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Chapter 176: No Spies Here, Just First Legion Jokes
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 10:40:05 +0000 UTCChapter 176: No Spies Here, Just First Legion Jokes
Around the feast table sat a pack of wolf-pups, each one clearly furious, yet completely unable to express it in the face of mortal compliments, brand new wargear, and the triumphant smiles of their knightly cousins. In the end, they could only sit at the table and force smiles of their own.
Alm Iron-oath's gaze fell upon a young warrior with a shock of red hair and a tightly clenched jaw. His ramrod-straight posture formed a subtle challenge to the crimson banners hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Every time an attendant replenished his plate with roasted grox-haunch, the sound of the pup swallowing was always half a beat behind the clatter of his knife and fork.
They've been completely outmaneuvered.
The deep, dark Mjod sloshed gently in Alm's cup with each breath. The candlelight cast a warm glow on the smile playing at the corner of his lips.
The Dark Angels commanders he had dealt with in the past were a grim, neurotic bunch, worn down by some unknown, long-borne pressure. Interacting with them felt like constantly bracing for a claw to lash out at your throat. But this new pack of mysterious cousins had a much higher tolerance for stress, and the confidence they projected was far more genuine.
The Dark Angels knew much, and they understood much, but many of them were never entirely certain of the true importance of the secrets they kept. That was why they were so stubbornly secretive, why they had consumed themselves with internal strife until they became paranoid. But if a force strong enough could shatter that wall and become a nexus for rebuilding trust, these deadly war machines would be left with no weaknesses.
Just as they were now.
Across the table, the Dark Angels conversed in low tones. Their voices were steady and composed, no longer pausing abruptly on certain words. Their eyes no longer darted warily to every corner of the room, followed by a deliberate, feigned calm, as if they were constantly on guard against some invisible watcher. Perhaps the green-armoured knights could hide it well from others, but to a Wolf of Fenris, those little tells were painfully obvious.
But now, their confidence was real. The paranoia was gone. They genuinely believed they were the elders of the Legions, and they felt no pressing need to prove it.
Is this the difference between having a leader and being without one?
Downing a mouthful of Mjod, Alm found himself wondering about the origin of these mysterious cousins. In his memory, such a vast and authentic stock of Fenrisian ale had never been gifted to anyone. But such questions could be answered in time. If they did not speak of it, the Wolves had no need to ask. As long as it could be proven that this Legion was loyal and was not playing with fire, that was enough.
"But the Thousand Son," Alm frowned, a memory surfacing. "Are you sure he's not a problem?" he asked Zahariel.
Being used as a weapon by the Dark Angels didn't matter. The glory the Wolves earned in battle would not be diminished by it. In fact, one could see it as a sign of trust. And when they were chasing that psychic phantom earlier, the raw frustration of the Dark Angels had been very real.
"He has been dealt with," Zahariel replied, his face a stony mask.
Ramesses was fundamentally not a problem. The Dark Angels disliked the man for entirely different reasons. The Prince, Arthur, explained everything to them. As the Legion that had to be prepared for anything, the all-rounders who had everyone else's back, many of the Dawnbreakers' secrets were open to the Dark Angels. They had a clear picture of just how strong the bonds between the four leaders were. If the four Primarchs of old had possessed even a fraction of that trust for one another, Zahariel wouldn't have had to watch the tragic comedy play out between the Lion and Guilliman on Macragge.
Still, they had to remain wary of the ambitious Ultramarines. Romulus wielded immense power, and it would only grow in the future. If something went wrong, the consequences would be unimaginable.
"Care to explain?" Alm asked, making no effort to hide his curiosity.
He noticed the Dark Angels guards in the corner of the room exchange a subtle glance—not of alarm, but of a kind of resigned understanding, like soldiers dealing with a brilliant but troublesome superior.
Getting involved in the Dark Angels' business was simply a habit, just like when the Dark Angels had "assisted" the Imperium in investigating the Wolves during the Months of Shame. The goal was to help their friendly rivals carve out any potential rot. After all, both Legions prided themselves on their loyalty; neither wanted to see the other show signs of falling.
Of course, the Months of Shame had ended in a colossal blunder for the Dark Angels, and this time, it was the Wolves who had been used as the blade.
In truth, it was the Thousand Son who was the Wolves' primary concern. Every Legion had its arch-nemesis, it seemed.
"..."
Recalling Ramesses's methods, a look of profound vexation crossed Zahariel's face. The ciphers the sorcerer had left in the corridors flashed unbidden in his mind.
[On the recruitment standards for the Dark Angels Inner Circle:
Aspirant: "How do I prove my loyalty?"
Examiner: "Write down every Legion secret you know."
The moment the aspirant picks up the quill, a bolt pistol is pressed to the back of his head. A truly loyal brother knows no secrets.]
[On the Dark Angels loyalty test:
Inquisitor to Dark Angels Neophyte: "If you see a Chaos Daemon and a Fallen Angel appear at the same time, which do you purge first?"
Neophyte: "The Chaos Daemon, of course."
That night, the neophyte is taken away by the Inner Circle. The correct answer is that Fallen Angels do not exist.]
Similar Dark Angels "jokes" were circulating everywhere, and more appeared with each passing day. On corridor walls, on armour-plating in the training cages, even within the diagnostic cogitators of their power armour, the damned things were inescapable. But for the Dark Angels, whether to erase them or not had become a dilemma.
If you erased one, it meant you understood it, that you knew a secret you shouldn't. This could very well trigger certain members, and the next thing you knew, you'd have a private session booked in the unrestricted combat cages. If you didn't erase them, it was like walking down the street and seeing your most embarrassing moments played on a loop. It was a bizarre kind of public humiliation.
Currently, the majority of brothers who understood simply pretended they didn't, acting as if they hadn't seen a thing. The way they adjusted their pauldrons or developed a sudden, intense interest in the ceiling every time they went on a mission was an exercise in unspoken awkwardness.
"You do not need to know," Zahariel sighed.
Stereotypes. Pure, unadulterated stereotypes!
If it weren't for the fact that Ramesses was genuinely brilliant and none of them could really outmaneuver him, he would have been fed a full diet of bolter rounds from the First Legion's "unfortunate friendly fire incidents" long ago.
But the man had some conscience. He knew he couldn't just pressure the Dark Angels one-sidedly. He had helped train them in how to psychically control Alpha Legionaries, and he had even tricked a pack of Space Wolves into coming aboard for them. The cycle was simple: Ramesses would troll them, they would be powerless to stop him, and for now, their only outlet was to mess with the Hydra and the Vlka Fenryka to relieve their stress.
As for now, Ramesses was probably off with the Prince, designing new wargear. With the combined assistance of the Ironwing, Barabas Dantioch, Archmagos Cawl, and several other mysterious parties, the Dawnbreakers had not only finalized their standard-issue equipment but had also begun research on medium and large-scale war engines. The first field tests should be soon. The upcoming localized battles against the Tyranid swarms would be the perfect opportunity.
"I understand."
Seeing the twitching muscles in Zahariel's face, Alm knew this was a matter of dignity and he shouldn't press further. He simply raised his flagon again.
"Those sons of Magnus are a worthless lot," he said, deliberately clanking the bottom of his cup on the metal table. "To our victory!"
Zahariel raised his own cup to meet it. A splash of crimson—authentic Terran vintage—spilled from the impact.
"Indeed," he agreed. "A worthless lot."
"For Throne's sake, those Dark Angels are badmouthing me again."
The butt of the staff slammed into the deck, kicking up a small shower of metal filings.
In the Ironwing's sanctum, Ramesses, who was helping the Librarians of the Pentaculum Wing calibrate a Wraithknight, suddenly tapped the gemstone at the top of his staff with clear annoyance. The sudden movement startled the Eldar twins who were psychically piloting the construct, causing it to lurch unnaturally and nearly topple a nearby power conduit.
"If you didn't spend all your time writing those... things, I doubt they would have much to say about you," Arthur remarked, overseeing the process while simultaneously studying methods to block such psychic connections. His voice was as calm as if he were discussing the weather, but a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Wasn't I just writing the truth? Can you say any of it was false?" Ramesses waved a dismissive hand. "It's called desensitization therapy. It keeps them from acting like paranoid lunatics all day. And look, it's already working wonders. Now, the worst that happens when a secret is kept is a trip to the combat cages for a brawl. They even clean up after themselves."
They'd much rather have a brawl with you, Arthur thought.
"Yes, you are correct," he nodded in agreement. As his gaze shifted, Askelon appeared at his side. Arthur took the sheaf of documents, decoded the information within, and forwarded it to Romulus.
"The Alpha Legion has been pacified. To preserve the Hydra's strength, Hydra has begun gathering the survivors to focus on infiltrating the administrative systems. The Dark Angels have made this intention obvious, ensuring both efficiency and security."
Hydra knew the Dark Angels needed the Alpha Legion to participate in the bureaucracy, but he didn't know that the Dark Angels knew that he was also Alpha Legion. The arrival of the Wolves had, to a degree, exposed the Alpha Legion's hand. None of the high-ranking Alpha Legionaries who were "spared" could be sure if the Dark Angels had a complete list of their identities, or if a Space Wolf was hiding inside any given suit of Dark Angels power armour.
This method of openly stating their intent while concealing what they actually knew created a chain of suspicion that was almost impossible to break. From now on, the Dark Angels could purge any Alpha Legionary for "low work efficiency" or "a poor attitude" without any pretext. This would directly impact the performance reviews of Hydra and the other leaders trying to climb the ladder. Once the "Round Table" implemented a few more layers of bureaucracy, the Alpha Legion leaders would be at each other's throats.
"That howl from the Wolves really did the trick." Having successfully diverted the Dark Angels' ire, Ramesses returned his attention to calibrating the Wraithknight. In another sector, a second construct undergoing independent testing suddenly made a provocative gesture under his control, aimed perfectly at the camera feed being watched by the Dark Angels.
CRASH!
