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Chapter 159: Because Hope Yet Lives
🕑 Added 2025-09-19 11:26:37 +0000 UTCChapter 159: Because Hope Yet Lives
"I believe you are familiar with Chaos?" Drakus asked in a low voice, his power axe steadily blocking a swift cleave. He took a small step back, warily watching for attacks from all sides.
"Yes. Those Chaos traitors, especially the Word Bearers. Ever since Lord Guilliman fell into slumber, their harassment has never ended," Sevastus's voice came from the Contemptor Dreadnought's speaker, a cold, metallic echo. His mechanical arm swung the massive obsidian greatsword, each swing carrying the force of a thunderbolt. His movements were not slow in the slightest, as if the massive body was still his own flesh and blood.
"I have seen many dead men. Those traitors, tainted by Chaos, seem to have fused with daemons. I have killed one man many times, but in one of my awakenings, he was still alive." Sevastus's tone was tinged with weariness.
Technically speaking, we are indeed the Emperor's daemons.
Drakus took a step back, deftly avoiding one of Sevastus's thrusts, and couldn't help but complain in his heart. He then replied in a low voice, "Then theoretically, I am not much different from that thing."
"Your honesty surprises me." Sevastus's Dreadnought paused for a moment, then its movements became even sharper, each swing of the greatsword carrying an aggressive momentum, as if to force Drakus into a corner. "Give me an explanation."
"Do you know of the Emperor that the Imperial Cult now preaches? A god, with boundless power, who can receive loyal warriors back to the Golden Throne after their death." Drakus's voice was calm. His feet shifted slightly to the right, trying to use a feint to slow Sevastus's offensive rhythm. However, Sevastus's steps were not乱 in the slightest. His massive body was as agile as a living person's, the rhythm of his attack showing no sign of slowing.
"Don't tell me you believe this now, Drakus. I don't remember my brother being a Word Bearer. Where is the you who burned the Perfect City?" Sevastus's tone was laced with a hint of ridicule. The force of his greatsword grew heavier, as if to tear Drakus's armor apart.
The old comrade's words brought up a host of bad memories for Sevastus. An image of him wandering through the Chapter monastery, passing by the prayer hall, appeared in his mind. The pious warriors were kneeling before the Emperor's statue, muttering in low voices.
"I do not believe the Emperor is a god. Because in my understanding, a being that can be called a god must be omniscient and omnipotent. If the Emperor were a god, then the galaxy would certainly not be in this state," Drakus replied firmly, his gaze, through the viewing slit of his sarcophagus, looking directly into Sevastus's eyes. "But the Emperor has indeed become some kind of Warp-entity. He can indeed receive loyal warriors to the Golden Throne."
Drakus was silent for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed, as if searching through the fragmented memories in his mind. His voice was low and slow, with a hint of uncertainty, "My life on the Golden Throne... I don't have much of a real sense of it. I can recall participating in some battles, but more often, it was like being a manipulated corpse. My consciousness only truly awakened upon my recent revival."
"Heh heh... The Emperor has become the very thing he always wanted to destroy," Sevastus's voice came from the Dreadnought's speaker, with a hint of sarcasm and helplessness. His mechanical arm drooped slightly, the sharp edge of his greatsword glinting coldly in the dim light. "How did you come back?" Sevastus's voice held a hint of vigilance. The Dreadnought's head tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing Drakus's every expression.
"The four lords prepared bodies for us. We can indeed be called a certain type of Warp-creature now. According to them, the Primarchs were created by the Emperor in a similar way," Drakus replied calmly.
"Which four? The four in the Warp?" Sevastus's questioning held a hint of urgency. The Dreadnought's steps moved slightly forward, its offensive growing sharper.
"Those four over there." Drakus pointed with his hand and, completely abandoning his defense, replied with resignation. His gaze swept the surroundings, confirming that no one had noticed their conversation.
He would have to be mad to believe in the Four Gods. Ever since he had understood what they were, Drakus could only say that he would stay as far away from them as possible.
"..."
Sevastus's Dreadnought suddenly stopped its movements. The greatsword on its mechanical arm hung in mid-air, as if time had frozen in that moment.
His voice was low and suppressed, with a hint of anger, "Are you trying to get me to kill you?" He already believed this was Drakus, but he still suspected it was a plot of the Chaos Gods. Because this figure was too similar to the one in his memory—calm, rational, with an absolute trust in his comrades, and full of hope.
Ten thousand years had passed. He had been interred in a Dreadnought. How could someone not change at all?
How could someone, after witnessing the current Imperium, still be full of hope?
"No. I was just going to say, if you still want to fight, we can change the venue." Drakus's gaze swept the surroundings. He noticed that High Marshal Helbrecht was receiving some message and reporting in a low voice. He couldn't help but remind him.
Although Ramesses had provided a cover, the people present were still listening to the processed conversation and watching this sudden fight. Their eyes were filled with doubt and vigilance, as if they were ready to intervene at any moment.
"...I will take you to the sparring cage." Sevastus snorted, but his tone held a hint of compromise. The Dreadnought's head turned slightly, as if to confirm the surrounding environment. He said in a low voice, "You will have to explain it to me properly. Otherwise, I cannot entrust these children to you."
"Of course."
"I have a general understanding of the situation."
In the council chamber of the Blades of Obsidian monastery, Romulus sat at the head of the table, his calm gaze sweeping over the report Helbrecht had handed him. He then gestured for Helbrecht to sit. The handover of various equipment needed to be coordinated, so they had borrowed the friendly forces' council chamber.
Under the dim light, the Imperial banners hanging on the walls looked particularly solemn. The air was filled with the faint smell of machine oil and metal.
"You may listen in, Chapter Master Sextus." Romulus spoke up, looking at Sextus, who was about to turn and leave.
Sextus was taken aback. He looked left and right, and saw that even High Marshal Helbrecht had a respectful look on his face. He then replied directly, "Yes, my Lord." He walked to the side, and after standing firm, he placed his hands behind his back, his gaze focused on the star-chart.
"The 41st Fleet has sent back a full report. This is the specific strategic deployment."
Helbrecht's voice echoed in the council chamber. He walked to the star-chart, his finger tapping lightly on the location of the Tyranid fortress world, and then traced the Hive Fleet's attack route. On the star-chart, the red lines spread out like blood vessels, outlining the Hive Fleet's threat range.
As Romulus began to analyze the battle reports one by one, the details on the star-chart gradually became richer. His fingers moved quickly across the star-chart, as if he were commanding an invisible battle.
"The first defensive line of the Imperial Navy, centered on Tyros, after a year of engagement with the Hive Fleet, was, for some unknown reason, reduced to just over twenty capital ships."
Helbrecht's voice was heavy. His brow was tightly furrowed, his eyes fixed on the data on the star-chart. "At the same time, a strategic misjudgment by the Navy against the Hive Fleet occurred, which led to a rash sortie into the outer dark, where they were surrounded and annihilated by a number of Hive Ships."
Romulus's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's. He was still calm. His fingers traced a path across the star-chart, marking the area where the Imperial Navy had been annihilated, and in his mind, he was deducing the Hive Fleet's every move.
After the mobile fleet of the Tyranid planet was annihilated, the Hive Fleet did not rush to engage the other Imperial armed forces on the defensive lines, but instead split into three prongs and plunged directly into the inner part of the star system along various spatial regions, beginning to indiscriminately attack the various planets.
This was followed by a shortage of mobile forces. The shadow of the Hive Fleet spread in the Warp, communications were jammed, and the various scattered fleets were like headless chickens, only able to deal with the rampant xenos by feel. And just as they were following their instincts, the Hive Fleet keenly captured the movements of this last part of the Imperial mobile forces. Two large tendrils quickly pierced through the sector's defensive line in a pincer movement and began to destroy the starport nodes.
Romulus's gaze slowly moved across the star-chart, his brow slightly furrowed, as if he were deducing every change in the battle situation in his mind.
He roughly knew why the Ultramarines had had difficulty maintaining their defensive line. After the line was broken, the various fire-exchange areas had become too dispersed. In addition, with the interference of the Warp's shadow, Calgar was simply unable to achieve a unified command. The various planets could only fight on their own, which ultimately led to the complete collapse of the situation.
It was like you were playing Battlefield, and the bugs were playing Stellaris.
A hint of helplessness flashed in Romulus's eyes. His fingers gently traced a path across the star-chart, as if trying to sort out the tangled battle lines.
Of course, because the galaxy was three-dimensional, the so-called defensive line was not just a ground garrison, but a series of mobile strongpoints. As long as you had enough naval power and planetary supplies, and could maintain a high-intensity patrol, it would be very difficult for the enemy to even get around you. After all, the patrol radius of the Imperial Navy could usually be calculated in sectors.
His gaze stopped on a few key nodes on the star-chart. Romulus's fingers tapped lightly on the table.
He continued to watch the battle report.
Currently, nine Astartes Chapters, totaling five thousand men, including the Ultramarines, Black Templars, Scythes of the Emperor, Silver Skulls, Mortifactors, Star Scorpions, Mantis Warriors, and Lamenters, were forming a defensive line around Calth to Maridia. These were all Chapters that were stationed near the galactic core and had come to support them.
However, the other Ultramarines successor Chapters, such as the Praetors of Orpheus, who were located on the periphery of Ultramar, were defending their own homeworlds and were pinned down.
The Hive Fleet had clearly recognized the knowledge these strange warriors had of them and had begun to take targeted countermeasures—directly attacking their homeworlds.
Romulus's brow furrowed even deeper. His fingers moved quickly across the star-chart, marking the Hive Fleet's attack routes, his tone laced with a hint of urgency.
After entering the inner part of the star system and gaining a large amount of biomass, the Hive Fleet Behemoth had already displayed the terror of the swarm. A continuous stream of bio-ships was being produced from the skies of the planets they had devoured into silence. The dense feinting routes gradually converged on Macragge.
With the passage of time, the Astartes, who had had the upper hand in the initial battles thanks to the initial tactical guidance, were now also becoming stretched thin under the successive waves of the Hive Fleet's offensive.
Especially the Ultramarines.
"The Hive Mind has finished reading the Codex," Ramesses remarked. "The Codex Astartes restricts the weapons and equipment used by the Space Marines. The Hive Fleet is specifically using bioforms that those weapons are ineffective against."
The Ultramarines were very flexible in their handling of their successor Chapters. Including the Nemesis Chapter, many of the successors' non-Codex armaments had been saved by the Ultramarines. But within the Ultramarines themselves, their adherence to the Codex had reached a nearly zealous level. In the future, after Guilliman's return, the Ultramarines' Second Company, fighting against the Hive Fleet Leviathan on Tarasha, could only get melta-charges from the Astra Militarum's armory to blow a bridge, because the Codex stipulated that the Astartes could not possess such weaponry.
It was a rule that even Guilliman, the ancestor who had returned, hadn't changed.
And this kind of blind adherence to the Codex had directly led to the Ultramarines being very passive strategically.
Romulus's almost absurdly fast deduction was quickly completed.
No one would choose to question whether there were any omissions in it. Since the beginning of the crusade, he had never been wrong once.
The densely packed, conquered planets made people's hearts tremble.
"This is the result of the Adeptus Mechanicus Explorator fleet." Cawl directly produced the exploration report of one of his proxies.
A planet invaded by the Tyranids would have all its life forms, including the atmosphere and the soil, and all its nutrients, plundered, and would be completely reduced to a dead planet.
"..."
The Invictarus Suzerains all clenched their fists, a hint of anger and helplessness in their eyes.
For a moment, they thought they were watching a group of Word Bearers fighting with the Imperial Creed in their hands.
The Ultramarines had always been known for their flexibility and adaptability. How could they be shackled by a mere Codex? Lord Guilliman hadn't written how to fight the Hive Fleet, had he? What were you fighting with that book for?
Was it that you couldn't play without being at low health?
The other commanders, looking at the battle report of the Ultramarines being targeted and beaten to a pulp by the Hive Fleet, couldn't help but look serious, their determination to absolutely not abide by the Codex in the future growing even stronger.
The current state of the galaxy had indeed posed an unprecedented challenge to the various experiences passed down by the Codex. It made no sense for the elders who had seen the Primarchs to be so dismissive of it, while they still held it like a treasure.
They could still distinguish between a glorious death and a pathetic death.
Sextus looked at the battle-brothers around him and felt a bit out of place. The Blades of Obsidian were a standard Codex Chapter.
"...This is an unprecedented enemy." Helbrecht's expression was extremely serious.
He didn't care about the Codex or not. Anyway, the Black Templars only symbolically abided by it, using the Eternal Crusade to give the High Lords a step down. He seriously watched the star-chart. At this moment, he could directly experience how terrifying an enemy the Hive Fleet was.
In Romulus's review, the various strategic deployments of the Tyranids were presented before everyone, most directly showing how absurd the enemy's command ability was.
Sector-level real-time strategic deployment. This was something that no race in the current galaxy could do.
The Eldar had the ability but not the numbers. The Imperium had the numbers but not the ability. The four gods of Chaos were fighting among themselves every day and were not very clear-headed themselves.
As for the Orks... thanks to their sufficiently abstract opponents, the Orks themselves were quite abstract. And since the War of the Beast, humanity had a set formula for dealing with the Orks, relying on Astartes to carry out concentrated decapitation strikes, or using Blanks to blow up the WAAAGH! field. Such operations were tried and true.
"It's just this Navy..." Romulus didn't know what to say.
It was better than he had initially expected. At least only half of them had been lost. And the fact that they hadn't been pushed all the way to Macragge was the best of a bad situation.
The transmigrators tried their best to think on the bright side.
"What about the rest of the Navy?" he couldn't help but ask.
"I don't know. It's not out of the question that they were urgently redeployed by various factions, or that the Navy itself misjudged the battle situation," Helbrecht shook his head. Their relationship with the Imperial Navy was not bad, but it was not at the level of a superior and subordinate.
"Of the fifty-one battleships in the joint fleet, thirty-one successively withdrew from the Ultramar defense line after the war began," Aglaia said, handing over her report. "Among them, fifteen went north to deal with the newly emerged Ork empire around Orpheus I. The other formation of sixteen battleships was led by Inquisitor Rost to the Damocles Gulf, to launch a cleansing operation against a newly emerged xenos species, the T'au."
"The reason?"
"They judged that the Tyranid threat would soon be resolved, and the Imperium's forces needed to be used where they were more needed."
Look, this subjective initiative. As expected of an outstanding pillar of the Imperium.
"And the result?" Romulus was so angry he laughed.
Because the crusade's route was supposed to pass by the T'au, Romulus had long since notified them that this xenos would be handled by them. Coincidentally, one of the T'au's technologies was of great importance to the transmigrators.
This matter simply did not require the Imperium to worry about.
"None," Aglaia shook her head.
"..."
The faces of everyone present became精彩.
"Can I understand this as, certain people, in pursuit of their own interests, or honor, have caused the Imperium to lose over a hundred habitable planets for this?" Arthur asked, looking at the star-chart. He continued, "And this number is still increasing with the passage of time."
This was a really big pot to carry. It made everyone subconsciously hold their breath.
A single wrong decision had directly cost the Imperium over a hundred habitable worlds. Such a loss was enough to be recorded in the annals of the Imperium.
Even the War of the Beast had not lost so much. It was just that more people had died. The planets that had been attacked by the Orks could still be colonized after they were retaken. Not like the planets invaded by the Tyranids, which were cleaner than after an Exterminatus.
"Yes, Lord Arthur," the Inquisitor who had just entered the council chamber said in agreement.
For a rare moment, everyone felt a thick, killing aura from this emotionally stable Inquisitor.
"What is the current strategic deployment of the Navy?"
Romulus was already feeling dizzy. The lives of over a hundred planets... just thinking about it made his hands tremble. It was a pity Drakus was not here. There was no one to give him his blood pressure medication.
"The Damocles Gulf fleet has not responded. The mobile fleet supporting Orpheus I is on its way back. They claim they will transmit the Emperor's great wrath and reclaim the lost honor of their friendly forces," Aglaia replied.
"Don't!" Romulus quickly said, subconsciously reaching out his hand, as if he could grab the fleet back. But no one showed any emotion.
The "Stormcast" were already furious, especially the Ultramarines. Some of their homeworlds had already been devoured by the Hive Fleet. And the Astartes of the M41 era were beginning to ponder—
Are the Imperial Navy really that divine?
"—I mean, can they just garrison at Macragge first, as a final insurance for the war," Romulus organized his words.
He had come to understand that the greatest use of the Imperial Navy was its existence.
This group of living ancestors should not move. Anyway, the Macragge sector was full of Genestealers. Even with their reminder, they couldn't kill them all. The fleet just had to stop there and let the Hive Mind sense them. At least this way, the Hive Mind would have to calculate their combat power in the long term.
"Of course, Lord Romulus. I will handle it," Aglaia nodded seriously.
"Hmm. If you have any difficulties, just let me know. We'll solve them slowly."
Romulus took a deep breath.
On the bright side, at least the offensive of this Hive War had been intercepted. They hadn't even touched Macragge. The Hive Fleet was currently limited to the outer part of the third defensive line. It was much better than in history, where they had scattered all over Ultramar and hadn't been cleaned up even after Guilliman woke up.
And the other commanders were somewhat unable to accept it.
They knew how much importance Romulus placed on the defense of Ultramar, providing all sorts of tactical guidance without regard for cost, almost teaching them by hand how to fight.
And this was the result.
The circuits of Archmagos Cawl had already begun to spark.
These vermin who made the decision, how dare they? They couldn't bear the price of a failed war even if they all died!
Everyone was a bit speechless. They even doubted if Macragge could hold out against the Hive Fleet's offensive until their support arrived.
"Let's start discussing the next route," Romulus said, comforting the crowd. "Don't be anxious. Let's do our own thing first."
Karna twitched the corner of his mouth.
It was really hard on Romulus. He still had to pull out such an expression at a time like this.
In the council chamber, whether they were ten thousand years old or almost forty thousand years old, at this moment, they all wore a pained mask.
Karna and Ramesses both looked at Arthur, who had been calm from beginning to end.
"Gentlemen," Arthur said, taking a deep breath. He looked up and stared at the massive holographic battle display in the center of the council chamber. Countless points of light flickered on the display, representing the deployment of both their own and the enemy's forces, like a sea of stars burning in the darkness.
"As individuals, every one of us may make mistakes, may fail." His voice echoed in the empty council chamber.
"But if we remember that we are a part of a greater whole, if we refuse to yield to those doubts and fears, if we fulfill our duties swiftly and effectively, then we can force our enemies to make mistakes—"
"And mistakes will cost them dearly in blood."
His voice suddenly became cold, like a sharp blade cutting through the air.
Arthur looked at the crowd, his eyes shining like stars. He knew that what these commanders were really worried about was not the strength of the enemy. They had crossed countless life-and-death situations. So-called failure had never been able to break them. What they were worried about was the attitude of the four "Primarchs."
They were afraid. Afraid that this ravaged Imperium would make the four new "Primarchs" give up, completely abandon this seemingly unsavable race.
So, all Arthur had to do was to state his position.
"I do not know if our struggle will be victorious. But I can guarantee that, for the sake of victory, we will never give up the struggle."
His voice was like an oath, heavy and firm.
The air in the council chamber seemed to be ignited by his words. The gazes of the crowd focused on him, filled with expectation and trust.
When he had first transmigrated, Arthur had indeed thought of giving up.
After all, to transmigrate to the Warhammer universe was the worst luck. If he didn't live it up in time, he might not have a chance later.
But as time went on, he had witnessed too many sacrifices of mortals, the Apothecary's persistence in despair, Cawl's ten-thousand-year promise, and the warriors who were now gradually gathering at their side, entrusting their trust and their strength to them.
He still felt that there was hope for humanity.
Meeting the gazes of the crowd, Arthur spoke seriously.
"Because, hope yet lives."
His voice was calm and clear, with the vitality that was unique to a young person. The walls around them were inlaid with ancient reliefs, depicting the glory and suffering of human history. The reliefs seemed to be silently witnessing this oath.
For a moment, the council chamber was silent, as if even the air had frozen.
Then, Helbrecht was the first to break the silence. He straightened his body, his right fist clenched, and he slammed it on his chest, making a dull thud.
"Hope yet lives."
His voice was low and powerful, as if he were swearing an oath.
"Yes. Hope yet lives."
Aglaia's voice followed closely. A ripple appeared in her originally somewhat rigid eyes, as if a frozen lake had been brushed by a spring breeze, creating ripples. Her fingers gently stroked the hilt of her sword, as if she had found some kind of support.
[Hope yet lives]
Archmagos Cawl still stood quietly. His spare body stood quietly, occasionally bursting with a few electric sparks due to overload. In his processing unit, an emotion called "reminiscence" quietly emerged.
The gazes of the crowd finally fell on Romulus.
His figure was tall and straight, like an unshakeable mountain. Nothing could crush him.
"Then let's get moving, gentlemen."
Romulus took a deep breath of the air in the void, as if he were tasting its icy coldness.
He looked at his partners, and they nodded to each other. Their eyes met, silently transmitting a certain tacit understanding.
"We still have a war to plan."
"Do you really believe this is the Emperor's guidance?"
Outside the council chamber, Sevastus leaned over and asked Drakus in a low voice. His massive Contemptor Dreadnought body leaned forward slightly, the mechanical joints emitting a faint hum. The movement, due to the Dreadnought's construction, looked a bit clumsy, even a bit comical.
"Perhaps not?" Drakus said softly, his voice like a gentle breeze, with a hint of uncertainty. His gaze, through the shadows of the corridor, looked at the twinkling starlight in the distance, as if he were also searching for some answer.
"But I believe it is without malice."
He was basically certain that his own revival was related to the four lords. After all, Ramesses had never hidden the professional issues from them.
Drakus's tone held a certainty, as if he were stating a simple fact.
"I am not like the Word Bearers, who believe that the Emperor, or some Primarch, or a Warp-creation is a god. But their power is indeed not to be underestimated. If they wanted to, yes, they could do many things."
Sevastus's mechanical body trembled slightly, as if to express some emotion. His voice, through the Dreadnought's speaker, came out with a hint of hoarseness, "You're challenging my worldview."
He sighed, a hint of fatigue in his voice. Perhaps he really was an old man. His ability to accept new things was beginning to decline.
His gaze then fell on the breach in Drakus's chest. It had once been a fatal wound. If it had been a little closer, it would have pierced his heart.
"You're still the same as always," Sevastus's voice held a hint of emotion, as if he were recalling the past.
"It is natural." Drakus smiled slightly, a hint of calmness in his eyes.
"Then what if I had accidentally killed you?" Sevastus's voice held a hint of teasing, as if he were testing something.
"Then I could still come back to life." Drakus shrugged, his movement relaxed and casual, as if he were talking about an insignificant matter.
"Heh heh heh~"
Sevastus laughed in a low voice. He envied Drakus's mentality.
If you could talk about Primarch jokes with a few optimistic lords every day, and always be engaged in a noble cause, then you could too.
Drakus shook his head with a laugh, then asked, "How did you end up in a Dreadnought? Who defeated the champion swordsman of Lord Guilliman?"
"I'm sorry. My story is not so grand," Sevastus sighed in the face of Drakus's curiosity. "This planet has a special radiation. I got sick. It's that simple."
Drakus nodded in understanding.
Yes. He was once the champion of the Ultramarines Legion. What could possibly defeat him?
The fickleness of time was sometimes crueler than any enemy.
Sevastus recalled his own life.
A mundane battle, a mundane formation of a Chapter, a mundane placement in a Dreadnought due to a genetic disease.
Then watching familiar faces disappear one by one.
Compared to other beings of his level, his life was indeed lacking in grand waves.
"Thanks to the guidance of fate, I can still see my comrades again," Sevastus replied with emotion.
"You'll be able to see them all the time in the future," Drakus said with a smile, then issued an invitation. "Come with us, how about it? Make up for the part of your life that was missing."
"I am already old. I'm about to die," Sevastus said in a low voice.
"I am already dead." Drakus held out his hand. "The future is still very long."
Yes, the future is still very long.
Sevastus quietly watched the crowd, which had become busy again. They had each returned to their fleets, started their own work, and were driving the fleet to leave at the fastest speed.
And those four lords.
Arthur was the first to leave. He gave the two of them a slight nod as he passed.
Ramesses and Karna left together, giving the two a casual greeting. One flamboyant, one enthusiastic.
Only Romulus was left, deep in thought. When the Dreadnought's gaze came over, he broke from his thoughts and gave the Dreadnought a gentle nod.
They had power. They were learning.
They were constantly increasing their own knowledge, constantly trying.
They really hoped that humanity could live a better life in this galaxy.
CLANG!
Iron met iron.
After ten thousand years, the iron hand of the Dreadnought finally clasped with the Invictarus Suzerain again. The two of them bumped shoulders, creating a crisp echo.
"Count me in. I should still be able to fight," he said.
Because—
Hope yet lives.
In a quiet office, a voice sounded. "The order from His Highness has come down."
Askelon, who was in charge of the Ravenwing's operations and was dealing with official business, replied without looking up, "Is this really our Knight-Sergeant? The acting Grand Master of the Order of the Broken Crown, which Highness are you referring to?"
"It could be any of them," Cypher replied, his expression impassive.
"Intelligence from the Adeptus Mechanicus?" Askelon asked, looking at the vibration Cypher had left in the air with his cipher. He put down his official documents and sighed.
This official business was really not for humans. They were only responsible for a small part. Who knew how Romulus could do it.
As expected of an ambitious Primarch. He can even endure this kind of hardship. I can't imagine what he's really after.
And the Ravenwing's understanding of this universe was really a bit stretched. They had missed too much time. So much so that His Highness, in many cases, could only rely on that Inquisitor, or the Adeptus Mechanicus Magos.
"This won't do." Zabriel popped out of nowhere and said what was on Askelon's mind.
As one of His Highness's attendants, he had also discovered the problem when he was sorting out the Legion's structure.
There were indeed many tough guys among the Terran-born Fallen Angels. The new recruits from Caliban, under their training, could also quickly stand on their own. But the Dark Angels' understanding of the current Imperium was limited.
Where was The Rock, the fortress of the Fallen Angels? What was their composition? How many successor Chapters were there? They didn't know!
"Where are Zahariel and Gareth?" Askelon waited for a bit and found that the other two, who should have shown up, had not.
"They're on a mission," Zabriel replied, a bit sourly. The Terran-born Ironwing was amazing. The Redeeming Angels who were planning to take over the Apothecarion were also amazing.
"We must rebuild our intelligence network," Askelon said seriously. Everyone had something to do, and they were here dealing with endless official documents.
They had recently contacted quite a few Fallen Angels, and had arranged a meeting time with a cipher. After the accounting ceremony was complete, they could return to the Dark Angels. The gradual expansion of the team was only a matter of time. In the future, the intelligence system would become more and more important.
"But the construction will probably take a long time," Cypher said in a low voice. As a qualified duelist, he was not good at these things.
"Why build it?" Askelon asked pointedly.
Cypher turned his head and noticed that Zabriel had raised his chin.
"Oh." Cypher instantly understood.
"..."
At almost the same instant.
The gazes of the three of them fell on Alpharius, who was still working hard.
This person currently had the best performance in the Ravenwing. He would rush to do the work that others didn't want to do. He had directly lost a dueling spot. Who knew how this person could stand it.
Askelon originally didn't want to be here. Who let him lose the duel.
Damn it! The people from the Order of the Broken Claw should go to the Deathwing and pilot your Terminator! How did you get into the Ravenwing!
"?"
Noticing the gazes of the three of them, Alpharius looked up.
"Lord Zabriel!" he said to Askelon.
"...He probably remembered the cipher wrong. I'll have the Order of the Pentagram give him some more knowledge later," Askelon explained awkwardly in the face of the two gazes at his side. This Alpharius was really not a professional spy. He had been hinted at both overtly and covertly so many times, and he could still remember it wrong. It was always them who had to cover for this guy.
"The Lion's pride is gathering. You can put your work aside, Brother Hydra," Askelon said.
"Even with this work, I can complete the personnel coordination," Alpharius immediately replied with confidence. He had found that in the Dark Angels' group, you needed to be confident. Only then would these proud lions entrust you with a task, and only then would you have a chance to see more secrets.
"If you insist, then I will not object. But since the duty is upon you, you must make it perfect," Askelon said seriously.
"Naturally." Alpharius replied with confidence, then stood up with the official documents, deciphered the cipher on the ground, and left, preparing to return to the garrison of the Order of the Ninth Head. He had also gradually figured out the secret interaction system within the Dark Angels. After he was familiar with it, he should be able to spy at a higher level.
But the immediate priority was to gather his colleagues under his command.
Alpharius's gaze fell on the text in his hand.
This fleet was indeed carrying out a reform that was beyond the imagination of many. They were intervening in the military and political affairs of a part of the Imperial domain, trying to hold it all in their hands.
Unfortunately, just this small part of the documents had cost him a great deal of energy. To see the whole picture was no longer something he could do alone.
Fortunately, the re-gathering of these Fallen Angels gave him an excellent opportunity.
Walking on the dim path, Alpharius silently analyzed the cipher and began to think about his own plan.
Alpharius needed to gather his Grand Company to monitor this mysterious force and ensure that they would not pose a threat to humanity.
Damn it, that's the Ironwing's garrison.
Askelon pressed a hand to his forehead, then waved his hand. Two black shadows left a step ahead, to prevent him from being turned into a honeycomb by the patrolling automata. He then looked back at his battle-brothers. "It's done. Except for the need to be careful of the danger."
"Danger is not a reason. Any action has its risks. What we need to do is to eliminate it. His Highness would not wish for us to bring him trouble," Zabriel said, giving his own plan. "Later, let the Grand Master of the Pentagram put an insurance on their souls. I believe Lord Ramesses will not refuse the assistance of these diligent employees."
"Remember, hope yet lives!"
In the last instant, Askelon turned his head and found that the two had disappeared. Only then did he sit back down at his desk.
The monitoring was the monitoring. The work still had to be done.
And it had to be done well.
(End of Chapter)
