Chapter 273: The Ultramarines Grow Puzzled
Theory and practice are the keys to strengthening themselves.
Theory: fully apply theory and practice to realize their complete potential.
Practice: through orders and routines, pour theory and practice into every level.
—Roboute Guilliman, "On the Unity of Theory and Practice," 111.54.xl
Theory: They still needed to observe.
Practice: Ask the Death Guard warriors at their side.
Practice Supplement 1: Death Guard generally dislike speaking.
Practice Supplement 2: The commander of the Death Guard is surprisingly warm and learned, willing to answer questions.
Theory Update: They required more efficient observation.
Practice Update: Gather the majority of Ultramarine doubts, summarize common questions, then proactively send senior warriors to ask the Death Guard commander.
This practice has achieved initial success, proving its feasibility. Under the same objective and subjective conditions, they can repeat this action.
Practice Supplement 3: The Death Guard prefer silent battle. In response to Ultramarines' constant questioning, a few Death Guard told them to shut up on the vox channel, reasoning that they needed to hear their commander's orders, not the Ultramarines' chatter.
. . . . .
Mortarion was grateful to his more irritable sons. At last, the Ultramarines had quieted somewhat.
Yet, like the endless tide of the blue birds themselves, the Ultramarines' questions were also endless—though not without their faint sliver of value, enough to make outright rejection difficult.
The Ultramarines' channel crackled noisily for a while, and Mortarion thought with satisfaction that they had finally realized how ill-timed their behavior was.
But in the next moment, the shared Death Guard–Ultramarine vox carried Guilliman's quick yet solemn voice:
"Commander Hades, would you be willing, after this war, to answer in detail some of our doubts? The Ultramarines would be grateful for your knowledge."
Before Hades could utter a single word, a loud sigh came from Mortarion's respirator. He tore the mask off, spat viciously onto the ground, then donned it again and drew several deep breaths.
"Guilliman, my brother," he said gloomily. "What is it you want to ask? I can answer your doubts now."
Hades, meanwhile, had most of his focus locked on the battlefield. The recent explosions had sharpened his vigilance, so he listened to Mortarion and Guilliman's exchange and did not interrupt.
Elsewhere, after conferring with Mortarion, the Lord of Macragge had chosen to hold the great square—the largest temporary airfield in the city—in order to maintain contact between ground forces and the fleet in orbit.
Guilliman studied the edge of the square. Type-3 and Type-2 barricades combined into defensive emplacements; vehicles from three districts had been dragged over to form part of the cover. Though his calculations suggested the locals could not mount a large-scale assault, these were unfamiliar psykers, and Guilliman believed he must be prepared for everything.
One must face every possible situation; to do less was betrayal.
The only surviving mortals were the scribes and Remembrancers Guilliman had appointed—though even their numbers had dwindled.
He had wished to send them away aboard Stormbirds, but the air support here was Death Guard. The Death Guard had refused Guilliman's request, warning him not to send the mortals back to the fleet so lightly.
So Guilliman was left with little choice but to let the terrified mortals crouch within the Ultramarines' defensive perimeter, sobbing into their hands. One youth, however, tried to reach out toward the corpses of the fallen Absyrtus people—and of course, he was sternly warned off.
Meanwhile, Guilliman mulled over Mortarion's earlier words. He pondered what his brother was thinking at that moment. Mortarion's tone had been unpleasant, rejecting the Ultramarines—and indeed, that rejection was the fault of his own sons.
Guilliman realized the Death Guard were a stubborn Legion, firm in their boundaries. The Ultramarines' earlier behavior had been rash. They would need to be more cautious, more careful in observing and probing.
Yet this was war, and Guilliman could not afford failures born of ignorance. Thus he tolerated the Ultramarines' questioning of the Death Guard, even though it clearly stirred some resentment.
After a pause, he shifted his voice to something lighter:
"I have much to ask, my brother Mortarion. Perhaps when this is done, you could visit the Macragge's Honour? We owe thanks to the Death Guard for their early warning in this campaign. We did indeed err."
As it turned out, such words worked even on a being mortals called a demigod.
Though Guilliman felt displeasure at some of the Death Guard's actions, they still fell within acceptable bounds.
From Mortarion's channel came faint static, and Guilliman pictured his brother laboring to breathe through that respirator.
"Very well. But not now. No more questions."
The curt reply was followed by silence as Mortarion cut the link entirely.
The purpose was achieved. With the information they had, it was enough to manage the present. Guilliman ordered the Ultramarines to cease pestering their already-irritated Death Guard allies.
. . . . .
The Death Guard did not need to scour the entire zone clean. It was enough to clear part of it and collect the psykers' ashes. Everything else would be left to torpedoes.
Had the slum altar not exploded, the Death Guard line would never have pushed this far. By the third sector, their advance would have ended.
The districts already licked by fire had long since become ruins. Nothing remained but charred, cracked stone; everything else had burned to ash. Specialized squads prowled the wreckage, scavenging like carrion-hounds in a wasteland.
On the planet Absyrtus, the capital was the only place dense and prosperous with people. Outside it lay only scattered villages, little more than dots across the wilderness.
No need for cleansing there. Exterminatus would see to it all.
The retreat could begin. Engines roared across the square, Legionaries withdrawing in order.
Hades stood upon the square, listening to the reports streaming across the vox, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on the towering royal palace.
According to the Death Guard who had gone inside, they had found vast stockpiles of explosives beneath the palace altar—by calculation, it's even greater than the ones that had nearly killed him in the slums.
If a summoning had been attempted there in the palace itself, he was not sure he would have survived.
But he had no wish to dwell on the problems Tzeentch set before him. One possible path had already been denied. All he needed now was to choose among those that still remained.
Footsteps came from behind Hades. He judged them to be Guilliman's. Of course, he already knew what the primarch wished to say. He had already refused three Ultramarines in succession—including Legion Commander Gage himself.
Without turning his head, Hades said, "No. Do not ask me again."
Then he added, "The mortal Remembrancers must be executed."
After that, he turned, then acted as if he's startled. "Forgive me, my lord—I did not realize it was you."
Guilliman waved a hand dismissively.
"We could watch them, or cleanse their memories. But to execute them outright? For men loyal to their duty, that seems overly cruel. Before this, they only wished to witness a ceremony of honor."
"My lord Guilliman, before this, our primarch had already warned you repeatedly."
Hades's voice was steady, neither servile nor arrogant, yet his expression did not shift.
Guilliman's voice carried a thread of anger, and the Lord of Macragge began to press.
"If you had informed the Ultramarines earlier, these losses would have been unnecessary."
"We gave you and your Legion more than enough warning. Yet you continued to insist the people here posed no problem—or at least, that most of them did not."
Hades stood unflinching before a primarch's pressure.
Either his will was steel-strong, or he had faced the wrath of a primarch many times before, until it became commonplace to him.
Realizing this, Guilliman's voice softened.
"I still cannot agree to their execution. They have fought alongside the Ultramarines across campaigns, they are warriors in their own way. Tell me any measure short of death—even if costly—that could be taken instead."
Hades fixed his gaze on Guilliman, his eyes flicking briefly toward the trembling scribes behind the primarch.
In truth, save the Blank, Korklan, and Jin, every mortal who had accompanied him and faced daemons had perished.
They were all dead.
And even Korklan and Jin had lived under Hades's constant watch; only recently had the task of watching Jin's passed into Malcador's hands.
True, in the far future of M41, many mortal regiments would stand as the front line against daemons, their strength and faith proven beyond question.
But not now. Corruption lurked everywhere. The best safeguard against it was ignorance. And these had already learned too much, without the shield of faith to protect them—
Oh. Hades suddenly thought of an absurd possibility. But he smothered it at once.
First, Guilliman himself was staunchly opposed to religion. Hades could not maneuver around that; he could not tell him such nonsense as "let them believe." Second, Guilliman would never allow them to be handed over to the Death Guard, for he believed, with good reason, that they would execute them immediately.
Besides, Hades himself disliked the practice. He could not stomach the absurdity of active proselytization.
And yet—these people could not be spared. They were silver-tongued Remembrancers, the exact sort Tzeentch delighted in. Faced with such potential vectors of infection, destruction was the safest course.
Hades looked at Guilliman and remembered how, during the Godblight, Guilliman had established hospital worlds to tend to those wounded in battles against Nurgle's daemons.
Mortarion, if it were him now, would have granted them a merciful death—not attempting to heal them.
And it's just as expected, corruption had slipped in among the wounded, and it had dealt those worlds a grievous blow.
Hades thought a moment before speaking:
"I can examine them. I am a Blank—and stronger than most others of my kind. Those polluted by the warp are more sensitive than normal men. If they have been touched by corruption, they will not be able to endure my untouchable aura."
He went on slowly,
"But I can only judge the present corruption. Many times, the dangers buried in memory or in detail do not show themselves at once. Being safe in the present time does not prove that they will not, in time, be twisted by past taint—becoming monsters like the Queen of Absyrtus."
"They remain dangerous. I still advise you to put them to death."
Guilliman's eyes flickered.
"Perhaps you could teach us how to prevent and treat such things, afterward."
"Thorough erasure of memory. Monitoring. Forbidding them to spread their thoughts."
Hades muttered quickly and quietly. He stepped forward, looking at the huddled Remembrancers. They were packed together, terrified.
"Please. Let me check."
Guilliman stood behind him, eyes wide—
For those who only a moment ago had been sobbing, in the next instant all appeared to fall asleep.
"This—"
Guilliman stared in disbelief at the suddenly slumbering men.
"I am sorry," Hades said slowly, as if mourning.
"Clearly they have all been tainted. Now their psychic flames have gone out. Soon their flesh too will cease to function."
Guilliman fixed his gaze on Hades. His mouth opened, but in the end he did not voice the question he wanted to ask.
"I hope that after this, you can explain all of it to me."
The small commotion had already drawn others. Mortarion strode over, his respirator groaning.
"You will come to understand, my brother," he said. "But sometimes, you must let your compassion yield before the cruelty of truth."
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