The corridor was silent and empty in the dead of night, with only the rhythmic, heartbeat-like heavy footsteps of the Terminator patrol in the distance, and the faint rustle of cloaks as the eagle-faced helmeted patrol squads moved silently on the lower decks.
Kolesa leaned against the cold metal railing, gazing at the orderly steel torrent below, and the turmoil in her heart seemed to settle somewhat in this cold order.
She turned her head to look at the taciturn human warrior beside her, who had unexpectedly given her a sliver of comfort.
His dark blue artificer power armor gleamed faintly in the dim light, and his face, revealed after removing his helmet, was resolute and serene, with azure eyes like a calm sea after a storm.
"This place... it's very different from our Craftworld," Kolesa said softly, breaking the silence between them.
Her voice echoed slightly in the empty corridor, "Not just the architecture and materials... I feel like everything here is more... cold, more focused on efficiency and order."
She paused, seemingly searching for the right words to describe the subtle difference: "On our Craftworld, the connection between crew members, or rather, between kin, is more... intimate, more emotional.
We share joy, bear sorrow, and even when performing tasks, we can feel the resonance and support of each other's souls." A trace of nostalgia for the past flickered in her violet eyes, "But here, what I see, whether it's those mortal crew members or you Astartes Monks, everyone seems to... maintain a distance from each other.
It's very efficient, very professional, but also very... indifferent."
There was no accusation in her words, just an objective observation and a faint sense of detachment.
Gaius listened quietly, not immediately refuting her.
His gaze remained fixed forward, and after a while, he slowly said, "You are right.
The Imperial Navy, and indeed most Astartes Chapters, emphasize absolute obedience and efficiency within their ranks, and the expression of emotion is considered an unnecessary weakness."
Just then, a Chapter servant in a plain dark blue uniform, head bowed, quietly passed by, pushing a cart laden with supplies.
Gaius raised a hand to signal, and the servant immediately stopped, respectfully retrieving two cups of faintly steaming, pale blue liquid from a thermos cabinet beneath the cart, and handed them to Gaius.
Gaius offered one of the cups to Kolesa.
"Energy drink, it can refresh you and is good for physical recovery," he explained, his tone flat.
Kolesa was slightly taken aback, but she took it.
The cup was warm, and the pale blue liquid inside emitted a peculiar scent, a mix of mint and metal.
She carefully took a sip; it was slightly astringent, but a gentle energy indeed spread through her, dispelling some of the late-night fatigue.
Gaius took a sip himself, then continued, "However, what you call 'indifference' is not entirely so.
At least, within our Ultramarines Chapter, compared to many other Chapters in the Imperium, we can be considered... quite close to being 'human'."
It was rare for him to use such a comparative term.
"Oh?" Kolesa's curiosity was piqued, and she held the warm cup, waiting for him to continue.
"For example, the Space Wolves Chapter," Gaius said, a fleeting, almost helpless expression crossing his calm face, "They come from Fenris, a world of ice, and are outwardly crude, favoring drinking and brawling, appearing like a group of uncivilized barbarians."
He changed his tone: "But in reality, they are perhaps the Astartes Chapter that values the camaraderie with their mortal comrades the most.
They often treat the Imperial Guard or other mortal auxiliary forces fighting alongside them as true brothers, even willingly staying behind to cover the retreat of mortal troops, enduring heavy casualties.
In a sense, they are a group of... civilized people disguised as barbarians."
Kolesa nodded thoughtfully; this description was quite different from her imagined image of the Astartes.
"And some other Chapters are just the opposite," Gaius's tone remained steady, but Kolesa could vaguely sense a very subtle... detachment, "For example, the Dark Angels.
They come from Caliban, possess a long history and strict discipline, and outwardly appear as the most dogmatic knights, a paragon of civilization and order."
"However," he paused slightly, seemingly weighing his words, "their reputation... is quite nuanced, no matter when or where.
They act in secrecy, sometimes even sacrificing the interests of allies without hesitation for certain unknown goals, and their reputation in the Imperium has not been good for nearly ten millennia.
One could say they are a group of... barbarians disguised as civilized people."
This assessment surprised Kolesa.
She hadn't expected such distinct differences and... underlying rifts to exist among these powerful Astartes Chapters within the Imperium of Man.
"It seems my understanding of the Imperium of Man is still too one-sided," Kolesa sighed softly.
She hesitated, then decided to share some of her own thoughts, responding to Gaius's candor: "In my past understanding, especially in some Aeldari records and prophecies, the Imperium of Man has always been seen as a vast, ruthless, and uncommunicative entity.
We believed that once we became enemies with the Imperium, only absolute, merciless slaughter and destruction awaited us, its threat even, at times, surpassing the whispers of Chaos and the devouring of the Tyranids."
She looked up at the vast star sea and the massive fleet outside the viewport, her voice tinged with complexity: "But now it seems... things are far more... complicated than I imagined."
Gaius did not directly comment on her views, simply taking a silent sip of his energy drink.
The millennia-long blood feud and animosity between the Imperium of Man and xenos races could not be resolved in a few words, and he had no intention of debating it now.
That Kolesa could recognize the 'complexity' of the Imperium, rather than simply viewing it as a destructive machine, was perhaps a small step forward in itself.
The two leaned against the railing like this, drinking warm energy drinks and gazing at the stars, occasionally exchanging a few words.
Most of the time, Kolesa spoke, recounting some of her experiences on the Aisha's Tears Craftworld, about Aeldari culture, about their pursuit of the Path of Destiny, and about those peaceful years that had now vanished like a dream.
Gaius, for the most part, was a quiet listener, occasionally asking one or two brief questions, showing that he was not entirely indifferent.
This brief and peaceful exchange seemed to carve out a small, peculiar space of inter-species understanding within this cold steel warship.
However, in the quiet of this deep night, not everyone could enjoy this tranquility.
On the upper deck of the Macragge's Honour, within the First Company's tactical meeting room, the lights were bright.
Captain Cassius sat at the head of the long table; he had removed his power armor and changed into a dark blue commander's uniform, but the authoritative aura of his long-held position remained undiminished.
His weathered face bore a thoughtful expression, and his fingers tapped unconsciously on the smooth tabletop.
On either side of the long table sat the core members of the First Company: Lieutenant Golden, several senior Sword Veterans, and squad Sergeants such as Anris, Vidis, Damocles, and Yabus, as well as Luna, representing Sanx, and Draculas, representing the Victrix Guard.
The atmosphere was serious and focused.
"I have gathered you all," Captain Cassius began, his voice low and clear, echoing in the quiet meeting room, "because a vacancy needs to be filled.
Brother Heraclius has been ordered to Terra to join the Victrix Guard, which is his glory and our First Company's loss.
The position of Company Champion he left cannot remain vacant indefinitely."
Everyone's expressions grew more solemn.
Company Champion was not just an honorary title; it represented the Company's strongest close-combat force, the Captain's shield and blade on the battlefield, and carried immense responsibility.
"Specifically," Captain Cassius surveyed everyone, his gaze sharp, "for an Astartes to become a Company Champion, first, he must possess undeniable feats of great heroism, proving his courage and determination."
"At the same time," he emphasized, "he must display humility while others seek personal glory.
The duty of a Company Champion is to protect, not merely to kill and gain fame."
"They must always prioritize the commander's safety, even when engaging the most deadly enemies.
This point is crucial." His gaze swept over everyone present, as if assessing whether they possessed this spirit of sacrifice.
"Therefore, Company Champions are usually chosen from warriors with excellent combat skills, rather than Sergeants or Captains who have already demonstrated command abilities.
Because their primary duty is to protect the Captain on the battlefield and to engage in duels with enemy warlords and champions, thereby tying up powerful foes and allowing the Captain to command the broader battle unhindered."
Having elaborated on the core requirements of a Company Champion, he leaned slightly forward, placing his hands on the tabletop: "So, gentlemen, based on these standards, do any of you have suitable candidates in mind?"
A brief silence fell over the meeting room as everyone quickly screened potential candidates in their minds.
Lieutenant Golden thought of someone almost immediately.
He looked up at Captain Cassius and spoke steadily: "Captain, I recommend Sergeant Karl Horn."
At the mention of this name, several senior Sergeants in the meeting room nodded slightly, having clearly considered him as well.
Golden continued to state his reasons: "Sergeant Karl is a senior Sergeant in our First Company, with rich combat experience and outstanding achievements.
He is not only a champion sniper personally awarded the laurel wreath of honor by Primarch Guilliman, but his name has also long been inscribed on the chapel wall within the Chapter's sanctuary, which is the highest recognition of his bravery and dedication."
He paused, emphasizing: "More importantly, Sergeant Karl is upright in character, steady and humble, never boastful of his achievements, and holds high prestige among his brothers.
Since his enlistment, there have been no adverse records, and he has always prioritized the Chapter's interests.
His appointment as Company Champion is impeccable in terms of loyalty and character."
Golden's recommendation was well-reasoned; Gaius was indeed almost perfect in loyalty, merit, and character.
However, no sooner had he finished speaking than a Sword Veteran sitting opposite Golden frowned slightly, raising a crucial question: "Lieutenant Golden is absolutely right; Sergeant Karl is indeed a role model for our Company.
But... the primary duty of a Company Champion is to personally guard the Captain and engage in close-quarters combat with enemy strongmen.
While Sergeant Karl's sniping skills are unparalleled and among the best in the Chapter, his close-combat ability... relatively speaking, does not seem to be his strongest suit.
This could become a hidden danger when dealing with certain extreme situations."
This remark highlighted Gaius's most obvious shortcoming for this position.
A Company Champion needed to be a fierce warrior who could stand on the front lines, creating space for the Captain with sword and shield, not a sniper providing fire support from a distance.
Although Gaius's close-combat skills were definitely far superior to those of ordinary soldiers, there was indeed a gap compared to a champion like Heraclius, who specialized in this area.
The discussion in the meeting room began to revolve around this point.
Some supported Gaius, believing that his overall competence and reliability were sufficient to compensate for any slight deficiencies in close combat; others argued that the Company Champion's role was special and required choosing the most outstanding close-combatant.
Just then, another, more straightforward Sword Veteran seemed to think of something and spoke gruffly: "When it comes to ferocity and unrivaled prowess, we do have other candidates in our Company.
For instance, Brother Dorian, his sheer audacity and bravery when wielding his Thunder Hammer were even praised by Brother Heraclius before he left.
If he were to take the position, I doubt many enemies could last more than a few rounds against him."
"Dorian?" Captain Cassius's originally stern face instantly furrowed, and he almost instinctively, with a tone of utter finality, rejected the idea: "Absolutely not!"
He surveyed everyone, his voice brooking no argument: "A Company Champion needs not only bravery, but also a constantly calm mind and absolute reliability!
That Dorian fellow..." The Captain seemed to search for suitable words to describe him, finally saying with a mix of helplessness and severity, "I admit his valor and loyalty to the Chapter are beyond doubt, but I cannot guarantee that his eager-to-charge, sometimes overly simplistic mind won't fail at a critical moment!
To appoint him to a champion position requiring extreme composure and judgment? The risk is too great!"
The Captain's words brought silence back to the meeting room.
Everyone knew Dorian's temperament; his recklessness and occasional 'flashes of brilliance' at critical moments were indeed far removed from the requirements of 'humility' and 'always prioritizing the commander's safety' demanded of a Company Champion.
At the mention of Dorian, several senior Sergeants who knew more of the internal details, including Golden and Captain Cassius himself, exchanged extremely subtle, grave glances.
They all recalled, almost simultaneously, the strange anomaly that had occurred with Dorian not long ago during the fierce internal defense battle when the Word Bearers' combined forces boarded the Macragge's Honour.
At that time, his injuries had not yet healed, yet he guarded the heavily attacked medical bay door, where Luna lay severely wounded and temporarily unable to move, like a madman.
Without power armor, armed only with his fists, he had actually killed several fully armed Word Bearers Chaos Astartes, and even a Possessed Marine enhanced by chaotic energies!
His eyes were blood-red, and the pure, savage, all-consuming killing aura emanating from him, like a World Eater berserker in the throes of the Butcher's Nails, made Gaius, who witnessed the scene, feel utterly alien and alarmed; it was certainly not the Ultramarines' way of fighting.
Afterward, Gaius immediately reported the situation to the Company Commander and the Company Chaplain.
The Chapter's Librarian was also alerted and personally conducted multiple detailed examinations of Dorian.
However, to their confusion, neither psychic scans nor physiological monitoring revealed any clear signs of Chaos corruption.
Dorian himself had a hazy memory of the specific details at the time, only recalling an uncontrollable rage and an obsession to protect his comrades.
Given his normal behavior, unimpeachable combat loyalty, and the absence of any detected issues during examinations, the Chapter high command, after careful deliberation, decided to temporarily allow him to return to duty, but with the most stable and reliable Gaius secretly supervising and observing him.
This matter was strictly confined to a very small circle of knowledge.
Now, during the discussion for the Company Champion candidate, Dorian's potential instability was undoubtedly a huge negative, even a taboo.
Captain Cassius's unequivocal rejection also contained this deeper meaning.
Inside the conference room, the discussion about the new Company Champion, after ruling out Dorian as an option, returned to evaluating Gaius's close combat abilities and comparing the pros and cons of several other close-combat specialized Sergeants.
Who would become the First Company's new Sword Master and unwavering shield still required careful consideration and choice.
Meanwhile, by the corridor railing on the lower deck, Kolesa and Gaius's night talk was also drawing to a close.
The energy drink was bottomed out, and the starlight outside the porthole seemed to shine a little brighter.
"It's getting late, you should go back and rest," Gaius said to Kolesa, looking at the timer on the wall, "There might be arrangements tomorrow."
Kolesa nodded, handing the empty cup back to Gaius: "Thank you for your company and… for clarifying things, Sergeant Karl.
Tonight's conversation has… benefited me greatly."
"It's my duty," Gaius took the cup, his tone still calm.
Kolesa bowed slightly to him again, then turned and walked towards her cabin.
The cabin door slid open and then closed, swallowing her slender figure.
Gaius stood alone, gazing at the closed cabin door, silent for a moment before turning to leave, the heavy footsteps of his power armor fading into the empty corridor.
The steel warship continued to sail silently through the void, carrying glory, responsibility, unsolved mysteries, and a faint, quietly burgeoning, cross-species understanding.
While Kolesa and Gaius were having their cross-species night talk on the lower deck, and the First Company's tactical room was in heated debate over the Champion's selection, a different kind of heavy atmosphere permeated the magnificent office belonging to the Chapter Master near the bridge of the Macragge's Honour.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar sat on his colossal throne, crafted from obsidian and adamantium, his massive Autarch power armor making him appear like a giant seated on an altar of steel.
However, at this moment, a trace of undeniable fatigue was etched on the giant's face.
His bionic eye, flashing with cold red light, scanned at an extremely high frequency the several data-slates floating before him, densely scrolling with reports, requests, and urgent administrative matters from every corner of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
Before him, Tenth Company Captain Orpha stood respectfully, reporting on logistical supplies, especially the improvement of the nutrient paste that had plagued the Chapter for over two hundred years.
"...Chapter Master, after your… personal 'supervision' last time," Orpha carefully chose her words, recalling the Chapter Master's fury when he tasted the newly improved nutrient paste and claimed he would personally execute the Adeptus Mechanicus priests, still feeling a lingering apprehension, "the efficiency of the logistics department and the Adeptus Mechanicus joint team has significantly improved.
The second batch of improved nutrient paste has completed initial sensory and safety tests."
Orpha's tone carried a hint of relief: "According to the test report and feedback from the Eighth Company warriors who volunteered to taste it, the new nutrient paste has made a 'qualitative leap' in taste and texture.
At the very least, it has eliminated the previous… astonishing elasticity, and the strong, unique flavor of disinfectant mixed with inferior rubber.
Currently, none of the testers have shown any severe adverse reactions."
Chapter Master Calgar let out an inarticulate grunt from his nose, seemingly not entirely satisfied with this belated "progress," but at least he did not erupt again.
His massive, power armor-clad finger swiped across a data-slate, bringing up the ingredient analysis and distribution plan for the new nutrient paste.
"Tell the logistics department to continue optimizing in this direction.
Taste and nutritional balance must be considered simultaneously.
I want food that can keep the warriors in optimal condition during long voyages, not just something they can eat," Calgar's voice was deep and oppressive, "Also, the latest batch of the most stable new nutrient paste should be prioritized for the Aeldari children on the 'Bountiful'.
They are growing and need better nutrition."
He paused, then added, his tone brooking no argument: "Furthermore, press those agricultural worlds closest to us, who have not yet delivered the specified supplies to the fleet on time, again.
I don't care how they do it; they must deliver the fresh fruits, vegetables, and grains listed on the manifest to the fleet within five standard days.
We need natural food for variety, especially for those xenos children.
They are not Astartes and cannot rely on synthetic food long-term."
"Understood, Chapter Master!" Orpha immediately acknowledged the order, recording these instructions on her data-slate.
She knew that the Chapter Master's almost harsh demands in these details were driven by his commitment to promises and his foresight in preparing for potential destabilizing factors.
Having dealt with the nutrient paste issue, Calgar waved his hand, signaling Orpha could leave.
The Tenth Company Captain bowed and quickly exited the office, as if a moment's delay would invite the Chapter Master's new wrath.
The heavy cabin door closed, leaving only Calgar in the office, and two Honour Guard warriors standing silently like statues in the shadows behind the throne.
Calgar leaned back against the cold backrest of the throne, letting out an inaudible sigh.
He raised his massive, artificer power armor-clad hand and rubbed his temples forcefully, where, even with the power armor's insulation, he seemed to feel the throbbing pain from within his head caused by excessive thought.
His gaze swept over the seemingly ever-piling, never-diminishing data-slates of administrative matters before him, and he could faintly hear the heavy, rhythmic "clank," "clank" of a patrolling Terminator squad's footsteps from the corridor outside the office.
This sound, usually a symbol of the battleship's safety and order, now sounded to him more like an endless drumbeat urging him to constantly move forward.
A deep sense of powerlessness, like a cold tide, quietly washed over his heart.
Managing a Chapter was already difficult, let alone simultaneously overseeing the defense and administration of several key star systems in the vast Ultramar Sector of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
Decisions, deliberations, compromises, warnings, commands… countless pieces of information and responsibilities, like chains, bound him firmly to this throne.
He was silent for a moment, as if gathering strength, then he looked up and solemnly instructed an Honour Guard warrior standing to the right of the throne: "Go, notify all Company Commanders on board, except Captain Cassius and Captain Orpha.
Have them assemble immediately in Strategic Conference Room One.
There are important matters to discuss."
"Yes, Chapter Master!" the Honour Guard warrior responded in a deep voice, and with heavy steps, turned and left the office.
Calgar remained seated on the throne for a few more minutes, handling two border conflict reports marked "Urgent," before taking a deep breath, as if to forcefully suppress the heavy sense of fatigue.
He stood up, the joints of his Autarch power armor emitting a low, powerful hydraulic hiss.
He strode out of this office, which symbolized power and responsibility, and headed for the secret room used for the highest-level military meetings.
When Calgar entered Strategic Conference Room One, the other eight Company Commanders were already present, standing respectfully on either side of the large oval conference table.
Second Company Captain Cato Sicarius, Third Company Captain Hek Hansen, Fourth Company Captain Orestes, Fifth Company Captain Harvis Bel, Sixth Company Captain Hector, Seventh Company Captain Cassius, Eighth Company Captain Sibilus, Ninth Company Captain Talos.
Each of them was a battle-hardened strongman, commanding hundreds of Astartes Monks, yet the moment Calgar entered the room, they all, without prior coordination, straightened their backs, their gazes focused on the Chapter Master.
Calgar walked to the head of the table but did not immediately sit down.
His authoritative gaze slowly swept over each Company Commander, his red-flashing bionic eye making his scrutiny even more oppressive.
"Except for Captain Cassius, who is currently discussing their Company Champion matters, and Captain Orpha, who needs to constantly monitor the Aeldari children and Chapter logistics, and thus cannot be present," Calgar's voice resonated in the silent conference room, deep and clear, "all Company Commanders are assembled."
He paused, and the atmosphere in the conference room grew even heavier.
The Company Commanders realized that what the Chapter Master was about to announce was far from a routine patrol mission assignment.
"I have summoned you today for one purpose only: a secret that must be strictly guarded, an order that concerns the Chapter's reputation and even its future," Calgar's tone became extremely serious, "Regarding the Ultramarines Chapter's action in this operation, taking in approximately eight thousand Aeldari survivors."
He deliberately emphasized the words "taking in" and "survivors," attempting to downplay their sensitivity, but the Company Commanders present understood the implications behind them.
"This matter, for now, is known only within the Ultramarines Chapter, and only within the necessary need-to-know scope," Calgar's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, sweeping over the eyes of each Company Commander, "Not a single word is allowed to leak out!
Not to other Chapters, especially those with whom our… relationship is delicate, or Chapters with extremely radical xenos policies, such as the Salamanders."
He took a step forward, placing his hands on the cold metal tabletop, leaning slightly forward, the oppressive presence making the air seem to solidify.
"You should be very clear about what awaits us if this news leaks out," Calgar's voice carried a hint of icy coldness, "The Inquisition's endless inquiries, suspicions, and even accusations!
They will swarm like sharks smelling blood, scrutinizing our every motive, every action, and even every thought with the most malicious conjectures!"
He mentioned a name that made many of the Company Commanders present frown tightly: "Ever since Sergeant Karl Horn returned from Terra, bringing back some… 'observations' and 'gifts' unwelcome by the Inquisition, those black-robed Inquisitors have repeatedly tried to cause us trouble, questioning the Ultramarines' loyalty to the Imperium and prying into our internal affairs of Ultramar."
Calgar's tone carried suppressed anger: "If it weren't for the explicit support and mediation of Primarch Guilliman, the Ultramarines Chapter would probably have long been forced to embark on a lengthy, meaningless 'Penitence Crusade' to clear the baseless charges they imposed upon us!"
These words made all the Company Commanders' faces grim.
They were well aware of the Inquisition's obstinacy and fanaticism, and they understood that sheltering a large number of Aeldari was tantamount to heresy and betrayal in the eyes of the Inquisition.
This was not merely a matter of the Chapter's reputation, but could also trigger a political storm affecting the entire Ultramar.
"Therefore," Calgar straightened up, his tone resolute, "I demand that you swear by the Macragge's Honour to ensure that every warrior under your command, every crew member who knows of this matter, keeps absolute silence!
Any act of leaking will be considered the gravest betrayal of the Chapter, and will be severely punished without leniency!"
"Yes, Chapter Master!" the eight Company Commanders said in unison, their voices echoing in the conference room, carrying an unquestionable determination.
They were all well aware of the seriousness of this matter.
After once again sternly emphasizing the secrecy discipline, Calgar turned the topic to the upcoming military deployment.
He activated the holographic star map in the center of the conference room, and the vast dominion of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar and the surrounding star sectors were clearly displayed.
"The patrol missions for the next three months are as follows," Calgar began to issue orders, his voice returning to its usual steady and authoritative tone, "Ninth Company, mission unchanged, continue patrolling the outer star sectors of Ultramar, maintain heightened vigilance, and closely monitor all possible signs of Chaos incursions and the movements of Tyranid fleets."
His finger pointed to an area in the southwestern direction of the star map: "Seventh Company and Eighth Company, you are responsible for patrolling the southwestern quadrant of Ultramar.
According to the latest intelligence, the Salamanders Chapter and an unidentified Imperial Navy fleet have clashed in the 'Ashen Reach,' not far from there, for unknown reasons.
Your mission is to ensure that this conflict does not spread, that neither party enters Ultramar territory, to maintain close surveillance, but not to intervene unless absolutely necessary."
"Fifth Company and Sixth Company, you are responsible for patrolling the nearby star sectors, ensuring the absolute security around the core worlds."
"The remaining Companies, including Second Company, Third Company, and Fourth Company, will accompany the main fleet for routine patrols and deterrence within the core Ultramar Sector."
The Company Commanders acknowledged their orders, recording the mission details on their data-slates and raising some specific implementation questions, which Calgar answered one by one.
The meeting lasted for approximately one standard hour.
When all instructions were clear and questions answered, the Company Commanders saluted the Chapter Master and successively left the Strategic Conference Room.
Soon, only Calgar remained in the conference room, and the two Honour Guard warriors reappeared behind him like shadows.
After the clamor, there was a deeper silence.
Calgar did not leave immediately; he slowly sat back in the main chair, and his massive, power armor-clad hand once again rose to firmly support his forehead.
The rhythmic red glow of his bionic eye was particularly striking in the dimly lit conference room, as if it were an external manifestation of his ceaselessly working processing core and heavy burden.
One of the Honour Guard warriors stepped forward, his enhanced voice, though modulated, still carried a subtle hint of concern: "Chapter Master, you need rest.
According to records, you have gone without any form of sleep for over seventy-two consecutive standard hours."
Calgar heard this and let out a deep, hoarse, bitter laugh.
The laugh was filled with helplessness and profound fatigue.
"Rest?" He shook his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the thick bulkheads, looking out at the boundless Ultramar Sector that he needed to protect, "The affairs of Ultramar… and the responsibilities entrusted by Primarch Guilliman… will not allow me to rest."
He took a deep breath, as if to once again shoulder the mountain-like pressure, and supporting his heavy body, he stood up.
"Back to the office.
There are… many reports to review."
He strode forward, the footsteps of his Autarch power armor echoing in the empty conference room, firm, yet inevitably carrying a trace of heaviness.
The Honour Guard warriors silently followed him, like the most loyal shadows, disappearing beyond the corridor lights, to continue facing the endless duties and challenges.
The debate in the First Company's tactical meeting room raged for an entire night, filled with sharp arguments and data-driven justifications, until the simulated morning light within the warship permeated the observation window, casting a faint glow upon the cold metal table. The selection for the new Company Champion remained unresolved.
Gaius's achievements and character were beyond reproach, but his relatively "average" close-combat abilities became an insurmountable obstacle; the other close-combat specialists mentioned, however, each had some issues with stability, seniority, or overall competence.
Captain Cassius finally announced a temporary recess, asking the Sergeants and veterans to reflect more deeply and observe the candidates' performance in upcoming training, to be discussed another day.
Almost simultaneously, the heavy hatch of the Chapter Master's office slid open silently. Marius Calgar's tall figure stepped out, his Autarch Power Armor gleaming with a cold, hard luminescence in the corridor's morning light.
He still hadn't rested; continuous high-intensity work seemed to make the red light of his bionic eye flicker faster than usual, but his magnificent body remained ramrod straight, like an unbending steel beam.
He didn't immediately begin his inspection, but instead used his internal communicator to connect with the Tenth Company instructor, who was responsible for new recruit training on the lower deck of the warship.
"Instructor Austus, report on the training progress of the latest batch of candidates," Calgar's voice held a barely perceptible hoarseness, yet remained authoritative.
From the other end of the communicator came the Tenth Company instructor's clear and respectful reply: "Chapter Master, the seventy-third batch of candidates has completed all basic subjects and neural grafting adaptability training, with a ninety-two percent pass rate in the final assessment. They are ready to receive the Emperor's blessing and the bestowal of Power Armor. The armoring ceremony will be held in the Chapter's Sanctum three standard days from now."
Upon hearing this news, the tense lines on Calgar's face seemed to soften slightly. Recent high-intensity battles, especially the brutal struggle with the Word Bearers, had caused significant casualties, putting pressure on all companies, particularly the First Company, which bore the brunt of vanguard missions.
The timely replenishment of new blood was undoubtedly crucial for maintaining the Chapter's combat effectiveness.
"Very good. Ensure the ceremony preparations are flawless. These warriors will be the future bulwark of Ultramar," Calgar commanded in a deep voice.
"Understood! For Macragge and Ultramar!" Instructor Austus responded with a resounding clang.
Ending the communication, the string concerning troop replenishment in Calgar's heart relaxed slightly. He turned, his gaze involuntarily drawn to the massive portrait hanging on the wall behind the throne in his office.
In the portrait, Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, Lord of Macragge, stood clad in magnificent blue Power Armor, wielding a Power Sword personally bestowed by the Emperor, his gaze wise and resolute as he looked forward, as if contemplating the future of Ultramar and indeed the entire Imperium.
He was the spiritual pillar and genetic source of all Ultramarines.
Calgar gazed at the Primarch's portrait, and deep within him, a long-suppressed question quietly emerged, carrying a hint of indescribable complex emotion: 'Primarch… if you knew of my decision today, to take in those Eldar, and perhaps even form deeper connections with them in the future… would you support me? Would you consider this a necessary step for Ultramar and the Imperium of Man to survive in the Indomitus Crusade?'
Guilliman in the portrait, of course, offered him no answer. His wise gaze remained calm, as if encompassing all possible choices and their consequences.
Calgar sighed silently in his heart, pushing this doubt back down. As Chapter Master, he had to be responsible for every decision he made, right or wrong.
He lingered no longer, nodding slightly to the two Honour Guard warriors standing by the door. The two Terminators, like mobile fortresses, immediately began their heavy stride, one on his left, one on his right, like the most loyal shadows and the most solid bulwarks, following the Chapter Master as he began his routine morning inspection within the warship.
Walking through the wide, brightly lit corridors of the Macragge's Honour, Calgar's gaze swept over the familiar sights. This ancient flagship, bearing ten millennia of Ultramarines' glory and history, seemed to have the Chapter's memories etched into every deck, every conduit.
He couldn't help but recall the years when the Primarch had just awakened, personally commanded this flagship, and led them in rebuilding Ultramar and confronting various powerful enemies. At that time, although the situation remained difficult, with the Primarch personally guiding their direction, their hearts were filled with unprecedented confidence and strength.
Wherever he passed, whether it was hurried mortal crewmen clutching data-slates, Tech-Priests maintaining equipment with blinking indicator lights, or Astartes Monks in blue Power Armor changing shifts, without exception, upon seeing the Chapter Master, they halted their actions or steps, straightened their bodies, and struck their left chests with a clenched right fist, performing the most solemn military salute and cog-wheel salute, their eyes filled with awe and loyalty.
Calgar did not pause for these salutes, merely nodding slightly as he continued his steady advance. His inspection was not a formality, but a necessary ritual to maintain the Chapter's cohesion and understand the warship's operational status.
He arrived near a large observation platform on the mid-deck. Through the thick reinforced glass, a vast internal training platform below could be seen. On the platform, hundreds of youths, clad only in grey training suits and already far surpassing ordinary humans in physique, stood in neat formation, looking up as a Tenth Company instructor lectured them from a raised platform.
These young men's faces showed nervousness, anticipation, and a lingering touch of immaturity; they were the future of the Ultramarines, the fresh blood about to be infused into the Chapter. Soon, they would undergo the armoring ceremony, officially donning the blue Power Armor that symbolized honor and responsibility, becoming true Astartes Monks, warriors of Ultramar.
Looking at these vibrant faces, Calgar seemed to see countless past versions of himself, and the unceasing hope of the Chapter.
In another assembly area connected to a small landing platform, he saw the warriors of the Ninth Company gathering. They had finished their brief rest and resupply on the flagship and were about to board the escorting strike cruiser to head to the distant outer star systems of Ultramar, beginning a new round of long and dangerous patrol missions. The warriors checked their gear, conversed in low tones, the atmosphere grim and solemn. They would be the Chapter's tendrils and sharp blades reaching into the most perilous zones.
From time to time, Terminator squads returning from night patrol missions would walk from the opposite direction, their unique, floor-shaking heavy footsteps echoing. When they saw the Chapter Master, they would immediately stop, their massive, steel-god-like bodies turning slightly towards Calgar, and their Power Armor-clad fists would strike their chest plates, emitting a dull thud, in a sign of respect.
Even these most elite veterans of the Chapter maintained absolute respect when facing the Chapter Master.
Calgar would also stop, solemnly nodding in return to these giants guarding the heart of the warship.
He walked, observing. Powerful, disciplined warriors; efficient, orderly crewmen; precise, interconnected systems… all these elements together formed the vitality and strength of this colossal flagship. It was not merely a warship, but a mobile fortress, a floating city-state, an extension of the Ultramarines Chapter's spirit and body.
Looking at all this orderly, powerful activity, Calgar couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion. They had fought for the survival of the Imperium of Man and Ultramar for ten millennia, witnessing countless sacrifices and destructions.
A thought, perhaps somewhat unrealistic yet incredibly sincere, flashed through his mind:
'If one day, this eternal war could truly end, Chaos be purged, xenos driven out, and the galaxy return to peace and order… could we Astartes, born for war, these Death Angels of the Emperor, warriors of Ultramar, lay down this heavy armor and return to Ultramar, to live peaceful, ordinary lives like the mortals we swore to protect?'
This thought carried a distant warmth, like a fleeting glimmer in the darkness. Perhaps, in some unperceived corner, even the most resilient Chapter Master harbored a faint longing for peace deep within his heart.
However, this wisp of thought lasted only a brief moment before being mercilessly shattered by cruel reality. He looked up, and beyond the viewport was the deep, boundless, danger-filled starry sky; in his ears, battle reports and distress signals from various star systems seemed to echo; in his mind, the endless fleets of the Tyranids, the ceaseless whispers and incursions of Chaos warbands… War had never ended, and seemed to have no end.
They were weapons created, tools existing for battle. Peace, for an Astartes, was perhaps just a luxurious and illusory dream.
Calgar shook his head helplessly, dispelling that unrealistic fantasy. His gaze once again became firm and sharp, like quenched steel.
He continued his stride, escorted by the two Honour Guard warriors, steadily and resolutely continuing his inspection along the predetermined route. He inspected this flagship, which carried hope and responsibility, and this cold, steel domain that he must forever protect.
The journey continued.
Chapter Master Calgar's inspection route was as clear and organized as his administrative duties. After leaving the new recruit training area and company assembly zones, he took the Honour Guard and boarded an internal transport platform, arriving at the vast and bustling core hangar area of the Macragge's Honour.
This place was like a tirelessly humming steel beehive, its scale far exceeding the hangar on the Pride of Ultramar. Under the towering ceiling, countless lights illuminated the space as if it were daytime. Dozens of Thunderhawk Gunships, Stormraven Gunships, and various other support aircraft were neatly parked in designated areas, like resting birds of prey.
Technical crewmen in dark blue uniforms and Tech-Priests in dark red robes moved among them, servo-skulls whirring, servitors pushing transport carts laden with parts and ammunition, the clanging of tools, the test-running of engines, and the muffled binary prayers interweaving to form a symphony of industrial power.
In a relatively clear area of the hangar, where equipment was being received, Calgar saw a familiar figure.
That was Lilith, the current Captain of the Macragge's Honour. She was young, only thirty years old, dressed in a crisp, dark blue Captain's uniform adorned with Ultramarines insignia and gold braiding. She had neat black short hair, a beautiful face, yet it carried the unique resolve and decisiveness of a soldier.
Three years ago, after the previous Captain, Breh, stepped down, this woman, known for her exceptional tactical mind, calm judgment, and almost flawless loyalty to the Ultramarines, emerged victorious from fierce competition and was personally appointed by Calgar to helm this legendary flagship.
Lilith's admiration for Chapter Master Calgar was no secret within the Chapter. She regarded becoming Captain of the Macragge's Honour as the greatest honor of her life and had repeatedly sworn, both publicly and privately, to dedicate everything she had, until her last breath, to the Ultramarines Chapter and the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar.
At this moment, Captain Lilith stood before a row of colossal machines that had just arrived, emitting the scent of fresh paint and oil. These were twenty sets of Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor, newly delivered from a core Forge World in Ultramar, and ten equally new Thunderhawk Gunships.
These powerful war machines stood like silent titans, awaiting activation to be plunged into battle.
However, there was little joy on Lilith's face; instead, she wore a clear expression of displeasure. She was speaking to a Tech-Priest responsible for logistics reception and a Chapter logistics officer beside her, her voice clear and carrying an undeniable pressure:
"...Tell the 'Forge Star' and 'Iron Faith' Forge Worlds that this delivery speed is far below our expectations and violates the previously signed supply agreement! The enemy, whether Tyranids or Chaos warbands, will not give us time to slowly wait for our weapons and equipment to be in place!
We need these Terminators and gunships not as decorations in the hangar, but to immediately form combat readiness! Urge them; they must complete eighty percent of the remaining order within the next standard month, otherwise, I won't hesitate to report directly to the Chapter Master and propose considering a change of suppliers!"
Her tone was firm, carrying the proper authority of a Captain and an urgency regarding combat readiness. The Tech-Priest's indicator lights flashed rapidly, seemingly recording and analyzing the commands, while the logistics officer nodded repeatedly, fine beads of sweat even appearing on his forehead.
Just then, Lilith seemed to sense something and whirled around. When she saw Chapter Master Calgar standing quietly not far away, watching her, the displeasure on her face instantly gave way to immense reverence and a hint of imperceptible nervousness.
She immediately stopped speaking, knelt on one knee without hesitation, placed her right hand on her chest, and lowered her head, saying in a clear and respectful voice, "Chapter Master!"
The Tech-Priest and logistics officer behind her also hastily followed suit.
Calgar stepped forward, the sound of his Autarch Power Armor echoing in the empty hangar. He came before Lilith, and his deep voice resonated: "Rise, Captain Lilith."
Lilith obeyed, rising, but still kept her head slightly bowed in deference.
Calgar's gaze swept over the rows of new Ironclad Terminators and Thunderhawk Gunships, then returned to Lilith: "I heard what you said just now. The demand for equipment delivery speed is necessary. Slackness in combat readiness is irresponsible to the lives of our warriors."
His affirmation made a flicker of light appear in Lilith's eyes, and she immediately responded: "Yes! Chapter Master! It is my duty to ensure that the Macragge's Honour and its fleet are always in optimal combat readiness!"
Calgar nodded slightly, his stern face showing little emotion, but his tone carried approval: "In the three years since you took command, the flagship's operational efficiency, combat readiness, and performance in various operations have been evident to all. You have upheld your oath, Captain Lilith. You are a competent, even excellent, helmswoman of the flagship."
This brief praise, for Lilith, who regarded the Chapter Master as her idol, was undoubtedly the highest honor. Her cheeks flushed slightly with excitement, but she maintained a soldier's restraint, solemnly saluting again with her hand on her chest: "For Macragge and Ultramar! I will not fail your trust and the Chapter's glory!"
Calgar said no more, only nodding again before turning and leaving the hangar area with his Honour Guard, continuing his inspection.
The journey from the bustling hangar back to the upper bridge area was relatively quiet. In the corridor, only the heavy footsteps of Power Armor and the low hum of the circulation system could be heard.
Just as he passed an intersection connecting several main passages, Calgar encountered a small squad that had just finished a patrol mission and was preparing to return to the armory.
Leading them was Dorian, clad in Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor.
That heavy Terminator armor, designed for close-quarters assault and defense, was polished to a gleam, its dark blue coating shimmering with a cold luster under the lights. The golden Ultramarines insignia and the Ring of Macragge were clear and prominent.
Some minor scratches and battle marks on the white shoulder pads, far from looking worn, instead added to the fierce aura of a battle-hardened veteran. Dorian was not wearing his Terminator helmet, revealing his rugged face with a hint of impatience, and his short black hair stood up like steel needles.
His physique, much larger and more robust than an ordinary man's, was extremely imposing, like a human battering ram.
He saw the Chapter Master approaching and immediately stopped. The few patrol members behind him also stopped simultaneously.
Dorian and the members of his squad simultaneously raised their Power Armor-covered arms, striking their left breastplates heavily with their right fists, emitting a dull thud.
"Chapter Master!" Dorian's voice came through the Terminator armor's vox-caster, carrying his inherent gruffness and absolute respect.
Calgar stopped, his gaze falling on Dorian. He looked at this warrior, one of the First Company's most valiant assault specialists, and also... the warrior who caused him and the First Company's high command hidden apprehension.
Dorian's bravery and loyalty to the Chapter were beyond doubt. He had proven this in countless battles, even earning a Laurel of Honor personally bestowed by Lord Guilliman.
But his recklessness, his sometimes overly simplistic way of thinking, and his impulsive nature often caused concern.
However, what arose in Calgar's mind at this moment was not merely these superficial worries. He recalled the scene not long ago when the Word Bearers boarded the warship: Dorian, outside the medical bay, fighting ferociously, bare-handed, eyes bloodshot, as if possessed by the Blood God.
That pure, primal, destructive aura of slaughter was not the way an Ultramarines should fight.
He remembered Gaius's grave and worried report afterward, and the confusion of the Company Chaplain and Librarian who found nothing after repeated checks.
A deeper worry, like a cold viper, coiled around Calgar's heart.
Gaius, one of his most outstanding Sergeants, had, due to his unique experiences on Terra, engaged in a decades-long, silent yet perilous war of wills against the Lord of Change, Tzeentch, among the Chaos Gods.
It was a battle deep within the soul, fraught with danger, and Gaius ultimately triumphed through his unyielding will and loyalty to the Emperor and the Primarch, but it left an indelible mark and an unerasable stain with the Inquisition, and he brought back the Laurel containing the Primarch's blessing and warning, as well as the master-crafted Power Sword named "unyielding will."
Calgar feared that Dorian might walk a similar path, only he might face another, more direct, more brutal Chaos God—Khorne, the Blood God, who craved endless slaughter and skulls.
He feared that Dorian's hidden, unnoticed "seed" might, at a critical moment, drag him into a terrifying confrontation with the will of the Blood God. That would be a battle even bloodier and more furious than Gaius's experience, and once out of control, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Could Dorian, like Gaius, resist the destructive whispers and temptations through his own will and the Chapter's support?
Calgar was not sure.
He silently watched the warrior before him, who saluted him respectfully, looking at his gleaming Terminator armor, and at the expression on his face, a mix of reverence and a hint of relaxation after completing his patrol mission.
In his heart, this Chapter Master, who had weathered countless storms and never flinched before billions of enemies, offered a silent, heavy prayer:
'Emperor protect, Primarch guide... May my worries be merely superfluous. May Brother Dorian's loyalty and will remain forever unyielding. Do not let the worst, the bloodiest possibility... befall him.'
This prayer was not weakness, but a leader's deepest concern and responsibility for his warriors.
His gaze lingered on Dorian for several seconds. This brief silence caused Dorian and the squad members behind him some confusion, but they maintained their saluting posture, unmoving.
Finally, Calgar said nothing, only giving a slight nod, as he would to any other warrior, in response.
Then, he strode past Dorian's squad, continuing towards the bridge with his Honour Guard.
Dorian lowered his arm, somewhat puzzled, watching the Chapter Master's retreating figure, and muttered, "The Chapter Master seems... a bit different today?" He shook his head, no longer dwelling on it, and motioned for his squad to head to the armory, preparing to remove their armor and rest.
He took heavy strides towards the armory, leaving the Chapter Master's meaningful gaze and deep concern behind.
And Calgar, in turn, buried these thoughts deep within his heart once more, refocusing his attention on his unending duties and the challenges ahead. The lights of the bridge glowed in the distance, like an unextinguished lighthouse guiding his way forward.
As the simulated morning light within the Macragge's Honour gradually brightened, signaling the start of a new standard day, the warship's interior began to operate like a precise clock, its various components moving in an orderly fashion.
Teams that had completed their night patrols returned to their respective quarters for rest or equipment maintenance.
Gaius completed his daily prayers in his small but tidy cabin, expressing loyalty to the Emperor and Primarch Guilliman and seeking their guidance.
Afterward, he picked up a tube of standard-issue energy nutrient paste and ate a few bites without expression.
The paste, still far from delicious even after improvement, was merely fuel for his body to maintain its functions.
After his simple meal, he went directly to the First Company's exclusive armory.
As a senior Sergeant and champion sniper of the First Company, he had the responsibility and duty to ensure the absolute reliability of his primary weapon.
He meticulously maintained his beloved weapon—the "Hawkeye" Bolter sniper rifle.
Under his skilled and focused hands, every component of its slender barrel, precise scope, and complex feeding system was disassembled, cleaned, oiled, and reassembled, restoring it to its most perfect state.
Subsequently, he also maintained the master-crafted Power Sword named "unyielding will," entrusted by Primarch Guilliman to an Imperial Fists Captain for transfer, checking if its energy field generator was stable and if the blade had any subtle damage.
In the armory, he naturally heard rumors about the First Company selecting a new Company Champion.
Gaius appeared quite indifferent to this.
As he wiped the hilt of his Power Sword, he calmly said to a comrade next to him, who was also maintaining his equipment: "It's nothing more than adding an extra crest to the helmet.
The responsibilities are heavier, requiring closer proximity to the Captain.
My duty is to eliminate key threats for the Company from a distance.
The positions are different, but the goal is the same."
His words were calm and objective, showing neither an eager desire for honor nor false humility, as if he were merely stating a simple fact.
For him, whether he held the champion title or not, he would do his utmost to fulfill his duties and protect the Chapter and Ultramar.
After maintaining his weapons, Gaius immersed himself in his daily high-intensity training.
Whether it was sniper practice under extreme conditions in the simulated firing range or physical and close-quarters combat enhancement in the gravity training room, he was meticulous, striving to maintain his reactions, strength, and mental focus at their peak.
He knew that for Astartes Monks, slackness meant death.
As Gaius began his disciplined and arduous training, Kolesa slowly awoke from her slumber.
She groggily opened her purple eyes, blinking a few times in confusion before realizing where she was.
She lifted her head from the bed, which was too wide for her, and the enormous pillow.
Her silver hair, slightly disheveled from sleep, fanned across her shoulders and cheeks.
The unfamiliar surroundings, cold metal walls, and the pervasive smell of oil and recycled air reminded her that this was not the psychically resonant meditation chamber of Aisha's Tears.
A faint sense of alienation and sadness welled up in her heart.
Just then, her peripheral vision inadvertently caught a glimpse of the cabin door.
On that heavy metal door, there was a small window for external observation.
And at that moment, a small head was pressed against that observation window.
Pink, slightly disheveled short hair, a pair of large, emerald-green eyes full of curiosity and inquisitiveness, and those characteristic pointed ears... It was the Eldar little girl! Eilaas!
Kolesa's heart skipped a beat.
She saw Eilaas straining on her tiptoes, her tiny nose almost touching the observation window, her eyes wide as she peered into the cabin, seemingly trying to see what was inside.
Their gazes, separated by thick transparent steel, suddenly met.
Eilaas clearly hadn't expected Kolesa to suddenly wake up and look at her.
Like a startled small animal, a flicker of panic crossed her large green eyes, and her small face instantly tensed.
She abruptly dropped from her tiptoes and, without looking back, darted away as if springs were attached to her feet, her pink short hair flying as she ran, quickly disappearing around the corner of the corridor.
Kolesa stared blankly at the empty observation window, her heart a mix of emotions.
Eilaas's appearance and reaction made her even more acutely aware of her "outsider" status on this human warship.
At the same time, she also felt a hint of confusion.
Why was this little girl so surprised by her presence?
Didn't she know that the Chapter had taken in a large number of Eldar survivors?
Clearly, Chapter Master Calgar's absolute gag order had taken effect.
Even a unique being like Eilaas, who had lived on the warship for decades and had close ties with the warriors, had not been allowed to know this sensitive information.
She still believed herself to be the only "pointy-ear" on this giant steel vessel.
Kolesa lay back on the bed, gazing at the cold lighting panel on the ceiling, her heart filled with confusion.
She didn't know what she should do here, or what she could do.
These blue giants, though they had fulfilled their promise in the trade, providing her and her people with shelter, did they still harbor hostility towards the Eldar deep down?
She couldn't be sure.
This feeling of being dependent on others, with an uncertain future, was like an invisible shackle, suffocating her.
In the Chapter Master's office on the uppermost deck of the warship, Marius Calgar still sat on his throne.
On the data-slates floating before him, administrative and military reports seemed endless.
His bionic eye tirelessly flickered red, processing a massive amount of information, but his intact eye was already bloodshot.
According to the silent records of an Honour Guard warrior behind him, the Chapter Master had been working at high intensity for nearly a hundred standard hours without any effective sleep.
Even an Astartes body, enhanced by genetic modification, was beginning to show signs of fatigue.
Calgar rubbed his temples vigorously, trying to dispel the tide of weariness that constantly washed over him.
He knew he had to rest, even if only for a brief moment, otherwise the sharpness of his decisions would decline, which would be irresponsible to the Chapter and Ultramar.
He looked up and solemnly instructed the two Honour Guard warriors standing behind the throne: "Notify all sector patrol commanders to increase the density and frequency of patrols within the warship, especially in critical areas and near the 'guests'' living quarters, over the next twelve standard hours.
Ensure absolute security."
"Yes, Chapter Master!" The two Honour Guard warriors acknowledged the order simultaneously, and one of them immediately relayed the command through his built-in communicator.
Having given the order, Calgar seemed to finally shed a part of his burden.
He leaned back against the cold throne backrest and slowly closed his weary, flesh-and-blood eye.
The light from his bionic eye also dimmed, entering a low-power standby state.
He needed this brief respite to cope with the inevitably heavier tasks to come.
However, while the Macragge's Honour and its escort fleet were conducting routine patrols and resupply in the core star systems of Ultramar, and internal operations and covert adjustments were underway, in a distant, unfamiliar star system not fully recorded on Imperial star charts, a colossal shadow was quietly enveloping another Eldar home.
This was an Eldar Craftworld.
It was not a planet, but an ancient vessel of unimaginable size, its scale even exceeding some small star systems.
Its form was elegant and peculiar, like a colossal creature woven from crystal, wraithbone, and some active energy, with soft light flowing across its surface, emitting peaceful yet powerful psychic fluctuations.
Within the Craftworld was a self-contained ecosystem, with mountains, rivers, forests, and cities.
Countless Eldar lived upon it, following their ancient and complex Paths—the Path of the Warrior, the Path of the Seer, the Path of the Artisan, and so on—seeking individual perfection and the continuation of their race.
Here there was none of the clamor and steel torrents of the Imperium of Man, only a delicate, ancient, and slightly melancholic tranquility.
The inhabitants of the Craftworld, as usual, went about their various activities.
Warriors honed their skills in training grounds, Seers interpreted the threads of fate beneath the domes, artisans carved wraithbone and energy cores... They did not know that the shadow of disaster was already approaching.
In the deep void beyond the Craftworld's sensory range, several massive, ugly warships, embodying an industrial, violent aesthetic, silently adjusted their formation like lurking predators.
These warships were covered in thick, rusty armor, with exposed turrets and energy conduits resembling twisted muscles.
Their hulls were painted in a murky brass and iron-gray, emblazoned with a striking emblem representing ruthless steel and unyielding will—the Iron Warriors.
This fleet of traitor Astartes Monks, like cold hunters, had locked onto the 'prey' ahead, which emanated an alluring psychic glow.
Their gaze, filled with calculation and a desire for destruction, had pierced the void, fixed upon this drifting Eldar Craftworld.
A long-planned assault against an ancient xenos civilization was about to begin its bloody curtain call in this silent star system.
Meanwhile, Kolesa and her people on Ultramar remained completely unaware.
In the shadows of the cold void, the Iron Warriors' strike cruiser, the "Iron Lord," hung silently like a rusty steel leviathan.
Inside the bridge, the lights were dim, with only various instrument panels and star chart projectors emitting eerie green or dark red glows, illuminating figures that resembled steel sculptures.
The Power Armor worn by these warriors was primarily the ancient Mark IV 'Maximus' and Mark V 'Heresy' patterns.
Their heavy plating was covered in battle damage and crude weld repairs, with many areas reinforced with additional armor plates or functional mechanical prosthetics, making them appear even more robust and imbued with a utilitarian sense of violence.
Unlike Legions that had fully embraced Chaos, undergoing twisted mutations, the Iron Warriors Legion, though traitors to the Imperium of Man, primarily adhered to the absolute rationality, ruthless efficiency, and iron-like will championed by their Primarch Perturabo.
They did not widely or actively worship any specific Chaos God, and thus, they did not sprout extra eyes or tentacles, nor did they emit obvious signs of corruption.
Instead, they exuded a cold, tool-like desire for slaughter and an extreme veneration of their own strength.
Standing before the star chart console, the commander of this operation was Captain Masos of the Iron Warriors.
He was burly, even half a head taller than a typical Astartes, thanks to his heavily modified, nearly Terminator-grade heavy Power Armor.
Most striking were his arms—from the shoulder pads down, they had been entirely replaced by two thick, rust-covered mechanical arms, ending in massive Power Claws and integrated Bolter muzzles.
Cold hydraulic lines were exposed, hissing faintly with his movements.
His helmet was of an ancient design, its eye lenses glowing with an ominous red, like two burning embers.
Captain Masos's mechanically synthesized voice, with its metallic friction, echoed through the silent bridge, reaching the ears of every Iron Warrior.
"Gentlemen, the target is before us," he said, his massive mechanical arm pointing at the complex, massive Eldar Craftworld radiating a soft psychic glow on the star chart.
"These pointy-eared xenos are cowering in what they believe to be impregnable mobile fortresses."
His gaze swept over the squad leaders and Tech-Sergeants present, his tone filled with contempt for the target and absolute confidence in his own strength.
"Why we are here, I trust you all know.
It is not for the illusory blessings of Chaos, nor for meaningless slaughter—though that will be a pleasant byproduct."
He paused, and the knuckles of his mechanical arm clicked crisply.
"We are here to reclaim an... 'artifact' that should never have fallen into xenos hands.
A holy relic belonging to our 'noble,' wall-building cousins—the Imperial Fists!"
When he mentioned the Imperial Fists, Captain Masos's voice betrayed a deep-seated loathing and rivalry.
The Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists had harbored a long-standing grudge since the Great Crusade, each viewing the other as their greatest rival and a source of shame.
"Those who call themselves 'the Emperor's Fortress' couldn't even guard their own holy relic, letting it fall into the hands of these xenos—that in itself is a sign of incompetence!"
Captain Masos's tone was derisive.
"And we, the sons of Perturabo, will personally reclaim it from the xenos!
Then, we will present it to the great "Iron Lord," proving once again that the Imperial Fists, whether in the past, present, or future, will never be as good as us, the Iron Warriors!"
This goal, pure and direct, stemmed from ten millennia of accumulated resentment and a twisted sense of honor.
"Of course," Captain Masos shifted his tone, his cold, mechanically synthesized voice seeming to take on a hint of calculation, "though these Eldar are frail, their 'Spirit Stones' are quite popular in certain... 'markets.'
Especially among the Slaanesh cultists, who are obsessed with sensory stimulation and have a morbid craving for Eldar souls.
They are willing to trade rare materials from the Warp and knowledge necessary to create powerful Daemon Engines for them."
He casually described plundering Spirit Stones and trading with Chaos forces as a profitable 'business' on the side.
"Not long ago, Lorgar, that babbling zealot, and his Word Bearers—a bunch of rabble who only know how to ambush and pray more than they fight—gathered a motley crew and dared to launch a crusade against Ultramar."
Captain Masos mentioned recent events, his tone filled with undisguised contempt.
"What was the result?
Utter defeat!
Lorgar even had his head cut off!
Truly... pathetic and laughable!
They deserve nothing but such failure!"
His disdain for the Word Bearers was as profound as his hatred for the Imperial Fists.
In the eyes of the Iron Warriors, the Word Bearers' fanatical faith in and reliance on Chaos Gods was a sign of weakness and irrationality, far inferior to their own faith in steel, firepower, and absolute calculation.
Captain Masos refocused his attention on the star chart before him, his mechanical arm tracing over the Craftworld's holographic image, analyzing its structural weaknesses.
"This Craftworld's hull is made of wraithbone and covered by powerful energy shields; a conventional assault won't be effective quickly," his voice became cold and resolute.
"Since it boasts of its resilience, we will respond in the most direct way—with our unyielding firepower, with the iron will and fury of our warriors, we will tear through its defenses head-on!"
He suddenly raised a mechanical arm, his massive Power Claw clenching, emitting a grating sound of twisting metal.
"Concentrate all macro-cannons and torpedo tubes, aim at these energy nodes and structural weak points I've marked!
The first strike must shatter their shields!"
"Landing parties, prepare!
Once the shields overload or a breach appears, launch a full-scale assault immediately!
Our objective is the Eldar Sanctum located in the Craftworld's core, where intelligence indicates the Imperial Fists' holy relic is stored!"
"All combat units, remember your mission!
Seizing the relic is the first priority!
Secondly, collect as many Eldar Spirit Stones as possible!"
His commands were clear and ruthless, filled with the Iron Warriors' characteristic, emotionless calculation and desire for destruction.
Finally, Captain Masos turned to face all the standing Iron Warriors on the bridge, his mechanically synthesized voice suddenly rising, imbued with an almost fanatical faith in steel and power, as he roared the Iron Warriors Legion's millennia-old battle cry:
"Iron within!"
The roar was like a heavy hammer striking red-hot iron in a forge, filled with unyielding will and a sense of power.
The next second, the entire bridge, and indeed all the Iron Warriors on the "Iron Lord" and its accompanying vessels connected via comms, collectively let out a deafening response.
The sound seemed to converge into a torrent of steel, filled with a hunger for the impending slaughter and conquest:
"Iron without!"
The battle cry echoed and reverberated through the steel corridors of the ship, lingering for a long time.
Captain Masos turned back, satisfied, his burning eye lenses fixed on the beautiful Eldar Craftworld on the star chart, which was about to receive a baptism of steel and fire.
The hunt had begun.