The constellations of the galaxy are ever-changing, and time rushes forward like a torrent.
The Ninth Legion, under the guidance of Sanguinius, became the "Blood Angels."
The Astartes used this name to commemorate their reunion with their Gene-Father, to declare their resolve for change, to break free from their dark past, and to reshape their souls, which had fallen into the abyss, by emulating The Great Angel.
The disciplined and honor-bound Luna Wolves, along with the Blood Angels who yearned for rebirth, embarked together on the path of conquest.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the galaxy, in the prosperous and open Nur Stars, an assessment concerning the future development of the military was about to conclude after fierce competition.
Over two years, after countless cross-examinations, many heroes emerged and were assigned to key positions to shine.
Today, Blazkowicz sat on his solemn throne, receiving guests who had traveled a long distance.
An Astartes, clad in crimson power armor and of exceptionally handsome appearance, had exquisite relief carvings on his shoulder plates: a single drop of crimson blood extending into pure white wings.
He came from the reborn Blood Angels, a messenger of The Great Angel, who had come to the Nur Stars to deliver his Primarch's formal visit request.
"Great Warrior King," the messenger, Amaranth, knelt on the ground, holding up a tray with both hands, on which rested a parchment envelope sealed with sealing wax.
As a Primarch's messenger, his voice was clear and bright, full of warmth: "The Great Angel plans to visit your domain one Terra month from now. Do you consent to his arrival?"
A retainer took the formal visit request and presented it to Blazkowicz's desk, for the master of the Nur Stars to open personally.
Blazkowicz took a lacquer knife, carefully cut open the wax seal, and as he drew out the letter, a pure white feather emerged with it.
He recognized at a glance that this pure feather must be a new feather from Sanguinius's wing root, sent nestled in the letter, indicating his brother's sincerity and importance placed on the visit.
Twirling the feather in his hand, Blazkowicz pondered carefully, recalling the messages that had come from the cosmos recently.
The Legion of the Dead had risen to prominence, shedding its old infamous name under Sanguinius's leadership; the name "Blood Angels" replaced the former "ghouls."
Although he had been the one to guide Sanguinius's return, their friendship, in terms of interaction, was not extensive. He feared The Great Angel's visit was not merely for reminiscing.
After a brief thought, Blazkowicz glanced at the kneeling Amaranth, picked up the folded letter, and began to scrutinize his brother's intentions.
The beginning of the letter was very formal, merely stating that after a long separation, to rekindle their initial connection, he was bringing his Legion to visit.
The middle section contained pleasantries and blessings, and only near the end was the purpose of the visit mentioned.
Blazkowicz's eyes narrowed slightly, and he understood why The Great Angel had come.
"Messenger from afar," he sat at the end of the throne room, his voice traversing the long distance, sounding even grander, and responded to the formal visit request: "Please return and tell my brother that the Nur Stars welcome his arrival."
The Great Angel indeed had a deeper purpose, and after reflection, Blazkowicz was willing to accept Sanguinius's visit.
What Sanguinius required was not a difficult matter for the Nur Stars; it was merely a favor.
Whether out of help or reminiscing, Blazkowicz welcomed his brother's arrival. After all, Marie also looked forward to meeting The Great Angel.
"The Blood Angels thank you for your generous acceptance." Amaranth's face lit up with joy; he had not failed his mission, completing the Legion's first external assignment.
"You may go; someone will arrange your accommodation." Blazkowicz waved for the messenger to leave, then added: "If you are interested, you can observe the Grand Arena; the finals are about to begin."
"Praise the Warrior King!" Amaranth respectfully offered his blessings, slowly rising to depart.
A transparent floor beneath him projected a beacon, guiding the messenger away to a specialized diplomatic sector.
Amaranth secretly clicked his tongue in wonder. Although he had long heard that Argent Nur's technology was advanced, it had always been hearsay. Only after experiencing it firsthand did he realize that external rumors were far from sufficient to describe its marvels.
"Sir, where are you going?" As he walked out of the throne room, a beautiful attendant was already waiting. She was neither servile nor arrogant, and politely inquired of the distinguished guest who had come from afar.
Amaranth immediately understood that this was the person specially assigned to guide him, and quickly put on a smile, saying: "First, to the diplomat's quarters to remove my armor, then to the arena to watch the competition."
"Please follow me." The attendant returned a polite smile, exceedingly elegant, and extended her hand to guide the distinguished guest.
Hurrying to catch up, Amaranth observed as he walked, a habit formed during his service in the Legion.
He enjoyed it here. mortals had no awe for the Astartes; they didn't find it strange to see them and would shift their gaze after a glance.
Instead, it was the Sentinels patrolling with their mechanical hounds who, upon seeing a Space Marine, would raise their arms to check relevant data, and after confirming, salute and move on.
"What is your name?" Amaranth found the journey too boring and asked the slender, graceful attendant in front of him in an elegant whisper.
The guiding attendant turned back, her beautiful profile showing surprise; rarely did anyone ask attendants such questions.
Despite being caught off guard, out of excellent professional conduct, she offered a smile: "I am Camila, from the Warrior Family."
"Lady Camila?" Amaranth nodded and said humorously: "What an elegant name."
"Thank you for your compliment." Camila responded politely, and being praised by the handsome warrior, a smile beyond mere politeness appeared on her face.
The two walked one after another, chatting intermittently, and boarded a hyper-speed train, heading towards their destination.
On the hyper-speed train, Amaranth saw several tall figures. They were not wearing power armor, but were covered in fur, with reddish-brown hair and wild appearances, gathered at the end of the train car.
They were untamed and lacked any manners, caring little for others' gazes. Their postures were unrestrained, sprawled out together, and they occasionally burst into boisterous laughter while conversing.
Amaranth recognized them: barbarians from the Sixth Legion—the Space Wolves.
The Primarch's messenger frowned; he instinctively wanted to keep his distance. The Blood Angels were no longer what they once were, and they placed great importance on personal cultivation, not wanting to get mixed up with their cousins.
"We'll go to another car." Camila saw the displeasure on the distinguished guest's face, scanned the end of the car, and immediately made new arrangements.
Amaranth nodded, following the attendant to the next car.
"Yo~ yo~ yo~"
However, as he turned, a frivolous greeting came from behind him, making him inwardly think: "This is not good."
"Isn't this our cousin, the 'Blood Angel'?"
The Wolves keenly spotted The Great Angel, and intense interest erupted in their beast-like eyes. They surrounded him from the end of the car, their shifting forms blocking the exit. Camila's expression hardened, and she stepped forward, shielding the distinguished guest behind her, stating sternly: "Gentlemen, please respect my work!"
The Wolves immediately quieted down considerably, restraining their movements somewhat, and no longer made excessively boisterous gestures.
Amaranth's eyes were wide with shock. He knew perfectly well how unruly his Space Wolves cousins were; how could they be subdued by a mere lady?
"Lady, please relax." One of the Wolves stepped forward. He had brownish-yellow hair, and an apologetic look on his young face: "I am Little Wolf Bjorn, and my brothers and I mean no harm."
Bjorn extended both hands, his voice very low, trying his best to convey goodwill and prevent the lady from taking drastic action.
As the Wolf King's beloved "Little Wolf," he had been ordered to the Nur Stars to place a new supply order, and he did not want to cause any unnecessary trouble. The seemingly delicate lady in front of him had already placed her hand on her family crest, preparing to call the Sentinels for support—
Having a deep friendship with the Nur Stars, Bjorn naturally understood what that gesture meant.
The lady didn't want to involve official channels, which would affect her reputation; she wanted warriors from her family to come and handle the current predicament privately.
Bjorn quickly lowered his stance, not wanting to be thrown out of the Nur Stars by the Sentinels.
Seeing that he was still polite, Camila also breathed a sigh of relief, but just as she was about to leave with the distinguished guest she was responsible for, the expressions of the wolf pack in front of them suddenly changed!
At the door of the high-speed train, a young man stumbled aboard in a panic. His gaunt face was pale as paper, and his crimson eyes were extremely flustered.
The Wolves' arm hairs stood on end; their bestial instincts sensed danger, and they pulled their cousin and the lady back.
Amaranth did not resist, extending his arms to shield Camila in his embrace, retreating under the Wolves' protection.
Seeing people on the train, the young man's expression clearly panicked, but then seeing the tall figures of the group, he instead showed a relieved smile.
"Stand back!" He roared, ordering everyone back, then removed an earring and threw it into an empty corner of the train.
Through the Space Marines' superhuman vision, they saw the earring transform incredibly, eventually expanding into a spherical bomb.
The young man did not flee; instead, he rushed towards Bjorn and the others, tears of joy streaming from his crimson eyes, his voice incredibly urgent: "I am guilty, quickly arrest me and free me from the mental control of the Kraven!"
The situation was overly complex; the young man's series of actions revealed a wealth of information.
He was indeed preparing to cause a stir, yet he had no intention of harming anyone; instead, he avoided the bustling city center and detonated the explosive inside the carriage.
Bjorn was the quickest. After consolidating all the information, he lunged forward, pressing the young man onto the carriage floor and shielding him with his body before the bomb could land.
The young Space Wolf's keen instincts sensed that this mortal harbored a deep secret, and if he could achieve a meritorious deed, he could complete his mission sooner.
Amaranth also moved quickly. He lay prostrate on the ground, shielding Kamira beneath him, protecting the lady's safety.
The Space Wolves split into two groups: one assisted the Blood Angels in protecting the Argent Nur citizens, while the others piled onto Bjorn, using their bodies as shields to protect the eyewitnesses and the attacker.
After they made the most correct decision, the peculiar bomb arced through space and touched the cold floor of the carriage.
Boom—!
A dull roar erupted, and a shockwave, laden with flames, surged outwards. The carriage melted in the intense heat, and the ground cracked into scorched, deep pits.
Beep~~~~
A piercing, prolonged alarm immediately sounded, raising the area's alert level to maximum.
Sophia's phantom appeared at the edge of the scene, her expression utterly grim!
The Nur Ring, under her control, had security that was supposedly watertight, yet a terrorist attack had occurred, a responsibility she could not shirk.
Firefighting robots swarmed in, extinguishing the high-temperature flames produced by the melta-bomb and rescuing potential survivors.
Sentinels teleported into the scene, emitting a terrifying aura, their sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd, searching for any possible accomplices of the attacker.
"Where do you think you're going!"
A thunderous roar exploded, causing innocent civilians who had come to observe the ceremony to cover their heads and crouch down, exposing figures attempting to flee.
The Sentinels were enraged, throwing a Guardian Spear; its unactivated shaft pinned the fleeing person against the wall.
Security robots began to enter, controlling relevant crowds, sealing off the scene to prevent panic from spreading and affecting other functional areas.
In just ten seconds, the terrorist attack site was secured, and the security intelligence began to query relevant personnel.
In other areas, all those who had accompanied the young man were secretly taken away and detained, awaiting the results of the incident investigation.
When Bjorn recovered from the impact of the explosion, he only felt a burning sting on his back. His expression changed, knowing that his Legion brothers, in protecting him, had been affected by the melta-bomb and had returned to Fenris.
Amaranth stood up from beneath the scorched pile of bodies, his hair turned to charcoal, his handsome face blackened, holding an unharmed Kamira in his arms.
He clearly knew that the Space Wolves had protected him; if not for their flesh-and-blood shield, even wearing power armor would have struggled to withstand the melta's high temperature.
"Damn scoundrel!" Bjorn was furious, letting out a mournful howl. He clasped the young man's throat with one hand and said cruelly, "You'd better have a sufficient reason, or I'll flay you alive to avenge my blood brothers!"
A casual outing for relaxation, due to the young man's inexplicable actions, resulted in the sacrifice of several brothers, a painful blow for the young Space Wolf.
His eyes were bloodshot, as if he wanted to devour someone, his arms bulging with knotted veins as he suppressed the urge to kill to vent his anger.
The young man was lifted with one hand, his pale face flushed red, his eyes rolling back as he nearly fainted.
His only instinct in the face of life and death was to use his pale arms, with all his might, to try and break free from the large hand gripping his throat.
"Brother!"
Seeing the only living person about to be strangled, Amaranth, holding Kamira, spoke to stop his cousin, fearing Bjorn would do something crazy.
His heart was also filled with grief, his voice hoarse and heartbreaking: "Please calm down, do not betray the sacrifice of our blood brothers!"
"I am very calm!" Bjorn gritted his teeth, staring intently at the young man, his two canine teeth emitting a chilling gleam.
Inside the intensely hot carriage, the smell of burnt human flesh and rust mingled, yet a faint cool breeze could be felt.
That was Bjorn's killing intent, colder than the winter wind, mixed with the sorrow of his brothers' deaths, sending shivers down one's spine.
He truly hadn't expected that inconspicuous circular bomb to be a melta-bomb of astonishing power.
If it had been a conventional explosive, his brothers would definitely have survived, but there is no 'if' in this world.
Screech... a piercing cutting sound interrupted the rage and admonition. Rescue robots sawed open the carriage, and armored Sentinels entered.
Seeing his master arrive, Bjorn took a deep breath and threw the young man to the Sentinels: "He's yours. Don't let my brothers' sacrifice be in vain."
The Sentinels, seeing the traces at the scene, naturally understood everything that had happened and performed a warrior's salute to Bjorn, showing immense respect.
"They will rest in peace."
Amaranth bid a heavy farewell, carrying the oxygen-deprived Kamira, who had fainted, and followed the Sentinels's footsteps to track the investigation's progress, seeking answers for his cousin.
Bjorn nodded silently, crouching down to separate the bodies of his brothers, which were stuck together, a mixture of cooked flesh and charcoal.
The Sentinels escorted the attacker to the interrogation room, preparing to question the culprit who had attacked the Nur Ring.
The young man's face was pale, his eye sockets sunken. Stripped of all his clothes, he sat trembling at the interrogation table, but his eyes were remarkably resolute.
"Clink-clank~"
Wearing a black hooded robe, with torture instruments clinking at his waist, the Interrogation Master entered the interrogation room, his gaze from beneath the hood's shadow far from benevolent.
"You..."
"I'll tell you everything, but please prepare a room for me that can isolate mental infection!"
The Interrogation Master had just opened his mouth, but the young man was even more eager, expressing his willingness to cooperate and stating his demand.
"This..." The Interrogation Master was momentarily stunned. Everyone he had handled before was a stubborn one unwilling to cooperate; suddenly encountering someone who cooperated automatically, he was a little unaccustomed.
Next to the interrogation room, Blazkowicz, behind the one-way glass, nodded after hearing the young man's request.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving the young man, and said to Blazkowicz, who was accompanying him: "Prepare an isolation room."
Blazkowicz nodded silently and left. He believed the Gene-Father had also seen the clues.
This young man launched an attack not to create panic or seek revenge, but for some other purpose.
The footage inside the carriage had already been retrieved: the young man deliberately threw away the bomb and willingly allowed himself to be captured. Everything he said... Lady Kraal, mental control.
Let's see how he defends himself, then decide how to pronounce his guilt.
Blazkowicz stood with his arms crossed, his face a grim, ugly green. A blatant terrorist attack, regardless of its purpose, was undoubtedly an act of disrespect, a pissing on his head, a contempt for the majesty of the Nur Stars.
The most crucial point was that the attack involved the emissaries of the Blood Angels and cost the precious lives of several Space Wolves warriors.
That young man would pay a hefty price for everything he had done.
Accompanied by the Sentinels, the young man was like a startled bird, his mental state very abnormal, looking left and right suspiciously.
This continued until he entered an isolated secret room, where he seemed to transform, his expression immediately changing.
The young man cried, unexpectedly bursting into tears, and with a hoarse voice, he roared his first sentence: "Quickly arrest my companions!"
"The terrifying Lady Kraal is controlling us mentally, consuming human souls and consciousness."
The Interrogation Master glanced at the instrument; the neural implant relayed information that the young man was not lying. He nodded and replied: "You don't need to worry about these; we have already taken action. First, tell us about yourself."
Sophia was decisive and efficient; within seconds of the attack, all of the young man's companions were apprehended.
"That's good... that's good..."
The young man muttered to himself as if still frightened, let out a long breath, and after gathering his thoughts, said: "My name is Gela. I come from the edge of the Halo Stars, the Beta Sector of the Nur Stars' sphere of influence, on the edge of the Lower Sector, a noble family that has continued since the Old Night era."
"Our family managed multiple worlds, which pledged allegiance to Argent Nur ten years ago, accepting Argent Nur's supervision and rule."
As he spoke, the holographic projection in Blazkowicz's room rapidly changed, with various documents proving that Gela's statements were correct.
It was this identity that allowed him to enter the Nur Stars, and his purpose for this trip was to report for duty.
"But, it... they..." Gela's expression changed, revealing terror on his face, his body trembling like a sieve, as if his memories were filled with fear.
The interrogator quickly rushed forward, injecting a sedative to stabilize the prisoner's emotions, which were on the verge of collapse, to prevent major errors in his testimony.
Gela panted violently, cold sweat streaming down him, drenching his clothes as if he had been pulled from water.
"They are here!" He used immense courage to speak the root of his fear: "Lady Kraal came from the dark void and invaded our homeland."
Blazkowicz narrowed his eyes, staring at the constantly changing holographic image.
Beyond the lower reaches of the Beta Sector, the sphere of influence of the Nur Stars at the edge of the Halo Stars, lay the dark side of the galactic disk.
There was nothing there, just a cold, dead, lightless void.
And that terrifying entity, whose mere name made Gela tremble, seemed to have emerged from the dark edge, invading the Human World.
As he pondered, he shifted his gaze to another interrogation room. The official who traveled with Gela was in extremely poor condition, having completely collapsed after entering the mental isolation room.
The other accompanying officials were being escorted over, and the truth would soon be known.
According to Gela's account, Lady Kraal was a terrifying alien that caused the worlds managed by her family to fall into ruin.
"Describe their appearance." At Blazkowicz's instruction, the Interrogation Master took out a projection device, placed it on the table, and explained to Gela: "The neural implant connects to your brain; imagine their image."
This was a crucial method to determine if Gela was lying.
Unless one had seen them with their own eyes and spent a long time with them, it would be impossible for a human brain to instantly construct a complete conscious model.
If his words were true, their complete image would appear in the projection the moment he recalled the alien; conversely, if the image was pieced together bit by bit, it would indicate that the describer was lying.
"Sir, I am very sorry." Gela clutched his head in pain, and the table projection flickered rapidly, showing many blurry images that quickly converged and then shattered, never quite forming a complete model.
"I have never truly seen them."
"They reside in gloom, and we mortals find it difficult to concentrate and look at them directly, making it hard to form a definite image in our minds."
It was clear that Gela was in great pain; just the memories in his mind caused his brainwaves to fluctuate violently.
"You can stop now."
The Interrogation Master swung the barbed whip, tearing his skin and flesh, but also freeing him from the painful memories, his consciousness released from the recall.
Behind the one-way glass, Blazkowicz's expression was extremely grave. He was almost certain that Gela's description of the alien was accurate.
A terrifying alien with memetic infection, capable of controlling minds, had indeed invaded Gela's homeland.
"You said the alien could perform mental manipulation. How did you escape its control? Why did you carry out a terrorist attack?"
The Interrogation Master's face was ferocious, the torture instruments at his waist clattered, and a terrifying aura pressed down on the prisoner, pointing to the holographic projection: "Also, what kind of weapon did you use?"
The questions, combined with the intimidating presence, would instantly break down anyone with a weak psychological defense, making them reveal all relevant information.
Gela was clearly terrified, his shoulders suddenly shaking, cold sweat pouring down his forehead, his pale face devoid of color as he shrieked: "I don't know how I escaped control."
The Interrogation Master's expression changed. The interrogated subject wasn't lying, but he couldn't answer anything, providing no useful information.
"Launching the terrorist attack was an emergency measure," Gela screamed and cried, embracing his naked body, tears and snot streaming down his face as he confessed: "I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but I had to do it. During the time I was free from control, I had to find a way to stay in Argent Nur!"
"My home world is dying in silence. If I am controlled again, everything will be over!"
"Only by using the most drastic means could I get the attention of Argent Nur's high-ranking officials and make King Nowick send troops to save my world."
"I had no other choice, and I would not regret it if I had to do it again."
"Lady Kraal is not an ordinary alien; ordinary patrol fleets cannot defeat them. They must be utterly destroyed by Argent Nur Prime's Iron Fist itself."
Gela's emotions hovered on the brink of collapse, his screams hysterical. His tears never stopped, showing a hint of guilt, but never regret.
Snap—
Another heavy lash of the barbed whip, splattering blood in the interrogation room, interrupted the frantic screaming.
Burning pain came in waves, and Gela gasped heavily, saying to the interrogator: "Thank you."
Though the whip was painful, it saved his deranged will from completely succumbing to madness.
He knew his mind had been too eroded, his will as fragile as paper, making him overly sensitive and paranoid about everything around him.
"That weapon has a very ancient origin." Gela calmed his emotions and recounted slowly: "During the bewildering Old Night era, an unknown spaceship crashed on our home world, and our ancestors found an ape within it."
As he spoke, a holographic projection instantly formed: a red-haired ape on all fours, wearing an exoskeleton auxiliary device and thick industrial glasses.
"Our ancestors saved it, and in return, the ape crafted miniature weapons for us until it left after we ruled the world."
"Before being completely controlled, I carried the ancient treasure with me, hoping that one day it would serve as a trump card to turn the tide."
After he finished, the Interrogation Master nodded in satisfaction. The whole story was now clear.
But there was still one crucial point that needed to be clarified.
"You were never free from control, so why did you come to Argent Nur to report for duty?" Seeing the prisoner's willingness to cooperate, he abandoned psychological pressure tactics and asked in a normal tone.
"Argent Nur above..." Gela said with immense gratitude and sincerity: "Every ten years, as rulers of a planet, we must come to report for duty."
"Lady Kraal, by consuming minds, also learned of this information."
"They understood that if the rulers did not come to report, Argent Nur would come to investigate, so they released us, the controlled ones, to come."
Gela was truly grateful. They had once strongly resisted this reporting system, but now it had saved his family and world.
He became much clearer, carefully recalling that moment of freedom: "After I arrived at the Nur Ring, for some unknown reason, the mind control suddenly weakened, and I had the chance to break free."
"I immediately planned the attack. Even if I were controlled again, Argent Nur would send a fleet to investigate, and they would surely discover Lady Kraal's trick."
With that, Gela let out a long breath, leaning back in the torturous interrogation chair, yet feeling incredibly relieved. He had revealed everything he knew.
Then he just had to wait for Argent Nur to verify the information and send a punitive fleet to eliminate Lady Kraal.
Gela had full confidence that Argent Nur, facing such a formidable enemy, would strike hard to eliminate the alien.
Because the Nur Stars were urgently seeking to exert influence within their sphere of influence. If they retreated from this alien threat, how could they win over the scattered Humans in the future?
The Interrogation Master turned and left the interrogation room. He had received a good deal of testimony, and it was time to corroborate it.
He stood at the door of the interrogation room, turned back, and tossed a piece of clothing to the prisoner, saying: "Be ready; I may summon you for questioning at any time."
Gela quickly took the prisoner's uniform and nodded solemnly: "I will tell all I know and hold nothing back."
Within the next hour, several Interrogation Masters worked simultaneously, interrogating the prisoners in isolation rooms, corroborating their testimonies from multiple sources.
The only conclusion reached was that the aliens were running rampant in the lower Beta Sector!
The Interrogation Master stood before Blazkowicz, respectfully presenting the testimonies with both hands. Blazkowicz stepped forward and took them.
"You have worked hard." Blazkowicz's voice was calm, and he greatly appreciated the work of the interrogation personnel.
The latter did not speak, bowing and slowly retreating. His trembling body betrayed his calm demeanor.
The interrogation personnel did not come from good backgrounds; most were from penal worlds, prisoners who had recognized their mistakes and were willing to reform.
A simple word of affirmation was enough for them.
Blazkowicz turned his gaze and said to the Blood Angels messenger: "Amaranth, you can go explain it to the little wolf cubs."
"Respected Primarch," Amaranth, who had witnessed the entire process, naturally knew how to explain to his wild wolf brothers: "I will explain everything."
After stating his attitude, the Blood Angel with the charred and cracked face turned and left, his heart heavy as lead, his steps unusually hurried.
They had thought it was a premeditated terrorist attack, but it turned out to be an impromptu one, and even more surprisingly, a terrifying alien was behind the attack.
"Lord Amaranth." As he left the dungeon, Amaranth heard someone call out. Following the voice, he saw the attendant—Kamira.
She stood beside a Sentinels, waving at him: "Please come over for a moment."
Out of a sense of responsibility, Amaranth still walked over... Inside the underground prison, Blazkowicz was not in a hurry to leave. He sat in his chair, carefully reading the obtained confessions.
From the intelligence retrieval, he had gathered a lot of information.
First, it could be confirmed that Lady Kraal was a psychic species, consuming human minds and souls through the Warp, constantly increasing her psychic strength.
They had memetic infection, making it difficult for mortals or those with weak minds to perceive their existence.
Facing such a terrifying and unknown alien, Blazkowicz looked up and asked his eldest son beside him: "How should we deal with them?"
Blazkowicz did not hesitate, uttering two words in a clear voice: "Destroy them!"
"Annihilation."
Blazkowicz's thin lips were pursed, his dark eyes filled with cautious deliberation, and these two words set the tone for the war.
He stayed by the Primarch's side the entire time, possessing all intelligence. Facing his Gene-Father's inquiry, he uttered the two words in a calm yet firm tone.
Blazkowicz did not react to his eldest scion's answer but continued, "How many troops do you think we need?"
Blazkowicz's heart tightened. Rarely did he show emotional fluctuations, but hearing his Gene-Father's question, he couldn't help but feel a little nervous.
For him, the simple inquiry was not just about his attitude; it was highly likely to involve how the war would unfold and the lives of tens of thousands of people.
He did not rush to answer but lowered his gaze in silence, his long brows slightly furrowed, rapidly calculating in his extraordinary mind to provide a reliable answer.
Seeing him like this, Blazkowicz smiled faintly and did not rush him, instead manipulating the holographic projection on the table, deeply analyzing the intelligence Gela had sent.
His eldest scion, Blazkowicz, was not as skilled in combat as powerful warriors like Junior or Obelisk; he was only in the upper tier of the Legion, still far from the peak. His battlefield acumen was among the top, but still slightly inferior to those at the very apex.
However, he possessed certain qualities that other Legions or brothers lacked.
War resolve and a sense of responsibility.
His eldest scion's war wisdom was the swiftness of deciding victory in a single battle, making the first engagement the decisive one, using the least sustained investment to determine the outcome through a decisive fight.
As the eldest scion of the Legion, Blazkowicz bore an immensely noble responsibility, constantly pondering how to lead his Legion brothers on the right path.
He was different from his Gene-Father.
Legion Warriors obeyed the Gene-Father, but the eldest scion did not possess the conditions to be obeyed. Blazkowicz had to be wise enough to earn the respect or obedience of his brothers.
Therefore, every step he took required careful consideration, as thorough as possible.
Ten quiet seconds passed in the observation room before Blazkowicz finally answered cautiously, "The xenos possess mental interference on a cognitive level, so mortal forces must be excluded. No matter how firm their will, fundamentally, they are still mortals."
"Certain strange existences cannot be resisted by firm will alone. Xenos exist in the Real Universe, shaking the Warp with firm will, but cannot shake the existence in the Real Universe."
Blazkowicz listened intently, nodding continuously. His scion's analysis was clear and logical, first eliminating unstable factors on the battlefield.
Indeed, mortal forces facing mental interference from the Real Universe were like unstable bombs.
Rather than letting them suffer, it was better to exclude them beforehand.
Seeing his Gene-Father nod but remain silent, Blazkowicz secretly breathed a sigh of relief, knowing he could continue.
He clearly articulated his war plan: "We need a precision strike force, composed of Legion Warriors, Emperor's Praetorians, and Iron Men, to directly attack the xenos' lair, prioritizing the xenos' command system."
"After destroying the command system, we will use enemy intelligence to divide our forces and eliminate the leaderless enemy troops, further expanding our gains and consolidating victory."
Blazkowicz finished speaking and stood by his side. He knew his tactics were traditional, perhaps even a bit too conservative.
Wielding the Legion and the Emperor's Praetorians, along with powerful Iron Men, he could employ countless powerful and sharp tactics to achieve glorious victory.
He still chose a cautious strategy, unwilling to take risks at a cost.
Blazkowicz leaned back in his chair, listening to his scion's strategic description, his eyes fixed on the constantly changing holographic projection, and finally rose slowly.
He shook the cloak on his back, turned to Blazkowicz, and said, "It will be as you say. You will be in full charge of this war."
Blazkowicz nodded in silence, accepting the task.
Through countless wars, he had shed his former immaturity, daring to take responsibility and live up to the expectations of others.
Blazkowicz was very pleased; this was exactly what he hoped for.
Every scion should be independent, without blindly following him, so that they could have different perspectives on the same matter and thus employ different methods.
As the saying goes—no one is perfect.
He was merely a Primarch, a mortal with an extraordinary body, and naturally, his perspective was not comprehensive enough.
Having determined the next course of action, the two turned and left the observation room, beginning their operations around the objective.
"Young man, I truly thank you for saving my daughter."
"Saving lives is our glory; you need not be so formal."
As soon as they exited the dungeon gate, Blazkowicz heard a profound voice of gratitude and quickly lightened his steps, raising a hand to signal Blazkowicz to remain silent.
He pressed against the wall, making no sound, and peeked half his head around the corner to eavesdrop on the source of the conversation.
Blazkowicz looked at his Gene-Father, who was full of "thievishness" and bursting with curiosity, and shook his head helplessly, then also pressed against the wall to listen.
Under the distant shade near the dungeon entrance, a Sentinels stood beside Kamira, expressing gratitude to Amaranth.
"Do not refuse my thanks," the Sentinels said with a solemn expression and a tone full of gratitude, "If not for you and those warriors, how could my daughter be alive?"
Amaranth did not take credit, standing ramrod straight and answering solemnly, "Protecting humanity is the glorious mission entrusted to me by the Emperor and the Primarch."
This formulaic answer did not cause disgust; instead, it earned more admiration.
Those present were all more than mortals, and naturally, they could tell that what Amaranth said was what he truly believed in his heart.
The Blood Angel's answer was greatly appreciated by the Sentinels. Placing mission above life was an extremely noble virtue, consistent with the warrior spirit.
He stroked his daughter's soft silver hair, scrutinizing the red-armored warrior before him, his eyes filled with satisfaction, yet he shook his head and murmured, "What a pity."
"Pity what?" Amaranth was a little puzzled.
Blazkowicz, eavesdropping in the shadows, stifled a laugh. Clearly, the Sentinels had taken a liking to Amaranth and was considering him as a son-in-law.
Unfortunately, Space Marines were altered at the genetic level; their genetic makeup could not combine with mortals, and their gene seed became an alternative continuation of their genes.
The scions of Argent Nur, however, could produce offspring through natural reproduction.
Amaranth did not understand, but Kamira did.
A blush spread across the girl's face, a little shy, and she reached out to pull at her father's power armor, wanting to leave this embarrassing place quickly.
"Young man, please accept a father's gratitude." Before being pulled away by his daughter, the Sentinels performed a warrior's salute, exceptionally solemn.
Amaranth was still a little puzzled, nodding innocently, accepting the warrior's gratitude.
Not until the father and daughter's receding figures were out of sight did he scratch his scorched neck, still not understanding what that powerful warrior found regrettable.
Unable to figure it out, Amaranth did not forget his mission.
He summoned his beacon guide and headed to the diplomatic residence to inform his cousin of the full story of the incident.
When the two parties left, Blazkowicz, who had been hiding in the shadows, slowly emerged, finding it funnier the more he thought about it, eventually bursting into laughter.
"Young people just don't understand! A girl's blush is better than all love words."
Blazkowicz wore a knowing smile, uttering sighs of regret, hands on his hips, immensely pleased as if he had seen through everything.
But a few seconds later, he shook his head and sighed again. Although fate was beautiful, due to their respective identities, there was no possibility of them being together.
The chasm between them was not just identity; it had already involved species.
"What a pity, the perfect encounter of a hero saving a beauty, after all, is a dream bubble, shattered with a light touch."
Blazkowicz shook his head helplessly. His Gene-Father was full of lewd remarks, sighing like a melancholic poet, making him wonder if he was gloating or lamenting fate.
"Teleport." He did not interrupt the Primarch's sighs, transforming into a ray of light and disappearing, going to prepare for the upcoming battle.
Blazkowicz, with a smile on his face, casually slumped into a chair, taking a deep breath as if he smelled the irony of fate in the air.
He comfortably spread his arms, resting them on the back of the long chair, his mood joyful and relaxed, a broad smile on his face.
For a moment, Blazkowicz was genuinely gloating.
Hmph!
My Argent Nur homeworld has millions of heroes, and its flowers are incomparably beautiful, with countless suitable matches. There's no place for an outsider pretty boy to meddle!
After a long while, Blazkowicz rose happily, humming a tune as he headed to the palace, thinking of sharing the interesting things he encountered today with his family during dinner.
Sophia had taken full charge of the aftermath of the terrorist attack, and its impact was confined within a certain range, preventing further spread.
Another peaceful day in the Nur Ring!
And beneath the calm, the covert deployment of troops had already begun.
Blazkowicz entered the command center, beginning to plan the operational details. His opponent's strength was unknown, yet they were incredibly bizarre.
Through the operations panel, he allocated ten companies, a full thousand Legion brothers. Plus a thousand Emperor's Praetorians and a thousand Iron Men.
The strike fleet configuration included ten AI-controlled carriers, ten super-heavy battleships, and a number of fast cruisers and destroyers.
Since the mission objective was an influential territory, this strike not only had to be swift and decisive but also had to showcase the power of the Nur Stars!
With Sophia's assistance, the army quickly assembled, ready to depart for the Beta Sector to annihilate the stealthily invading Lady Kraal.
Inside the Grand Arena, the audience was still screaming and shouting.
Today marked the end of the carnival, the two-year military martial arts competition, reaching its final event.
In the VIP seats, Bjorn of the Space Wolves, clad in winter-colored runic power armor, let out a fierce howl.
The young wolf quickly gathered his brothers' ashes, donned his power armor, and rushed to the arena with his cousin to observe the final match.
Beside him was Amaranth.
The scabs from the burns on the Blood Angel's face had fallen off, revealing a handsome, fair face, and his charred hair had been shaved, his bright bald head conspicuous in the crowd.
They, along with nobles from the Nur Stars, cheered and screamed for the final battle, raising their arms for the warriors in the arena.
In the Grand Arena, two tall warriors stood facing each other, bare-chested, clad only in loincloths, and holding swords.
Alistair. He was an undeniably powerful warrior, having reached the final stage of the Primarch's Guard competition. He only needed to defeat his opponent, and the title of "Legion Champion" would be his.
However, the person opposite Junior was beyond everyone's expectations.
He was renowned in the Legion, not for a warrior's ferocity, but for another weighty duty.
Hippocrates—this Legion Apothecary had defeated many brothers, entering the finals undefeated, which caught all his comrades off guard.
Servants quickly stepped forward to install limiters on their backs, restricting their strength to the same level.
This was a necessary measure, as many warriors in the Legion, having slaughtered Daemons, had surpassed the strength level of the original brothers. Some restrictions had to be made to ensure the honorary competition was as fair as possible.
On the high platform, Blazkowicz sat on his throne, with Harlan and others standing beside him, all watching the final match.
"Who do you think will win?" Harlan turned his head and whispered during the limiter setup, an odd urgency in his brows.
He had watched the entire competition and knew that this evenly matched contest, even for an experienced person like him, could not be judged by experience alone to determine who had the upper hand.
Blazkowicz glanced at the eagerness in Harlan's brows, and knowing his old friend's temperament, he instantly understood the anxiety.
"Did you bet?"
Since the selection for the Honor Guard began, a casino had appeared on the periphery, and nobles attending the ceremony eagerly placed bets, deepening their sense of participation.
Everyone knew that to enter the Primarch's Honor Guard, warriors would undoubtedly give their all, and there was no possibility of a fixed match.
In a perfectly fair gamble, some made a fortune, while others lost everything.
Blazkowicz just hadn't expected that the seemingly honest Harlan Ogilvy had also placed a bet.
That explained it!
Over the past year, the Ogilvy family's mansion had acquired many valuable collectibles; it turned out they had made a fortune at the casino.
Blazkowicz did not name him directly, instead asking Harlan, "Who do you favor?"
"Alistair." Harlan replied without hesitation, "He is very similar to me, practically another me."
"Don't talk about that yet, tell me who will win." The Champion Swordsman was anxious; the betting was about to close, and there would be few opportunities to make money later.
Not only him, but Senna by the throne was also restless, and the usually serious Erica shyly turned her face away.
Blazkowicz didn't even need to think; everyone around him, one by one, had participated in the gamble.
"A small gamble is fun, a big gamble is harmful."
He sighed helplessly, and under everyone's intense gaze, he said, "Junior might lose."
At these words, some people's brows relaxed into smiles, while others' faces changed, then quickly settled into understanding.
Seeing the varying emotions of joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, Blazkowicz nodded, knowing they were playing for small stakes, merely participating.
Only Harlan looked indignant, quickly raising his arm to send a message, telling his agent to switch bets before the closure to try and recoup losses.
Blazkowicz couldn't help but ask curiously, "How much did you bet?"
"Everything!"
Undoubtedly, the Champion Swordsman became the focus; everyone on the high platform looked at him, Senna gave his old friend a thumbs up, and Erica's scornful gaze was like looking at an idiot.
"What do you know!" Harlan said dismissively, busy changing his bet, "All-in is a kind of wisdom."
Seeing his smug look, Blazkowicz curled his lips into a cold smile: "First, let me be clear, Junior 'might' lose, and Hippocrates isn't guaranteed to win; their strength difference is minimal."
"If you lose everything then, what do you think old man Siran will do? He'd be eager to take his granddaughter back."
Harlan's smug expression froze, instantly turning ashen, cold sweat seeping from his forehead and running down the scars on his face.
Blazkowicz's words pierced Harlan's heart like a sharp blade, making him feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave.
The thought of Siran gleefully taking his beloved away terrified the Champion Swordsman, who looked to everyone for help, only to be met with various jeers.
Just as the atmosphere on the platform was lively, the match in the arena began.
Harlan slumped in his seat in the viewing area; the betting had already closed, and all his assets were staked on one person. There was no chance to spread his bets to hedge the risk.
Clang—!
Swords clashed amidst the roars of the audience, igniting the arena's passion!
Harlan instantly became invigorated, forgetting his fortune, and fully immersed himself in the match. Such a strong confrontation was rare; losing all his assets would still be worth the price of admission.
Junior struck first, his expression cold, his blade slicing through the air, chilling like the winter wind of the twelfth lunar month, sweeping in with fierce frost.
In an instant, instinct and skill merged perfectly, his twin swords striking hundreds of times, transforming into cold stars in the wind, glittering and exhaling the most dangerous cold light.
Clink ~ clink ~ clink ~ clink ~
The ice shards carried by this biting gale were like hitting a steel wall; though their might was astonishing, they made no progress.
Hippocrates' face remained gentle, his expression calm, showing no hint of a desire to contend. Yet, the greatsword in his hand was strangely agile, precisely striking Junior's sword storm, neutralizing the surging onslaught.
Their clash was so intense that the wind stirred by their blades formed tiny tornadoes, twisting in all directions.
"Good!!!"
The audience cheered for them; though they couldn't clearly see the specific sword moves, the dense, locust-like sword light was clearly visible, allowing a glimpse into the ferocity of their confrontation.
Most of those present couldn't clearly see the actual clash; they were simply too fast.
Even the Sentinels's eyesight couldn't keep up; only the Custodes and Doom Slayer could discern the moves, yet they were still astonished by the intensity of their battle.
On the high platform, apart from Blazkowicz, only Harlan watched with keen interest; others couldn't see the full picture.
Blazkowicz, needless to say, was one of the pinnacles of the physical universe; discerning their sword moves was effortless for him, and he even saw their flaws.
As for Harlan Ogilvy, he had drunk the primordial essence brewed by the Old Ones, his life level long since different from ordinary people, coupled with many blessings bestowed by Khorne, his powerful combat strength exceeded imagination.
Amidst the waves of audience shouts, the two in the arena exchanged thousands of blows, sword clashing against sword, the explosive sound waves surging like a tide.
"Why?" Amidst the fierce clash, a longsword thrust from the side of his face, and a bewildered question came through their mental link: "Why did you choose to become an Apothecary?"
Junior didn't understand why such a powerful swordsman had never shown his prowess in the Legion, instead voluntarily serving as a Legion Apothecary.
Dodging the incoming sword, Hippocrates flicked his longsword, its cunning tip aimed directly at his brother's armpit, breaking the continuous onslaught.
"Swordsmanship is my hobby, Apothecary is my duty."
Hippocrates turned slightly, dodging another incoming rapier, and responded to his brother's mental inquiry: "I just want to prove to the Primarch that I have sufficient ability to serve as an Apothecary."
Suddenly retracting his twin swords, Junior readjusted his attack stance, one hand thrusting out quickly, the other slashing diagonally downwards, a coordinated attack to block movement.
"I don't understand. As a Legion Apothecary, such powerful martial arts are not necessary."
"On the contrary, my brother." Hippocrates' expression hardened, launching his first counterattack, his single-handed greatsword striking down with the force of thunder, forcing Junior to block with both swords, "I believe I am not strong enough!"
"The battlefield harbors dangers, and sacrifices can happen at any time. I must have sufficient ability to snatch back gene seed from the clutches of danger."
His offensive then changed, the greatsword pressing down on the twin swords with a sizzling sound, the immense power causing the limiter to alarm, "I must ensure the legacy left by my brothers."
Junior said nothing more, the rapier in his hand trembling slightly, unable to block the powerful and heavy two-handed greatsword.
To achieve victory, he had to take a risk.
With an extremely swift motion, he drew one rapier from his blocking stance and thrust it towards Hippocrates' neck, hoping to secure victory through a vital point strike.
Junior's movement was fast, but Hippocrates was faster!
His right hand continued to press down the heavy sword, while his left hand formed a claw and hooked back, and amidst the audience's exhausted screams, the victor was decided.
Hippocrates's greatsword pressed against Junior's neck, its edge seeping bright blood. With just a little more force, the blade would have severed his head.
His left hand was pierced by a rapier, yet in the critical moment, he clamped down on the blade with his metacarpals, forcing the attack trajectory to deviate.
"You win," Alistair said, pulling back his rapier, his tone a mix of relief and admiration.
The Legion brothers had always believed he was the most skilled warrior, and today, that was finally settled.
Though not the expected outcome, he felt a sense of relief.
"We merely have different duties," Hippocrates said, retracting his greatsword and shaking off his brother's blood that stained it. "Strength or weakness proves nothing."
"Don't quite get it," Junior said, wiping the blood from his sword and shrugging indifferently. He was quite open-minded about winning and losing.
"Hippocrates!"
Thunderous cheers echoed through the sky, celebrating the victor and offering blessings to the winner.
It took the mortals a long time, watching the slow-motion holographic replay, to understand what had happened between the two in the decisive moment.
Harlan laughed aloud—he had gone all-in with his assets and finally received his deserved return. The thrill of such highs and lows flushed his face.
Blazkowicz rose from his throne, and the platform immediately detached, carrying him down on an anti-gravity platform to bestow due glory upon the victor.
"Hippocrates!"
"Hippocrates!"
The thunderous sound waves converged, bringing the arena's atmosphere to a climax. Countless people craned their necks, eager to record this glorious moment with their eyes.
Hippocrates and Alistair knelt on one knee. A servant opened a sandalwood casket and presented it to King Nowick.
Blazkowicz took the champion's laurel from the casket, crimson and dazzling, with the Legion's runic emblem engraved on each leaf, uniquely characteristic of the Legion.
"I bestow this supreme glory upon you."
Holding the laurel with both hands, Blazkowicz raised it above his head, turning to display to the audience this blood-red laurel, once the Legion's greatest glory.
The audience was going wild!
Their voices were hoarse from excessive screaming; some even fainted on the spot and were carried away by medical robots for emergency treatment.
In the martial Nur Stars, regardless of its type, the supreme honor symbolizing "Champion" was undoubtedly the highest affirmation of an individual.
Hippocrates slowly rose, his head bowed, feeling the warmth of his Gene-Father's hand and the coolness of the champion's laurel.
"Hippocrates! Legion Champion!"
This time, the cheers were deep and powerful, as the Legion Warriors watching the battle offered their blessings to their brother.
"I suppose you don't intend to join the Honor Guard?" Blazkowicz asked with a smile, his eyes full of pride.
If not for the Legion martial competition, he would not have known the true capabilities of this scion. He always stood at the very end of the line.
"Yes, Gene-Father," Hippocrates knelt on one knee, his voice pleading, "please tolerate my choice."
Blazkowicz reached out and pulled him up, reassuringly comforting him: "You have bravely made your choice and taken on the corresponding responsibilities. How could I obstruct your path in life?"
"Don't worry," Blazkowicz said, patting Hippocrates's shoulder, his voice low and gentle, "the work of a Legion Apothecary is yours alone. I actually hope you can be a bit more idle."
Hoping the Apothecary would be more idle implied a wish for fewer sacrifices, a form of anticipation and blessing.
The lighthearted, half-joking remark made Hippocrates chuckle, "I also wish to be idle."
Blazkowicz then turned his gaze to Junior: "You have also proven your strength. Although you lost by half a move, you are still a powerful warrior above millions. Do not dwell on personal failure; you still have duties to fulfill."
Hearing the words of comfort, Junior nodded in silence.
As the Primarch said, personal failure was insignificant; what a warrior should strive for was the great duty bestowed upon him.
"Hippocrates!"
"Alistair!"
Amidst the audience's cheers and shouts, the Legion competition concluded, and the army reform was largely complete.
But a new battle was imminent.
"Looks like you're done?" A communication came through the psychic link, Blazkowicz's unique psychic 波動: "Depart in one hour to eliminate Lady Kraal."
Almost as if timed precisely, as soon as the Legion competition and related ceremonies were completed, the operational order was issued.
The Emperor's Praetorians in the VIP section received the communication to assemble their troops and swiftly departed while the audience's attention was focused on the arena.
The Doom Slayers did the same, leaving in a hurry to the dock to board their ships and head to the next battlefield.
The silent departure of the tall warriors was masked by the noisy crowd, yet it did not escape the notice of those with keen eyes.
Little Wolf Bjorn elbowed the Blood Angel beside him, tilting his chin to indicate the latter should look over—the Praetorians had already left, and the Sentinels had replaced the Doom Slayers on guard duty.
Amaranth had already noticed, raising his hand to point to space, gesturing for his cousin to look at the other end of the ring—a medium-sized fleet was assembling at the orbital dock.
Bjorn's expression froze. Anxious urgency appeared on his bristly face, and he rose to leave.
"Brother, I know you crave revenge," Amaranth said, quick to grab Bjorn, who was about to leave, his handsome face wavering. "But this battle does not belong to you or me."
"We are guests; we must not overstep this identity, lest we incur the displeasure of the Nur Stars."
Hearing the sincere counsel, Bjorn hesitated for a long time, eventually slowly sitting down, watching the Warrior King depart, choosing to watch the upcoming song and dance performance.
As his cousin said, this battle no longer belonged to him; he must not overstep his bounds and invite unnecessary displeasure.
Although the Wolf King and the Warrior King had a close relationship, for minor matters between Legions, one should not, out of a momentary impulse, cause embarrassment for the two Primarchs.
Blazkowicz left the viewing platform and seized Harlan, who was grinning from ear to ear, having made a fortune: "Come with me to battle."
Held by an inescapable immense force, Harlan's money-blinded alertness returned. He recalled many times, confirming that no combat order had been issued.
"What combat mission?" He was somewhat puzzled, unsure of any combat mission, and a look of evasion appeared on his face: "I don't want to go with you."
Hearing the Champion Swordsman's evasion, Blazkowicz raised an eyebrow, sizing him up, wondering if this person had been corrupted by money.
Harlan, who was keen on fighting, refusing to fight, was truly like the stars reversing and the sun and moon turning upside down.
"It's boring to go with you," Harlan quickly explained, seeing his master's displeased expression. "You're the commander; you'll be in the command center, with no chance to go down and kill.
"I'd just stand there like a log, which is really boring and a waste of time. I'd rather teach martial arts to the younger generation at home."
Blazkowicz then realized, so he was afraid of being sidelined.
"Don't worry," he explained as he continued to hold Harlan and walk forward, "this time I'm not in command. I found a commander, so you can act freely with confidence."
Harlan's eyes lit up, and he immediately changed his demeanor, eagerly rubbing his hands as he leaned in: "Really?"
He was asking, but his hands were busy, opening his communication panel to send instructions for his weapon crates to be prepared.
"Of course," Blazkowicz replied affirmatively, "you know, I never liked commanding."
"Alright!" Receiving an affirmative answer, Harlan exclaimed excitedly, hitting the loading command to have robots deliver his weapons.
Blazkowicz also released his grip on him, and the two walked side by side towards the strike fleet, whose plasma engines were already lit.
After being assigned to the expeditionary force, a holographic projection immediately lit up on Harlan's arm guard's information terminal, displaying the mission objective and enemy intelligence.
The more he read, the deeper his frown became. Lady Kraal's strangeness had exceeded the scope of normal biology.
"Another Warp psychic abomination."
His tone was full of contempt and disgust. In Harlan's impression, anything related to psychic powers was attributed to the Warp.
Seeing his simple and crude understanding, Blazkowicz didn't bother to explain.
After all, from a broad perspective, the source of psychic power was the Warp, and the birth of psychic races was naturally related to the Warp.
The two complemented each other; although the specific description was complex, they were indeed inseparable.
In an open area, Harlan picked up a dark light from a robotic cargo hold, and his entire demeanor instantly changed!
After picking up his weapon, his roguishness completely disappeared, and he reverted to the Sentinels Champion who struck fear into his enemies.
Teleportation light shimmered from beneath their feet, and the two vanished from the Nur Ring, boarding the core of the strike fleet, Blazkowicz's flagship—the Old Glory.
"All combat personnel present," the Iron Men captain's mechanical voice resounded.
Blazkowicz sat on the command throne, his clear voice echoing through the bridge: "Begin Warp travel."
Whether it was the ancient human sages of the past or the imperial scholars of today.
When the lights of the sages and newcomers overlapped, casting their gaze towards the edge of the galaxy, there was only eternal, silent darkness, as if the galaxy was a lonely light in the universe.
The Halo Stars are located in the northern sector of the galaxy, bordering the Ultima Orientis Segmentum to the northeast and the Solar Territory to the northwest, while facing the Solar Territory on the inner side of its direct southern sector.
The Beta Sector, on the outer edge of the Halo Stars, is the boundary of the stars; inwards lies the dense, star-filled galaxy, and outwards is the boundless, deep extragalactic abyss.
Even in the Golden Age, a time symbolizing progress, humanity halted here, as if an unspeakable entity in the profound darkness had choked off the tendrils of exploration.
Pioneering explorers paused at the boundary, establishing colonies far from the galactic core, multiplying and thriving on the edge of darkness, passing down their heritage through generations.
Today, the arrival of an expeditionary fleet shattered the tranquility of the silent star clusters.
The Blazkowicz Fleet from the Nur Stars exited the Warp, pausing in the gaps between sparse stars, using the Terra Astronomican as a reference to calculate the galaxy's rotation and determine the fleet's position.
The dangers of the dark frontier were still unknown.
The gravity here is weak; even a slight misstep could cause an accident to a warship due to differing physical rules.
Ships traveling from within the galaxy to the frontier worlds need to exit the Warp multiple times, constantly correcting ship data to ensure the fleet's safe passage.
After multiple Warp jumps, the fleet finally arrived at the outer perimeter of the target star system, lurking in the darkness to avoid alerting anyone.
On the bridge of the *Old Glory*, Blazkowicz stood with his arms crossed, alongside Harlan, who leaned on his spear, both admiring the vast scenery from the viewport.
This was the intersection of two worlds, where light and darkness coexisted, creating a unique kind of beauty.
With no fleet to manage, no strategies or tactics to plan, this was a rare moment of ease.
"The fleet has reached its destination. Initiating fleet status confirmation."
The Iron Men captain, who partnered with Blazkowicz, was a sleek, black polyhedron with an immaculate surface, etched with dark gold circuits resembling a circuit board; it had no mechanical tentacles or obvious external sensors, and streaks of light often glided along its angular edges.
In the Golden Age, it served as the captain of a self-aware warship, and after awakening from its slumber, it chose to return to its post, continuing its designed duties.
The mechanical prompt from the Iron Men roused the man deep in thought on the command throne; he glanced at the figures standing by the viewport and began his work.
Blazkowicz ignored the Gene-Father, observing the star map drawn by the augur array, and said to the Iron Men captain, "Bring Gela up."
The extermination operation was about to begin, and the noble from the frontier world had to explain everything he had concealed!
Yes, Blazkowicz believed that the "whistleblower" still harbored secrets and had not been entirely truthful.
During the Warp jump, he had reviewed the data again and again, discovering many illogical points.
The Gela family's territory was located in a small cluster of stars at the very end of a galactic spiral arm, comprising six star systems, including five habitable worlds and sixteen resource worlds.
The surrender documents indicated approximately 24 billion people, spread across five habitable worlds, interdependent through the specialized cooperation of several worlds.
These details were unremarkable; the numbers merely combined to spell "mediocre."
Initially, Blazkowicz had briefly skimmed the information, but to be safe, he checked the data of the Gela family's neighbors and discovered some clues.
Before its submission to the Nur Stars, the family's dominion had experienced several large-scale rebellions.
To maintain their rule and prevent overthrow, the Gela family had used some precious relics to borrow troops from neighboring worlds to suppress the revolts.
The price the Gela family paid was incredibly valuable miniature weapons.
Miniature, portable weapons, as a powerful means of self-preservation, were favored by planetary rulers, as they could save lives in critical moments.
However, there was a peculiar anomaly: each time they borrowed troops or purchased supplies, the Gela family was able to produce the corresponding payment, satisfying their helpers.
Such generous actions naturally made other nobles salivate, giving rise to greedy thoughts of plunder.
Though the nobles' greed burned fiercely, they never dared to act upon it.
Because, in addition to the miniature weapons, several of the Gela family's main worlds possessed ancient technological shields that deterred invaders.
Blazkowicz's patient and meticulous unraveling of the details uncovered crucial information, and he naturally understood Gela's malicious intent.
The nobles of the dark frontier were not easily fooled.
If things weren't made perfectly clear, the Blazkowicz Fleet dispatched by the Nur Stars would merely become a part of Gela's personal scheme.
Less than two minutes later, Gela, in shackles, arrived on the bridge escorted by a machine sentinel.
After a period of recuperation, his body had largely recovered; his complexion was rosy, and his mental state was much more stable.
"My Lord, did you summon me for something?" Gela cautiously bowed, his obsequious posture displaying utmost respect and humility.
But as he bowed, his eyes suddenly changed, feigning a subtle tremor of fear to mask the wild joy in his heart.
The moment he entered the bridge, his peripheral vision caught sight of the familiar star cluster through the panoramic viewport—the fleet had arrived at his homeworld.
Undoubtedly, the plan was already halfway successful!
As long as he behaved himself and waited for the fleet from the main star to eliminate the xenos, he could use his secret legacy to make his family rise again.
Gela desperately concealed his ecstasy with the usual noble pretense, and when he straightened up, his face wore a meek expression.
"Hmph!" Blazkowicz snorted, his eyes narrowed slightly, his black pupils reflecting the hypocritical noble, and his clear voice was extremely authoritative: "I am asking you a question, and it is your last chance."
The sudden pressure caught Gela completely off guard; his heart sank, the flush gradually faded from his face, and he immediately sensed that something was terribly wrong.
The tall giant on the throne exuded a terrifying aura that crashed down like a tsunami, instantly making it difficult for him to breathe.
Gela, of course, recognized Blazkowicz.
The "Blazkowicz" who led the fleet to conquer the stars, his renown was sung across the void; merely uttering his name would cause worlds resisting the Nur Stars to surrender immediately.
The Blazkowicz's fearsomeness made rulers within the Nul-controlled territories tremble.
He was adept at the laws of war, thoroughly eliminating old rulers, then swiftly cleansing the old class with thunderous methods to rapidly change the existing political system.
This type of warfare undoubtedly terrified the old rulers.
Thus, upon hearing Blazkowicz's reputation, many commoners in various worlds cheered, while the ruling class feared him like a tiger.
The ultimate outcome was that old nobles, to save their lives, generally would not resist excessively, choosing to hand over power and retire to paradise worlds.
Recalling the Blazkowicz's thunderous methods, and the terrifying aura so close at hand, Gela couldn't help but break into a cold sweat, his legs gave way, and he fell to his knees.
His mind raced like lightning, as if transcending all speed, quickly assessing his predicament.
Countless methods and hypotheses were proposed, and the noble's transactional thinking quickly kicked in—it was all about equivalent exchange!
Gela knew his little scheme had been discovered, but he didn't know how much had been revealed.
The immediate priority was how to save his life.
How to earn forgiveness for his deception? What would be the immense price to make the Blazkowicz show mercy and temporarily spare his life?
In just an instant, Gela immediately prostrated himself on the ground, sobbing with tears and snot streaming down his face: "Please forgive my concealment!
"His utterly pathetic cries echoed throughout the bridge, causing Blazkowicz and Harlan by the viewport to turn and look.
With his life hanging in the balance, Gela spoke as fast as spilling beans, as if revealing all his secrets: "Deep within the family's Hive City, there's an ancient STC template that can produce planetary-grade shields."
"There are also many miniature weapons in the warehouse, their value considerable, enough to purchase many remote worlds."
"I previously concealed this from you, My Lord, intending to use it after the war to make my family rise again. Now, thinking about it, I truly deserve to die."
He knelt, kowtowing incessantly, his face filled with remorse: "Everything within the Null territory shall belong to King Nowick. It was I, this humble person, who was blinded by greed and shortsightedness. Please, Blazkowicz, forgive my foolishness."
Gela's forehead was bruised and bleeding, blood mixing with his tears as his pleas tore at his throat.
Blazkowicz on the throne remained unmoved, his all-seeing gaze unwavering, quietly watching the noble's performance for power.
How could a mortal, with such a clumsy performance, deceive an Astartes?
Despite being in mortal danger, the noble's nature remained unchanged; he still concealed crucial information, hoping to find another day to rise again.
Blazkowicz sneered; he had ten thousand ways to make Gela confess, but not now.
This calculating young noble still had some utilitarian value; he shouldn't be pushed too hard, lest he lash out like a cornered dog.