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Chapter 219: To Teach: How to Act, How to Live
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 12:17:28 +0000 UTCChapter 219: To Teach: How to Act, How to Live
"What is it?" the Primarch asked.
His directness took the generals by surprise. They exchanged glances. In truth, they had a clear understanding of the sector's current situation. A new master had arrived, conducted a grassroots investigation, and the next step would be to issue new reforms. The departments that the members of the Church of the Dawn had established at the local level would, at the appropriate time, be used to take over the nobles' governing systems.
It was just that many of the nobles didn't believe it. They didn't believe Romulus would actually kill them all. Who would govern the planets then? Who would serve the Emperor?
In the end, it was the Lord General who stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his posture ramrod straight.
"Ciel told me that you can give a man a meaningful death. For me, to die on the battlefield against the heretic and the xenos, that is meaning. The nobles have failed to fulfill their duty. That is their sin. A sin that we will spend the rest of our lives atoning for."
[CONVERT ALL RECRUITMENT WORLDS, INCLUDING WESSON, TO THE KRIEG MODEL...]
Wait, what is your understanding of 'meaningful'?
Having read the materials the general had submitted, Romulus almost lost his composure at the very first line. Start by going to extremes, transition to a military-first, all-citizens-are-soldiers state, and then overthrow the local government on the pretext of "preventing them from fulfilling their duty to die for the Emperor."
No wonder Arthur had told him not to expect too much. The ideological level of this universe was just that low. Living wasn't the point; self-destruction was. The key was that the planet itself, and everyone on it, agreed with this. These extremist organizations were the ones making the most progress in their resistance.
Man proposes, the heavens dispose. Sometimes, when a transmigrator wants to develop a society, they end up being the outlier in this universe. Extremism was a characteristic of the human race in this era.
Romulus let out a short, angry laugh. If this was the result of his reforms, he might as well not have bothered. Dammit, not a single one of them was reliable. He had thought these representatives would have some grand insights. Turns out they were just a bunch of war-maniacs, steeped in the Imperium's toxic culture.
Romulus had no interest in continuing the conversation. He waved the representatives away and looked at Arthur.
"They're usable, at least," Arthur said. "They won't hesitate in a fight."
"You know we're not short on fighters. Neither is humanity," Romulus said, his face a mask of despair. In terms of pure combat power, a Primarch was only so-so, not even as useful as a Titan Legion in a war. But in terms of strategic value, it was a completely different story. Every Primarch was a human supercomputer. You could drop any one of them into the Imperium and visibly reduce its administrative pressure.
Now, he looked at Ciel's somewhat radical reform proposal and suddenly found it a little more appealing. While it was still unacceptably extreme, at least it was about living, right?
"I'm starting to understand why Cawl is always saying humanity has lost its courage for exploration and progress," Romulus mused. It's either a death-wish or on the way to one. Does everyone in this universe have to be taught how to live, step by step? Did the old man on the Throne's 'death' really affect the entire human race?
"As long as we haven't lost it, that is enough," Arthur said, comforting him. "We have, after all, brought a new generation with us."
Romulus nodded. Of course, the fact that extremism produced better results was what he found so abstractly frustrating. 'At least we are the ones with the power.' This galaxy had too many heroes who had changed the world single-handedly. So for the Dawnbreakers, with their abilities, achieving their goals was actually a little easier. It was just that the weight of it all was so tiring.
"We have to teach them," Romulus said, putting down the documents and beginning to mentally calculate the various tasks ahead. "Whether they are Astartes or ordinary humans."
He left the administrative hall, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Behind him, Titus was silent, not having said a word the entire time, as if still lost in the slaughter of the previous battle. Titus had always been a man of action and few words. Aside from tactical jargon, he rarely offered information. He just waited for orders, like a pure killing machine.
Arthur's management is good, Romulus thought, sighing in admiration of his companion. Arthur was very astute. After hearing that Calgar's Tyrannic War Veterans reform was in trouble, he had simply created a new system. Using the Deathwatch as a model, he had established an outer circle of the Ironwing called the Wardens of Steel, to absorb the radical members from the various Chapters who were seeking change after the Tyrannic War. They would be taught to operate various vehicles and wargear and learn Legion-era tactics under the guidance of the 30k Dark Angels, and would operate alongside these ancient warriors. A direct, one-step solution, which could be conducted in parallel with the training of other special personnel.
The Dark Angels certainly had the strength, and their demeanor was indeed arrogant. Other Space Marines saw the Dark Angels as brothers, but the Dark Angels always liked to act like the big brother, which made things a little awkward. Especially the old Terran-born veterans. Many of them had been part of the training cadres, the Emperor's personal guard. They had a massive chip on their shoulder about being the model students.
But this wasn't a problem in the 41st millennium. It was an open secret that the four Primarchs had a large number of Great Crusade-era warriors. Trusted Librarians like Mephiston, Tigurius, and Te Kahurangi even knew where these old-timers came from. And these 'little old brothers,' who were older than almost everyone, would call the Dark Angels 'elder' with every other word, which made them very happy. So the Wardens of Steel took their teaching duties very seriously.
The Dark Angels who had just returned to the Legion, who had proven their loyalty in the 'Reckoning Ritual' before the Round Table, their first task after learning the Legion's current secrets was almost always to be sent to teach these students from the various Chapters. It was a way to share their experience, and also a way for them to learn about and adapt to the current era through their students. All in all, it had formed a very positive system.
And this had been Arthur's decision, which meant the Lord of Knights had acknowledged the status and ability of the First Legion. His companion was truly a blessing. At first, Romulus had wanted nothing to do with the Dark Angels. But Arthur had quietly begun to pacify both sides, and now the Dawnbreakers were reaping the benefits of the Dark Angels' alliance.
"Karna has been spending most of his time on public events recently," Arthur said, seeing Romulus look at him. He had been in contact with all three of his companions. Ramesses was currently researching that 'Ling-Ling' sector-level warp-mobile office platform, striving to achieve an information-exchange level similar to that of a Craftworld. He had to personally oversee the core aspects to prevent any disasters, so he was tied up. Only Karna was relatively free. With no large-scale campaigns at the moment, he was either teaching or making public appearances.
"Karna... if he can take on 5% of this, I'll be impressed," Romulus said. It wasn't that Karna was slacking. It was just that the four of them had different strengths.
"5% is not a small amount. It's enough for you to have a few extra cups of coffee while you're signing documents."
"Sounds nice. But I have a bad habit. I can't sleep well if my work isn't done," Romulus said with a bitter smile. This was his fate. If he wanted to enjoy himself, he would have stayed on Macragge and pressured Calgar long ago. And when Guilliman woke up, he could have really slacked off. He was a Primarch now. If he didn't want to do something, could anyone force him?
"So while we're all doing what we love, you're being a corporate slave," Arthur said, shaking his head gently. Ramesses was slacking, Karna was doing poverty alleviation, and he was at home, painting his own world. Only Romulus was welded to his workstation. And no one was forcing him. Their educations and family backgrounds were not top-tier, but they were very good. If they didn't want to do something, they could just stop. But Romulus was like an addict.
"Everyone has their own pursuits," Romulus said with a smile. "Some pursue frugality, some pursue pleasure." His gaze rested on the sky. From this high, magnificent building that reached into the heavens, he could see the brilliant river of stars. "And my pursuit is to try and do more of what I am capable of."
"To be honest, you don't have to be like me," Arthur said, glancing at Titus, who had fallen into a kind of fervent state. No wonder they say that those who walk their own path are the most attractive.
Just as he was thinking this, Zahariel arrived. "Received an open-channel telegram from the Adeptus Mechanicus," he reported.
Arthur and Romulus exchanged a surprised look. "Read it," Arthur said.
Zahariel replied, "Orion Arm - Single Star System - Pioneer III, requesting aid from all human compatriots in the universe."
"?" The two exchanged another surprised look. People still use that format in this era?
Arthur: "Location, affiliation, sender."
Zahariel: "Located in the core region of the Dawnlight Sector, 160 light-years from Astorgius. Imperial records list it as belonging to the Adeptus Mechanicus. No Imperial institutions are involved."
"Is it a trap?" Romulus's interest was piqued. Was the Mechanicus finally making a move?
"It doesn't seem like it. The format of this message is very... ancient," Zahariel shook his head, then presented the intelligence agency's analysis. "According to the Firewing, it is closer to that of a lost world from before the Age of Strife."
Arthur looked at Romulus. For the past six months, they had responded to every request for aid. They had found a few lost worlds, and after reforming their governments, had left them for now, to be integrated into the sector system after they had secured the Dawnlight Sector.
"Prepare the fleet. Have the Carcharodons accompany us. And call Karna," Romulus ordered quickly. A portion of the fleet and personnel would remain on Astorgius to maintain the reforms. The four of them could not be separated.
"Yes, my Lord," Zahariel said, and quickly departed.
The Primarchs left with the fleet. In less than half a month, no magnificent new buildings had appeared on the planet, and no earth-shattering stories had been told.
A longshoreman finally finished his work in the port. He squatted in a corner, carefully nibbling on a nutrient-paste bar, his peripheral vision catching the flare of a distant engine. But in the blink of an eye, it was swallowed by the teeming crowd. In this holy cardinal world, the flow of pilgrims was endless. Especially after the arrival of the Primarchs.
The longshoreman noticed a plainly dressed boy carrying dozens of candles, symbolizing the souls of his family. The number of candles meant his family had been drifting in the galaxy for at least five generations. As a devout believer, after receiving a local priest's blessing, he had taken his candles and boarded a transport lift with the cargo, heading for the surface.
The longshoreman did not hide his envy. How lucky, to have survived five generations without being cursed by the void. As a void-born on a pilgrimage, he was not permitted to set foot on the holy cardinal world of the Ecclesiarchy. But through the mercy of the noble lords, they were allowed to work in the port in exchange for enough rations to support their next journey. He needed to go to a holy site on the galactic fringe. Only there would he be worthy to set foot on the God-Emperor's holy land.
"Maintain order! Please make way! Maintain order—"
The voice of a priest came from nearby. The crowd was pushed aside by a procession. Even the longshoreman, huddled in his corner, had to move, pressing himself against the wall. The procession was filled with priests and sisters, resplendent in their clean, red robes, which they unrolled on the path as they advanced. There were also tall giants, clad in iron, their posture majestic.
The Emperor's Angels! he gasped internally, his gaze lingering for a moment on a storage crate that smelled of wheat. 'Is that the holy sacrament?' he wondered, but then shook his head. What does it have to do with me? Void-born cannot receive the sacrament.
He made the sign of the Aquila piously towards the Emperor's Angels, committing this holy moment to memory, and turned to leave, moving against the flow of the crowd.
"Hey, you! You, citizen of the Imperium!"
The voice seemed unfamiliar with the address. After repeating it twice, the longshoreman finally realized he was being called.
"Me?" He turned, pointing to himself in disbelief.
"Yes, you. Get in line," the priest said, glancing at the sister and the Emperor's Angels behind him, trying to control his tone.
"Oh, oh," the longshoreman said, pulling his rough-spun cloak around himself and moving to stand one space behind an Imperial citizen.
"Not there," the priest directed from a distance, his voice impatient. This made the longshoreman even more flustered. The gazes of the surrounding people were on him. He lowered his head, not knowing what to do.
"Please, follow me," a gentle voice said. A hand rested on his shoulder, which was about to buckle under the pressure. It was a young sister. She wore the sigil of a pure white rose.
The longshoreman, bewildered, was led to a much shorter line. The people here were all void-born. He waited in a daze, not even noticing the fragrant bread his comrades were eating. Until the young sister appeared before him again.
"Excuse me, what is this for?" he asked, having been led to a registration desk.
"Daily food distribution," the sister replied. "You need to undergo a check. Then, under the church's supervision, you can go to the surface for your pilgrimage." They had taken control of the flow of people in the port. Each section would be organized for various activities. Of course, besides the people's welfare, they had many other duties. Population census, gene-sequencing, preventing Genestealer contamination.
Beep.
A machine drew a drop of the longshoreman's blood and flashed a string of data he didn't understand. Food and water were placed in a backpack. He nearly dropped it.
"Excuse me... can I really set foot on that holy land?" he asked in disbelief as a priest pushed him away.
"Yes, you can," the sister said with a smile, and then waved. "Next."
"Magnificent, great, hymns all around," a Cardinal said to Cardinal Jorge. "Your appointment ceremony is ready."
"I'm not going. Tell them to come to the chapel for a meeting. Distribute those resources to the visiting pilgrims. If they can't do it, I will," Cardinal Jorge said, walking towards the plain chapel. "It's too extravagant. Like a peacock. Only beautiful from the front."
