Eiras deftly slipped on her specially made, small-sized Tech-Sergeant boots, tied the laces, and then immediately turned to look at Kolesa with her big, watery green eyes, clutching the hem of her nightgown and starting to whine: "Sister Kolesa~ Come with us~ There must be so many fun things in the library! You'll be so bored staying in the cabin by yourself!"
Kolesa looked at Eiras, who appeared pitiful and abandoned like a small animal, and her heart softened slightly. However, she also knew that the Chapter library was no ordinary place, with strict rules. She was about to politely decline, but her gaze fell on Luna, who was standing nearby, seeking her opinion.
Luna looked at Eiras's 'tears' that were almost overflowing, then at the hidden expectation in Kolesa's eyes. She also considered that the library maintenance task itself didn't involve core secrets, and with her and Eiras, two official Tech-Sergeants, leading the way, bringing a 'visitor' in, as long as they didn't touch sensitive areas, should be fine. She sighed helplessly in her heart; even she found it hard to be completely unyielding in the face of Eiras's 'tear offensive'.
"Yes," Luna responded concisely, her voice sounding a bit muffled through her helmet, "But you must stay close to us and not touch any unfamiliar items, especially the ancient data-slates and scrolls."
"Yay! Sister Luna is the best!" Eiras instantly 'cleared up'; her previously tearful expression vanished without a trace, replaced by a brilliant smile of successful scheming. She immediately squatted down excitedly, pulled out a pair of custom-made, incredibly soft and comfortable white cotton boots from her small toolkit, and without a word, began to put them on Kolesa.
Kolesa looked at Eiras's bustling manner, finding it somewhat amusing but also not refusing, allowing the little one to clumsily but earnestly put on her cotton boots. It wasn't until Eiras clapped her hands in satisfaction and started to pull her out that Luna had to remind them: "Eiras, Ms. Kolesa... is still wearing her nightgown."
Eiras then belatedly let out an "Ah," looked at the thin white nightgown Kolesa was wearing, then at her own uniform, and scratched her head: "Oh right... But it's okay! It'll definitely be warm in the library! Let's go, let's go!" She clearly didn't think much of it, still excitedly pulling Kolesa, skipping and running out of the cabin, as if they weren't going to perform maintenance but rather on a fun outing.
Luna watched Kolesa, who was being dragged away in a nightgown and cotton boots, and the energetic pink back of Eiras, shook her head helplessly again, and silently followed, while taking out her data-slate to record the departure time and personnel for this maintenance mission.
The three passed through layers of decks, gradually moving deeper into the warship. The deeper they went, the more serene and solemn the environment became. Giant incense burners, suspended by heavy chains, swayed gently from the corridor ceilings, emitting a calming scent of sandalwood and myrrh. On the metal walls on both sides, instead of cold pipeline interfaces, were densely inscribed Imperial Gothic script with strong strokes, praising the Emperor's supreme glory and the Thirteenth Legion's, the Ultramarines', illustrious achievements since the Great Crusade. From the brilliance of the Unification Wars, to the splendor of establishing the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar during the Great Crusade, to the dark era of the Horus Heresy, to the miracle of Primarch Roboute Guilliman's revival, and the subsequent Indomitus Crusade he led... A series of magnificent historical events were eternally etched into these steel walls, silently narrating the Chapter's glory and legacy.
The solemnity here made even Eiras, who was usually fearless, instinctively curb her skipping steps, her eyes wide with curiosity as she looked around. Although she was a 'permanent resident' of the warship, her visits to such deep core areas were few and far between. Kolesa, on the other hand, was stepping into this place for the first time; her purple eyes were filled with wonder and a hint of imperceptible awe. The heavy sense of history of the Imperium of Man and its religious devotion had solidified here, making her, an xenos visitor, profoundly feel the grandeur and resilience of another civilization.
Upon entering an exceptionally spacious deck with a high vaulted ceiling, the sight was even more astonishing. Dozens of red-robed Tech-Priests and silently treading servitors, holding small censers, drew wisps of blue smoke in the air, performing daily incense rituals to purify the air and atmosphere of the place. Around the deck, at regular intervals, stood Honour Guard Warriors clad in Saturnine Pattern Terminator Armour, like blue steel giants, their crimson visors scanning every corner, ensuring the security of this sacred area. Even heavy footsteps seemed exceptionally light here, as if fearing to disturb the tranquility.
The three arrived before a massive, ornate metal gate inscribed with the exquisite and complex emblem of the ring of macragge. The gate appeared to be forged from heavy adamantium, its surface gleaming, emanating an ancient and majestic aura. A blessed osseous unit servo-automaton silently floated over, scanning beams from its ocular sockets sweeping across Luna's, Eiras's identification codes, and then Kolesa's.
"Identity confirmed. Tech-Marine Luna Eisa, Tech-Sergeant Eiras, and temporary visitor Ms. Kolesa. Access level: Maintenance visit. Entry permitted." A cold, synthesized electronic voice announced.
With a low hum of hydraulic mechanisms, the heavy gate slowly opened inward, creating a gap. An indescribable, ancient aroma, a mixture of old parchment, dry dust, faint ozone, and a subtle hint of incense, instantly wafted out, as if opening a passage to another end of the river of time.
Eiras was the first to eagerly slip through, and when she saw the interior of the library, she couldn't help but let out a low gasp: "Wow—!"
What met her eyes was an incredibly vast, seemingly endless space. Towering bookshelves, reaching to the vaulted ceiling, stood like a forest of steel, densely packed with countless books—heavy tomes written on thick parchment, bound with leather or metal edges; ancient scrolls carefully rolled up and tied with ribbons or leather cords, their labels bearing obscure Old Terra script; and countless data-slates, flickering with faint indicator lights, neatly arranged on special racks, storing a vast amount of knowledge, battle reports, star charts, and technical archives accumulated since the Chapter's founding. Soft, even light streamed down from the dome, illuminating this ocean of knowledge. It was so quiet here that one could hear their own heartbeat, with only the occasional, almost imperceptible footsteps of servitors cleaning in the distance, and the barely audible hum of blessed osseous units moving.
All of this was incredibly novel to Eiras; her big green eyes were wide, her little head turning this way and that, feeling as if her eyes weren't enough to take it all in, wishing she had several more pairs.
A servitor in a plain grey robe, who had been waiting at the entrance, respectfully stepped forward and bowed to Luna: "Honored Astartes, please follow me. I will lead you to the data terminals and environmental control nodes that require maintenance."
Luna nodded, signaling Eiras to follow. Although Eiras was full of curiosity about everything around her, she remembered their main task and quickly took Kolesa's hand, following Luna and the servitor deeper into the library.
They walked through the 'canyons' formed by the bookshelves, the polished stone floor beneath their feet reflecting the faint light from the dome. The air was filled with the distinct, historically heavy scent of sealed parchment. Kolesa quietly followed, her psychic senses naturally spreading outward like gentle ripples, attempting to perceive the information and emotions that had settled in this space for millennia. However, as soon as her psychic tendrils left her body, they vanished quickly into this vast, boundless space, filled with order and the imprint of human collective will, like a stone thrown into the sea. She could only catch some vague fragments, like distant echoes, unable to form clear perceptions. This gave her a more direct understanding of the profound depth and weight of this temple of knowledge.
Soon, they arrived at the area requiring maintenance—several large data terminals responsible for managing the library's internal environmental data, regulating temperature and humidity, and backing up some non-core data. Luna and Eiras immediately got to work. Luna was in charge of checking hardware connections and system-level operation logs, while Eiras, with her imaginative yet often serendipitous approach, began troubleshooting software logic and potential redundant code.
Kolesa watched for a while, realizing she couldn't help much, and that the precise instruments and flickering data streams were not her forte, so she began to feel a bit bored. With Luna's approval, she obtained permission from the accompanying servitor and began to slowly stroll along the towering bookshelves within the permitted area, admiring these vessels that carried ten thousand years of human history.
Her gaze swept over rows of thick tomes, her fingers unconsciously brushing against the cold casings of data-slates. Finally, her steps halted before a shelf labeled [Late Great Crusade - Legion History - Covert Operations Records]. For some reason, one particularly thick, dark gold data-slate with somewhat worn edges caught her attention. The data-slate seemed to contain a unique energy fluctuation, resonating faintly with her psychic abilities as an Aeldari Farseer.
Hesitating for a moment, out of an instinctive curiosity, Kolesa extended her slender, fair hand and gently placed it on the cold surface of the data-slate.
The instant her fingertips touched the data-slate—
An anomaly occurred.
The psychic energy within her, as if finding an outlet, uncontrollably and like a trickling stream, spontaneously injected itself into the data-slate! The seemingly ordinary metal casing on the data-slate's surface suddenly lit up with countless intricate, star-like ancient runes, emitting a faint but resolute golden light!
Kolesa's pupils abruptly contracted; her consciousness felt as if it were being pulled by a huge suction, instantly detaching from her body and plunging into the data-slate! Before her eyes was no longer the silent library, but a dazzling white light!
As the white light gradually receded, what met her 'eyes' was an incredibly clear, immersive dynamic scene, accompanied by deafening bolter roars, the hum of power weapons tearing through the air, and a suffocating, tense, murderous atmosphere!
She seemed to be standing on a huge, empty metal platform. At both ends of the platform, two figures, like mythical giants, stood tall!
To her right was a giant clad in dazzling, ornate golden power armour! The style of the armour was ancient and majestic, adorned with numerous reliefs of spread-winged eagles and elaborate Imperial sashes, full of power and sanctity. The emblem on his chest—a clenched black fist—silently proclaimed his identity. In his hand, he gripped an immensely large, double-toothed chainsword whose teeth were furiously roaring—the weapon's might seemed capable of tearing apart stars! He wore no helmet, revealing a mane-like shock of white short hair and a neatly trimmed, thick white beard. His face was chiseled, marked with determination and the traces of time, but his eyes burned with an unyielding, lava-like fury and absolute the lion's due/loyalty (great sword)! Merely standing there, he exuded a mountain-like heavy pressure that seemed to solidify the surrounding air.
Opposite him, on the other side of the platform, stood another giant, equally tall but with a completely different temperament. He wore power armour of an azure blue, intricately carved with dragon scale patterns. His shoulder pads featured a unique, ferocious design of three snarling dragon heads, the iconic symbol of the Alpha Legion, with their mouths wide open as if to devour everything. In his hands, he wielded a power spear of equally bizarre design, its spearhead shaped like a roaring dragon's head. Although the face beneath his helmet was obscured, the cold, cunning aura, like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows, formed a stark contrast to the majestic and righteous presence of the golden giant opposite him!
Below the platform, as far as the eye could see, were two Astartes Chapters, clearly divided and bristling with hostility! One side wore dazzling bright yellow power armour, like an impregnable fortress under the sun! The other wore azure blue battle armour adorned with the Hydra symbol, like a deep sea with hidden currents! Their bolters were already loaded, their chainswords and power weapons hummed with hunger, and all the warriors stood taut, their gaze fixed on the two giants on the platform, waiting for their command to turn this place into a bloody purgatory!
This... this was precisely what the data slate recorded: an earth-shattering duel that occurred ten millennia ago, little known but capable of influencing the fate of the galaxy—the direct confrontation between Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, and Alpharius, Primarch of the Alpha Legion, in a hidden corner!
Kolesa's consciousness was immersed in this echoing, long-sealed piece of history, utterly shaken. She had never imagined that her accidental touch would stir such an ancient and powerful informational imprint, allowing her a glimpse of the star-shaking confrontation between Human Primarchs from ten millennia ago!
As Kolesa's consciousness was drawn into a furious vortex of light and shadow, iron and blood. The ancient information sealed within the data slate, stimulated by her psychic energy, transformed into an incredibly real sensory impact.
On the platform, the golden giant—Rogal Dorn—made the first move! He spoke no superfluous words nor made any feints; for him, battle was both a mission and an answer. He raised his roaring chainsword, 'Storm's Teeth,' high, and his massive body erupted with a thunderous speed and power completely at odds with his composed exterior, slashing down at Alpharius opposite him! Where the blade passed, the air seemed to tear, emitting a piercing shriek!
Alpharius, the azure blue figure, moved with ghostly agility. Faced with Dorn's mountain-splitting blow, he chose not to meet it head-on. Instead, with a flick of his wrist, the dragon-headed power spear blocked the chainsword's path with lifelike precision. Simultaneously, using the force of the impact, his body spun like a top, and the spear's tip arced a deadly cold light, thrusting directly into the exposed flank of Dorn, revealed by his sword-swing!
Dorn's battle instincts, honed by countless wars, made him react almost instantly. His powerful core muscles tensed, and his massive body shifted sideways by mere millimeters, the cold spear tip grazing his golden chest plate and sparking. And his chainsword, after its first strike was parried, did not pause for a moment. Using the momentum of the swing, it swept horizontally at Alpharius's neck from an even more cunning angle!
Alpharius seemed to have anticipated this strike. His power spear, after parrying, retracted swiftly as if alive, held firmly upright before him, once again staunchly blocking the roaring teeth! Two terrifying forces collided again, the shriek of the chainsword and the grinding of metal erupting in even more dazzling sparks, like momentarily blooming flowers of death!
All these exchanges happened with lightning speed; from Dorn's first swing to the end of the second collision, only a brief instant of real time passed! Although Kolesa's psychic perception slowed down and analyzed this scene in her consciousness, she still needed to concentrate fully to barely grasp every subtle movement, every shift in power, and every glance exchanged between the two Primarchs, actions that surpassed the limits of mortal comprehension. It was the ultimate clash of skill, power, will, and instinct; every second contained endless killing intent and immense power.
And as the Primarchs engaged, the suffocatingly tense atmosphere below the platform instantly ignited! Like a collapsing dam, a torrent unleashed!
"For the Emperor!!!"
"For Dorn!!!"
The warriors of the Imperial Fists let out a earth-shattering roar, and the bright yellow tide surged forward like a breached steel flood!
"Hydra Dominatus!" The warriors of the Alpha Legion responded with a cold, cunning battle cry, their azure blue figures like deadly vipers, crashing head-on!
The roar of bolters instantly became a continuous symphony of death. The growl of chainswords, the hum of power weapons, the thunder of explosions, the dying roars of warriors, and the sound of shattering armour intertwined, forming a hellish opus. Bright yellow and azure blue figures furiously interwove, collided, and separated. Warriors constantly fell, torn by bolters or severed by blades, their blood instantly staining the cold deck, but immediately more warriors stepped over their comrades' corpses, charging on like tireless machines! The hatred and resolve of both sides were fully displayed at this moment.
Kolesa's consciousness was immersed in this brutal slaughter, her mind experiencing an unprecedented shock. She had seen war: the internal strife of the Aeldari and Dark Eldar, savage conflicts with the Orks, desperate battles with the Tyranids... But this pure, efficient, fearless, and utterly destructive civil war between Human Astartes, with its cruelty and resolve, still sent a shiver down her spine.
The duel on the platform continued, the battle between the two Primarchs already at a fever pitch. Their movements grew faster, their power stronger, each collision seeming to make the platform beneath their feet tremble. Finally, in a combination of a masterfully executed feint and a burst of power, Dorn seized a tiny opening in Alpharius's defense. His roaring chainsword, like a golden thunderbolt, savagely cleaved into the abdomen of Alpharius's azure blue power armour!
Although the scene abruptly ended there, without showing the aftermath, the outcome was already clear—the Imperial Fists ultimately purged the Alpha Legion from this place.
As the playback of this record concluded, Kolesa's consciousness, as if surfacing from the deep sea, slowly returned to reality. Her slender body swayed slightly, and she steadied herself by leaning on the cold bookshelf beside her. In her purple eyes, the stunning images of that epic duel and brutal slaughter still lingered.
Rogal Dorn... this name, and his distinctive golden armour and white hair and beard, were not entirely unfamiliar to her. In her former home, the Ark World of Aethel's Tear, in the knowledge concerning the Imperium of Man, this Primarch of the Imperial Fists was one of the few Human supreme beings clearly recorded and identified. The reason was simple—it was his Imperial Fists successor Chapter, the 'Black Templars,' who harbored extreme xenophobia and pursued a policy of complete purification, who were the culprits that destroyed her home, massacred her people, and caused her to lose everything.
However, having now 'witnessed' Dorn's battle from ten millennia ago, and feeling that unshakeable the lion's due/loyalty (great sword) like a mountain and that pure, ultimate will to fight, a complex and inexpressible emotion arose within her. It was his descendants who destroyed her home, yet he himself was a hero fighting to protect the Human Emperor and his ideals. The causality of history and the opposition of their positions seemed so ironic and heavy at this moment.
It took a full minute for Kolesa to fully recover from the shock and complex emotions brought by that historical echo. The library remained quiet, with only the faint sounds of Luna and Eiras working in the distance.
She let out a soft breath, her gaze falling back on the row of heavy data slates. The experience just now felt as if it had opened a window for her to glimpse ancient Human history. An irresistible curiosity drove her, making her want to learn more.
Her slender, pale fingers, like a caress over piano keys, gently brushed over the casings of several adjacent data slates. Finally, her finger rested on another data slate that appeared equally ancient, its surface inscribed with the Imperial Aquila and olive branch motifs. She once again concentrated, carefully injecting a gentle wisp of psychic energy into it.
The data slate responded again, a faint glow appearing.
This time, the image that entered her consciousness was no longer a single duel, but a grander, and more... tragic scene.
She felt as if she stood atop the ruins of a vast palace, scarred and desolate, filled with crumbling walls. The sky was an oppressive dark red, shrouded by thick smoke and ominous energy clouds. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, ozone, and blood.
Before her, three tall figures stood side-by-side, like colossal pillars supporting a collapsing sky.
On the far right was still the golden-armoured giant—Rogal Dorn. But unlike his relatively unblemished state during the duel with Alpharius, his armour was now covered in deep scratches, dents, and dried bloodstains. Large sections of the golden paint were stripped away, revealing the dull metallic base beneath. His white short hair and beard were also stained with dust and blood, but his eyes were sharper than ever, burning with an unyielding, tenacious fire, as if even if the entire galaxy plunged into darkness, he would be the last steadfast light.
Standing in the middle was a Primarch with an almost perfect countenance. He wore magnificent and sacred power armour, crimson and gold, with a unique, tear-drop-like symbol emblazoned on his chest plate. Most striking were the colossal, ethereal wings behind him, entirely composed of brilliant golden light! The wings were slightly unfurled, radiating a warm and hopeful glow, like a guiding beacon in this desolate battlefield. He had long, flowing golden hair, and a face so handsome it transcended mortal imagination. Anyone who saw him would spontaneously feel a deep sense of respect, adoration, and serenity. He was Sanguinius, the Archangel, Primarch of the Ninth Legion, the Blood Angels.
And standing on the far left was a Primarch whose temperament was starkly different from Dorn's steadfastness and Sanguinius's sanctity. He was equally tall and powerfully built, but his posture was more unrestrained and wild. His custom white power armour, adorned with fur and red lightning patterns, exuded a nomadic, wild beauty, integrating Mongolian-style lamellar and chainmail structures, combining both aesthetics and functionality. His shoulder pads were sharp and curved, resembling a raptor's spread wings, and trimmed with flowing fur. He wore a ferocious helmet shaped like a roaring beast, and atop it, a distinctive red topknot, like a burning flame, whipped wildly in the dusty wind. In his hand, he gripped a uniquely shaped power scimitar called 'White Tiger Blade,' and his eyes burned with a battle passion and free will that seemed capable of consuming everything. He was Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the Fifth Legion, the White Scars.
Three Primarchs, representing three different spirits and strengths of the Imperium's loyalist faction, now stood side-by-side. Their gazes were simultaneously fixed, with grave solemnity, on the skies of Terra, dyed red by smoke and fire.
Kolesa's consciousness also 'looked up' with them.
There, in Terra's low orbit, countless traitor warships, dense as a locust swarm, obscured the stars, unleashing an endless, destructive orbital bombardment upon the Human homeworld! Lance beams cut across the sky like the scythes of death, macro-cannon shells fell like a meteor shower, turning the land into scorched earth... This was... the darkest, most desperate hour of the Siege of Terra. Three Primarchs, sworn to defend the last embers and hope of Human civilization with their lives.
Kolesa's consciousness was immersed in this tragic and grand historical fragment, unable to extricate herself for a long time. Human history was far more epic and far more cruel and bloody than she had imagined.
Kolesa's consciousness had not fully detached from the tragic and brutal scenes of the Siege of Terra, yet the images stored in the data-slate once again began to flow. The scene before her eyes abruptly shifted from the scorched battlefield on the ground to the interior of a colossal steel vessel in the cold starry sky.
She "saw" an even taller, more suffocating figure standing on a bridge that was incredibly spacious and offered an excellent view. He was clad in power armour as black as the midnight abyss, its surface covered with countless strange eye symbols that subtly squirmed like living things, seemingly peering into all creation. Amidst these, numerous ornate yet sinister golden unique patterns were interspersed. He wore no helmet, revealing a bald head from which various cold iron tubes and cables, connected to nerves and blood vessels, protruded like some cruel mechanical torture device.
In his left hand, he wielded a terrifyingly massive power hammer—"Worldbreaker"—its head wreathed in an ominous energy field. It was said to be a symbol of honor bestowed upon him by the Emperor himself when he was elevated to Warmaster, but now it had become an instrument of fratricide and betrayal. His right hand was equipped with a huge, savage metal claw—"Horus' Claw"—each tip gleaming with a ghostly green, deadly disintegration field, as if it could easily tear through the strongest armor and the most powerful psychic abilities. Over his massive black power armour, a huge, coarse wolf pelt was casually draped, stained with ash and long-dried, blackened blood, exuding an aura of savagery and death.
He merely stood there, without any superfluous movement, yet a terrifying pressure, a mixture of absolute power, insane ambition, and profound corruption, permeated the air as if he himself were the embodiment of destruction and chaos. His face was expressionless, his deep eyes gazing indifferently through the massive observation window at the distant planet shrouded in war and smoke—Holy Terra, the homeworld of the Imperium of Man. His flagship, named the vengeful spirit, commanded the sky-darkening traitor fleet, unleashing an endless torrent of destructive energy upon Terra's walls.
He was Horus Lupercal, the "Wolf Shepherd," Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion, the Shadowmoon Wolves, the Warmaster once held in high esteem by the Emperor, and the core and instigator of this Great Crusade that swept across the galaxy, dragging humanity's Golden Age into an endless abyss.
At this moment, the recording showed him on the bridge of the vengeful spirit, just before launching the final assault on Terra Palace. This was also... one of the last moments before his Horus' Claw, stained with the blood of his brothers, would cruelly take the life of the Archangel Sanguinius.
Kolesa did not know Horus, nor did she know that it was this figure who single-handedly caused the current decline and darkness of the Imperium of Man. In her understanding, there were many Primarchs, and this was perhaps just one of the less famous, but equally powerful, beings. However, even across ten millennia and the barrier of data, that pure malice and aura of destruction, originating from the depths of his soul, still caused her a strong sense of unease and trepidation.
Just then, in the image, the black figure standing in the center of the bridge seemed to sense a gaze from the distant future. His deep, cold eyes slowly turned, and his gaze pierced through the obstruction of time and space, precisely "looking" in the direction of Kolesa's consciousness!
Kolesa was startled, as if targeted by an invisible venomous snake, a chill instantly shooting up her spine! She instinctively severed the psychic connection and took a large step back, her slender body hitting the cold bookshelf behind her with a soft thud, nearly falling to the ground.
She quickly reached out to steady herself against the bookshelf, calming her somewhat hurried breathing and pounding heart, but the lingering feeling of being stared at by a powerful, evil entity still persisted. That bald, tube-covered Primarch... gave her a feeling more dangerous and... corrupted than any being she had seen before.
"Kolesa sister? What's wrong?"
A voice filled with concern and a slight mumble sounded nearby. It was Eiras, who had been slacking off, noticing the commotion and quickly running over, extending her slightly greasy small hand to grasp Kolesa's somewhat cold fingers.
Kolesa lowered her head, looking at Eiras's large, worried green eyes, and the chill in her heart gradually dissipated, replaced by warmth. She smiled slightly, reaching out to ruffle Eiras's pink hair, and said softly, "Nothing, I just got a little too engrossed. Have you finished your work?"
Upon hearing this, Eiras immediately puffed out her small chest, looking like "leave it to me," and nonchalantly said, "Oh, those little problems, Luna can just take care of them! I finished my part ages ago!" She was already well-versed in the routine of slacking off, getting caught, and then having Luna clean up the mess, feeling no issues with it whatsoever.
Without waiting for Kolesa to say anything more, she excitedly took her hand and began to wander through the vast, boundless maze of bookshelves. "Kolesa sister, come look! There are so many books with strange drawings here! And over there, those data-slates light up like glowing candies!"
The little one had completely turned the solemn library into an adventure park, pulling Kolesa through the giant bookshelves, sometimes exclaiming at the obscure illustrations in an ancient tome, sometimes taking a keen interest in a strangely shaped data-slate. Kolesa watched her carefree, energetic demeanor, and the oppressive feeling caused by glimpsing ancient wars and evil figures gradually faded. She let Eiras pull her along, enjoying this rare moment of leisure with childlike innocence in this tranquil space filled with the dust of history and the fragrance of knowledge. In the distance, Luna remained diligently focused on her maintenance work, already accustomed to Eiras's "usual routine," only occasionally looking up to ensure the two figures hadn't strayed too far or caused any trouble, before returning to her task.
While the Ultramarines Fleet enjoyed a brief and precious period of peaceful patrol, beyond the real universe, in the turbulent and lawless depths of the Warp, a new storm was brewing.
The vengeful spirit, this colossal vessel laden with endless betrayal and curses, hung silently in the twisted void composed of pure malice and blasphemous energy. On the bridge, Warmaster Abaddon, commander of the Fourteenth Black Crusade, coldly watched the legions assembling below.
Having just concluded a cleanup operation against an Ork tribe harassing their shipping lanes, the Black Legion warriors still had green bloodstains on their armour, their eyes burning with unextinguished battle lust and a desire for more slaughter. Abaddon needed to keep this force sharp, but not to prematurely deplete it in meaningless wars of attrition.
He had gathered some of the World Eaters warbands, known for their ferocity, and the remnants of the Thousand Sons, masters of witchcraft and inscrutable cunning. He intended to integrate these forces, sharpen their fangs, and await the perfect moment—a time when the Imperial main force and other factions, whether xenos or Chaos traitors, were locked in a desperate, exhausting struggle. Then, his long-prepared elite force would surge forth like a venomous snake hidden in the shadows, delivering the most fatal blow to the Imperium!
Abaddon stood high on the bridge, looking down at the fanatical figures on the deck below. He slowly spread his arms, the grotesque decorations on his terminator armour appearing especially terrifying in the light of the Warp energy.
"For the Dark Gods!" His deep, powerful voice echoed through the bridge's amplification system, spreading across the entire area.
"For the Dark Gods!!!" Below, a thunderous roar, mixed with fanaticism and blasphemy, erupted, as if the sound waves would tear the Warp itself apart.
In Abaddon's eyes, burning with wildfire, the current Imperium was nothing more than a hollow shell, outwardly strong but internally riddled with contradictions and decay. Regent Guilliman, trapped by endless state affairs and the minutiae of Ultramar; Lion El'Jonson, attempting to reintegrate forces that had long since fragmented; and that ridiculous Konrad Curze, the night haunter, trying to find a path to atonement for himself and his Legion, like a clown... In his view, these so-called loyalist leaders were all cut from the same cloth, fighting their own battles, utterly powerless to stop him from launching his final revenge against the False Emperor's throne!
"Short-sighted Mortarion, only knowing how to cultivate his disgusting 'garden' in his plague-ridden sector!" Abaddon's voice carried undisguised contempt. "Arrogant Perturabo, still immersed in his endless siege and building games! And that incorrigible Lorgar, who only prays to his lying Chaos God! They are all content with the status quo, forgetting the False Emperor's deceit and betrayal ten millennia ago, and have ceased their revenge against him!"
His voice suddenly rose, filled with Inflammatory: "But we have not! The great Sons of Horus will never forget! We will never stop seeking revenge against the False Emperor! Warriors! Children of the great Wolf Shepherd! Prepare! Sharpen your blades, load your bolters! Prepare to swing our sharpest sword of vengeance at the False Emperor and his crumbling Imperium!"
"Abaddon! For the Warmaster! For the Dark Gods!" Even more fanatical shouts erupted, the warriors pounding their chest plates, creating a deafening roar.
Abaddon looked at his high-spirited Legion and nodded in satisfaction. This unwavering, destructive resolve was exactly what he wanted. He intended to launch an unprecedented Black Crusade, far grander than any before, to once and for all wash away the shame of previous expeditions that had started strong but fizzled out, failing to achieve their strategic goals! He would inflict the deepest, most incurable wounds on the Imperium, he would annihilate everything they cherished, and he would trample the False Emperor's lies beneath his feet!
Meanwhile, at the other end of the real universe, in the medical bay of the Macragge's Honour, the atmosphere was starkly different from the grim solemnity of the Warp.
Dorian was still lying on the sickbed, his gluteal injury rapidly healing thanks to the Apothecary's exquisite skill and his superhuman physique, but the burning pain was still clear. However, this did not stop his incessant chatter.
"So, brother," Dorian tilted his head, enthusiastically resuming his "academic sharing" with the Apothecary who was changing his dressing and applying regenerative ointment, "I'd bet all my honor that Captain Cassius definitely has feelings for his second-in-command! Look, last time his second-in-command came to the medical bay to visit the Captain (it was actually to report on work), the Captain's gaze, tsk tsk, even though his face was still stern, I could feel it, there was concern in it! A different kind of relationship!"
He was completely unaware that, not far away, on another medical bed partially obscured by a curtain, Captain Cassius, who was supposed to be "sleeping," was currently resting with his eyes closed, seemingly in repose. In reality, under Apothecary Vorlak's supervision, he was undergoing extremely slow and localized muscle rehabilitation training. His white-bandaged chest rose and fell slightly, and the hand by his side imperceptibly clenched again. The stable curve on the heart rate monitor connected to him once again showed a small, rapid peak.
And the blessed osseous unit servo-robot, which floated silently like a ghost in the medical bay, recording everything, continued to faithfully perform its duty, clearly capturing every one of Dorian's "profound insights." Dorian was completely oblivious to this; he even thought the skull was used by the Apothecary to assist in recording medical data or transferring tools, completely unaware of its true "eavesdropping" function.
The Apothecary caring for him, while professionally tending to his wound, listened to his completely unrepentant, even escalating, rumor-mongering, and shook his head helplessly. He couldn't help but remind him in a low voice, "Brother Dorian, I suggest you... say a little less. Focusing on your recovery would be better for you." He paused, then added in an almost explicit tone, "Otherwise, next time the Captain acts, it might not just be a matter of... 'stabbing' a little deeper."
Upon hearing this, Dorian instinctively clamped his legs together, as if once again feeling that unforgettable pain, wincing and quickly saying to the Apothecary, "Gently, gently! Brother, be gentle with your hands!" Then, he waved his hand dismissively, lowering his voice, an expression of "I understand" on his face, "Don't worry, don't worry! I know what I'm doing! Once I can get out of bed, I'll definitely avoid the Captain, absolutely not go near him! Out of sight, out of mind!"
The Apothecary looked at him, completely oblivious to the seriousness of the situation, like a dead pig unafraid of boiling water, and was utterly speechless. He silently quickened his movements, wanting only to finish with this troublesome fellow as soon as possible. He mentally drew a huge red cross over Dorian again.
This guy was truly beyond saving. The Captain had just woken up, and his rehabilitation training wasn't even finished, yet he was already recklessly tempting death again. The Apothecary could almost foresee that the day Captain Cassius fully recovered his mobility, Dorian's medical bay "holiday" would likely be extended indefinitely.
Although Abaddon believed his plans were secret and thorough, carried out quietly in the shadows of the Warp, those beings standing at the pinnacle of human power more or less felt a faint ripple from the river of destiny, a sense of oppressive foreboding, like a storm brewing.
Deep within the Eye of Terror's eternally shifting domain, filled with madness and betrayal, a swift figure, like the embodiment of shadow itself, moved through the twisted landscapes at a speed defying physical laws. The Raven Lord, Corvus Corax, the Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion, who had infiltrated the Eye of Terror ten millennia ago, vowing to eternally hunt traitors, his essence intimately connected to the Warp, allowed him to more clearly smell the familiar scent of corruption and destruction that was gathering than anyone else. A cold killing intent flashed in his dark eyes, silently merging into a turbulent stream of energy, continuing his endless hunt, but his vigilance had been raised to the highest level.
In a corner of the Maelstrom, the Imperial Rock, Rogal Dorn, who had concealed his true identity and walked among the Crimson Fists Chapter as a golden giant. Although he deliberately suppressed most of his psychic presence, his intuition, honed by ten millennia of war and long integrated into his soul, detected a discordant note in the galactic symphony, an unsettling tremor similar to the end of the Great Crusade, before the outbreak of the Heresy. He caressed the hilt of "Storm's Teeth" at his waist, his white bushy eyebrows slightly furrowed, his gaze seemingly piercing through the warship's armor, looking towards the unseen torrent of destiny.
On the ice-covered death world of Fenris, within the massive Fang of the Wolf, the Wolf King, Leman Russ, suddenly awoke from a deep dream of endless hunting and heavy drinking. He shook his hair, like a lion's mane, a trace of irritation on his rugged face. A premonition, similar to the eve of Horus's betrayal, an irritating sensation, stimulated his nerves like a faint electric current. He grabbed the huge ale barrel beside him, took a deep swig of mead, and let out a low roar at the empty hall, as if declaring war on the unseen threat.
On Holy Terra, deep within the Terra Palace, Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman was engaged in another round of exhausting wrangling with a group of chattering High Lords of the Council, entangled in trivial state affairs and power balances. At one particular moment, his high-speed brain, processing a vast amount of information, felt as if it had been pricked by a cold needle, and an ominous premonition, originating from the depths of his genetic essence, suddenly emerged. He stopped the electronic pen he was using to sign documents, a trace of solemnity flashed in his azure eyes, and he temporarily ignored the High Lords' argument about the distribution of taxes in a fringe star system, turning his attention to the strategic situation map.
And the Lion King, Lion El'Jonson, operating in the shadows, had been quietly consolidating the loyal and usable forces within the Imperium, especially his Dark Angels successor Chapters still scattered throughout. He, too, felt the oppressive calm before a storm, as if an invisible darkness was slowly but surely gathering. His orders became more concise and urgent, demanding that all "reckonings" be completed as quickly as possible.
Even on the fringes of the Ultramar Sector, the night haunter, Konrad Curze, who had embarked on a path of atonement, leading the rebuilt Eighth Legion in a relentless hunt against xenos and Chaos, his mind, tormented by prophecies and hallucinations, also caught glimpses of even more chaotic, bloody, and destructive future fragments. Although he had long grown accustomed to this torment, this time, the scale of galactic devastation contained within the fragments brought an unprecedented solemnity to his pale, twisted face.
Better safe than sorry. Especially for these ancient beings who had experienced the Horus Heresy, any suspicious sign was enough to make them react with full force.
The first to react on a large scale was Lord Regent Guilliman. Without hesitation, he immediately issued a concise and clear command through the highest-priority encrypted communication channel to all Ultramarines successor Chapters scattered across the galaxy—[Effective immediately, cease all non-essential expeditions and patrol missions, and return to the Ultramar Sector at the fastest possible speed!]
As soon as the order was given, the vast Ultramarines Chapter and its many successor Chapters, this efficient war machine, immediately began to operate. Countless deep blue vessels turned their course from distant star systems, gathering like homing worker bees towards the core region of Ultramar. Whether to counter a potentially unprecedented Black Crusade or to guard against the elusive main Tyranid fleet, the Ultramarines had to concentrate their strength to protect their home, their source of survival and development.
The Macragge's Honour and its escort fleet, having completed their scheduled patrol missions, also received the latest directives. The massive fleet began to consolidate, adjust its formation, and with engines at full power, drew graceful arcs as it returned towards the Macragge system. They would conduct higher-intensity patrols in the core area near their homeworld, like a vigilant pride of lions guarding the heart of Ultramar.
The brief period of peace abruptly ended. The tense atmosphere of war preparedness once again permeated the air. On the decks, warriors visibly increased the frequency of checking their weapons and equipment; in the hangars, ground crew meticulously maintained thunderhawk gunships and Stormravens; on the bridge, navigators and astropaths constantly monitored any unusual fluctuations in the Warp.
The colossal war machine, spurred by the Black Legion's covert actions and the Primarchs' subconscious premonitions, rumbled to life once more, entering a state of readiness for battle. The future of the galaxy, it seemed, was once again poised to face a destiny-defining storm.
Inside a certain compartment of the Crimson Fists' flagship, the 'Fist of Indomitable Will,' the atmosphere was quiet and slightly solemn.
The siblings, Aria and Leo, whom Rogal Dorn had rescued from the lower levels of the Kelbora Hive City, had changed into clean and tidy clothes.
Though simple in style, the fabric was soft and comfortable.
They had just enjoyed a meal that was, for them, luxurious—a hot dish carefully prepared from synthetic nutrients.
It was the first time since the disaster that they had felt full and safe.
The siblings' gaze involuntarily followed the towering figure in the center of the compartment, like a golden mountain.
Gratitude, awe, and a hint of uncontrollable curiosity intertwined in their hearts.
Finally, it was the older sister, Aria, who mustered her courage and asked in a faint, trembling voice, like a mosquito:
"Are... are you Lord Dorn? The Rock of the Imperium, the Guardian of Terra..."
Rogal Dorn's face, as resolute as a marble carving, showed little emotion.
He didn't even lower his head to look at the mortal girl, who only reached his knees.
He merely gave a minuscule nod, emitting a low "Mmm" from his throat, acknowledging her guess.
To him, identity and titles were merely appendages of duty, requiring no excessive emphasis.
Upon confirmation, Aria's eyes instantly gleamed with bright light, a mix of excitement and disbelief.
She took a deep breath, as if to expend all her accumulated courage, and asked again, her voice still soft but much clearer: "I... I grew up listening to your legends... You bravely defended humanity, defended Terra... But, why... why haven't you returned to Holy Terra? The priests of the Ecclesiarchy all say that you have always been guarding the Imperium..."
This question caused a slight ripple in Dorn's placid mind.
He was somewhat surprised that a girl from a lower Hive City would know such things and dare to ask him such a question.
However, he didn't delve deeper; perhaps it was the influence of some wandering missionary or surviving texts.
He was silent for a moment, the only sound in the compartment being the faint hum of the air circulation system.
Finally, he spoke slowly, his voice deep and flat, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, yet seeming to carry immense weight:
"Because I hate Roboute Guilliman."
This sentence was like a muffled thunderclap, exploding in Aria's small mind.
She was completely stunned, her mouth agape, unsure how to respond for a moment.
In all the Ecclesiarchy teachings and legends she had received, Roboute Guilliman, the Lord Regent of the Imperium, the ruler of Ultramar, was the great hero who led humanity out of the dark ages, the embodiment of wisdom, reason, and order, a nearly perfect Primarch.
She couldn't understand why Lord Dorn, also a great Primarch and also fighting for humanity, would so directly express his "hatred" for the Lord Regent.
Great confusion and a hint of primal fear prevented her from asking further, lest her questions anger this seemingly stern and cold golden giant.
She lowered her head, her small hands nervously clutching the hem of her clothes.
Dorn looked at the girl's suddenly frightened expression and sighed imperceptibly in his heart.
He knew his words were too blunt and impactful for a child who adored heroic legends.
His thoughts were uncontrollably pulled back ten thousand years, to that darkest, most painful period, the root of his resentment—
The Siege of Terra, the Imperium of Man's most desperate hour.
At that time, standing beside him, facing the tide of Chaos with him, were only the Great Angel Sanguinius, and Jaghatai Khan of the White Scars, the Eagle of Chogoris.
Leman Russ and his fierce wolf packs, having suffered heavy losses after the Burning of Prospero and the tragic infighting of the Thousand Sons, were further devastated in the ambush against Horus, unable to return to Terra.
The legions of the valiant Ferrus Manus, the grim Corvus Corax, and the benevolent Vulkan, were caught in a treacherous ambush by traitors on Istvaan V, almost entirely massacred, their main forces annihilated.
Ferrus was even slain, while Corvus and Vulkan, though they survived, were missing.
Lion El'Jonson, lost in the Warp due to the brief Extinguish of the Astronomican, was unable to return in time, and could only vent his fury on the traitors' homeworlds, attempting to cut off their logistics.
And he, Rogal Dorn, bore the final responsibility of guarding the Imperial Palace and the Emperor.
Even though his will was as hard as the fortress walls he excelled at building, at that moment, he truly felt a despair and helplessness like an abyss.
He watched with his own eyes as his Imperial Fists Legion, which he had poured countless efforts into and personally cultivated, was lost batch after batch, like steel thrown into a furnace, to fill every gap in the defense lines during that desperate war of attrition.
His meticulously designed and personally supervised defensive fortresses were destroyed and razed inch by inch under the endless bombardment of the traitors and the tide of daemons.
All his efforts, all his hard work, constantly collapsed and were destroyed before his eyes, yet the enemy's assault seemed endless.
Finally, the Emperor was forced to personally enter the fray, at the cost of suffering severe injuries himself, to slay the Warmaster Horus, who had been completely corrupted by Chaos, aboard the vengeful spirit.
However, the cost was heavy—the holy Great Angel Sanguinius fell beneath Horus's claws, making the ultimate sacrifice.
Jaghatai Khan, in order to reclaim the crucial starport and create landing conditions for theoretically possible reinforcements, personally led his sons in a desperate charge, but ultimately no banners of any reinforcements appeared in Terra's orbit.
He himself was critically wounded after later banishing the Death Guard Primarch Mortarion.
Dorn himself, enduring immense grief and physical exhaustion, personally carried the remains of his father and brother from the fallen vengeful spirit.
That weight was not just physical, but an unbearable burden on his soul.
Only after the Emperor was forced to sit upon the Golden Throne, maintaining the burning of the Astronomican with his own life, and the dust of the Siege of Terra had settled... did Roboute Guilliman, leading his Ultramarines Legion, arrive "late."
He could not forget that when Terra most needed forces, at its most critical juncture, Guilliman did not appear.
He could not forget the heartbreaking weight and solitude he felt when he carried the remains of his father and brother.
He could not forget that the Imperial Fists Legion, his proud sons, after winning this miraculous and costly defensive battle, had to face the fate of being broken up into multiple Chapters.
Although he rationally understood that Guilliman's implementation of the Codex Astartes and the breaking up of the Legions was to prevent the recurrence of overly centralized power, like Horus, which could overthrow the Imperium, he emotionally could not accept it.
The complete legacy of the Imperial Fists, this Legion that had endured the darkest hour with him and proven itself with blood and the lion's due/loyalty (great sword), was thus severed.
Dorn knew that, from a rational perspective, he could not entirely understand Guilliman's "lateness."
Guilliman was first firmly tied down by the "Shadow Crusade" launched by Lorgar and Angron against the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, fighting valiantly to defend his home.
Then, when he finally broke free and led his fleet to reinforce Terra, he was trapped in the Warp by some powerful psychic illusion of the traitors, forever delayed in the void just nine hours' journey from Terra, watching Terra engulfed in war without being able to reach it.
This resentment and emotional knot, originating ten thousand years ago and accumulated deep in his heart, remained like the hardest rock, never dissolving.
This led to his unwillingness to return to Terra, unwilling to face the brother who, in his eyes, was "late" and "broke up" his Legion—Roboute Guilliman.
Although he clearly knew that Guilliman, after the Horus Heresy, had put immense effort and dedication into stabilizing the Imperium, implementing the Codex Astartes, and rebuilding order, making indelible contributions to the continuation of human civilization.
But this scar etched deep in his soul, and the heavy remembrance of his lost sons and brother, made the Rock of the Imperium choose to stay away from the political center, continuing to guard humanity in his own way, yet always unwilling to set foot in that place that reminded him of too much pain and regret.
Macragge's Honour. Library.
When the energetic Eiras finally explored most of the allowed activity area in the library and her curiosity was satisfied, the forcibly dispelled sleepiness surged back like a tide.
She sat on the floor, leaning against a huge bookshelf, her small head nodding, her pink short hair swaying with it, and her large green eyes gradually narrowed into slits, eventually closing completely, emitting a faint and even snore, having simply fallen asleep sitting on the floor.
Kolesa looked at her defenseless sleeping face, smiling helplessly and affectionately.
She gently walked over and cradled Eiras's small head in her arms, allowing her to sleep more comfortably.
The little one, seemingly sensing familiar warmth and scent in her sleep, instinctively burrowed into Kolesa's embrace, snuggled, and fell into a deeper sleep.
After quite a while, Luna finally completed all the data terminal maintenance and environmental control system calibration.
She put away her tools and began searching for the two figures in the vast labyrinth of bookshelves.
Relying on her understanding of Eiras's habits and keen observation, she finally found the two nestled together in a corner near the historical archives—Kolesa holding the sleeping Eiras, sitting quietly on the floor, like a peaceful painting.
Luna walked over softly.
Her power armour emitted a faint servo hum in the quiet environment, startling Kolesa.
Kolesa looked up, saw it was Luna, and offered a gentle smile.
"The mission is complete, let's go," Luna's voice came through her helmet, deliberately lowered, "Eiras fell asleep again? She seems to be very sleep-deprived lately."
Kolesa nodded, carefully adjusted her posture, and prepared to pick up Eiras.
But Luna had already reached out, her mechanically blessed arm steady and strong, gently taking Eiras from Kolesa's arms as if holding a fragile treasure.
"Go back to your cabin to rest, Kolesa," Luna said to Kolesa, holding Eiras, "Gaius should have finished his watch and gone back by now.
I'll take Eiras back to rest first, and then I need to maintain the joint bearings of those Saturnine Pattern Terminators, so I won't see you off."
Kolesa nodded in understanding, bowing slightly with Aeldari grace to express her gratitude.
The two quietly left this temple of knowledge, the heavy library doors slowly closing behind them, sealing away the ancient aura within.
At a fork in the road leading to different areas, Luna carried Eiras towards the Tech-Sergeant living quarters, while Kolesa turned and walked alone towards the First Company's cabins.
Her thin white nightgown and the soft cotton boots on her feet, out of place in the battleship's environment, made her particularly conspicuous and noticeable in this corridor filled with steel, oil, and the scent of war.
Although most of the Ultramarines were already aware of her presence, and due to Gaius and her usual quiet demeanor, held a certain degree of tacit acceptance and even goodwill towards her, when she walked alone, the curious, scrutinizing, and even slightly wary gazes from warriors of other companies who were unfamiliar with her still made her feel a little uncomfortable and uneasy.
She couldn't help but lower her head slightly and quicken her pace, hoping to return as soon as possible to Gaius's cabin, where she felt safe.
As she approached an elevator, a large one capable of accommodating dozens of Astartes and their equipment, to reach the upper deck, Kolesa's heart tightened.
Her keen psychic senses clearly detected three powerful and pure psychic energies, like cold stars, rapidly approaching her location!
It was the Grey Knights!
They were nearby!
An instinctive sense of crisis instantly seized her.
She dared not delay for a moment, almost jogging into the recently arrived, empty, massive elevator, quickly pressing the button for the First Company living quarters.
The metal doors slowly closed behind her, cutting off the light and sounds from the corridor outside.
She leaned against the cold inner wall of the elevator, breathing slightly, and felt a small sense of relief, thinking she was temporarily safe.
However, just as her mind settled—
Three silver lights appeared like specters, without warning and silently, behind her!
They didn't enter through the door but appeared directly within the enclosed elevator space through some short-range teleportation technology!
And as they materialized, their powerful psychic energy, which had been as conspicuous as a lighthouse, was perfectly reined in and hidden, as if it had never existed.
Kolesa's blood felt as if it instantly froze!
She spun around, her pupils contracting sharply with terror.
Before her stood three giants, clad in gleaming silver artificer power armour, their forms even taller and more massive than a regular Astartes, like three cold silver statues.
Behind their rune-covered visors were emotionless gazes, locked firmly on her, the "alien."
Leading them was the Grey Knight with the aquiline helmet.
His ancient, flat voice, seemingly devoid of any human emotion, echoed in the silent elevator, each word like a cold iron block striking Kolesa's heart:
"Aeldari? Your profane aura, we have long sensed."
"How many xenos are truly lurking on this Ultramarines warship?"
The voice was like an invisible current, instantly piercing Kolesa's entire body, causing her to shiver uncontrollably.
She retreated in terror until her back pressed tightly against the cold inner wall of the elevator, with nowhere left to go.
There were still a few servitors performing odd jobs and a few passing mortal Tech-Sergeants in the elevator, but they had long been terrified by the sudden appearance of the three silver giants and the suffocating pressure, shrinking into corners, heads bowed, not daring to even breathe, let alone step forward to stop or inquire.
"You... what do you want? I have no ill intent..." Kolesa's voice trembled uncontrollably, her purple eyes filled with fear and helplessness.
Moreno's aquiline helmet turned slightly, the light from his white eye lenses seemingly able to pierce her soul.
"Xenos," his voice remained calm, but the cold killing intent beneath that calm was more chilling than any roar, "I sense the aura of Gaius around you.
That Chosen of the Gods entangled by the shadow of Tzeentch.
What profane trickery have you used to corrupt an Astartes Brother whose will should be as hard as steel? Answer me, xenos."
His interrogation was like a judgment, directly categorizing Kolesa as a heretic who used evil means to deceive loyal warriors.
The appellation "Chosen of the Gods of Tzeentch" caused a huge shock in Kolesa's heart; she didn't know about Gaius's inner battle with the avatar of Tzeentch, only assuming this was the Grey Knights' malicious speculation and slander regarding her relationship with Gaius.
Kolesa's face turned ashen white from this hostile and murderous interrogation, her delicate body sliding down the cold wall, falling weakly into the corner of the elevator.
The instinct for survival made her instinctively activate the psychic energy within her, a faint purple glow shimmering faintly around her.
Although she knew that her resistance would likely be futile in front of these three experts specifically designed to counter psychic powers and daemons, she absolutely could not sit idly by.
Seeing the psychic glow emanating from Kolesa, Valerius, who stood behind Moreno, leaned his tall body slightly forward, his silver-armored arm slowly rising.
The neural disruptor on his arm, specifically designed to bind psychic entities and xenos, had already locked onto its target, its muzzle flickering with an ominous, eerie light.
However, Moreno raised a hand, stopping Valerius's action.
His voice remained cold and archaic:
"Hold, for now.
The Emperor... would be deeply disappointed by the Ultramarines'... indulgence of xenos."
He paused, seemingly recalling Chapter Master Calgar's strict orders, "However, at this moment, we must obey Chapter Master Calgar's command, avoid complications, and prevent unnecessary conflict."
His words were filled with disapproval and disdain for the Ultramarines' actions, but his discipline made him choose to restrain himself for the time being.
Just then, with a soft "ding," the elevator reached the floor where the First Company living quarters were located, and the metal door slowly slid open.
Moreno's aquiline helmet gave one last "look" at Kolesa, who was huddled in the corner, her face pale, her psychic glow flickering erratically due to fear, and said nothing more.
The three Grey Knights vanished as abruptly as they had appeared, transforming into silver light amidst a faint spatial distortion, silently disappearing from their original spot, as if they had never been there.
Inside the elevator, only the few servitors and Tech-Sergeants, almost collapsed from fright, and Kolesa, still sitting in the corner, shaken and unnerved, remained.
After several seconds, confirming that the three terrifying silver giants had truly left, Kolesa felt as if all her strength had been drained.
Trembling, she used all her might to brace herself against the cold wall and slowly stood up.
Her legs were weak, almost unable to stand steadily, her heart was still pounding frantically, and her back was already soaked with cold sweat.
She didn't cry, at least not at that moment.
A tremendous fear and lingering dread seized her, leaving her without even the strength to cry.
She merely bit her pale lower lip, forcing her weak legs to move, taking tiny, slow, and extremely difficult steps out of the elevator, heading towards Gaius's cabin.
Each step felt as if she were treading on cotton, yet also as heavy as a thousand pounds.
When she finally saw the familiar cabin door, the taut string in her heart relaxed slightly.
With a slightly trembling hand, she swiped open the door lock, and the cabin door slid open.
What met her eyes was the tall and sturdy figure of Gaius, who had just removed his power armour, changed into simple clothes, and was sitting at a table wiping his power fist.
The moment she saw Gaius, the fear, grievance, and helplessness that Kolesa had forcibly suppressed throughout her journey surged out like a broken dam.
She could no longer hold it back, tears instantly blurred her vision, and like a frightened child, she suddenly threw herself into Gaius's arms, burying her face deep in his broad and warm chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her delicate body trembling constantly from violent sobs.
Gaius was somewhat caught off guard by the sudden situation.
He put down the sniper rifle in his hand and instinctively embraced the trembling delicate body in his arms.
Feeling her cold body temperature and her almost collapsing emotions, his brows furrowed tightly, his heart filled with confusion and a sudden surge of anger.
He gently patted Kolesa's back and asked in the gentlest voice possible:
"Kolesa? What's wrong? What happened? Who bullied you?"
However, Kolesa just held him tightly, as if he were her only reliance in a storm, her sobs caught in her throat, unable to speak a complete sentence for a while.
Gaius's strong arm embraced the trembling, delicate body in his arms. He could clearly feel Kolesa's fear and grievance, almost overflowing from her soul. He gently patted her back, while whispering soothing, meaningless syllables into her ear. His fingers, which could steadily hold the 'Hawk Eye' sniper rifle when he wore his power armour, were now somewhat at a loss, only clumsily trying to convey a touch of warmth and safety.
After a long while, Kolesa's heartbreaking sobs gradually turned into suppressed whimpers, eventually leaving only occasional shrugs of her shoulders and faint sniffles. Gaius felt her emotions stabilize slightly, and then slowly spoke, his voice extremely low, afraid of startling her again:
"Kolesa? Tell me, what's wrong? What happened?"
Kolesa lifted her tear-filled face, her purple eyes swollen red from crying. She choked, her voice hoarse and broken: "The Grey Knights... it was the Grey Knights... they... they suddenly appeared behind me... said I was an xeno... and... and said I had bewitched you... they... they were so scary...sob..." As she spoke the last part, fear surged again, and she couldn't help but sob softly.
When Gaius heard the words "Grey Knights," he understood most of it. A cold fury, like an ignited plasma core, instantly shot up from the depths of his heart, rapidly spreading to his limbs! Although he had been followed by the Grey Knights for twenty years under the guise of "surveillance," and he harbored resentment, he had always maintained restraint and basic respect, never having any disrespectful thoughts or actions, given that they were the Emperor's sharpest secret sword against daemons.
But this time, they had truly touched his inverse scale!
First, Eiras, that innocent, mischievous Dark Eldar girl who was like a younger sister to all of them, was frightened by them. Now, Kolesa, whom he cherished and would protect with his life, was so terrified, insulted, and even slandered as an enchanter using profane tricks! This had far exceeded his bottom line of tolerance!
His fists involuntarily clenched tightly, his knuckles cracking softly from the extreme force, and veins bulged on the back of his hands. A strong urge, like a roaring beast, to immediately rush out of the cabin, find those three silver figures, and "greet" each of them with his bolter, surged in his heart! The image of blasting their prejudiced heads open one by one with bolter rounds flashed uncontrollably in his mind.
However, residual reason, like cold chains, firmly bound his almost out-of-control actions. He knew this was impossible. Attacking the Grey Knights would be tantamount to betraying the Imperium, leading to unimaginable severe consequences, and even bringing disaster to the entire Ultramarines Chapter. He could not drag the Chapter into the abyss because of personal anger.
He forcibly suppressed the rage that almost consumed everything, took a deep breath, and held the still trembling Kolesa in his arms even more tightly, yet carefully, as if to melt her into his body, using his own body to shield her from all external malice and danger. He lowered his head, pressed his cheek against her cold, tear-streaked silver hair, and said in a low, firm voice:
"Don't be afraid... I'm here. I won't let anyone hurt you... anyone."
This matter was quickly reported through internal channels to Chapter Master Calgar. When Chapter Master Calgar finished listening to Vitrius's detailed account, his usually ice-cold face instantly clouded over, becoming extremely grim.
He remembered clearly that he had personally given orders for the Honor Guard to keep a close eye on those three Grey Knights, ensuring they strictly followed regulations and caused no trouble on the warship! He had specifically emphasized avoiding contact with Eiras and Kolesa! And now, they had openly defied orders to frighten and threaten Kolesa!
"These arrogant bastards!" Chapter Master Calgar cursed inwardly. He knew the Grey Knights' extreme logic of "not of my kind, their hearts must be different" all too well. At this sensitive juncture—with the Black Templars' Exterminatus Crusade in full swing, any leaked news about sheltering Eldar on the warship could lead to immense trouble—they were still creating internal incidents!
Without any hesitation, Chapter Master Calgar immediately connected to the Honor Guard's internal communication, his voice as cold as iron, carrying an unquestionable authority:
"Vitrius, execute immediately! Confiscate all teleportation beacons and personal teleportation devices from those three Grey Knights! In my name, confine them to their assigned cabin! They are absolutely not allowed to leave a single step without my direct order! Tell them that if they dare to disobey, they will be treated as contempt of the Ultramarines Chapter's internal military regulations, and they will bear the consequences!"
He had to take the strongest measures, completely stripping the Grey Knights of their ability to move freely and teleport on the warship, effectively "imprisoning" them to prevent further incidents. After issuing the orders, Chapter Master Calgar leaned back in his throne, rubbed his throbbing temples, and silently prayed that these coercive measures would work and that no further complications would arise.
After a moment of thought, he connected to Tenth Company Captain Orpha's communication: "Orpha, find some time, in the name of the Chapter, to personally visit Kolesa, check on her, see if she has been overly frightened, and if there are any other needs. Try to comfort her and meet her reasonable requests." This was the most direct compensation and gesture he, as Chapter Master, could make.
However, Chapter Master Calgar's wish for peace ultimately fell through.
The Grey Knights, as the direct armed force of the Ordo Malleus, have a strict reporting system. Moreno truthfully reported their discovery of Dark Eldar and Aeldari on the Macragge's Honour, and their close relationship with important members of the Ultramarines, to the Ordo Malleus.
This report caused quite a stir within the Ordo Malleus and was then transferred as "important intelligence" to the closely related Ordo Xenos.
Upon receiving this report, the Grand Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos looked at keywords like "Ultramarines," "sheltering xenos," and "close relationship," and felt a tingling sensation on his scalp. He hadn't forgotten that not long ago, his predecessor, another powerful Grand Inquisitor, was burned alive into ashes by an enraged dreadnought's heavy flamer, not even leaving a complete corpse, simply because he tried to forcibly investigate and even "purify" the xenos sheltered on an Ultramarines warship! The Ultramarines' protective nature and strong stance on internal affairs were well-known throughout the Inquisition.
Directly provoking the Ultramarines? He wouldn't dare follow in his predecessor's footsteps even if he had ten times the courage.
However, allowing xenos to operate within one of the Imperium's most important Chapters severely violated the core doctrines and duties of the Ordo Xenos. This sense of "dereliction of duty" made him restless.
Soon, an insidious plan formed in his mind—to kill with a borrowed knife.
And the best "knife" for this was precisely the Black Templars Chapter, which was currently launching its Seventh Exterminatus Crusade, held an absolute zero-tolerance policy towards xenos, and possessed formidable military might!
In the Black Templars' dogma, only one intelligent species could exist in the galaxy: humanity. Any non-human xenos, regardless of their attitude, were entities that must be thoroughly purified and purged. Their the lion's due/loyalty (great sword) to the Emperor was unquestionable, and their combat effectiveness and fanaticism were sufficient to deter the Ultramarines.
Not long after, a highly privileged, deliberately obscured, but extremely detailed encrypted order was sent through clandestine channels to the three High Marshals leading the Black Templars' current crusade.
The secret order described the Ultramarines as dangerous elements "bewitched by xenos," "harboring and concealing xenos," and "violating Imperial policy," subtly implying that this was a blasphemy against the Emperor's the lion's due/loyalty (great sword).
When the three Marshals of the Black Templars finished reading the secret order, the atmosphere in the command hall of the crusade fleet's flagship, the "Eternal Crusader," instantly became grim and fanatical.
There was almost no discussion or hesitation. For these warriors, who considered the purification of xenos their highest mission, any act of harboring xenos was an unforgivable betrayal, no matter who the perpetrator was!
The massive Black Templars crusade fleet, composed of dozens of capital ships and hundreds of auxiliary vessels, slowly adjusted its course in deep space. Its prow, adorned with black armor, white crosses, and the Imperial Aquila, no longer pointed towards the predetermined Eldar Craftworld or the Tau Empire border, but instead turned towards one of the core regions of the Imperium—the Ultramar Sector.
A dangerous prelude to a potential conflict between loyalist Adeptus Astartes, triggered by internal strife and an Inquisition conspiracy, had already begun.
The Black Templars' massive and menacing Crusade fleet, like a turning steel leviathan, carved a cold trajectory through the stars, its course set directly for the Ultramar Sector.
Within the bridge of the flagship, the "Eternal Crusader," a vessel resembling a mobile cathedral at the fleet's core, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt as if it could freeze.
Three high-ranking Marshals, clad in magnificent power armour adorned with golden Imperial Aquila and crosses, stood before a colossal star map, engaged in a critical discussion that would decide the fate of countless lives.
On the star map, the crimson arrow representing the Black Templars fleet sharply diverted from its original course towards the galactic edge, now pointing directly at the deep blue expanse of the Ultramar Sector.
This small change in direction of the arrow, however, concealed a storm powerful enough to shake the stability within the loyalist factions of the Imperium.
Marshal Hekthom was the first to speak.
He was an experienced Marshal, the golden service studs on his forehead chronicling his long years of campaigning.
His voice was steady, carrying a subtle hint of doubt: "Brothers, this matter... still requires careful consideration.
The Ultramarines are the direct Chapter of Lord Regent Guilliman, the Protectors of Ultramar, and a cornerstone of Imperial order.
How could they... commit such an act of colluding with and harbouring xenos, which so violates the Codex Astartes and desecrates the Emperor's glory? This is somewhat... unbelievable."
His gaze swept across the familiar blue expanse on the star map, a region that was one of the few relatively stable and prosperous places left in the Imperium.
"Although the intelligence comes from the Inquisition, and its authority is beyond question, but..." He paused, choosing a more tactful phrasing, "Perhaps there are certain hidden circumstances or misunderstandings we are not yet aware of?
Rashly antagonizing the Ultramarines and the consequences that follow, I fear, may be beyond our capacity to bear."
Hektor's concerns were not unfounded.
Inter-Chapter civil war was the last thing the Imperium wished to see, especially in an era beset by powerful enemies and internal strife.
A conflict with a Chapter as vast and esteemed as the Ultramarines, regardless of the outcome, would be a disaster for the entire Imperium.
Before his words had fully faded, another voice, more impassioned and filled with an undeniable resolve, rang out, sharp as a drawn sword.
This was Marshal Termiel, known for his extreme abhorrence of xenos and his uncompromising stance on purification.
"Brother Hektor, I understand your caution, but in this matter, any hesitation is a desecration of the Emperor's oath!" Termiel's voice, amplified through his helmet's vox-caster, carried a metallic clangour.
"Xenos! They are not of our kind; their hearts must be alien! This is an eternal truth!
No matter what guise of hypocrisy they wear, what cunning objectives they hide, their very existence is a pollution of humanity's purity, an erosion of the Emperor's dominion!"
He abruptly waved a hand, pointing at the star map, as if an unseen xenos threat lurked there.
"The Inquisition's intelligence is clear and unambiguous!
There are unequivocally Aeldari present on the Ultramarines' warships! This is an ironclad fact!
No reason can serve as an excuse to harbour or shelter these heretics!
The Regent's glory should certainly not become a shield for protecting xenos!
Our duty is purification! In the Emperor's name, we shall utterly eradicate all non-human entities from the galaxy! No matter where they hide, no matter who their Protector is!"
Termiel's assertions represented the most radical and pure faction within the Black Templars; their faith was as hard as steel, their hatred for xenos as incandescent as lava, and to execute purification, they would not hesitate to make enemies of any who stood in their way.
The opinions of the two Marshals represented two different inclinations, and all eyes on the bridge turned to the Grand Marshal, Thule, who stood in the middle, silent throughout.
He was the tallest and most profound warrior, his power armour relatively unadorned, yet exuding an authority forged through countless bloody battles.
His decision would ultimately guide the direction of this Crusade fleet.
Marshal Thule's face, covered by his artificer helmet, showed no expression, but his eyes, scanning the star map through his optical lenses, were as sharp as an eagle's.
He remained silent for a long time, as if weighing Hektor's caution against Termiel's zeal, and the vast interests and risks involved.
Finally, he spoke slowly, his voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable, heavy power, like a falling monolith, instantly silencing all the subtle noises on the bridge:
"Brother Hektor's concerns are reasonable.
A direct conflict with the Ultramarines would not benefit the Imperium, nor is it what we wish to see." He first acknowledged Hektor's worries, which made Hektor slightly relieved.
But then, his tone shifted to the core of Termiel's insistence: "However, what Brother Termiel says is also the foundation of our existence.
The xenos threat must never be tolerated.
The Inquisition's intelligence, if not absolutely certain, would never easily point to a Primarch's direct Chapter.
This matter must be investigated."
He extended a finger, clad in power armour, and heavily tapped an edge region of the Ultramar Sector on the star map.
"Transmit my orders!" Thule's voice suddenly rose, carrying clear resolve, echoing through the vast bridge, "The entire Crusade fleet, adjust course to the edge of the Ultramar Sector, assemble and await orders outside the Corsaro VII system!
Without my direct command, no vessel is to cross the sector boundary, no vessel is to engage in provocative acts with any Ultramarines or their successor Chapter vessels, and active firing is absolutely forbidden!"
This was a clear and restrained order, placing the fleet in a sensitive position where it could exert pressure yet avoid direct confrontation.
"However," Thule's tone shifted, his gaze sweeping over Hektor and Termiel, "the duty of purifying xenos cannot be shirked.
We cannot, because of a possible conflict, allow xenos to pollute the loyal bloodline of the Imperium."
He made his final decision: "Once the fleet reaches its designated position, immediately organize a capable delegation.
Brother Hektor, you will lead it personally." He named the relatively steady Hektor to ensure restraint during the contact.
"Select elite warriors from the Sword Brethren, embark on a fast Strike Cruiser, and proceed to the outskirts of the Macragge system.
Your mission is to attempt contact with the Ultramarines, preferably to speak directly with their Chapter Master, Marius Calgar."
He elaborated on the delegation's mission: "Inform Chapter Master Calgar of our purpose, present the intelligence provided by the Inquisition.
Inquire about the presence of xenos on his warships.
Demand an explanation, and... the surrender of the hidden xenos, for our 'proper disposal'."
Thule's wording still maintained outward respect for the Ultramarines, but the core demands were uncompromising.
"Remember," he finally emphasized, his gaze lingering particularly on the eager Termiel, "the purpose of this mission is to ascertain the truth and resolve the issue, not to provoke war.
Maintain maximum restraint until a clear answer is received or armed resistance is encountered.
We must make the Ultramarines understand that the Black Templars are serious about this matter, but we have also given them an opportunity to clarify and correct their error."
"If they insist on harbouring xenos..." Thule's voice suddenly turned cold, the icy killing intent unable to be fully concealed even through his helmet, "Then, for the Emperor's pure galaxy, the Black Templars will not fear to make enemies of anyone!"
"For the Emperor! Purge the Heretic!" Termiel immediately responded with a fanatical cry.
Hektor also gave a heavy chest-thump salute: "Understood! Marshal Thule! I will proceed cautiously and strive to ascertain the truth."
The order was quickly relayed.
The massive Black Templars fleet subtly adjusted its course in deep space again, like a silent black mountain range, slowly pressing towards the edge of the Ultramar Sector.
That invisible pressure, a mixture of fervent faith and cold killing intent, began to spread across the void, permeating towards that deep blue expanse.
Within the fleet, a sharply designed, extremely fast Strike Cruiser, the "fire of faith," began its final preparations for departure.
Marshal Hekthom personally selected an entire elite squad of Sword Brethren; they would serve as the Black Templars' envoys, and also as potential blades, heading into the heart of the Ultramarines' territory for a negotiation with an uncertain outcome.
Two of the Imperium's most renowned Adeptus Astartes, due to a secret order from the Ordo Xenos, were pushed to the brink of potential conflict.
The peace of Ultramar was about to be shattered by the inquiries and hostility from their own brethren.