[Before the rebellion, Horus had dispatched his three most threatening brothers—Lion El'Jonson, Sanguinius, and Roboute Guilliman—to the borders of the Empire.]
[Aside from the Eighth Legion being required to head to the Eastern Fringe to isolate the three major Forge Worlds and delay the First Legion's advance, Horus cared little for the fate of the Sarmass Sector.]
[The Lion stood guard once more; the Dark Angels First Legion was well-trained, with elite troops and ample supplies.]
[Before the battle began, Sevatar laughed, saying they had struck an immovable object, and that their chaotic recruits, mutually loathing Commanders, and the Night Lords—plagued by internal strife and external threats—would fall like lifeless weeds.]
"An accurate assessment. My Legion and I will harvest you like weeds, slaughtering you all until none remain."
"Horus, you are too arrogant. Of all people, you should not have sent Konrad Curze to delay me. Or rather, no one can delay the First Legion's march back to Terra when we are fully committed."
The Lion spoke, suppressing a hint of pride within his heart.
Who was he? He was Lion ElJonson, the firstborn Primarch. He was a master of unorthodox warfare and a god-like tactician. His Legion, the Dark Angels, was hailed as the strongest of the Space Marine Legions, envied for everything from their weaponry to their recruitment pool.
The Dark Angels were called the First Legion not merely because they were the first to be established.
"You have made a wrong decision once again, Horus, as always," Perturabo echoed coldly, his iron-cast face devoid of expression.
Just then, a voice with a unique resonance, sounding as if composed of two overlapping vocal tracks, drifted from the shadows nearby.
Alpharius and Omegon—the twin Primarchs of the Alpha Legion, standing side-by-side like mirror images—joined the conversation.
Alpharius's tone carried a hint of elusive mockery: "Like harvesting weeds? Brother Lion, a vivid metaphor. However, by our observation, weeds often possess the most tenacious vitality, and... you never truly know which field they belong to."
Omegon immediately followed, his voice nearly identical but subtly sharper: "Furthermore, sometimes when you think you are weeding, you might actually be... tilling the soil for another crop's growth. Horus's arrangements may seem like a mistake, but who knows if it was a deliberately cast... bait?"
Lion turned toward the twins, a sharp light flashing in his leonine eyes: "Alpharius, Omegon. Riddlers, as always. No matter who the field belongs to, weeds are weeds. The scythe of the First Legion harvests only the enemies of the Emperor. As for bait..."
A nearly invisible curve touched the corner of his mouth: "...That depends on whether the angler has enough strength to pull up the behemoth that has taken the bait."
Omegon added, looking at Lion: "And the behemoth's strength is beyond doubt, Brother Lion. But do not forget, the most dangerous thing is often not the beast beneath the water, but... those on the shore you cannot see, preparing to cast an even larger net."
Lion let out a low chuckle: "A net? Then let them try and see if their net is stronger than my blade is sharp. Nothing can block the path of the First Legion, whether it be an open spear or a hidden arrow."
At this point, Guilliman couldn't help but interject, speaking with the pragmatism of the Archon of Ultramar: "Gentlemen, should we not focus more on the strategy itself rather than these... metaphors? The current priority is to evaluate the flaws in Horus's deployment and our response plan."
The Alpha twins turned toward Guilliman almost in sync, speaking in that signature overlapping voice:
"Strategy? Brother Roboute, sometimes the greatest strategy is to let everyone... including your own people... be unable to see the true strategy."
Jaghatai Khan scanned the room with his characteristically sharp gaze and chuckled: "It seems we've already identified two loyalists; I just wonder which side of the line the rest of us stand on."
Rogal Dorn immediately responded in a deep voice, as unquestionable as a monolith: "The borders of the Empire are the line. I stand with Terra and the cause of Mankind." For this Primarch of the Imperial Fists, loyalty was never an option that needed discussion.
Mortarion let out a muffled sneer from behind his respirator grille: "Which side? I stand on the side of... truth. And the truth is that the entity on Terra has long since blinded everyone with lies." The Lord of Death's words carried a somber certainty.
Just then, Vulkan's booming voice rang out, his broad face etched with sincere concern: "Brothers! Why are we so eager to draw lines? Have we forgotten the years we fought side by side? After the tragedy of Nostramo, we should cherish our bonds even more."
Lion El'Jonson responded calmly: "Vulkan, your kindness is moving. But some lines were drawn the moment the betrayal began." The Lion's tone held a hint of regret, but mostly an unquestionable firmness.
Jaghatai Khan chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the gathered Primarchs: "It seems some have already chosen their path, while others are still watching. This game is becoming more and more interesting."
Alpharius said in his characteristic dual-tone: "Choice? An interesting way to put it. Perhaps some are born standing at the intersection of all paths."
Omegon immediately added: "Or perhaps the two ends of the path were always connected. Loyalty and betrayal are often just two sides of the same coin."
Vulkan sighed heavily, his black eyes filled with heartache: "I would rather believe that a spark of loyalty to the Empire still remains in every brother's heart. Perhaps... perhaps there is still room for redemption."
—
Unlike the tense atmosphere among the Primarchs, an invisible sense of pride permeated the ranks of the Astartes within the Dark Angels like something tangible.
Though the warriors were silent, their straight backs, slightly lifted chins, and the polished, gleaming insignia of Caliban on their power armor all proclaimed their pride.
Some veterans exchanged knowing glances, as if to say, "Look, this is the First Legion."
They firmly believed that any enemy daring to block the Legion's march back to Terra would be reduced to ashes under their methodical and devastating strikes.
Sigismund walked toward the Dark Angels' formation. He stopped before Corswain, and the two warriors, both renowned for their fortitude and loyalty, locked eyes. Sigismund raised his fist and struck his breastplate heavily, producing a clanging sound.
"Brother Corswain," Sigismund's voice was like stone, "the fame of the First Legion is known to all."
"Should the moment truly come to 'harvest weeds,' the Imperial Fists will not hesitate to stand alongside the Dark Angels. The walls of Terra require the sturdiest foundations to guard them."
Corswain returned the salute with the etiquette of a Calibanite knight, his gaze beneath the hood as sharp as an eagle's:
"Brother Sigismund, your respect is etched into the hearts of the Dark Angels. No matter where the enemy comes from, the blade of the First Legion shall clear all obstacles for the Emperor."
Not far away, Ultramarines Captain Hill and Blood Angels Captain Adolon stood together. Their expressions were far more solemn than Sigismund's.
Hill's brow furrowed as she whispered, "Adolon, the Warmaster's deployment... scattering several of our strongest Legions to the frontiers. It seems intended to consolidate our borders, but..." She trailed off, her concern evident.
A shadow hung over Adolon's handsome face as he instinctively rubbed the hilt of his sword. "I understand what you mean, Hill. If... if a rebellion truly breaks out and we are delayed in distant sectors... who will become the greatest obstacle to our return to Terra?"
He looked up, his gaze sweeping over several figures in the Primarchs' seats. "Will it be the Death Guard of Brother Mortarion? They excel at attrition and sieges. Or the World Eaters of Brother Angron? They are... incredibly violent and will block us at any cost. Or perhaps..." His voice dropped even lower, "...the Word Bearers of Lord Lorgar? Their numbers are... too great."
Hill nodded, her Ultramarine pragmatism leading her to begin tactical simulations. "No matter the opponent, the route to Terra will inevitably become a bloody one. We need detailed breakthrough plans and... an extreme understanding of potential enemy tactics. Lord Horus... he knows the strengths and weaknesses of every one of us too well."
Though restrained, Sevatar still shouted out with his signature dark humor, "Hey! Such a lively discussion? Don't forget, we of the Eighth Legion are the 'weeds' sent to 'delay' the First Legion! Brothers, go easy on us when the time comes—just make it quick!"
Sigismund cast a cold glance back at Sevatar before looking back at Corswain, speaking in a low voice:
"It seems everyone has caught a glimpse of the future battlefield. Prepare yourself, brother. Perhaps soon, we will be able to verify today's deductions on a real field of battle."