Kassius Volarax's intermittent, pain-filled, and struggling narration echoed within the special medical laboratory, as if a bloody fragment of the tragedy from ten millennia ago—a tale of fratricide, intertwined loyalty and betrayal—was laid bare before everyone. The impact of his identity as a Shadowmoon Wolves Great Company Captain who tried to uphold his principles amidst the tide of rebellion, only to be brutally suppressed and even entombed for ten millennia, far exceeded the ordinary.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar listened silently, his weathered face devoid of any expression. Only in his deep-set eyes did a glint of assessment and scrutiny flicker. He needed to judge, to search for clues of truth in the other man's words, tone, and even the most subtle physical reactions.
When Kassius's narration finally concluded in endless darkness and unconsciousness, the laboratory fell into a brief silence.
Calgar slowly spoke, his voice steady and cautious: "Captain Kassius, we have heard your account. Regarding the fate of you and your Great Company brothers… if true, it is indeed a tragedy for the Imperium and for loyalty."
He then shifted his tone, his voice carrying an undeniable pragmatism: "However, your identity... is too unique. Shadowmoon Wolves, Sons of Horus... these names, in the history of the Imperium ten millennia later, represent indelible betrayal and pain. We cannot make a final judgment on your identity and experiences based solely on your word."
Lying on the medical bed, Kassius listened to Calgar's calm, almost cold words. His recently awakened, still fragile spirit seemed to be stimulated. He thought Calgar didn't believe him at all, that he believed he was fabricating lies!
A profound sense of humiliation from being misunderstood and having his loyalty questioned, mixed with the confusion and pain accumulated from ten millennia of slumber, instantly surged into his heart!
"Ugh...!" He let out a low growl, using all the weak, newly recovered strength in his body to suddenly prop himself up on his elbows, leaning with difficulty against the backrest of the medical bed! This action strained his muscles, which had been dormant for ten millennia, and his not-yet-fully-activated nerves, causing a sharp pain that instantly contorted his face beneath his helmet. His breathing became heavy and rapid, like bellows.
But he ignored it, staring intently at Calgar through the ancient visors, and with a hoarse, agitated voice, he almost roared:
"You... don't believe me?! You think I'm lying?!"
His voice trembled with emotion, yet it carried an undeniable resolve from the depths of his soul:
"I! Kassius Volarax! Swear by the former glory of the Shadowmoon Wolves! Swear by the illustrious battle honors of our Sixteenth Legion, who once defended the Emperor and expanded His dominion!"
He took a deep breath, as if expending the last of his soul's strength, and declared clearly, word by word:
"We—my Great Company and I—never! Never! Betrayed the Emperor!"
His voice suddenly rose, filled with endless hatred and sorrow, pointing to the name long lost to the dust of history:
"The traitors... are those dregs who embraced the dark powers! Those who willingly degenerated into... Sons of Horus!"
As his words fell, he seemed to be drained of all strength, collapsing heavily back onto the bed. His chest heaved violently, with only the sound of heavy breathing echoing in the laboratory. This life-sworn cry had exhausted all the energy he had just gathered.
Watching Kassius's intense reaction, Calgar's eyes flickered slightly. This cry from the soul did not seem feigned. It was the ultimate rage at having his loyalty sullied, a stubborn adherence to past glory.
"Captain Kassius, you misunderstand." Calgar's voice softened somewhat, but still maintained the necessary distance and authority, "We do not disbelieve you. On the contrary, precisely because of your unique identity and the fact that your experiences may involve sealed history of the Imperium, we must adopt the most cautious attitude. We need to report your situation to a higher authority—Lord Guilliman. Until we receive clear instructions, for your sake and for everyone's, you need to remain here temporarily to receive necessary observation and care."
He surveyed the well-equipped laboratory, his tone solemn: "I can assure you, as long as your loyalty stands the test, the Ultramarines, and indeed the entire Imperium, will never mistreat any warrior who upholds his beliefs. We will provide you with everything you need."
Hearing Calgar's explanation, Kassius's agitated emotions seemed to subside somewhat, but he remained silent, as if digesting the complex situation.
Seeing that the initial communication was complete, Calgar prepared to turn and leave, giving Apothecary Vorlak space to conduct further medical treatment.
However, just as he turned and took a step, Kassius's hoarse voice sounded again, calling out to him:
"Wait..."
Calgar stopped and turned his head.
Kassius leaned against the bed, his helmet slightly turned, as if looking through the heavy armor into the unknown void, asking a question heavy enough to crush a soul:
"How long... have I been... asleep?"
Calgar was silent for a moment, then answered clearly in a calm voice that contained a vast amount of information:
"According to our preliminary estimates... approximately, ten thousand years."
"Ten... thousand years..." Kassius murmured, repeating the number, his voice so faint it was almost inaudible, as if unable to comprehend the meaning represented by this span of time. Ten millennia... enough for stars to fall, civilizations to rise and decline, and legends to turn to dust.
Immediately after, he asked a second, even more crucial question, his voice carrying a subtle hint of fear and bewilderment for the unknown era:
"Then... what has the Imperium... become like now?"
This question made Calgar's figure pause slightly. He took a deep breath, as if organizing his words, wondering how to describe this immense change to a warrior from ten millennia ago. How to tell him that the Emperor had been on the Golden Throne for ten millennia, how to tell him that the Imperium struggled for survival amidst endless war and darkness?
Ultimately, Calgar chose to answer in a relatively gentle, even somewhat protective manner. He could not allow this ancient warrior, newly awakened and deeply scarred, to directly face such a cruel reality:
"Captain Kassius," Calgar's voice was steady and firm, carrying an unquestionable resolve, "The Imperium is still the Imperium you remember. That, has never changed."
Meeting Kassius's gaze, which seemed to penetrate through his visors, filled with inquiry and confusion, he continued: "The Emperor is still the revered Emperor who guides humanity forward; His light still shines, illuminating our path."
His tone carried a conviction, almost stubborn, belonging to an Ultramarines: "As for those traitors... they are merely some trials and tribulations the Imperium has encountered on its great path forward. The Imperium still stands."
Having said this, Calgar no longer lingered. He nodded slightly to Apothecary Vorlak and then turned and strode out of the laboratory. The heavy hatch slowly closed behind him, separating the inside from the outside.
Inside the laboratory, only Kassius Volarax remained, along with Vorlak and the medical staff who were conducting a detailed examination of him.
Kassius lay silently on the bed, unmoving. His gaze involuntarily fell upon his power armor, painted in blue and white, adorned with a cloak, symbolizing the former glory of the Shadowmoon Wolves.
The Imperium... still the same?
The Emperor... still the same?
The traitors... merely some trials and tribulations?
The words of the Ultramarines Chapter Master echoed in his mind. Was it true? Or... just a benevolent lie woven to comfort him?
His brothers from ten millennia ago... those who chose different paths... what had become of them? Were any of those who did not betray... still alive?
Countless questions surged like a tide, submerging his newly awakened, still fragile mind in the m mists of history and the chasm of eras. He felt an unprecedented loneliness and bewilderment, like a ghost abandoned by time, thrust into a world both familiar and strange.
Gaius led the indomitable Terminator squad, successfully completing the mission to clear out the remaining threats deep within the "torment of the word". Like the most efficient purifiers, they eradicated the demonic entities and Chaos remnants hiding within the warship's steel guts, clearing the final obstacles for the Tech-Sergeants' comprehensive repairs.
When the squad returned to the "Macragge's Honour" through the docking tunnel, covered in gunpowder smoke and an aura of grim determination, the interior of the warship had already returned to its usual order and bustle, though the air still faintly carried the tension of the recent battle and the clamor of repair work.
Gaius removed his power armor and changed into his daily combat fatigues, preparing to visit Luna in the medical bay and inquire about Dorian's condition. As he stepped into the First Company's exclusive rest area, he overheard several veterans who were recuperating, talking in low voices.
"...Did you hear? Catonia woke up!"
"Woke up? That fast? He was seriously injured."
"Yeah, he just woke up. But I heard his condition is a bit strange; his heart rate is very high, and his breathing is rapid, as if something startled him awake."
Dorian woke up?
Gaius's heart tightened. He immediately changed his mind; now was not the time to visit Dorian. Given Dorian's newly awakened state, especially if he was still affected by that unusual situation, his rash inquiry might be counterproductive, perhaps even upsetting him. He decided to wait patiently until Dorian's condition stabilized, then find a suitable time to speak with him calmly, as a brother.
Meanwhile, in the intensive care unit of the medical bay, the situation was indeed as the veterans had described.
Dorian had awakened from a long coma. He lay on the medical bed, still connected to tubes monitoring his vital signs, his once robust body appearing somewhat weak from his injuries and sleep. But at this moment, what was most striking was not his injuries, but his extremely unstable physiological state.
On the monitoring screen, his heart rate curve fluctuated wildly, far above the normal level after waking. His chest heaved rapidly, his breathing heavy and short, his forehead covered in fine cold sweat, and beneath his bronzed skin, muscles twitched spasmodically and unconsciously. His newly opened eyes were bloodshot, and deep within his pupils lingered an unyielding mix of anger, ferocity, and... an indescribable tremor of fright.
He truly looked as if he had been forcibly startled awake from an extremely terrifying, extremely intense nightmare.
And in fact, he had.
Deep within his consciousness, in that realm of nightmare woven by Khorne's power, into which he had been forcibly dragged, he had just endured a "long" and "desperate" torment.
During his coma, his consciousness had not found true peace; instead, it had once again sunk into that familiar, nauseating plain of bones. The dark red sky hung low, the distant echoes of war reverberated eternally, and the air was thick with the potent scent of rust and blood.
And this time, the towering Brass Throne was no longer silent.
The colossal, terrifying figure seated upon the throne, like a mountain, once again directed its gaze, filled with endless wartime fury and lust for slaughter, upon Dorian's consciousness.
"Brave warrior... you have returned..." The voice, like the simultaneous roar of a thousand battlefields, directly assailed Dorian's soul, "Your bravery... your fearlessness... were fully displayed in the previous battle..."
The voice carried a twisted "admiration": "Look at you, possessing such powerful combat instincts and a desire for destruction, yet you willingly submit to those rigid dogmas, becoming a... common warrior? This is a waste of talent! A blasphemy against power!"
After the initial oppressive sensation, Dorian's consciousness jolted awake. Anger instantly overwhelmed fear; he roared furiously at the colossal figure, using every blasphemous and contemptuous word he could think of, denouncing the Chaos God's seduction and shamelessness!
However, his furious curses did not enrage Khorne; instead, they amused the Blood God.
"An interesting soul... stubborn, yet full of power..." Khorne's voice boomed, "Since you revere power, revere battle... then let me show you what true strength is! What... the pinnacle of destruction is!"
No sooner had he spoken than Dorian felt an irresistible force act upon his consciousness, compelling him to turn around.
Then, he saw it.
Not far behind him, a colossal, hideous figure, radiating an aura of terror that threatened to shatter his consciousness, stood like a nightmare crawled out of a pool of blood!
It had dark red, rough skin, like it had been flayed, and its muscles were grotesquely swollen to an inhuman degree. Its head was studded with thick, metallic spikes, like instruments of torture, and from its back extended a pair of tattered yet still sky-obscuring, gigantic bat wings. In its hand, it gripped an absurdly large daemon axe, flowing with lava-like energy. Its fanged maw was open, putrid drool constantly dripping, and its glowing eyes, burning with pure destructive desire, fixed on Dorian like a viper locking onto its prey!
The Daemon Primarch — Angron! Khorne's most insane and bloodthirsty Daemon Prince!
Dorian's heart instantly sank to rock bottom. Damn it! He had recently heard of this monster! In the Legion's historical records and the terrifying legends of Chaos, Angron was one of the most dangerous beings to provoke! How could he... how could he possibly be an opponent for such a monster?!
A primal fear, stemming from the instinct of life itself, almost froze his thoughts.
But amidst this extreme terror, another emotion erupted like a volcano—the pride of an Ultramarine, the unyielding stubbornness of Dorian, who would never bow down!
He must not retreat!
He must not disgrace the Emperor in front of this damned Chaos God! Disgrace the Ultramarines! Disgrace... his brothers!
"Aaaahhhhhh—!!!" Dorian's consciousness let out a deafening roar, a mix of fear and defiance! He knew it was futile, knew it was a moth flying into a flame, but he still swung his mind-forged fists, charging at the colossal Daemon Primarch like a mad dog attacking a mountain, utterly fearless of death!
The outcome was self-evident.
This could not even be called a battle; it was a one-sided, utterly brutal torment and beating.
Angron didn't even use its terrifying axe; it merely used its massive, calloused claws, like swatting a fly, to smash, flatten, and stomp Dorian's consciousness into the bone-strewn ground again and again!
With each "death," Dorian's consciousness would reassemble amidst agonizing pain, then roar and charge again, only to be predictably destroyed again. Khorne's power maintained this cycle, making Dorian experience the despair and suffering of an absolute power disparity repeatedly, attempting to wear down his will, make him submit, make him acknowledge his "weakness" and "need for power."
"Submit... embrace slaughter... and you will gain power comparable to his..." Khorne's whispers echoed like demonic music in the intervals between each "death" and "rebirth."
After an unknown "period of time," just as Dorian's consciousness was almost completely torn apart and assimilated by this endless torment, an external, powerful medical psychic stimulus finally dragged him forcibly back from that bloody demonic realm to reality.
He suddenly opened his eyes, returning to the medical pod, returning to reality. But the pain and despair of being torn apart countless times by Angron in his dream, the fear on the verge of collapse, and the defiant roar that refused to yield, were branded deep within his soul, manifesting as his current rapid heartbeat, heavy breathing, and the untamed bloodshot eyes.
He survived, and he did not yield. But Khorne's shadow had already, like a parasitic growth, entwined itself deeper around his soul.
Dorian's unusual state after waking, along with the previous reports from Gaius and Luna, had already drawn the close attention of the Chapter's high command.
Shortly after he awoke, the Company Chaplain's figure appeared at the entrance of Dorian's medical bay, like a harbinger of death.
The Chaplain was still clad in his black Power Armor, adorned with skulls and symbols of atonement, his skull helmet obscuring all expression, leaving only his cold eye lenses that seemed to penetrate flesh and gaze into the depths of the soul.
His arrival instantly made the already tense atmosphere within the medical bay even more oppressive.
The Apothecary in charge of his care, seeing this, silently bowed and then withdrew, closing the bay door and leaving a completely private space.
The Chaplain walked to Dorian's medical bed and stood silently, not speaking, merely enveloping Dorian, who lay on the bed, with an invisible, scrutinizing gaze.
Dorian looked at the Chaplain, especially at the skull helmet, and his mind, having just escaped a bloody nightmare, churned again, his breathing involuntarily quickening.
He was not surprised by the Chaplain's arrival; in fact, it was somewhat... expected.
His previous berserk state surely couldn't have escaped the notice of those responsible for monitoring the purity of souls.
"Brother Catonia," the Chaplain's deep, penetrating voice finally broke the silence, using a relatively formal but distant form of address, "You are awake.
How do you feel?"
Dorian opened his mouth, wanting to habitually say, "I'm fine," but the words caught in his throat.
He knew that in front of the Chaplain, any pretense or perfunctory answer would be futile, and might even increase suspicion.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his still-erratic heartbeat, and replied in a hoarse voice, "I... I'm fine, Chaplain."
"Very good," the Chaplain's tone was unruffled, "Then, tell me, what happened during your unconsciousness, and before that?
We need to understand the complete sequence of events, from the very beginning."
Dorian knew there was no escaping it.
He leaned back against the bed, his gaze somewhat unfocused, as if recalling fragments he wished not to touch.
After a long silence, he slowly began to speak, his voice tinged with uncertainty and confusion:
"About... ten years ago, I think..." He tried to recall, "I started... having strange dreams, on and off."
He described the familiar scene: "In the dream... it was always an endless plain of bones, the sky was dark red, and I could always hear the sounds of battle and shouts of killing...
Sometimes, I could even see in the distance... a particularly large, particularly terrifying... throne, seemingly piled up with brass and skulls..."
He paused, seemingly confirming the accuracy of his memory: "Before the great battle at Cadia Gate... I think I dreamt of it a few times.
Then... at Cadia Gate, when I was knocked unconscious by that damned Executioner... I think... I vaguely found myself in that place too..."
His tone became somewhat agitated: "Later, when I returned to Macragge for recuperation and to heal my wounds... I had similar dreams a few times too!
It just wasn't... this real, this... vivid."
He generally recounted his intermittent experiences of dreaming of the Bone Plain and the Brass Throne, up until the terrifying experience in his current coma, where he clearly "fought" the Daemon Primarch Angron.
The Chaplain listened quietly, without interruption, until Dorian finished speaking, and the medical bay fell silent once more.
A few seconds later, the Chaplain's cold voice spoke again, with a gravitas that was almost a pronouncement:
"Based on your description, Brother Catonia, and your abnormal state displayed during the previous battle... the situation is becoming quite clear.
You have been targeted by Khorne."
When the name "Khorne" was clearly spoken by the Chaplain, Dorian's mind felt as if it had been struck by a heavy hammer, a "buzz" instantly throwing it into disarray!
All his thoughts were shattered!
Khorne?!
The Blood God?!
That Chaos God who knows only slaughter and war?!
He suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with disbelief and... a hint of panic.
He had personally witnessed and felt the terror of the Chaos Gods!
He thought of Gaius—his steady and reliable brother, who had been tormented by Tzeentch's whispers and schemes for decades; the pain of a soul manipulated by an unseen hand, constantly on the edge of suspicion and insight—Dorian shivered just thinking about it!
If... if he himself were targeted by Khorne like this, day after day, immersed in those bloody, berserk dreams and whispers of only murderous desire... Damn it!
He absolutely couldn't endure it!
He would rather be blasted to smithereens by an enemy's cannon on the battlefield than turn into that kind of madman who only knows how to hack and slash!
"No... that can't be, Chaplain?" Dorian's voice held a tremor he hadn't even noticed, "I... how could I be targeted by something like that?
I..."
He wanted to say he was absolutely loyal to the Emperor, wanted to say his love for Ultramar was unquestionable, but these words seemed so pale and powerless in the face of the fact that he was "targeted by a Chaos God."
"The temptations of the Chaos Gods often strike at the deepest parts of the heart, Brother Catonia," the Chaplain's voice was still calm, but with a coldness that saw through to the essence, "They don't need you to betray immediately; they will twist your nature, amplify one aspect of you.
Khorne craves the most extreme bravery, fearlessness, and the desire for close-quarters slaughter.
And you, Brother Catonia, your fighting style, your character... perhaps it is precisely this that has attracted its 'interest'."
The Chaplain's words were like a key, unlocking certain corners of Dorian's heart that he was unwilling to acknowledge.
He did indeed enjoy combat, enjoyed the thrill of colliding forces, enjoyed the exhilaration of destroying enemies... Could it be that these... were all the culprits?
In the time that followed, the Chaplain questioned Dorian further about some details: the frequency and intensity of the dreams, and whether he had experienced unusual anger or homicidal impulses in his daily life.
Though Dorian's mind was in turmoil, he answered as truthfully as possible.
After this in-depth conversation, the Chaplain's understanding of the entire situation was largely clear.
A loyal warrior, entangled by the shadow of Khorne ten years ago, with the catalysis of several major battles and severe injuries, finally showed clear signs of losing control in the extreme environment of this boarding action.
"I have a basic understanding of the situation, Brother Catonia," the Chaplain finally said, "The information you have provided is very important.
This matter is of great significance and cannot be decided by me alone.
I will compile all the contents of today's inquiry and report them fully to Chapter Master Marius Calgar.
The final disposition will be decided by the Chapter Master."
With that, the Chaplain said no more, gave Dorian a deep look, his gaze seemingly saying "take care of yourself," then turned and left the medical bay as silently as he had arrived.
The bay door closed again, leaving Dorian alone in a deathly silence.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, the Chaplain's words echoing in his mind—"targeted by Khorne," "reported to the Chapter Master for decision"...
Fear, confusion, anger, unwillingness... all sorts of emotions submerged him like a tide.
He didn't know what he would face: isolation for examination?
Forced purification?
Or... an even worse outcome?
He only knew that his once simple and straightforward world, from this moment on, had become utterly complex and fraught with danger.
After leaving Dorian's medical bay, the Chaplain did not return to the chapel but instead contacted Gaius directly via internal communication.
Gaius was currently in the First Company's armory, maintaining his "Hawkeye" sniper rifle and Power Sword.
Receiving the Chaplain's summons, his heart sank slightly.
He knew this must be related to Dorian's situation.
He quickly organized his equipment and arrived at the agreed meeting point with the Chaplain—a secluded corridor leading to the upper command area of the bridge.
The Chaplain was already waiting there, his black figure almost merging with the shadows of the corridor.
Seeing Gaius arrive, he merely nodded slightly, without unnecessary pleasantries, then turned and stepped forward, gesturing for Gaius to follow.
"Chaplain," Gaius quickly caught up, following behind the Chaplain, and asked in a low voice, "Is this about Dorian's situation?"
"Yes," the Chaplain's voice, muffled by his helmet, was low and concise, "The Chapter Master needs to understand all the details.
As the initial discoverer and reporter, and possessing... relevant experience, your statement is crucial."
Gaius nodded silently.
He understood what the Chaplain meant by "relevant experience"—his own past of being tempted by Tzeentch.
This was not a pleasant memory, but for Dorian, he had to face it.
The two walked in silence, passing through layers of heavily guarded passages, finally arriving at the reception hall outside the Chapter Master's office.
Honour Guard warriors stood solemnly at the door, and after confirming the identities of the Chaplain and Gaius, they opened the heavy, alloy door carved with the Ultramarines' emblem.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar's office was less a lounge and more a small strategic command center.
On one side was a huge observation window, outside of which lay the vast starry sky and a busy fleet; the other side was covered with tactical star charts and communication equipment.
Chapter Master Calgar was not sitting behind his desk, but rather standing in front of a star chart, his brow slightly furrowed, seemingly deep in thought.
Captain Cassius was also present.
Hearing the door open, Calgar and Captain Cassius turned around simultaneously.
"Chapter Master, Captain Cassius," the Chaplain saluted by striking his chest with his right hand, and Gaius followed suit.
"Chaplain, Sergeant Karl," Calgar's gaze swept over the two, finally resting on the Chaplain, "You have come together, is it about Dorian's matter?"
"Yes, Chapter Master," the Chaplain stepped forward, his voice steady, "After a face-to-face inquiry with Brother Catonia, and combining it with Sergeant Karl's previous report, the situation is largely clear.
I believe it is necessary for the two of us to provide you with a detailed report together."
Calgar nodded, pointing to a nearby tactical table: "Speak."
The Chaplain spoke first, clearly, objectively, and without any personal emotion, recounting the content of his conversation with Dorian: from approximately ten years ago when Dorian began intermittently dreaming of the Bone Plain and the Brass Throne, to the vague experiences during his unconsciousness in the Cadia Gate campaign, then to the recurring dreams during his recuperation on Macragge, and finally to the terrifying nightmare during his unconsciousness after the Austin Star campaign, where he clearly "fought" the Daemon Primarch Angron.
He also mentioned Dorian's berserk state and abnormal disregard for pain during the battle outside the medical bay.
The Chaplain's narrative was clear and well-structured, highlighting the key points, outlining Dorian's decade-long potential hidden danger.
When the Chaplain mentioned the name "Khorne," the expressions of Calgar and Captain Cassius visibly became much more serious.
The direct attention of one of the four Chaos Gods was no small matter.
"Based on the above circumstances," the Chaplain concluded, his tone heavy, "my personal judgment is that Brother Catonia has very likely been marked and tempted by Khorne.
The duration of this has far exceeded our previous estimates.
His loss of control in this battle was not accidental, but rather a concentrated outburst resulting from long-term influence."
Calgar's gaze then turned to Gaius: "Sergeant Karl, you were the initial eyewitness.
Tell me in detail everything you saw outside the medical bay, and your assessment."
Gaius took a deep breath, meeting the Chapter Master's sharp and imposing gaze.
He did not conceal anything, describing in as much detail as possible what he had seen at the time—Dorian, unarmored, fighting the Word Bearers and Possessed Marines with only his bare flesh, his crimson eyes, his berserk strength, his beast-like roars, and his complete disregard for severe injuries.
"...Chapter Master," Gaius finally added, his voice tinged with deep concern for his brother, "My feeling at the time... that wasn't Dorian, at least not the Dorian we know.
It was more like a... beast completely dominated by the desire for slaughter.
I have experienced the pain of being corrupted by the whispers of a Chaos God, so I absolutely cannot stand by and watch Dorian fall into the same, or possibly even worse, situation."
He also recounted the process of his report to the Chaplain, indicating that he was not making a rash accusation, but acting out of duty and concern.
Calgar and Captain Cassius listened silently, the only sound in the office being Gaius's clear and steady report.
When Gaius finished speaking, the room fell into an oppressive silence.
Captain Cassius's brows were tightly furrowed, his face filled with complex emotions.
Dorian was a warrior personally trained by one of the Chapter's three Company Commanders; though reckless and impulsive, his loyalty and bravery were unquestionable.
Hearing that he might have been corrupted by Khorne for a decade, the old Captain's heart was filled with shock and a hint of almost imperceptible... self-reproach.
Had they, his superiors, focused too much on his combat performance and overlooked the subtle changes deep within him?
Chapter Master Calgar, with his hands behind his back, slowly paced to the observation window, gazing out at the endless stars.
His back seemed exceptionally heavy.
A veteran warrior of the First Company, a hero who had achieved great military feats, targeted by Khorne... this was not merely a personal tragedy, but a severe challenge to the Chapter's purity.
After a long while, Calgar slowly turned around, his gaze once again sweeping over the Chaplain and Gaius, his voice deep and full of authority:
"I understand the situation.
Chaplain, your judgment is cautious and professional.
Sergeant Karl, you did well; promptly reporting potential threats is the responsibility of every warrior."
He paused, as if weighing the importance of every word: "Dorian's situation is very special, and very dangerous.
The long duration of the Chaos God's attention means the corruption may already be quite deep.
But on the other hand, he has not yet shown irreversible acts of corruption, and in his dreams, he still maintains his loyalty to the Emperor and his will to resist..."
His eyes sharpened: "We cannot abandon any brother who still has hope of salvation, but neither can we risk the safety of the entire Chapter."
He looked at Captain Cassius: "Cassius, before a final decision is made, strengthen the monitoring of Dorian; it must be the highest level of covert surveillance.
All his actions, words, and even emotional fluctuations must be recorded.
But at the same time, he must not be allowed to notice, to avoid provoking him or causing unnecessary panic."
"Understood, Chapter Master," Captain Cassius replied in a deep voice.
Calgar then looked at the Chaplain and Gaius: "The contents of today's report are classified as top secret, limited to the four of us.
Until a conclusion is reached, no leaks are permitted."
"Yes!" the Chaplain and Gaius responded in unison.
"You may return now," Calgar waved his hand, "I need to... consider this carefully."
The Chaplain and Gaius saluted, then silently exited the office.
The heavy door closed behind them, leaving the weighty decision to the Chapter Master.
Gaius knew that, regarding Dorian's fate, a silent judgment had already begun.
And he could only wait for the final outcome, filled with worry for his brother.
A simple yet solemn farewell was underway in the docking area of the Macragge's Honour.
Chapter Master Esol'Jaan of the Raven Guard, leading ten elite Raven Guards who seemed to be formed from shadows, offered a final salute to Chapter Master Marius Calgar and the Ultramarines officers present.
There was no grand ceremony, no lengthy speeches; everything was in line with the Raven Guard's usual low-key and efficient style.
Corvus Corax, the Raven Lord himself, stood silently beside Esol'Jaan.
He had put on his iconic bird-beaked helmet again, hiding all emotions beneath the cold metal and shadows, with only his pure black eye-slits occasionally sweeping over the surrounding Ultramarines as a final acknowledgment.
"Chapter Master Calgar, thank you for your Chapter's assistance during this period," Esol'Jaan's voice came through his helmet, carrying the Raven Guard's characteristic calmness and restraint.
"The Raven Guard will remember this debt."
"Chapter Master Esol'Jaan, you overstate it; against Chaos, the Imperium is one," Calgar returned the salute solemnly.
"I look forward to fighting alongside the Raven Guard again in the future."
Corax said nothing more, only giving a slight nod in Calgar's direction.
Immediately, he turned, his dark figure seeming to merge with the background, and was the first to step into the Raven Guard's assault boat.
Esol'Jaan and his Raven Guards followed closely behind.
The hatch slowly closed, isolating inside from outside.
Soon, the assault boat undocked, silently gliding into the void like a night raven returning to its nest, heading towards the distant main Raven Guard fleet, which resembled a ghost armada.
Calgar and the Ultramarines officers stood before the observation window, watching the assault boat merge with the fleet.
Subsequently, the massive Raven Guard fleet began to adjust its course, engines spewing a ghostly blue light, like ink drops in water, gradually accelerating, and finally disappearing within the ripples of a Warp jump.
The Lord of Ravens, this shadow Primarch who descended with thunderous might in times of crisis, beheaded traitors, and turned the tide of battle, thus quietly departed, temporarily returning to his flock.
His arrival and departure were both full of mystery and suddenness, like a brief yet intense storm, leaving behind endless legends and deep contemplation about the future.
Meanwhile, on the external armor plates of the torment of the word, which was undergoing urgent repairs, a different scene of bustling activity unfolded.
Eilaas, wearing a heavy protective suit and a shaded visor, her petite figure suspended on the massive side armor belt of the battleship, carefully welded a new composite armor plate onto the hole previously pierced by a macro cannon, her plasma torch spewing dazzling blue flames.
Sparks from the welding cascaded downwards, rapidly cooling and extinguishing in the void.
She worked with great concentration, but the corner of her eye still caught sight of the Raven Guard fleet in the distant void, gradually moving away and finally disappearing.
Under her visor, her small mouth couldn't help but pout, and her bright, large eyes showed clear disappointment.
"Alas..." A soft sigh was drowned out by the hiss of the welding torch and the silence of the vacuum.
Lord Raven is leaving already...
She hadn't seen enough of him!
That handsome black armor, those mysterious feather decorations, and that cold yet alluring aura... why did he leave so soon?
Would she ever get to see him again?
Just as she was slightly distracted by her disappointment, and the trajectory of her welding torch showed a minuscule deviation, a cold, emotionless voice sounded through her protective suit's internal communicator.
It was standard binary, but automatically translated into gothic:
"Warning: Operator distraction detected.
Welding trajectory deviated from preset parameters by 0.3 micrometers.
Risk of potential welding defects.
Correction recommended immediately.
Repeat, correction recommended immediately."
Eilaas was startled by the sudden voice, her hand shaking, almost really misaligning the weld.
She didn't need to turn around to know it was definitely that Adeptus Mechanicus priest responsible for quality monitoring in this area—the one codenamed "Eye of Logic 7-3."
Most of this priest's body had been converted into machinery, with only a small part of his face retaining flesh, always hovering on an anti-gravity disc, meticulously scanning every repair detail with his multiple compound eyes.
"I know, I know! It was only a tiny bit off!" Eilaas replied somewhat irritably via internal comms, while quickly adjusting her welding torch to correct the trajectory.
She hated it most when someone constantly "guided" her during work, especially Adeptus Mechanicus members who completely lacked "art" and "feeling."
However, "Eye of Logic 7-3" clearly did not grasp the impatience in Eilaas's tone.
His unperturbed binary voice sounded again, this time with an almost proselytizing, infuriating persistence:
"Lack of concentration is a manifestation of the inherent flaws and unreliability of flesh.
Tech-Sergeant Eilaas, you must remember: Flesh is weak, machine is eternal.
Only by abandoning the emotional fluctuations of flesh and pursuing the absolute precision of logic and data can one achieve perfection.
Your welding technique still has room for improvement; it is recommended to access the 'Plasma Welding Precision Enhancement Protocol V3.7,' download the relevant data streams, and optimize your..."
"Shut up!" Eilaas finally couldn't help but shout into the communicator, though she knew it was useless.
She almost wanted to turn her plasma torch around and fire a blast at the chattering priest's still-opening metal mouth, welding his vocal unit shut!
The thought was extremely tempting.
But as soon as the idea arose, the stern face of Captain Cassius immediately appeared in her mind, along with his "severe warning" after she had "accidentally" used a noise grenade to scare away a meditating Adeptus Mechanicus Loremaster last time:
"Eilaas! If I catch you deliberately playing pranks on Adeptus Mechanicus members again, I will cancel all your synthetic bread rations for the next three months!
From now on, you'll only eat that standard nutrient paste that tastes like wall plaster!
I mean it!"
Thinking of the sweet, soft synthetic bread she only got to eat once a week, and then the bland, survival-only nutrient paste... Eilaas shivered instantly.
"I'll endure..." she gritted her teeth, squeezing out two words, forcing herself to concentrate all her attention on the welding work at hand, trying to block out the looping binary mantra of "Flesh is weak, machine is eternal" in her ears.
For the sake of delicious bread!
She endured!
Eilaas took a deep breath, temporarily suppressing the disappointment of the Raven Lord's departure and her annoyance with the Adeptus Mechanicus priest.
The welding torch in her hand once again danced steadily and precisely, the blue flames like a paintbrush, meticulously tracing the marks of repair on the battleship's massive scar.
Only her small figure, against the backdrop of the colossal ship, appeared particularly stubborn and with a hint of grievance.
The First Company's recreation room on the Macragge's Honour, during the post-battle rest period, was usually a place for warriors to relax their tense nerves, exchange combat experiences, or perform simple equipment maintenance.
At this moment, the room's lighting was soft, but the atmosphere carried a hidden gravity, different from usual.
Gaius and Luna Aisa sat on a long bench against the wall.
Luna's body was still weak, only able to lean slightly against Gaius, but she insisted on leaving the medical bay for some fresh air.
On the metal table in front of them were several cans of special, slightly sweet energy drinks, one of the few somewhat indulgent supplies the Chapter provided to its Astartes monks.
Sitting opposite them was a member of the Custodian Squad, codenamed "Vidis."
This squad was known for its composure and reliability, usually responsible for guarding the Chapter Master or important areas, and their intelligence was often more current than that of regular companies.
At this moment, they were speaking in hushed tones, gravely discussing an extremely sensitive topic—the recently awakened "guest" from ten thousand years ago, Kassius Volarax.
Gaius and Luna listened quietly, their faces showing unconcealed curiosity and concern.
A Sons of Horus Captain, in itself, was enough to pique any Ultramarine's curiosity and desire to explore that dark history.
The leader of Vidis Squad, a veteran with a resolute face and sharp eyes, kept his voice extremely low, ensuring only they could hear: "...The Chapter Master personally ordered absolute secrecy, it's a very high level.
But you know, there are no airtight walls on a ship; some brothers on guard or medical duty... aren't so tight-lipped."
He looked left and right, confirming there were no outsiders, before continuing: "...I heard that guy, his identity is not ordinary.
He's not a regular Astartes, he's a Captain of a Great Company!
In today's terms, that's at least someone on the level of our Company Captain."
A Great Company Captain!
This identity made both Gaius and Luna's hearts clench.
In the Astartes Legion organization ten thousand years ago, a Great Company usually referred to an enhanced company, composed of the most elite veterans, and its Captain held a revered position with immense power and responsibility.
A Shadowmoon Wolves Great Company Captain from ten thousand years ago, his symbolic significance and historical value were immeasurable.
Luna's voice was faint due to weakness, but she still couldn't help but ask the most crucial and sensitive question: "So... is he... a traitor?"
This question caused the several veteran Custodians present to fall silent.
The air seemed to solidify.
Just then, a tall figure walked over; it was a Terminator Squad warrior who had just shed his heavy Indomitus Pattern Terminator Armor and was wearing only his internal combat suit.
His weathered face bore an expression mixed with emotion and seriousness.
He had clearly overheard the previous discussion.
He pulled up a chair and sat down, joining the secretive conversation, his voice equally deep, yet carrying the gravitas of historical narration:
"The version I heard might be a bit more detailed," he began, his gaze sweeping over Gaius and Luna. "It is said that Captain Kassius… when the rebellion first broke out, and Horus openly betrayed the Emperor in its early stages, he and his entire Grand Company could not accept this fact."
His words transported everyone back to that dark era of war, loyalty, and betrayal: "They… tried to remain loyal to the Emperor, unwilling to point their weapons at Terra. They planned to lead their brothers away from the traitor Legions…"
One could imagine the immense courage and determination required to make such a decision under those circumstances, and the enormous risks involved.
"However," the Terminator warrior's tone grew somber, "their actions were discovered. The traitors… those former brothers who had already embraced the powers of Chaos, surrounded them. A battle… broke out."
He paused, as if recalling that brutal account, then uttered the chilling name: "…It is even said… Horus… came in person."
The Primarch himself suppressed them! Just hearing that description, Gaius and Luna could feel the despairing pressure. Before the unmatched power of a Primarch, the resistance of a Grand Company seemed so small and tragic.
"The outcome… was predictable," the Terminator warrior's voice held an imperceptible sigh. "His Grand Company… was almost completely annihilated. And he himself, for reasons unknown, was not executed on the spot, but was sealed away… until today, ten thousand years later."
Finally, he concluded, his tone exceptionally firm, as if correcting a fallacy that had persisted for ten millennia: "So, based on this information… the traitors were the Sons of Horus who fell with Horus, and not… the Shadowmoon Wolves who tried to uphold their oaths and honor."
"The traitors were the Sons of Horus, not the Shadowmoon Wolves."
This sentence slowly echoed in the lounge, carrying a power that rectified history, and a heavy sigh for that complex past.
Gaius and Luna exchanged glances, both seeing shock and complex emotions in each other's eyes. If all of this was true, then Kassius Volarax was not a traitor, but a tragic hero who tried to turn the tide in a dark era but unfortunately failed, a loyalist forgotten by time.
His awakening was not just the return of an individual, but the reopening of a sealed history. His very existence challenged the simplistic label of "Sons of Horus are traitors" and would undoubtedly lead to a more complex re-examination of that history by the Imperial high command.
The conversation in the lounge fell silent, everyone digesting this astonishing information and its profound implications. Only the few cans of slightly sweet energy drinks on the table still silently emitted faint warmth, witnessing this secret discussion about ten millennia of loyalty and betrayal.
Gaius and Luna talked with the members of Sanks Squad in the lounge for a long time, until the ship's internal simulated "late night," when the lighting system dimmed, and most areas fell silent. Luna's face already showed undeniable fatigue. Seeing this, Gaius carefully stood up and helped her.
"I'll take you back to rest," Gaius's voice was gentle yet firm.
Luna did not refuse; she indeed needed to return to the medical bay for continued observation and recovery. Gaius escorted her all the way to her private cabin in the medical area, instructed the duty Apothecary to pay close attention, and then turned to leave.
But he did not return to his own rest cabin. As a Sergeant of the First Company, especially in a state of battle readiness, he bore a heavier responsibility. He walked directly to the First Company's equipment preparation area, where several comrades, also assigned to night patrol, were already donning their gear.
Gaius walked to his equipment rack. The deep blue Mark VII Power Armor gleamed with a cold, hard luster in the dim light. He skillfully began to put it on, the clang of the armor plates closing particularly clear in the quiet preparation area. Finally, he picked up the unique "pig-snout" style rebreather helmet, its design classic and practical. But unlike standard models, this helmet had a precise bionic eye attached to its left side, glowing with a faint blue light, greatly enhancing his target acquisition and observation capabilities. And on both sides of the helmet, a small and exquisite golden laurel wreath was attached—this was the supreme honor he had received on Terra, personally bestowed by Primarch Guilliman. On his left shoulder pad, a special champion's mark was emblazoned—the Champion Sniper badge personally awarded by Chapter Master Calgar.
Donning his helmet, his eye-lenses lit up, and the world presented itself clearly before him in data-form. He stretched his neck, feeling the sense of power and restraint brought by the Power Armor, which had become a part of his body.
"Sanks Squad, Sergeant Karl, patrol group in position," he reported on the squad channel.
"Received. Execute patrol mission along the designated route. Stay vigilant," Lieutenant Golden's steady voice came over the channel.
Gaius, leading three other fully armed First Company warriors, marched out of the preparation area with heavy, synchronized steps, merging into the ship's "night" silence.
This was entirely different from his experience serving in other companies. Previously, at this time, he would most likely be in his own cabin performing weapon maintenance, reading Chapter lore, or catching up on rest. Now, as a member of the First Company—the elite of the Chapter's elite—he, like the Honour Guard, had taken on the heavy responsibility of guarding the ship's core areas and maintaining internal order. This was a trust, and even more, a weighty responsibility.
Their patrol route covered several crucial areas on the Macragge's Honour, including the main hangars and auxiliary hangars, as vast as city squares.
The hangar at night was less noisy than during the day, with an added solemnity. Most of the fighters and maintenance equipment were quietly parked in designated areas, like resting steel beasts. Only a few crew members and ground staff on duty, after finishing their work, sat in twos and threes on toolboxes or ammo crates, talking in low voices, sharing news perhaps from their homeworlds, or discussing the day's repair work. Their laughter and conversations were exceptionally clear in the vast hangar, yet quickly absorbed by the huge space.
Gaius's gaze swept over these mortal compatriots who worked diligently for the ship's operation, then fell upon the impeccably maintained Thunderhawk Gunships and Stormraven Gunships in the center of the hangar. These powerful assault vehicles, like lurking falcons in the dim light, were immaculately painted with sharp lines, ready at any moment to carry the Emperor's Angels of Death into the most dangerous battlefields. They were an extension of the Ultramarines' power, and one of the mainstays that allowed this steel home to traverse the stars.
The patrol moved through the hangar and into a wide corridor connecting different areas. One side of the corridor was heavy internal armor, the other a massive observation viewport.
Gaius involuntarily stopped, looking out into the void through the thick crystal-steel viewport.
There, in the nearby void anchorage, the captured Word Bearers' secondary flagship, the torment of the word, lay quietly berthed. Unlike the bustling scene during the day, night-time repair work seemed focused on internal and critical systems, but its exterior was already brand new. The massive holes and torn armor plating previously pierced by Ultramarines' ordnance had been perfectly patched by the Tech-Sergeants with new composite armor plates, showing almost no trace of the previous damage.
Most notably, on the already repaired and cleaned sections of the torment of the word's hull, Tech-Sergeants, suspended by safety lines, were operating large spray painting equipment, covering the original dark red livery with new markings representing the Imperium and Ultramar—the massive, majestic Imperial Aquila, and the prominent Macragge's Ring, symbolizing the Ultramarines Chapter.
This was not merely a simple repair, but a declaration, a purification. This starship, once belonging to traitors, was being forcibly twisted in its essence, stripped of the defilement of Chaos, and re-branded with the mark of the Imperium and loyalty. Watching the gradually forming blue emblem, an indescribable sense of accomplishment and resolve surged within Gaius. This was the meaning of their fight—to seize from the enemy and transform it into a force for upholding order.
After a moment of contemplation, Gaius withdrew his gaze and signaled for the patrol to continue.
They followed their predetermined route, traversing the vast and complex internal structure of the Macragge's Honour. Corridors, lift platforms, intersections, critical equipment compartments… the ship's interior was exceptionally quiet at night, with only the low hum of the circulation system, the subtle vibrations of distant machinery, and the hydraulic sounds and heavy footsteps of their own Power Armor joints moving.
Occasionally, at the end of a passage or an intersection, they would encounter another patrol—often a heavier Terminator squad, like mobile fortresses. When they met, both sides would tacitly stop, salute each other, their gazes briefly meeting beneath their helmets to confirm everything was normal, then pass by each other again, continuing their respective patrol routes. The heavy footsteps of those Terminators, like war drums beating on the deck, conveyed a reassuring strength.
Gaius had almost grown accustomed to falling asleep each "night" on the ship, accompanied by these interwoven footsteps, signifying vigilance and guardianship. This sound told him that their home was safe, and his brothers were by his side. And he, too, had become a part of this guardian sound, fulfilling the most fundamental duty of an Ultramarine within this cold, steel behemoth.
After finishing his night patrol duties and a brief handover with the relieving Brother, Sergeant Karl Horn returned to the individual cabin belonging to a First Company Sergeant. Though not large, it was fully functional and served as his rare private space within this colossal steel home. It's worth noting that after his promotion to the First Company, his cabin was coincidentally located next to Dorian's. This might have been a coincidence, or perhaps a deliberate arrangement by the Company to allow these two close Brothers to look out for each other.
After removing his power armor and a quick clean, Gaius lay down on his bunk. Even with a genetically enhanced body, several hours of rigorous patrolling and mental tension brought a degree of fatigue. He needed a few hours of deep rest to recover his energy.
The warship's internal time simulation system quietly operated, and a few hours later, the soft light representing "morning" and the wake-up alarm appeared on schedule. Gaius immediately opened his eyes, clear-sighted, with no sign of lingering in bed. Rest time was over; training time had begun.
For Astartes Monks, training is an eternal theme, the only way to maintain peak combat effectiveness. Gaius went directly to the warship's training ground, designed specifically for long-range marksmen. It was equipped with various distances of moving targets, shooting bays simulating different environmental interferences, and even small armor plates specifically for practicing sniping specific weak points.
Gaius picked up his specially modified 'Eagle Eye' sniper rifle, which had a unique eagle emblem on its scope. He skillfully checked the weapon's status and loaded low-power training rounds. Then, he took his position.
Focus, hold breath, target locked, pull the trigger.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Rhythmic, suppressed gunshots echoed in the training ground. Whether it was high-speed drone targets, simulated targets hidden in complex backgrounds, or even armor weak point markers the size of a fingernail, Gaius could aim and fire in an extremely short time—and hit every single shot! Not a single bullet missed!
His superb marksmanship quickly attracted the attention of other Company snipers in the training ground. Some snipers from other Companies couldn't help but gather around to observe the legendary marksman's training. Their eyes were filled with admiration and a thirst for knowledge.
Seeing the Brothers' interest, Gaius did not hold back. After completing a round of basic training, he voluntarily stopped and walked towards the watching snipers.
"Keep your wrist steady, and your breathing should coincide with the pauses in your heartbeat."
"Don't just rely on automatic aiming assistance; trust your own eyes and intuition, especially in complex electromagnetic environments."
"Anticipating the target's trajectory is more important than chasing its current position."
He patiently shared his experience and techniques, even personally demonstrating some special aiming stances and strategies for different battlefield environments. His explanations were clear and concise, combined with practical combat examples, making all the snipers present feel greatly enlightened.
An old veteran from the First Company, standing nearby, watched the scene with a proud smile and said to the snipers from other Companies: "You've certainly found the right person! Do you know who this is? Sergeant Karl Horn! The 'Champion Sniper' personally awarded the title by our Chapter Master Calgar! That mark on his left shoulder plate, see it? That was earned with the heads of traitors and xenos!"
Hearing the title "Champion Sniper," the snipers' eyes lit up even more, and their gazes towards Gaius were filled with reverence.
Gaius shook his head somewhat sheepishly, his head, wearing a "pig snout" helmet, bowed slightly as he humbly said, "It's just an empty title. Precise shooting is a basic skill every Ultramarines should master. All we can do is continuously hone it, ensuring that every trigger pull eliminates an enemy for the Emperor and buys our comrades another chance at life."
His humility and pragmatism further won him their favor. The atmosphere in the training ground became warm and positive.
When training time ended, it was time for the warship's fixed material distribution. Logistics servitor-skulls and crew members pushed food-laden transport carts, shuttling through the warship's decks, distributing rations to every warrior and crew member.
For Astartes Monks, food primarily served to replenish energy and maintain physiological functions. They mostly received highly efficient but 'torturous' tasting high-energy nutrient paste, and a weekly allocated synthetic bread—which was already one of the few foods with 'texture' and 'flavor' that the Chapter could provide for these superhuman warriors.
Gaius also received his portion. He looked at the tube of grey-green nutrient paste and the synthetic bread, which looked relatively soft and had a hint of wheat aroma, with a calm expression. He had long been accustomed to this diet.
Just then, he saw Eilaas dragging her tired small body, wobbling over. She had clearly just finished her night shift maintenance work on the torment of the word, and beneath her large Eldar eyes, against her fair skin, hung two very obvious dark circles, making her look like a droopy panda.
But when she received her equally sized synthetic bread from the logistics personnel, all her fatigue seemed to vanish instantly! A brilliant smile immediately bloomed on her small face, and she hugged the bread tightly, as if holding some peerless treasure.
"Hooray! I finally got you!" she cheered, not even bothering to greet Gaius, and skipped happily and contentedly towards her cabin, ready to enjoy this weekly treat.
Watching Eilaas's easily satisfied back, Gaius's lips couldn't help but curve slightly upward. These simple joys were especially precious in these years filled with war and sacrifice.
Meanwhile, in the Chapter Master's office, the atmosphere was far from relaxed.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar also had the same standard nutrient paste and synthetic bread in front of him. He merely glanced at them, shook his head helplessly, and refocused his attention on the report on the data-slate in his hand. Food, for him, was merely fuel.
What he was repeatedly pondering was the problem of Dorian.
The Chapter's Librarians had already intervened, attempting various methods to test and perform psychic probes on Dorian. But the results, as the report stated, were—of little effect. In his normal state, not even a trace of Chaos corruption could be detected on Dorian! His soul spectrum was as pure as the most loyal warrior, a stark contrast to his behavior when he raged.
This situation made Calgar recall Gaius's predicament back then. Tzeentch's allure was similar: hidden deep within, indistinguishable from a normal person, only revealing itself at specific times or when strongly provoked, delivering a fatal blow. Khorne's whispers had clearly adopted a similar, more insidious and deeply ingrained strategy. It wasn't a continuous erosion, but rather like a dormant virus, lying in wait, and once activated by battle and rage, it would rapidly erupt, attempting to take over the host's will.
"Is there... really no way?" Calgar muttered softly. He rubbed his brow, feeling a sense of difficulty.
A thought flashed through his mind—should he seek help from the Grey Knights Chapter, who specialized in such matters? They were the Inquisition's experts in dealing with demons and Chaos corruption.
But this thought only lasted for an instant before he decisively rejected it.
He remembered how, because of Gaius being marked by Tzeentch previously, the Inquisition had frequently used it to scrutinize and trouble the Ultramarines Chapter, trying to find evidence of "poor management" or "impure faith" within the Chapter. If not for Primarch Guilliman's strong backing and the Chapter's own illustrious battle achievements, there would likely have been even more trouble.
Seeking help from the Grey Knights Chapter would be almost equivalent to directly exposing Dorian's situation to the Inquisition's scrutiny. At that time, Dorian would likely no longer be seen as a Brother in need of help, but rather as a "potential source of contamination" or an "object to be purified," and his fate would be obvious. The Chapter's autonomy and protection of its Brothers would also be severely challenged.
"No... I absolutely cannot hand Dorian over to them." Calgar's eyes became resolute. "This is an internal matter of our Chapter; we must find a solution ourselves."
He put down the data-slate and gazed out at the star-filled sky beyond the viewport. He had to find another way, a way that could both help Dorian escape Khorne's shadow and avoid the Inquisition's interference. But where was that path?
The atmosphere in Dorian's medical bay was somewhat somber. Several Librarians had just finished another meticulous examination of him, using all conventional and unconventional means, attempting to capture the shadow of Khorne lurking deep within Dorian's soul.
However, the result was the same as the previous times—nothing.
Dorian lay quietly on the medical bed, stripped to the waist, revealing a body covered in old and new scars, with bulging muscles. He watched the Librarians' furrowed brows and helpless headshakes, and the sense of restless frustration within him grew stronger.
He felt like a wild beast trapped in a cage, with nowhere to vent his strength, and forced to endure this endless, monster-like scrutiny.
"I say..." Dorian finally couldn't help but speak, his voice laced with suppressed anger, "Since you can't find anything, can I... get out of bed and move around? Even if it's just to punch a few times in the training ground? If I lie here any longer, I'll get sick even if I'm not!"
His eyes were filled with a longing for freedom of movement. For an Assault Marine like him, stillness was more unbearable than injury.
However, the Apothecary, who had been standing by, silently observing his vital signs, immediately interrupted his thoughts with an emotionless tone:
"Brother Catonius, your request is denied." The Apothecary's gaze swept over the recently healed wounds on Dorian's body, still showing the pinkish new flesh, and the deeper, not yet fully stable internal tissue damage. "Your body has unhealed old wounds and new injuries. Multiple muscle fibers are torn, bones have tiny cracks, and internal organs have suffered severe impact. These injuries all require absolute rest and continuous medical intervention to fully recover."
The Apothecary's tone was unequivocal, with the cold rationality of medicine: "If you still wish to wield your Thunder Hammer in the future, and not have it become a museum piece, then right now, what you most need to do is 'obediently' lie down and cooperate with the treatment. Any unnecessary strenuous activity could lead to the worsening of injuries, or even leave permanent hidden dangers."
Dorian opened his mouth, wanting to argue a few more words, but looking at the Apothecary's cold eyes, and the faint, forcibly suppressed soreness emanating from inside his body, he ultimately swallowed his words, and frustratingly slammed his fist on the soft pad of the medical bed beside him, producing a dull thud.
He knew the Apothecary was speaking the truth, but this sense of powerlessness made him incredibly stifled.
While Dorian was battling his injuries and frustration, the Macragge's Honour and its accompanying fleet were recovering with astonishing efficiency from the trauma of the recent fierce battle.
In just over ten days, the shocking holes and armor damage on the exterior of the battleship had been temporarily patched or replaced, and most of the damaged internal systems and compartments had restored basic functions. Damage control teams and Tech-Sergeants worked tirelessly day and night, with servo-skulls bustling like worker bees.
The massive fleet became orderly once again, the hum of its engines steady and powerful, as if a wounded behemoth was rapidly licking its wounds, restoring its claws and fangs.
This was the Ultramarines Chapter, supported by the efficient system of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. They not only possessed fearless courage but also had the solid logistics and organizational capabilities to sustain that courage.
In the afternoon, a communication request from the outer Ultramar Sector was routed to the bridge of the Macragge's Honour. After deciphering the identification code and intent of the sender, the Communications Officer immediately reported to Chapter Master Marius Calgar.
"Chapter Master, a company of White Scars has just concluded a greenskin extermination operation on the edge of the Catachan Sector. They have sustained some losses and are currently located in the 'Storm Sector' on the outskirts of Ultramar. They have sent a request, hoping to enter Ultramar for temporary rest and resupply."
White Scars? Chapter Master Calgar made a decision almost without hesitation: "Reply to them that the gates of Ultramar are always open for the sons of the Khan. Send them secure navigation beacons and entry permits, guiding them to the nearest Macragge shipyards for repairs.
At the same time, inform them that if urgent, they can dispatch some personnel and damaged vessels to the Macragge's Honour, and we will provide all necessary assistance."
The relationship between the Ultramarines and the White Scars had always been quite good. Although the styles of the two Chapters were vastly different—one advocating discipline and order, the other pursuing speed and freedom—they both maintained absolute loyalty to the Emperor and the Imperium of Man, and had fought side-by-side many times over the long ten-thousand-year history, forging a deep friendship.
The Ultramarines never stinted on assistance when a brother Chapter sought help.
Soon, a small White Scars fleet consisting of three warships, following the navigation beacon, entered the Ultramar Sector. One of the strike cruisers was more severely damaged, with unstable engine output and obvious battle scars on its broadside.
They were guided to the void anchorage where the Macragge's Honour was located.
When the docking ramp was established, a group of battle-worn warriors, yet still exuding a fierce aura, stepped onto the Ultramarines' deck. They wore their distinctive white power armor, adorned with red tribal insignia.
Many wore helmets with nose guards or had their hair braided into traditional queues, their faces rugged, and their eyes sharp as eagles. Leading them was a tall, steady-footed Captain, who saluted the awaiting Ultramarines officer with the White Scars' unique gesture of placing his right hand over his chest.
"In the name of the Khan, I thank Chapter Master Calgar for his generosity." The White Scars Captain's voice was booming, carrying the unrestrained spirit characteristic of a nomadic people, "Your support is like timely rain."
Lieutenant Golden, who was responsible for the reception, returned a standard Aquila salute: "No need for thanks, Captain. Fighting common enemies is the duty of us Astartes Monks. The Chapter Master is waiting in the reception room, please follow me."
On the way to the reception room, the warriors of this White Scars company curiously observed the strict, tidy, and perfectly organized environment inside the Macragge's Honour. This contrasted sharply with the relatively casual, even somewhat "disordered" yet lively style within their own Chapter's warships.
But there was no disdain in their eyes, only respect for a different way of upholding their tenets.
In the simple yet solemn reception room, Chapter Master Calgar personally received the White Scars Captain. Both sides exchanged information and views on recent battle situations and the greenskin threat. The conversation was friendly and frank.
As the meeting drew to a close, Calgar seemed to remember something. He looked at the White Scars Captain, his tone becoming somewhat solemn: "Additionally, there is a piece of news that might interest you."
The White Scars Captain cast an inquiring gaze.
"It's about the Primarch of your Legion, Jaghatai Khan," Calgar said slowly.
"What?!" The White Scars Captain abruptly sat upright, his eyes erupting with an incredible light. The few veteran company members behind him also showed shocked and eager expressions. News of the Khan was too significant for the White Scars.
"Some of the intelligence we received indicates that Jaghatai Khan was not lost in the Webway," Calgar confirmed. "He chose to remain there, becoming a ranger within the Webway. That vast and free space is more suited to his nature. He also... does not wish to return to the current Imperial system."
This news was like a giant stone thrown into a calm lake. The White Scars Captain was stunned for a moment, then a mix of relief, pride, and a hint of complex, unidentifiable emotion flooded his face.
He let out a heavy sigh, yet with a smile: "Indeed... this is our Khan! The Webway... is indeed more suited for him to roam freely than this rigid Imperial framework!"
He stood up and again bowed solemnly to Calgar: "Thank you for informing us of this important news, Chapter Master Calgar! This resolves a ten-thousand-year-old burden on our hearts. Knowing that the Khan is safe and continues to uphold his beliefs in his own way—that is enough!"