"A medium-rare roasted ant-ox heart for me," the Emperor said, casually pulling a chair up to join the feast. "Come, this is Russ's cherished mead, a gift from his first return to the Imperium. I rarely touch it, but today, we drink our fill." Uncharacteristically, the Emperor wasn't clad in his iconic golden armor but wore a well-tailored casual outfit instead.
He effortlessly opened a white, two-meter-diameter cask overflowing with mead. It wasn't truly a cask, but a vessel crafted from the processed spine of a Kraken beast, dredged from the icy depths of Fenris's oceans, specially designed to hold this potent brew.
Golden liquid streamed from the tap into a pristine glass, instantly filling the air with a honeyed, alcoholic aroma. The temperature in the entire space seemed to plummet; this exquisite wine, distilled from various plants native to Fenris's harsh death world, carried the planet's unique, biting chill.
"Corax, have a drink." The Emperor first poured a full glass for his loyal son, handing it over, then prepared to fill a glass for Swain.
"Whoa, whoa! Are you trying to kill me? I'm not a beast like you two. I'll just dilute it and have a taste." Swain's eyes widened at the sight of the generous pour. His physical constitution was nowhere near that of the Emperor or Corax. This potent drink could get Russ himself dead drunk; a whole glass would surely lay Swain out cold on the spot.
"I forgot there was a weakling here," the Emperor retorted without missing a beat.
"Heh, as if you've never been weak," Swain rolled his eyes at the Emperor. This was his territory, after all, and he wasn't currently under the old man's direct blessing. His principle was to never overstep without absolute certainty. The seemingly carefree man before him had surprisingly flexible boundaries, and there was no telling if he'd decide to mess around.
"Corax, the 19th Legion is already en route and should arrive within a month. Once you've reunited with them, take your forces to Terra. There, you'll need to familiarize yourself with the Imperium's various processes and learn how to manage this vast dominion by shadowing Malcador. This will provide invaluable experience for your own domain. Once your forces are fully qualified Astartes, your nascent Legion will begin to contribute to the Great Crusade." The Emperor outlined Corax's immediate future.
In the early phases of the Great Crusade, the Primarchs who first returned to the Imperium were mentored by Malcador. Later, as the Great Crusade's front lines stretched ever longer, they were temporarily placed under other Primarchs' command before being sent to lead their own Legions in rescuing other beleaguered human compatriots.
"No problem, Father," Corax replied, a slight awkwardness in his voice as he spoke the address.
The Emperor didn't seem to notice, simply refilling Corax's glass. It was clear the Emperor agreed with Swain's sentiment: alcohol was indeed the best key to unlocking people's hearts. Besides, with twenty-one Primarchs, the more who could hold their liquor, the better!
"Holy Terra my arse... the oceans on Terra are gone now. I can't imagine what kind of mess you've made of it," Swain mused, recalling the once-beautiful blue planet, now a human homeworld choked by hive cities, an unsightly mountain of 'shit code.'
"Alright, if you dislike Holy Terra so much, it's fine if you adapt first and go a bit later," the Emperor offered a cryptic smile.
"What are you planning?" Swain immediately grew wary. He knew Neos wouldn't allow him to simply roam the galaxy at his leisure.
"Didn't you yourself say that finding the Primarchs was your responsibility?" the Emperor countered.
"But it doesn't have to be this urgent, does it? Didn't the old man tell you where those Primarchs were lost?" Swain was genuinely confused; this didn't seem right.
"Indeed, I have no memory of that. I suspect it might involve certain unspeakable factors," the Emperor replied, choosing his words carefully.
Corax simply drank and savored the delicacies on the Emperor's Dream, silently listening to his father and Swain discuss matters he wasn't privy to. The Primarch understood that since his father and the leader were discussing these things in front of him, it was only a matter of time before he, too, would be informed.
"Since that's the case, I won't let you make this trip for nothing. As the saying goes, good things come in pairs. Recovering two Primarchs at once would certainly make for a good story," Swain promised.
As for who, Swain kept that detail from the Emperor, promising to reveal it when they set off. He only hoped the current Emperor was strong enough, "Waaagh" enough, because they were about to poke Nurgle's tiger whiskers directly.
The current Emperor was not the God-Emperor who, ten millennia later, would burn Nurgle's Garden and confine Nurgle to a small hut, rendering him silent. At this time, the Emperor was invincible in the material universe, though Nurgle could certainly best him in the Warp. However, they weren't venturing into Nurgle's Garden, merely to Nurgle's doorstep to retrieve the Emperor's son.
No big deal!
Having dropped this bombshell on the Emperor, Swain once again immersed himself in the battle with the galaxy's various delicacies. His body frantically absorbed the energy from the myriad foods, undergoing rapid improvements.
Different Sector
"Die, xenos!" Russ leaped high, his Frostblade Axe savagely cleaving a towering Greenskins Warboss in two.
"The leader is dead! Run!" The Greenskins, who had been fiercely resisting the Space Wolves' assault, immediately broke and scattered like frightened birds.
"For Russ and the Allfather! Kill these xenos!" Jorin Bloodhowl roared, leading the Space Wolves in a charge against the fleeing Greenskins.
Meanwhile, Russ's Wolf Guard remained steadfast, protecting the panting Primarch at their center.
Half a year had passed since Russ led his Legion into battle. In these six months, the hunters from Fenris had gained a deep understanding of the Greenskins' characteristics. Even so, they maintained their vigilance; they were the Primarch's personal guard and could not afford the slightest lapse in attention.
"King, there's a new order from the War Council that requires your personal decryption." Heimdall, the Wolf King's chief steward, initiated a communication request from Hrafnkel to the Wolf King on the ground.
With the King of Fenris and his wolf pack having slain the strongest Warboss in this sector, the Space Wolves' first major war since the Primarch's return could essentially be deemed a resounding success. The remaining tasks merely required systematic execution to reclaim the sector.
"Let's go, return to Hrafnkel!" Russ stood up, gathering his personal guard. A Stormbird had already appeared in the sky above the Wolf King, slowly beginning its descent.
"I wonder what orders Father has for me; there aren't enough Greenskins for me to chop," Russ grumbled, still covered in Ork blood, not having had time to clean his armor.
The Space Wolves' vessels were all equipped with Adeptus Mechanicus-developed air circulation devices capable of neutralizing Ork spores. Russ had no desire for Greenskins to infest his ships; once those things got aboard, they were nothing but trouble.
If Greenskins appeared on a planet and weren't properly dealt with, they would continuously sprout from various corners over time, endlessly frustrating the planetary rulers.
The Orks, an alien race spread throughout the galaxy, unlike other species, pursued something remarkably simple: happiness, or rather, the sheer joy derived from war.
Unlike races that abhorred conflict, Greenskins existed for war. Their greatest source of contentment was the thrill of battle. Orks could go three days without eating, but never three days without a fight. The very gene for war surged freely in their blood.
Furthermore, this peculiar green-skinned species possessed characteristics of both animals and plants. They could eat to replenish energy, and when resources were scarce, they could rely on photosynthesis to maintain the minimum energy required for their bodies to survive.
"Mission: Capture the Ork Imperium's Battlemoon jump technology.
Intelligence Update: The Ork Imperium spans the entire segmentum; the Space Wolves have only encountered its peripheral forces.
Support: Ferrus, Custodes, Doom Eagles!
Detailed Intelligence: Ork Battlemoon...
Attached Information: Primarch Corax of the 19th Legion has been found."
Russ's expression, as he read the message from the War Council – or perhaps directly from his old man – shifted more dramatically than a traditional Sichuan opera mask. Reluctance, excitement, and shock, a medley of emotions, flooded his heart like an overturned five-flavor bottle.
His reluctance stemmed from the fact that one moment he was proud of the Space Wolves' perfect performance, but the next, the Emperor indicated that this matter was far from simple, implying he might not be able to handle it alone. "I've brought you support," the message seemed to say.
His excitement was twofold: another of his brothers had been found by Father, and he would finally get to see his good brother Ferrus again. Plus, there were even more powerful Ork warlords to carve down.
The shock, however, was at the sheer scale of this Ork Imperium; a mere peripheral force had taken the Space Wolves over half a year to contain.
Although Russ wished to send a message to the Emperor asserting the Space Wolves' capability, the three crimson "Faster" directives in the mission brief's requirements clearly conveyed the Emperor's urgency. Russ could distinctly sense the anxiety in his powerful, omnipotent Father's heart.
Every Primarch believed himself the strongest, capable of defeating other brothers and their legions in one-on-one combat or with his own legion, but Russ nonetheless accepted the Emperor's command.
The Wolf King and Ferrus had a strong bond. As some of the first Primarchs to return to the Imperium, their relationships were quite good.
"Even the Custodes are joining this mission, and this Doom Eagles I've never even heard of. Things aren't simple!" Russ sighed, shaking off those complex emotions.
"Order the Legion fleet to activate all gravity detectors, disperse the fleet so they don't cluster, and dispatch all reconnaissance units from the Legion to scout deep into the Firewheel sector!" Russ immediately began to adapt the Legion's mission protocols. He had no intention of being blindsided by an Ork Battlemoon.
The intelligence provided by the Emperor had clearly informed Russ of the Ork Battlemoon's movement method; sudden changes in gravity were its most significant characteristic.
PS: If the Imperial Fists of later generations knew this news in advance, they would surely be very pleased...
Terra Imperial Palace...
"Shush... shush..." The quill moved incessantly across the pristine white paper, a silver hand precisely translating its owner's thoughts onto the page. In mere seconds, a blank sheet was covered with various obscure and complex formulas.
"Ferrus, your studies need to be temporarily put on hold. The Emperor commands you to take the Tenth Legion to support Leman Russ. This is the war brief." The hunched Malcador suddenly appeared, interrupting the infinite inspiration erupting in the Iron Hands Legion's Primarch's mind.
"Support Russ? I just finished reading Russ's war brief. The Space Wolves will complete their debut perfectly very soon," Ferrus replied, still writing, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Russ wouldn't lie, but if the Emperor himself required his support for Russ, then there must have been an unforeseen change that Russ, as the Primarch on the front lines, was still unaware of.
"Custodes, Doom Eagles?" Ferrus frowned, looking at the unfamiliar organizations he saw for the first time in the brief. He was intimately familiar with all the various large and small organizations of the Imperium, but this one, just from its name, exuded an ominous aura.
"The Tenth Legion has already assembled. Depart early; My Lord places great importance on this mission." Malcador offered no further elaboration; the war mission brief already contained very detailed information.
"I understand." Ferrus merely glanced at the contents of the mission brief and replied to Malcador. The Emperor had tasked him with overseeing the upcoming technical challenges of applying the Ork Battlemoon's jump technology to Imperium of Man ships.
"Double insurance? Or is there some unknown danger in the Warp?" Ferrus had clearly realized something.
"Corax, Lord of the 19th Legion. It seems I won't be seeing this brother before the Ork Imperium is pacified." Ferrus finished writing on the last blank sheet of paper in his hand and placed it on the pile of draft papers that had accumulated on the floor to the same height as the Primarch's dedicated desk.
The Primarch rose, his imposing physique radiating an intense sense of pressure as he walked towards the landing pad. The nascent Iron Hands Legion was already fully assembled, awaiting their Primarch to lead them in unleashing their deadly iron tide upon all enemies of the galaxy.
Ultima Segmentum, 63rd Expeditionary Fleet.
"Father, the Eighth Legion has sent word. They expect to rendezvous with us in about a week," Loken, Captain of the Shadow Moon Wolves' Tenth Company, reported to Horus.
The 19th Legion had already been redeployed to the Storm Segmentum as per the Emperor's command, and the void left in the vast fleet commanded by Horus would be filled by the Eighth Legion.
"It seems the Lord of the 19th Legion has returned. I wonder what kind of person this brother of mine is," Horus said, seated high on his throne, his gaze turning towards Holy Terra.