant Golden had given her—this not only gave her something to do but was also, to some extent, a sign of trust.
After all, she wasn't like Eiras, who had lived on this ship for decades, "wearing down" everyone's temperaments with various adorable or annoying antics, to the point where even Chapter Master Calgar was exceptionally lenient with her.
"It's interesting outside, but it's also very comfortable here," Kolesa didn't explain further, merely gently stroking Eiras's hair.
Then, as if by magic, she pulled out a large, exceptionally soft-looking synthetic bread, wrapped in clean oiled paper, from a small cabinet by the bed.
"Wow! Bread!" Eiras's attention was instantly captured, her previous question immediately forgotten, her large green eyes sparkling as if she had found the most precious treasure.
"Eiras wants bread!"
Kolesa smiled, carefully unwrapping the oiled paper to reveal the bread, which emitted a faint scent of wheat.
She tore off a large piece and offered it to Eiras's mouth.
The little one immediately took a big bite, her cheeks instantly bulging, chewing contentedly, her face beaming with happiness.
"Eat slowly, don't choke," Kolesa carefully fed her, gently reminding her, "Eiras is growing up, you need to be more sensible and not so naughty, okay?"
Eiras's mouth was full of bread, so she could only nod with "mm-mm" sounds, but her darting big eyes clearly didn't take the words too much to heart.
For her, eating well, sleeping well, making some "small inventions," and snuggling with pretty big sisters were the most important things in life.
Meanwhile, in the Arena on the upper deck of the warship, specifically for Astartes Brothers, the atmosphere was completely different.
The scent of sweat and blood permeated the air.
In the center of the Arena, two massive figures, clad only in training shorts and bare-chested, were locked in fierce combat.
One of them was Dorian, his muscles bulging, his bronze skin covered in a mix of old and new scars, with fresh bruises now added.
His opponent was the battle-hardened First Company Veteran Sergeant, Ilion Metauro.
Officer Meitaoluo was also bare-chested; although he was over five hundred standard years old, time had left its marks on his dark skin, which was somewhat loose, but beneath his seemingly less imposing physique than Dorian's lay the terrifying strength, unyielding will, and combat skills honed over centuries of bloody conflict, all of which had become ingrained instincts.
His movements were concise and efficient, without any unnecessary flair; every punch, every block was as if precisely calculated.
Dorian, relying on his youth, strength, and the exceptionally robust physique blessed by Khorne, launched wave after wave of fierce attacks, his fists pounding towards Metauro like heavy hammers.
However, Officer Meitaoluo, like a reef in a raging storm, steadily defused his assaults and always found the most cunning angles to counterattack.
His heavy punches repeatedly landed on Dorian's chest, abdomen, and arms, emitting dull "thudding" sounds.
Dorian felt his bones groaning, but the savage drive made him fight with even greater ferocity.
He grinned, spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva: "Haha! Old man! You're old! Your fists have no strength! It's like tickling!"
Officer Meitaoluo's weathered face showed no emotion, only a sharp glint in his eyes.
As Dorian launched another slightly overzealous straight punch, Metauro executed a precise sidestep, simultaneously delivering an incredibly heavy hook, like a cannonball, that landed squarely on Dorian's cheekbone!
"Crack!" a faint crisp sound.
Dorian felt his vision go black, his head snapped to one side, and a molar mixed with blood flew out of his mouth.
He staggered back two steps, shaking his slightly dazed head.
"You, lad, have a shadow of Titus in his youth—reckless, resilient," Officer Meitaoluo retracted his fist, his voice as steady as ever, "But still too green.
Carelessness on the battlefield is a death sentence."
Dorian shook his head, nonchalantly wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, as if losing a tooth was a minor matter.
"Again!" he roared, then charged forward like a wild bull, continuing the most primal and fierce fisticuffs with Officer Meitaoluo.
The spectator stands were filled with Astartes Brothers on rotation, watching the fierce combat in the Arena, occasionally erupting in gasps and cheers.
This clash of pure strength and skill was most effective at igniting the warriors' battlelust.
However, just then, at the entrance of the Arena, a figure slowly walked in.
His appearance caused several warriors near the entrance to instantly fall silent, their gazes filled with a hint of surprise and… sympathy.
The newcomer was none other than Cassius Venus, Captain of the First Company.
He had clearly forced himself out of the medical bay, still wrapped in thick sterile bandages, especially around his chest and abdomen, and walking seemed to pull at his unhealed wounds, causing him to limp slightly.
His face was still pale from blood loss, but the fury burning in his icy blue eyes was even more blazing than the lights in the center of the Arena.
In his hand, he tightly gripped a short-handled training war hammer—though unsharpened, its weight and the Captain's arm strength were more than enough to break a few bones.
His gaze, like two cold dissecting knives, instantly pierced through the noisy crowd, locking onto the dark blue figure in the center of the Arena, still howling and exchanging blows with Officer Meitaoluo—Dorian.
Cassius said nothing, merely taking firm but slightly unsteady steps, slowly walking towards the front row of the spectator stands, one step at a time.
Wherever he passed, the warriors instinctively made way, and the atmosphere became somewhat subtle and oppressive.
He had only one target.
Dorian.
Today, he absolutely had to make this foul-mouthed, rumor-spreading bastard understand what "deep care" from a Captain meant!
Thinking about how, while he was unconscious, this idiot had actually spread rumors throughout the entire warship that he liked Golden, even alarming the Chapter Master, which caused the Chapter Master to now look at him with a hint of something amiss, Cassius felt the anger that he had barely managed to suppress in his chest once again flare up, burning so intensely that his wounds throbbed with pain.
His fists unconsciously clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white from the effort, and the training war hammer in his hand seemed to sense its owner's killing intent, trembling slightly.
'Dorian…' he muttered through gritted teeth in his heart, 'Today! You must! Lie in the medical bay for a week! No! At least a month!'
A storm born of rumors was about to erupt in this Arena, in the most direct, most physical way possible.
Inside the Octagon at the center of the Arena, the duel between Dorian and Officer Meitaoluo was nearing its end. It was more like a one-sided lesson and a complete crushing.
Dorian's powerful attacks, in front of Officer Meitaoluo's five-hundred-year-honed, almost prescient combat intuition and exquisite footwork, appeared clumsy and futile, unable to even touch the opponent's clothes.
Meanwhile, every seemingly simple counterattack from Officer Meitaoluo, whether it was a heavy straight punch, a tricky hook, or a swift swing, landed squarely on Dorian's chest, abdomen, and cheek, as if guided by precision.
Finally, as Dorian's full-power punch missed, leaving him wide open, Officer Meitaoluo delivered a lightning-fast uppercut, striking his chin precisely from below.
"Bang!"
Dorian felt an irresistible force from his jaw, his mind instantly went blank, and his massive body was lifted off his feet, falling backward heavily onto the elastic floor of the Octagon with a dull thud.
A clamor of gasps and cheers erupted from the audience.
Officer Meitaoluo slowly retracted his fist and stretched his somewhat sore shoulders and neck, as if the intense battle had just been a warm-up.
He didn't even look at Dorian, who was struggling to get up on the ground, and turned to walk towards the Octagon's only exit.
As he pulled open the cage door and stepped out, he met Captain Cassius, who was limping in.
The two exchanged no words, but with an extremely tacit understanding, they lightly bumped fists, their movements fluid and natural, as if they had rehearsed countless times.
Officer Meitaoluo even cast a meaningful glance at Dorian, who had just propped himself up with his elbows and was still disoriented, as they brushed past each other, his eyes seemingly saying, "Take care, kid."
Then, he left the Arena without looking back, completely yielding the stage to the Captain radiating cold killing intent behind him.
Dorian shook his ringing head, his vision gradually focusing.
When he clearly saw the figure standing at the cage door, locking it with a click of his backhand, his blood seemed to instantly freeze!
Cassius Venus! First Company Captain!
He was still heavily bandaged all over, especially around his chest and abdomen, where faint reddish bloodstains could vaguely be seen seeping through.
His gait was noticeably limping, clearly indicating that his severe injuries had not yet healed.
But all these outward signs of weakness were completely overshadowed by the cold, gleaming short-handled training mace he was weighing in his hand, and the grimace on his face, a mixture of intense pain and extreme rage.
In Dorian's eyes, the Captain at this moment was more terrifying than any Chaos Champion, Genestealers, Hive Tyrant, or even the rumored Nurgle Great Daemon he had encountered on any battlefield!
This was practically no different from seeing a ghost!
Dorian felt his legs go soft, almost collapsing to his knees.
He forced a smile even uglier than a cry, trying to smooth things over with his most "sincere" tone:
"Ah haha… Ca… Captain? You… you're alright… that's great! The Emperor protects! Haha…" He chuckled dryly, his voice slightly distorted by fear, "Oh, by the way, Captain, are you here to watch my training? I… I just sparred with Officer Meitaoluo and learned a lot! Really!"
However, Cassius couldn't be bothered to listen to his nonsense.
His icy blue eyes were fixed on Dorian, like a predator staring at trapped prey, and he stopped weighing the mace.
Then, dragging his uncooperative leg, he advanced towards Dorian, one deliberate step at a time, yet with an unstoppable momentum.
Dorian was scared out of his wits, backing away repeatedly until his back hit the cold cage mesh.
"Ca… Captain! Calm down! Your injuries haven't healed! You can't exert yourself! Apothecary Vorlak will be angry!"
Cassius ignored him, raising the mace high in his hand, casting an ominous shadow under the training ground's overhead lights, completely enveloping Dorian's terrified and distorted face.
"Aoooo—!!!!!!!"
A scream, piercing to the extreme, capable of penetrating layers of deck and echoing throughout the entire Macragge's Honour, suddenly erupted from within the Octagon!
The pain, fear, and despair contained in that sound made all the battle-hardened Astartes in the audience instinctively shrink their necks.
Far away in the training ground at the other end of the battleship, Gaius had just finished a high-intensity shooting drill and was wiping his sniper rifle, "Hawkeye".
The extremely penetrating scream made him pause, his brow slightly furrowed.
'This sound… why is it so familiar?' He distinguished it carefully, his expression slightly changing, 'It's Dorian!'
Almost instantly, he connected Dorian's recent spreading of the Captain's "scandal" with the news of the Captain's awakening a few days ago.
An ominous premonition surged in his heart.
Without overthinking, he immediately connected to his blessed osseous unit servo-skull via internal communication: "Locate Brother Deklan Katania's position!"
The skull quickly returned the information: [Location: Upper Deck, Main Arena, Inside the Octagon.]
"Just as I thought!" Gaius's heart sank.
He had no doubt that Captain Cassius, in his fury, might accidentally beat Dorian to death.
Given the Captain's fierce and strict personality, his current state of being severely injured and easily angered, combined with Dorian's thick skin but incredibly loose tongue, the consequences would be unimaginable!
"Lord Champion!" Gaius immediately called out to Draculas, who was instructing new recruits in combat techniques nearby, "Bring a few men and come with me to the Arena! Quickly!"
He didn't explain why, but his urgent tone and solemn expression made Draculas instantly realize the gravity of the situation.
This experienced veteran, with two golden service studs, didn't hesitate for a moment and immediately pointed to four First Company warriors in terminator armour nearby: "You, follow me!"
A group of six, led by Gaius, with Draculas and four fortress-like Terminators close behind, power armour servo systems fully engaged, heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor, rushed towards the Arena at top speed.
This was an emergency rescue operation for Dorian!
Meanwhile, the "tragedy" inside the Octagon continued to unfold.
Dorian was rolling around on the ground, jumping and dodging.
While the training mace wouldn't break his tough skin or injure his internal organs, the excruciating pain it inflicted on his muscles and bones was real and unforgettable!
He didn't dare to retaliate, only able to constantly dodge and block by instinct.
After enduring a heavy hammer blow with his arm, feeling his forearm bone almost crack, Dorian spotted an opening and, like a startled ape, lunged towards the cage wall, using his hands and feet to try and climb out to escape.
However, Cassius, in his rage, unleashed astonishing potential.
He would rather strain all his wounds and endure tearing pain than to lunge forward with a swift sprint, his power armour-clad hand grabbing Dorian's ankle, and with terrifying strength, like swinging a shot put, he forcibly pulled Dorian, who had already climbed halfway up the cage wall, back down!
"Bang!" Dorian crashed onto the floor again, and before he could catch his breath, a shadow loomed, and the mace was raised high again, then fell!
"Aooo—!"
"Captain! Have mercy! I was wrong! I really know I was wrong!" Dorian curled up on the ground, clutching his head, pleading like a pig being slaughtered, "I'll never spread things about you and the adjutant again! I'll absolutely never say anything from now on, only I will know! Aooo—!"
His "plea" not only failed to quell the Captain's rage but instead was like pouring a barrel of fuel onto a fire!
Wasn't this still indirectly admitting that he firmly believed that absurd rumor?!
"Dorian, you bastard!" Cassius's voice was hoarse with anger and pain, he roared while swinging the mace, "It seems the brig can't calm you down! You can go to the medical bay to calm down! Apothecary Vorlak misses you! Ah hahahaha! Hahahahaha—!"
At this moment, in Dorian's eyes, Captain Cassius, who was like a madman, grimacing and chasing him with the hammer, was even more terrifying than the legendary World Eaters Primarch Angron!
After beating Dorian black and blue, almost to the point of being unable to care for himself, Cassius still seemed unsatisfied.
He was breathing heavily, the bandages on his chest already largely stained with blood, but he still pointed the mace at the limp, trembling Dorian on the ground, and said in an incredibly ferocious tone:
"Dorian, you look so energetic... Do you want this hammer in my hand to thoroughly clean your intestines? Huh?!"
Clean his intestines?! With a power hammer?! Dorian was scared out of his wits, his face instantly turning ashen!
"No! Captain! I really know I was wrong! Please don't... Ow—!!!!"
Unfortunately, his plea was already too late.
The power hammer, carrying endless fury, once again landed on a soft and fragile part of his body.
This time, the scream was even more high-pitched and desperate than before, as if it would tear people's eardrums.
It was precisely at the moment this extreme scream reached its peak that the Arena door was crashed open with a "boom," and Gaius, along with Draculas and four Terminators resembling mobile fortresses, rushed in in a combat formation!
"Captain! Stop!" Gaius shouted loudly, his voice filled with urgency.
However, when they clearly saw the scene inside the octagon cage, even the battle-hardened Terminators couldn't help but pause.
Inside the cage, Captain Cassius leaned on his power hammer, panting, his bandages seeping blood, clearly at his limit. And Dorian... was sprawled on the ground in a very undignified posture, his hands tightly covering his butt, his body intermittently twitching, emitting unintelligible whimpers. It looked like he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
This "care" stemming from a rumor seemed to have temporarily come to a halt. But everyone knew that Dorian's "holiday" in the medical bay and detention cell had probably just begun.
After thoroughly "caring" for Dorian by unleashing his pent-up anger along with the power hammer, Captain Cassius's grimace, a mix of pain and satisfaction, slowly subsided. Once his taut nerves relaxed, his still-healing body immediately protested. Intense pain, like a tide, surged from the wounds in his chest and abdomen throughout his body, and the dizziness from blood loss struck violently. He felt his vision go black, all strength drained from his body, his hand holding the power hammer loosened, the weapon clattered to the ground, and his massive body swayed, then uncontrollably slumped forward.
"Captain!" Gaius had been closely monitoring Cassius's condition. Seeing this, he immediately rushed forward and, before the Captain completely fell, steadily supported him with his strong arm. The spot where he touched was warm and wet. Gaius looked down to see that the bandages on the Captain's chest and abdomen were already soaked with blood; the situation was clearly not optimistic.
"Call the Apothecary! Emergency! The Captain's injuries have worsened! Immediate medical attention is needed!" Gaius shouted anxiously towards outside the octagon cage, while carefully laying Cassius flat on the ground and checking his vital signs.
Draculas reacted extremely quickly, having already connected to the ship's medical bay via internal comms: "Medical bay! This is the Arena! Repeat, Arena! Captain Cassius's injuries have relapsed, vital signs unstable! Emergency medical support needed! Send two stretcher teams and Apothecaries immediately! Highest priority!"
He deliberately emphasized two stretcher teams, his gaze sweeping over the other fellow in the cage who also needed "treatment."
A calm but swift response came from the Apothecary on the other end of the communication: "Received! Medical team has departed! Expected to arrive within two minutes!"
Inside the Arena, the atmosphere shifted from its previous fervor and clamor to one of solemnity and hurried activity. The warriors automatically gathered, maintaining order and clearing a path for the arriving medical team. All eyes were focused on the "brothers in misfortune" lying in different postures inside the octagon cage.
Cassius lay on the cold floor, his face ashen, his breathing weak and rapid, but even on the verge of unconsciousness, a faint, almost imperceptible curve of satisfaction, born of vengeance, seemed to linger on his lips.
Not far from him, Dorian remained in that highly undignified posture, curled up like a cooked shrimp, his hands desperately, with all his might, covering his butt, his body twitching intermittently with uncontrollable pain. His usually carefree face was now etched with intense physical agony and immense mental trauma, occasionally letting out a few painful gasps through gritted teeth.
Soon, the automatic doors of the medical bay slid open, and two teams of swiftly moving Apothecaries in white uniforms rushed in with hover stretchers. They expertly divided into two groups; one immediately surrounded Captain Cassius, providing emergency hemostasis and life support, while the other walked towards Dorian.
"Brother Deklan Katania, please release your hands. We need to examine and treat your injuries," an Apothecary said in a professional and calm tone, trying to get Dorian to cooperate.
"No... can't... don't touch... ow..." Dorian desperately protected his vital area, his voice laced with tears and strong resistance. He now felt the pain in that area was more intense and... more unspeakable than all the injuries he had ever sustained combined! The Captain had truly gone all out! The head of that training power hammer... he dared not even recall it!
Finally, after a little "assistance" from two other Apothecaries, Dorian was reluctantly lifted onto a hover stretcher. Thus, a peculiar sight appeared in the ship's corridor: two medical teams, one after the other, rapidly moving with two stretchers. On the front stretcher, Captain Cassius lay peacefully, like a sleeping lion, only his pale face and blood-stained bandages revealing his weakness. On the stretcher behind, Dorian was lying face down, his entire head almost buried in the soft padding of the stretcher, his hands still stubbornly covering his rear, his body occasionally twitching slightly with the movement of the stretcher.
Before his consciousness completely plunged into darkness, Cassius barely opened his eyes a crack, just in time to see Dorian's miserable and disheveled appearance on the adjacent stretcher, especially the way he was desperately clutching his butt. An indescribable sense of gratification, as if a great vendetta had been avenged, surged through his heart, diluting the severe pain in his body. 'Hmph... this scoundrel... serves him right...' he muttered to himself, secretly vowing: 'Once I recover... I must make this scoundrel Dorian... feel even more deeply... the "care"... from his Captain...'
With this "beautiful" vision, Cassius tilted his head and completely passed out. To personally punish Dorian, he had forcibly acted despite his severe injuries, leading to their worsening. This "persistence" showed how much Dorian's rumor had provoked him.
Meanwhile, Dorian, lying face down on the stretcher, felt an internal collapse far greater than his physical pain. The burning, tearing pain from the area that had been in "intimate contact" with the power hammer's head constantly stimulated his nerves, but what made him even more desperate was the mental blow and the fear of "social death."
'It's over... it's all over...' He wanted to cry but couldn't, burying his face deeper into the cushion, as if that could shield him from all outside gazes. 'So many Brothers were watching! Watching me get... my butt... poked by the Captain with a hammer!' As soon as he thought of the astonished, sympathetic, and definitely stifled-laughter looks from the Arena spectators at the time, Dorian felt a wave of dizziness.
'I, Brother Deklan Katania, a tough guy from the Ultramarines 1st Company! A warrior personally awarded by Lord Guilliman! A renowned tough guy on the Macragge's Honour! How am I going to live on this ship now!' He seemed to already foresee that for a long time in the future, he would be the laughingstock of all the Brothers on the ship during their leisure time, and this "glorious deed" might even be turned into jokes and passed down!
"Ow..." As soon as he thought of that terrifying future, coupled with the intermittent throbbing pain from a certain part of his body, Dorian couldn't help but let out another desperate whimper, his body reflexively twitching again.
These "brothers in misfortune," both laid out on stretchers due to a rumor, were each immersed in different pains and thoughts on their way to the medical bay. One was thinking about how to continue his "care" after recovery, while the other was plunged into the deep fear of social death. It was foreseeable that Dorian's days in the medical bay would not be easy, both physically and psychologically.
The medical bay was filled with the distinct scent of disinfectant and regenerative unguents.
After emergency treatment by Apothecary Vorlak and his team of Apothecaries, Captain Cassius's blood vessels, which had ruptured in his chest due to strenuous activity, had been re-sutured, and his damaged internal organs had been further repaired and stabilized.
He lay on a multi-functional medical bed, connected to various vital sign monitors and IV tubes; though his face remained pale, his breathing had become steady and deep, indicating he was temporarily out of danger.
Apothecary Vorlak let out a long sigh as he watched the stabilizing indicators on his data-slate.
He turned to the Honour Guard Warriors standing like steel statues on either side of the medical bed and issued a strict command: "Watch the Captain closely.
Under no circumstances, absolutely no circumstances, are you to let him out of bed without my express permission, nor are you to let him come into contact with any object resembling a crozius arcanum.
Do you understand?"
"Understood, Apothecary!" the two Honour Guard Warriors responded in deep voices, their crimson eye-lenses scanning their surroundings vigilantly, as if any unknown object attempting to approach the Captain's bed would be shredded by bolter fire in an instant.
They were well aware of the Captain's "danger" before his recovery—both to himself and to a certain unfortunate individual.
In another area of the medical bay, on a bed simply separated by a curtain, Dorian was lying face down in a very awkward position.
His buttocks had been debrided, medicated, and bandaged by an Apothecary, and were now covered with thick dressings; the slightest movement would pull at the wound, causing a tearing pain that left him unable to move, like a flipped turtle, forced to lie still on the bed.
However, what was even more unbearable than his physical injuries was the immense mental blow and the complete ruin of his reputation.
He had always prided himself as a charging warrior and the strength of the Ultramarines 1st Company, a tough guy personally honored by Lord Guilliman, but now... witnessed by so many brothers in the Arena, he had been... poked in the butt with a training crozius arcanum by a still-recovering Captain!
This was an indelible disgrace in his Astartes career!
'It's over… it's completely over…' Dorian buried his face in the soft pillow, his heart filled with despair.
'How can I ever face my brothers again? How can I give orders in the assault squad? I'm afraid as soon as I open my mouth, someone will remember today's scene and secretly laugh behind my back!'
He even began to seriously consider whether, after he recovered from this injury, he should proactively apply to serve in the Deathwatch for a few decades, and only return when people here had mostly forgotten about this embarrassing incident…
Just as Dorian was immersed in the despair of social death, the Apothecary responsible for his care walked over.
The Apothecary's face, covered by a standard helmet, showed no expression, but Dorian keenly felt that the gaze behind the eye-lenses was a mix of professional inquiry, a hint of barely concealed confusion, and… suppressed amusement.
The Apothecary checked the dressing on Dorian's buttocks, confirmed there was no bleeding, and then asked in a tone as steady and professional as possible: "Brother Dorian, your… injuries have been treated.
However, I am very curious, who… injured you in this manner? And… specifically targeted this area?"
He wisely refrained from uttering the overly descriptive term, fearing it would cause further harm to the already mentally traumatized brother before him.
Upon hearing this, Dorian's body stiffened abruptly, then he buried his face deeper into the pillow, letting out an indistinct "woo woo" sound from his throat, mixed with pain, grievance, and shame, his shoulders subtly shrugging along, making it unclear if he was genuinely crying or feigning tears to elicit sympathy.
The Apothecary looked at him, sighed helplessly in his heart, and shook his head.
He had probably already guessed the whole story—what other reason could there be for Captain Cassius to personally "punish" someone despite his severe injuries, with such a… unique method, and with Dorian as the target, other than the absurd rumor about the Captain and the Lieutenant that had been circulating widely on the battleship recently?
He asked no further questions, walked to a nearby chair, sat down, picked up a data-slate, and began recording the two men's medical data and subsequent treatment plans.
Silence temporarily fell in the medical bay, broken only by the regular beeping of instruments and Captain Cassius's steady breathing.
After an unknown period, perhaps bored from lying still for too long, or perhaps due to his inherently thick nerves and astonishing psychological and physical recovery abilities, Dorian's feigned "woo woo" cries gradually ceased.
He turned his head, revealing half his face, his eyes darting around, seemingly finding it too dull to just lie there.
Then, he did something that nearly made the Apothecary, who was quietly recording data nearby, crush his data-slate—
He lowered his voice and, in a tone as if sharing top-secret intelligence, full of intense interest, spoke towards the general direction of the Apothecary:
"Hey, hey, brother, do you know?" He completely forgot that he had just been beaten to a pulp over this matter, and selectively ignored his current predicament, "I discovered a shocking secret! The Captain, Captain Cassius, he actually likes Lieutenant Golden!"
The Apothecary's data-recording movements instantly froze, and the corner of his mouth under his helmet twitched uncontrollably.
Dorian, however, seemed to have opened a floodgate, growing more animated as he spoke, beginning his "rigorous" argumentation: "Don't disbelieve me! I have evidence, brother! Let me tell you, you see, the Captain usually has a stern face for everyone, very fierce!
But only for Lieutenant Golden, that look in his eyes, tsk tsk, it softens just a little bit! Although it's just a little bit, that's still a difference!"
He painstakingly adjusted his prone position to better "preach and teach": "And! Doesn't the Captain often keep the Lieutenant to deal with documents with him late into the night? Think about it, a lone man and a lone man... uh, no, two grown men in one room, lights blazing, staying up for half the night!
Is that normal? That's very abnormal!"
He completely failed to notice that on the adjacent bed, a certain Captain, who was supposed to be "asleep," had a finger on his side twitch almost imperceptibly, and the curve on the connected heart monitor showed a small, rapid fluctuation.
"And!" Dorian's voice rose a few pitches, as if he had found crucial evidence, "I've observed carefully!
When the Lieutenant hands the Captain a data-slate, the Captain's fingers sometimes 'accidentally' brush the Lieutenant's hand!
This is absolutely not a coincidence! Once or twice is an accident, but if it happens many times, then it must be intentional!
There's definitely something going on here!"
He then launched into another enthusiastic, spittle-flecked monologue, analyzing everything from the distance they walked to the tone of their conversations, from work assignments to the possibilities of their private time… as if he wasn't a wounded man who had just been "educated" by physical means by the person involved, but a field researcher who had discovered a major sociological phenomenon, eagerly sharing his "research findings" from his sickbed.
The Apothecary sitting nearby, listening to Dorian's utterly unrepentant, even escalating "rumor-mongering," shook his head helplessly and raised a hand to rub the bridge of his nose under his helmet.
He was now one hundred percent certain how Dorian had gotten his injuries, and he strongly suspected that once Captain Cassius recovered, Dorian would very likely need a second, or even a third, round of "intensive care."
He glanced at Captain Cassius's suddenly unstable heart rate on the data-slate, then at the pink figure (referring to Dorian's state of mind) on the adjacent bed, still chattering away, completely oblivious to the danger about to descend again, and silently drew a large red cross, signifying "fatal dose," in his heart for Brother Dorian's future life on the battleship.
This guy was beyond saving.
He was as good as dead.
While Dorian was on the medical bay bed, enduring severe pain in his buttocks and stubbornly continuing his "academic research" into the Captain's "emotional life," the other protagonist of his story—Lieutenant Golden—was in the First Company Command Center, facing mountains of data-slates and tactical simulation maps.
Golden had naturally heard about the absurd rumors Dorian had been spreading around the battleship recently, as well as the news that he and the Captain had just "returned home together" (referring to their joint entry into the medical bay).
In response, this First Company Lieutenant, known for his calm reliability, merely shook his head helplessly, without even a furrow in his brow.
He had dealt with Dorian for decades longer than Captain Cassius had.
Since their time in the 7th Company, 2nd Squad, he had known exactly what kind of scoundrel Dorian was—brave and fearless, yes, but also reckless, impulsive, outspoken, and overflowing with energy, all ingrained in his very being.
Golden had long grown accustomed to this almost instinctive "slander," and couldn't even muster any anger.
As for the absurd rumor linking him with the Captain, Lieutenant Golden was completely unfazed. He and Captain Cassius had been comrades-in-arms for decades, fighting side-by-side, and were each other's most trusted partners. Their relationship was built on countless trials of life and death and shared responsibilities, as solid as a rock. How could it be shaken or defiled by Dorian's few nonsensical words? The Captain personally "educating" Dorian was, in his opinion, a perfectly normal reaction, and he was happy to let the Captain handle the trouble himself. After all, the daily company affairs, training schedules, logistics, patrol reports... almost suffocated him, so where would he find the extra energy and time to deal with Dorian's big mouth?
Just then, he received a direct order from the Chapter Master's office. The order was simple: dispatch a few Tech-Sergeants to maintain the data terminals and environmental control systems within the ancient and vast Library deep within the battleship. This was a relatively easy task, far from the clamor of the front lines, perfect for allowing some Tech-Sergeants to temporarily escape high-intensity maintenance work and catch their breath.
When this task was assigned to Golden, he barely hesitated. Two individuals immediately came to mind as the most suitable and most in need of "relaxation"—Luna and Eiras.
Luna, as a senior Tech-Sergeant, was undoubtedly capable, meticulous, and reliable, making her perfect for maintaining the Library's equipment. As for Eiras... this little one recently seemed to have caused a minor mishap in the Armory (reportedly trying to improve the cooling system of the "elara's storm" and almost melting half the workbench). Sending her to the quiet and peaceful Library for a few days would not only complete the mission but also serve as a form of protection, preventing her from causing further trouble, and was also a bit of favoritism from him, as an old comrade, towards this little sister.
The order was quickly issued. When Luna received the directive from Lieutenant Golden, she was squatting beside an ancient "Contemptor" dreadnought, using precise instruments to test the stability of its sarcophagus interface. She stopped her work, data streams rapidly scrolling across her optical display, confirming the mission details.
"Library equipment maintenance... understood," Luna murmured to herself, then began to pack her tools. This mission wasn't urgent, but it needed to be arranged as soon as possible. The first thing she thought of was finding her "partner"—Eiras.
However, finding Eiras was never an easy task. This little one seemed to have a natural aversion to carrying a communicator, or rather, she always managed to lose, break, or simply forget her communicator in some corner. This meant that every time Luna needed to find her, she had to embark on a small-scale "treasure hunt."
Luna stood up, her power armour emitting a faint servo motor hum. She first checked Eiras's cabin access records via the internal system, which showed no one entering or exiting in the last few hours—ruling out the possibility of her sleeping in the cabin.
Next, she connected to the Armory's surveillance logs and found no trace of Eiras's distinctive pink hair and small figure—ruling out the possibility of her engaging in "inventive creation" in the Armory.
Then, she checked the access records of several storage rooms she knew Eiras frequently "visited" for rare parts or snacks, still finding nothing—ruling out the possibility of her "borrowing" things from the storage rooms.
After this efficient logical elimination, the remaining target area was very small. Given Eiras's habits, if she wasn't in the aforementioned locations, she was most likely spending time with her favorite people—either Gaius or Laya.
Luna decided to check with Laya first, who was closer. She passed through several busy corridors and arrived at the civilian living quarters. Laya's cabin door was closed, and the access panel displayed "Do Not Disturb." Luna gently inquired through the communicator next to the door, and Laya's weak voice, heavy with sleep, replied, "Is that Ms. Luna?... Sorry, I'm resting... Eiras isn't here..."
Luna immediately apologized and did not disturb her further. She knew that Laya, as a mortal, worked on a battleship filled with Astartes giants and various mechanical roars, enduring immense physical and mental pressure, and her rare rest time was very precious.
It seemed there was only one target left.
Luna turned and began her "long journey." She had to head to the First Company's exclusive living area, located on the upper deck of the battleship, quite a distance from her current technical maintenance area.
She passed through the massive, bustling main hangar, where dozens of thunderhawk gunships and stormraven gunships were docked, and ground crew and Tech-Priests toiled like worker ants. She transferred four times between elevators going in different directions, feeling the subtle differences in gravity simulation across various areas of the battleship. She walked through two long corridors, hundreds of meters long, whose walls were inscribed with the glorious battle history and heroic reliefs of the Ultramarines. She brushed past a patrol of Honor Guard Warriors clad in Saturnine Pattern terminator armour; the crimson oculars of these steel giants lingered on her for a moment, then, after confirming her identity, they continued their heavy-footed departure.
Finally, after nearly half a standard hour of travel, Luna arrived at the First Company's cabin area. The corridors here were wider and quieter, and a solemn atmosphere permeated the air. She walked directly to Gaius's cabin door and knocked.
Not long after, the cabin door slid open. Appearing behind the door was Ms. Kelis, dressed in a simple pale purple long dress. Her silver hair fell softly over her shoulders, and her purple eyes looked at Luna with inquiry. When she recognized the familiar Tech-Sergeant power armour, a gentle smile appeared on her face, and she asked in an ethereal, melodious voice:
"Is there something you need, Ms. Luna?"
Luna bowed slightly, lowering her optical display to be level with Ms. Kelis's gaze, a gesture of respect. "Ms. Kelis, I apologize for the intrusion. Is Eiras inside?"
Upon hearing that she was looking for Eiras, Ms. Kelis immediately nodded knowingly and stepped aside to let her pass: "Yes, she just fell asleep not long ago." Her tone held a hint of indulgence.
After thanking her, Luna entered the cabin. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the large bed. Eiras was sprawled out in the center of the bed, tightly hugging a soft pillow, her short pink hair messy against her forehead. She was sleeping soundly, her small mouth slightly open, a glistening trail of drool uncontrollably escaping, already spreading into a small dark wet patch on the pristine white sheets. Her defenseless sleeping face was a stark contrast to her mischievous and naughty waking self.
Luna watched this scene, the corner of her mouth under her faceplate seeming to twitch slightly as she shook her head helplessly. She walked to the bed and gently nudged Eiras's shoulder: "Eiras, wake up. There's a mission."
Eiras grumbled discontentedly in her sleep, shrinking into the pillow like a small animal, and mumbled in response: "Mmm... five more minutes... just five minutes..."
Faced with Eiras's classic "five-minute delay tactic," Luna, having been through countless battles, had her own secret weapon. Without further ado, she extended her mechanically blessed arm, covered in precise tools, and accurately grasped one of Eiras's exposed, fair, and tender little feet.
Then, before Eiras could react, a small brush with soft bristles, originally used to clean dust from precision instruments, quickly popped out of Luna's arm and began to gently and rapidly tickle the sole of that little foot!
"Kya—!!!"
A sharp shriek, filled with surprise and ticklishness, instantly shattered the cabin's tranquility!
Eiras, who had been sleeping like a piglet just moments ago, sprang up from the bed as if struck by high-voltage electricity, her big green eyes wide open, all sleep gone! She giggled uncontrollably while desperately trying to pull her foot away from Luna's "demonic grasp."
"Hahaha... Stop... Stop it! Lady Luna! I'm awake! Truly awake! Hahaha... There's a mission! Let's go do the mission quickly!"
Seeing Eiras instantly become "spirited," Luna finally withdrew her mechanical arm and small brush with satisfaction, calmly stating: "Good. Get ready, we're going to the Library."
Ms. Kelis watched the interaction between these two lively characters, unable to help but cover her mouth and chuckle, filling the cabin with cheerful air. And Eiras, while fumbling to put on her ever-oil-stained Tech-Sergeant uniform, silently vowed in her heart that next time she slept, she would definitely wear the thickest socks!