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"There are probably two to three hundred Dark Angels in the camp, and there are three of us here."
"Mm..."
"Slightly disadvantaged."
"But it's not a big problem."
Sometimes life is like eating hazelnut chocolate with rotten teeth.
Sweetness is guaranteed.
Pain is foreseeable.
But the possibility of that damn hazelnut getting stuck in your tooth cavity, where your finger can't reach and your tongue can't dislodge it, yet you still feel the urge to lick it from time to time, truly exists.
And it's not low.
Hector didn't know what hazelnut chocolate was, as pure cocoa butter had completely disappeared in the Age of Strife.
Although privately, this somewhat stern new star of the Second Legion actually enjoyed sweets, he limited himself to ordinary kinds, and he never let anyone know about it. After all, he personally felt that it wasn't a hobby worth boasting about, being somewhat childish and naive.
But this didn't prevent him from feeling a continuous sorrow and anxiety at this moment, as if he had just eaten an extremely bitter hard candy. This was the sting brought by the collision of cruel reality and beautiful dreams. Although for an Astartes, such mental pain was almost insignificant, it would still be annoying, and there was still the possibility of messing things up.
After all, the Death Angels loyal to the Emperor were by no means perfect beings; they could hardly be called perfect warriors. Although they had undergone theoretically extremely rigorous moral brainwashing and thought reinforcement,
this didn't prevent the development of inherent emotions like irritability, recklessness, arrogance, or treachery in some Astartes. Such dark thoughts could even override their millisecond-level thinking, causing some dirty tragedies to manifest.
Hector knew this. He had known it for a long time. When he first became a [Fang], Lord Kairon and other mentors had almost drilled it into him, making him remember this point. He had also gone to the Legion's psychological chambers, pouring out his heart to those ancient warriors and learning how to better control his impulses.
Those most ancient warriors didn't care what ideals Hector had, or how grand his ambitions were. After all, they had seen stranger Fangs before. These respectable figures only cared about one thing: whether he could suppress the weaknesses in his heart amidst the flames of war and become a reliable commander.
Hector passed the test. Three months later, he became the fastest-promoted recruit in the Legion. In his eleventh year of officially joining the Legion, he became the youngest squad leader in the Legion's history.
Becoming an Astartes was never the end; only death was. And when some greater destiny and cause arrived, death didn't mean the end of obligations.
The Second Legion had always believed this.
"Are you sure, Salieri?"
Hector suppressed a new wave of irritation in his heart. This was not difficult for him.
Three warriors of the Second Legion were currently stationed on a desolate dirt mound. From here, they could barely see the dusty camp of the Dark Angels, but even for an Astartes' superhuman vision, it was indeed a bit too far.
However, before planning thoroughly, Hector didn't dare to get closer. This was the minimal respect for the Dark Angels' keen perception. He didn't want to face the First Legion's interrogation without any preparation.
Although the camp he saw was guarded by equally raw Calibanites, who had just followed their gene-father into the void, they were still inexperienced newcomers who hadn't mastered their own immense power, not those venerable Terran veterans who commanded awe.
But then again, if the Dark Angel company assigned to garrison this world were truly composed mainly of Terran veterans, Lord Kairon would never have allowed them to behave so foolishly.
Yes... foolishly.
Hector closed his eyes. He wanted to sigh. After becoming a leader, he found himself always wanting to sigh, because the light of reason enveloped his heart, continuously illuminating the pathetic reality around him.
At this moment, Hector could clearly hear the clash between reason and emotion deep within his heart: any Astartes' reason would tell him how slim the possibility of a Primarch lurking here was. Not to mention that these most noble demigods had no reason to lurk in a small camp.
Just from the personnel, this camp was merely a group of conscripted mortals, two or three hundred Dark Angels, and perhaps some auxiliary personnel from other legions. Given a Primarch's tall and burly stature, he would certainly stand out here more than a crane among chickens, making infiltration impossible.
Unless he turned into a rock.
But even so, even if he, Salieri, and Ajax knew how ridiculous this was, they still came, filled with complaints, suspicion, speculation, and that barely perceptible sliver of a sense of luck, hoping to succeed by chance.
After all, who could say for sure about anything in the world?
What's more, that was their gene-father...
This word, as if imbued with magic, was enough to make Hector take excessive risks with just a thought: even though his rationality screamed at him, screaming that such an action was utterly irrational.
But...
That was a Primarch.
The word alone effortlessly shattered the high walls of reason.
Hector now understood some things, some things he used to consider strange or absurd: why the Iron Warriors accepted the Decimation, why sincere believers could become devout ones almost instantly from disbelievers, why those ghouls... became the Blood Angels of today.
Some things are indeed full of their charm.
"It's too far, I can't fully confirm it, Hector, but I did sense it."
Salieri's voice sounded. He was with Ajax, both of them looking at him.
Hector pondered for a moment.
"Will the Dark Angels let us in directly?"
"If it's on the grounds of urgent business, other legions are fine, but the First Legion..."
"They're like a bunch of guard dogs."
"They might let us in, but they might not. They might even refuse us access."
"Breaking in is impossible. For nobodies like us, these Calibanites won't hold back."
"Calibanites... Hector, aren't you acquainted with Zahariel?"
"I've only met him. We spent some time together on the Imperial Fists' Eternal Crusade before, but I'm not familiar with his personality."
"Then... what should we do?"
This question made Hector rub his brow.
Damn it, why the Dark Angels of all people?
This new star of the Second Legion, who was much taller than a regular Astartes, almost a "big guy" among Astartes, after genuinely pondering for a moment, had a rather peculiar first thought.
How about...
Infiltrating?
Hector took a detour.
After confirming that Salieri and Ajax's combined act was enough to distract some of the Dark Angels, he didn't act immediately. Instead, he patiently bypassed most of the encampment and made his way to the construction area, where conscripted mortals were listlessly working, operating giant sand haulers and mixing machines, occasionally stirring up clouds of dust that obscured vision and senses.
The guards here were few, only a few Dark Angels lingered at the edge of the construction site, chatting occasionally. Their enthusiasm for this job wasn't high. After all, theoretically, this camp was for the mortals who would be stationed here later, and the Dark Angels were only supervising them to make it look a bit more presentable.
Hector's gaze wandered, his mind whirring. He quickly discovered sand dunes piled up on the other side of the construction site. Thoughts and calculations rapidly processed in his mind. If he controlled the rhythm and timing of the mortal workers, perhaps he could...
He didn't hesitate.
Once again, as the weary mortals drove their vehicles, dumping another pile of sand into the designated area of the construction site, they, as always, stirred up layers of dust that shot skyward. In the desert wind, these swirling dust clouds were like a shimmering high wall, swaying wantonly under the cold sunlight, obscuring everyone's vision.
No one even noticed that a flash of bright silver light seemed to have passed by.
Success.
Hector leaned against the sand dune. These massive solid objects were enough to block the view from the other side. Next, he only needed to...
"Click."
Something seemed to be pressing against his back armor.
Then, he heard the friction sound from within the sand dune, the click of a bolt being chambered, and a cold laugh.
"What made you choose such an impolite way to visit, friend?"
No, that won't do.
That won't work.
Hector shook his head, throwing that idea out of his mind.
He rested his index finger on his chin and started thinking again. Plans emerged like a kaleidoscope in the ocean of his thoughts, only to be discarded one by one like a kaleidoscope's images.
The First Legion...
Ultimately, Hector could only sigh.
He disliked situations where the progress of affairs was not in his hands. He was passionate about meticulously planning, considering countermeasures for every possibility.
Within the Second Legion, this might be an anomaly, but this time, or rather, at present, he truly could only leave the fate of the matter in the hands of the First Legion, even if it concerned his Primarch, even if his opponents were just a few young Calibanites.
Damn it."Second Legion, 144th Expeditionary Fleet, 23rd Vanguard Squad Leader, Sergeant Hector."
The Dark Angel guards looked at the Astartes introducing himself with some suspicion. His gaze swept over the overly large, eerie green greatsword in Hector's hand, and a hint of wariness in his eyes did not escape Hector's notice.
Finally, Zahariel's sons and their battle brothers exchanged glances, keeping their weapon muzzles pointed downwards.
"You should be on your battleship, Second Legion."
Hector didn't reply. In fact, he subtly retreated a step, letting Salieri and Ajax flank him, one on each side. The former spoke, while the latter stood silently on the Dark Angel's alert line, unarmed, just looking down at them.
"We have urgent business to see Lord Zahariel."
Salieri patted the documents in his hand, and the Dark Angels immediately shook their heads.
"You can use communications..."
"Confidential matter, requires a face-to-face meeting."
"Outsiders are not permitted here."
The Dark Angels shook their heads almost stubbornly.
Salieri frowned. He stepped forward, and the silent Ajax beside him also seized the opportunity to move forward slightly. His shadow even fell upon the Dark Angel.
The two guards were a little nervous. Their gaze swept over Ajax, then was drawn away by something further back: Hector stood there, so tall, his eerie green greatsword occasionally glinting in the sunlight.
Just then, Salieri's voice drifted over.
"Why won't you let us in? Are you hiding some secret?"
"The First Legion has no secrets!"
Almost instinctively, the guards roared.
"Then why deny access?"
"To prevent you from posing a threat..."
Salieri showed a strange smile, while Ajax, who was at least a head taller than the Dark Angel, merely stared at him with a grim face, then...
They all retreated.
Before his words fell, Hector suddenly stepped forward. His body charged into their view. His greatsword gleamed in the sunlight. All of this made the Dark Angels instinctively pull their triggers.
Hector raised his blade and planted it in the ground.
He unslung his volkite charger and handed it to Salieri.
Then, he took the documents, bent down, and smiled at the somewhat stunned Calibanite.
"I will enter alone. You can inspect my weapons and send someone to supervise."
Seeing the guards still wanting to say something, Hector's smile gained a hint of disdain.
"Of course, if you're afraid, you can send a squad. I won't mind."
"Captain Zahariel is ahead. I will be watching you here."
The Dark Angel's expression and tone were not very good, but Hector didn't care.
By the Emperor, it actually worked.
If these raw Calibanite recruits hadn't been so immature, if they hadn't still been susceptible to such simple 'playing hard to get' and 'goading' tactics, or rather, if there had been any veteran guarding there, he wouldn't have been able to get in.
Hector touched the documents. Salieri's psychic mark was still intact and had been silently transferred to his palm. This mark allowed him to briefly sense the [Primarch's aura]. Then, he understood why Salieri had been so excited.
Hector almost moved forward involuntarily, barely controlling himself to advance in the direction indicated by the Dark Angel, rather than the direction indicated by the beacon in his hand.
Just as he was thinking about what to do, Hector suddenly realized that these two targets were consistent. The beacon pointed to Zahariel's left and right.
A surge of ecstasy spontaneously came over him, and he quickened his pace.
Finally, after turning corner after corner, he saw an unforgettable sight in a clearing.
It was a gray theater: a dim sky caressed by sunlight. In the swirling dust, Zahariel and a mortal woman stood on a large rock, seemingly talking about something.
The beacon was chiming, telling him the target had appeared.
Following its direction, what did Hector see?Zahariel, a genuine Dark Angel.
A mortal woman, with silver hair and blue eyes, delicate and frail.
And... the rock beneath their feet.
Hector blinked. The beacon in his hand was still vibrating frantically, indicating that the target was right before his eyes.
He looked again.
Zahariel, a Dark Angel.
A silver-haired lady.
A massive... rock.
Hector was probably forty years old this year.
He was selected by the Second Legion at the age of ten, completed all surgeries and procedures fourteen years later, officially becoming a Death Angel. In the three years that followed, he completed his first mission, met his first mentor, chose his first finely crafted weapon,
and ten years after that, he experienced his first full-scale war, received his first victory medal and honorary title, was discussed and praised by officers for the first time, lost comrades for the first time, was selected and assessed for the first time, was promoted for the first time...
And all of this, all the ups and downs, all the twists and turns, all the joys and sorrows, all the gains and losses, everything, all the firsts and initial experiences, all the killing and bloodshed, everything he had experienced, rejoiced in, regretted, and admired in this ruthless universe over the past few decades...
None of it compared to even a billionth of a fraction of this moment.
"Discard all impossibilities, and the absurd becomes reality."
He thought of that sentence again.
As if sensing something, Morgan slowly turned around.
What did she see? What did she discover? What did she realize? She seemed to be marveling at something.
Then, she smiled.
"What's going on, Hector? Why did my psychic sense suddenly lose that information!"
Salieri was running, chasing, trying to keep up with his squad leader.
Ever since they left the Dark Angel encampment, Hector hadn't stopped. He grabbed his greatsword and walked straight into the desert.
He walked for a long... long... long time...
As if squandering his stamina in revenge.
"Hector! What's wrong! Tell us!"
Salieri screamed, and this time, Hector finally stopped.
He looked up at the sun, and watched for a long time, then suddenly sighed, a very heavy sigh.
"Salieri..."
"What's wrong?"
"You said..."
"How likely is it that the Emperor created our possibility from a rock?"
Saying this, before Salieri could be astonished or reply, Hector let out a bitter laugh.
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