"You intend to... ah, I see. Using the Imperial Guard as the core deterrent, the Legions as the supporting pillars, and the Chapters as the wings of the phoenix—mutually complementary, compensating for weaknesses, and filling in gaps. Indeed, that is a prudent and effective method to reconstitute a fighting force with the fastest possible recovery of combat strength."
Upon fully grasping Selene's intention, Sebas nodded solemnly.
Compared to completely scattering the units and erasing their designations for retraining, this arrangement—though it risked forming small factions or isolated cliques—was far less harmful. The Sacred Selene Empire possessed the size, resources, and recruitment systems necessary to assimilate them.
With time's quiet erosion, they would eventually merge into a single whole.
Besides, they still had their genetic father to keep them in line. And if that failed, there were always the twenty 'Legion-Commander fathers and uncles'—none of them sharing blood relations—ready to 'have a talk' with them.
So what if trouble arose? It wouldn't matter much.
After all, with the Emperor and Selene both sitting firmly atop the hierarchy—one word summed it all up: stable.
"This old servant has studied the reports and records of the former Human Empire's Space Marine Chapters in the A–13 Grand Sector Governorate. Many boasted legacies of thousands—even tens of thousands—of years. To simply cut off such glorious designations and brilliant histories with a single stroke... indeed, it is lamentable... tragic."
Bowing respectfully, Sebas accepted from Selene the document titled Minutes of Discussion and Revised Draft on the Reorganization and Settlement Policy for A–13 Grand Sector Space Marine Chapters. As he examined the rough drafts, discarded versions, and multiple revisions, he could more or less discern the shifts in Selene's thinking, as well as the input from her ministers and secretaries.
After a long pause, the old butler sighed deeply. "That was their life's honor."
"Black Templars, Crimson Fists, Lamenters, Mantis Warriors, Flesh Tearers, Star Phantoms, Blood Ravens... To erase such names of honor—it truly is too great a loss."
Indeed, for Space Marines, the glory and history of their Chapter, and the brotherhood forged through shared gene-kin, were everything.
They were unlike Selene's Astartes warriors, who still retained some connection to family, friends, and the right to rest.
The former were pure weapons of war—severed from all ties to the mundane world. Their lives were war itself. No retirement, no homecoming visits, only the thin yet indelible bond of brotherhood through shared gene-blood, fighting side by side until death.
Sebas's words made Selene recall those old, traditional Chapters—waiting for dissolution, waiting for the final decree of fate.
As their new monarch and the one to whom they now swore allegiance, Selene's burden lay in how to arrange for them in a way that was both efficient and humane.
She was not like the old Emperor—a black-hearted, dried-out relic.
Her conscience was small—but it existed.
The proud Selene was fiercely competitive. She would not allow those Space Marines to fare worse under her rule than they had under the Emperor.
Only after giving them a few sweet rewards—making them feel content—could she, with a clear conscience, proceed to squeeze them dry and throw them into the furnaces of endless wars.
Direct dissolution, scattering them as individuals, then reassigning them through the new recruit trials; merging mother and successor Chapters by gene-seed lineage into corresponding Astartes Legions; or even reorganizing them into entirely new, sequentially numbered Grand Legions...
These were all among the proposals presented after Selene raised the question herself—various suggestions from her think tank and ministers, each with its own merits and flaws.
Simply put, Selene was greedy—she wanted all of them.
Though by sheer numbers and organizational scale, any single Chapter of the Human Empire in the 40K era, even at full strength, would barely equate to the rank of a Centurion.
As for heavy military hardware, fleet size, auxiliary personnel, and supporting combat divisions—by comparison, the difference between a Chapter and a proper Legion was akin to that between a militia and a professional army.
Yet what Space Marines excelled at—compact combat units of around a hundred warriors, honed by millennia of unending warfare—was their true strength.
Given equal equipment, similar bodies enhanced by Honkai augmentation, and time to adapt, their ten-man or hundred-man tactical teams might in some cases even outmatch the large-scale, overwhelming formations favored by Selene's Astartes Legions.
In the 30K era, within the Human Empire, the Space Marines were the core of warfare. The mortal auxiliary armies were merely that—auxiliaries.
But in the 40K era, it was the Astra Militarum that became the mainstay of war, while the Space Marines had long since shifted into an elite force specialized for special operations.
To have the Space Marines suddenly adapt to a large-scale Legion-style warfare lost for ten millennia... Selene pondered for a moment—it was not a profitable trade. It was better to preserve the battle styles and traditions that those Chapters had honed over thousands of years.
She didn't need those tens of thousands of additional soldiers that badly.
"What about the parent Chapters of the Space Marines... the nine Loyalist First Founding Chapters that remained faithful even in calamity, Your Majesty—should they be deployed as well? To complete their reorganization and refitting while fighting on the battlefield?"
Quickly scanning the revised draft, Sebas noticed Selene's highlighted annotations next to the names of the nine Loyalist Chapters. After some thought, he spoke cautiously.
After a brief moment of consideration, Selene waved her hand decisively. "No. They won't be deployed. Under My command, there will be no distinction between parent and successor Chapters—only between different formations."
"Their reorganization is already underway. Do not interrupt it. The parent Chapters are to be merged into Astartes Legions bearing the same serial designation."
Then, as if struck by a thought, Selene's lips curved into a dangerously delighted smile.
"Let those Chapter Masters of the parent Chapters meet with their Legion Commanders first. My Legion Commanders," she emphasized.
"As for Guilliman and the other Primarchs of the Human Empire, hmm... let them first go and meet their 'alternate counterparts'—their 'other selves.' Once they've officially assumed their roles and adapted to their new identities and duties..."
Here, Selene paused, her expression turning oddly amused, as though holding back laughter.
So, her high-grade plus-version Astartes not only surpassed the original models but had now fully absorbed them, becoming the true originals themselves! The Emperor's so-called copyright? He willingly handed it over—and besides, she was now his superior. That copyright was hers now. Who dared say her troops were mere replicas?
"They can be dispatched, as appropriate, to the 23625th Inquisitorial Expedition Fleet sector (Star Wars), to fight side by side with My own warriors."
Yes—no longer the gene-children of the Primarchs, but the soldiers of Selene.
That was their new identity—and their rebirth.
"As for the other successor Chapters—all of them are to be deployed!"
Though not fully understanding Selene's radiant, amused expression, the black-clad butler maintained perfect composure and bowed. "As You command."
This compromise was, in truth, the most optimal solution: the parent Chapters dissolved and merged, while the successors retained their frameworks.
Sebas thought silently to himself.
"Finalize it."
Lightly signing her name upon the finalized and enacted revision decree, Selene sipped her tea, glanced at Sebas, and asked thoughtfully, "Belisarius Cawl's stockpile of Primaris Space Marines—those haven't been reawakened yet, have they?"
"No, Milady. The Mechanicus' Archmagos sealed the Primaris Marines immediately upon receiving Your command, postponing their awakening. The Honkai augmentation surgery is currently underway."
Because the former Human Empire's Inquisition under the Divine Mandate of the Emperor was being reorganized into the Inquisition under the Divine Mandate of Selene, Sebas had recently paid close attention to the internal affairs of the A–13 Grand Sector, meeting with and assessing many of the former Imperial officials and department heads.
"Many of those Chapters... are understrength, are they not?"
"Yes. More than half of them are short by a third of their standard complement."
"And the overstrength ones?"
"Uh... the Black Templars, Your Majesty. Should they be divided?"
"No. Ten thousand more or less—it makes little difference. Consider them a reinforced formation."
Selene chuckled softly. Raising her head, her blood-red diamond-like eyes fixed upon her butler. "Sebas, among the Astra Militarum's mortal forces, which units do you deem worthy of direct auxiliary designation? Or should they all be reorganized into servant regiments?"
"Roughly speaking—Cadian Shock Troopers, Catachan Jungle Fighters, Valhallan Ice Warriors, Mordian Iron Guard, Tallarn Desert Raiders, Armageddon Steel Legion, Vostroyan Firstborn, Death Korps of Krieg, Elysian Drop Troops, Tanith First-and-Only..."
Sebas recited the long list of mortal units that had left a deep impression on him, recalling that in his mind there were still hundreds more—famous, battle-hardened regiments of legend. He couldn't help but smile.
"Forgive my frankness, Your Majesty," Sebas said, "but any human force that has managed to crawl and bleed its way through that infernal galaxy—none among them are weak. They lack neither valor nor ferocity. The A–13 Governorate will serve as a great blood source for the Empire."
"Then let their deeds speak for them," Selene replied, pressing her finger firmly on the designation 23625th Inquisitorial Expeditionary Fleet (Star Wars). "I will grant only twelve auxiliary regiment slots."
As Selene's attention temporarily turned to the mortal champions of the former Human Empire—frustrated not by their weakness but by their sheer abundance—there came a knock, knock, knock.
"Enter."
Creak.
The ornate door opened carefully. A Flügel bowed deeply as she entered, saluting Selene respectfully.
"Your Majesty, the Governor of the A–13 Grand Sector, Lord Neoth (the Emperor), requests an audience."
Selene propped her chin on one hand, her brow slightly raised and a faint smile curving her lips. "Granted."
Ah, how convenient—just as she'd been mulling over his sector's affairs, here he was, delivered right to her door.
"Empress Selene."
Soon, the tall figure of the Emperor appeared before her, draped in immaculate white toga robes. His calm, steady demeanor exuded the authority of an equal as he gave a respectful nod. His dark-golden eyes lingered briefly on the black-clad old man at Selene's side—her butler, the one whose very presence spoke of closeness.
Her own Malcador.
How ironic. My Malcador is gone forever, he thought.
The Emperor's gaze dimmed for a moment but quickly regained its composure.
"Your Majesty, I have come to bid my farewell. This is—"
Just as he reached out to hand over a petition—one he'd maneuvered through the Imperial Science Bureau to secure technological support and policy favor—Selene interrupted him.
"Approved," she said smoothly. "You've come at just the right time. Sebas and I were just discussing your sector's situation."
She rose gracefully, smiling. The prey had walked straight into her trap.
"Well then, I'll leave it to you."
—Minutes of Discussion and Final Revision on the Reorganization and Settlement Policy for A–13 Grand Sector Space Marine Chapters and Astra Militarum—
My own assignment?
Receiving the large, weighty decree, the Emperor froze for a second before quickly scanning through it. His dark-golden eyes flickered with disbelief as he lifted his gaze to Selene's crimson, jewel-like eyes. For a fleeting instant, a strange sense of déjà vu washed over him.
"As a farewell gesture," Selene said softly, brushing her silver-white hair aside, "why not stay for a meal? As it happens, My 'Lumberjack Fleet' has just returned with its latest harvest."
A violet-red ripple of energy shimmered between her fingers.
That tone, that gesture—too familiar.
A faint warmth of nostalgia flickered through the Emperor's eyes. His expression grew complicated—tender, sorrowful, and profound.
For he had once done the same for his dearest friend, Malcador—handing out assignments casually while retreating into his palace to tinker with esoteric projects.
And now, fate had turned. He had become Malcador himself.
...
Meanwhile, elsewhere—at the position of the 23625th Inquisitorial Expeditionary Fleet.
In the vast expanse of the Milky Way, near the spiral arm bordering the satellite systems.
Vmmm...
Plasma exhaust flared brightly against the steel leviathan's hull. In the midst of a formation of transport ships, escorts, and destroyers, one massive vessel stood out.
Though smaller than the Imperial Navy's grand battleships, it was still a colossal warship—25 kilometers long, its hull forged in sleek, dark metallic tones accented by gold and crimson markings. The insignia '≡][≡' proudly declared its allegiance.
The Inquisition.
Fwoosh.
Streams of orange-red light streaked through space, descending toward the planet in the fleet's patrol orbit.
It was a barren yet living world, home to primitive fauna but devoid of any sign of civilization—at least from orbit.
Inside one of the massive transport craft, crammed with heavy engineering machinery and construction materials, a young man in a full-body multipurpose exosuit—helmet off—was frying an unknown creature's rib meat on an induction stove in a small galley.
He cursed under his breath. "Weren't we told that the less industrial pollution, the better the flavor of wild meat? Then why the hell does this taste awful? Did those idiots down there screw up? It's either stringy, tough, or it stinks!"
"Tastes terrible," another replied, deadpan. "Completely contradicts the analysis from those fuzzballs. They claim there's a supernatural energy called the Force—so why is the meat from high-energy creatures still this bland?"
According to the engineers aboard the Inquisitorial fleet, in other universes where magic or battle aura existed, monsters and beasts were supposed to have exquisite meat. Surely this newly charted virgin galaxy couldn't be that much worse.
"All right, all right, enough whining. You're the ones who wanted to 'try something new,' remember?"
A bearded man—clearly the foreman—rose and barked a laugh. "Latest scans indicate the planet chosen for the forward base isn't entirely without traces of civilization. There are new findings beneath the ocean—multiple wrecked spacecraft, long since fallen apart."
He paused for emphasis. "According to the fuzzballs' projections, they were standard military vessels. Their central systems have been dead for centuries, but partial data recovery succeeded. Keywords decoded include Galactic Republic and Galactic Empire."
"Our mission," he said gravely, "is to recover and preserve as much of the data from those wrecked ship cores as possible—to provide essential intelligence for the Imperial landing forces to come."
—
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