"Lord, for you to personally arrive at Istrad, that alone is an honor for us."
Malachai showed no disappointment at all.
He had already mentally prepared for the fact that there might not be much additional support.
The Savior was responsible for defending Baal, the homeworld of the Blood Angels, holding back the main force of the Tyranid Hive Fleet. That was an apocalyptic-scale war, requiring unimaginable resources and sacrifices—merely achieving victory there was already a monumental feat.
It was only natural that this figure would have little strength left to spare for this small, remote planet.
Moreover, the Savior had just intervened to rescue Istrad, preventing it from being obliterated by an Exterminatus order—a grace of the highest magnitude.
He could not dare to expect more.
Malachai glanced at the file list, silently pondering:
"This support must be firearms, ammunition, or logistical supplies. If we could get heavy armored tanks or artillery, that would be ideal..."
Several critical defensive lines required more large-scale armored assets for garrison duty.
As for orbital weapons platforms or naval fleet support—he didn't even dare to dream of that. There was no way the Savior could have spare fleets to allocate here.
Though the planet had been spared from annihilation, the Tyranid threat was far from over. The situation remained grim.
There was no other way. The defensive forces here were simply too weak.
Yet Malachai and his battle-brothers were prepared to uphold the ancient oaths—to stand their ground and fight to the last drop of blood for this world they had sworn to protect.
That, he thought, would already be the best outcome they could hope for.
But when Malachai finally read the text on the file, his eyes widened in shock.
He froze on the spot.
What...?
He could hardly believe what he was seeing.
These familiar words looked so unfamiliar at the same time.
He rubbed his eyes, just to make sure he wasn't seeing things. After confirming the text, he trembled and asked:
"S-Savior... Are you sure this is the support for Istrad? Could there have been a mistake?"
The quantities listed in the document were simply beyond comprehension.
Maybe the Savior had mixed up the files?
That's what the captain thought.
"Hm?"
Eden heard Malachai's question and felt a twinge of uncertainty. He lowered his gaze to check the file.
Indeed, this mission had been prepared in a rush—there could very well be errors.
After reviewing the file, he did notice some discrepancies. Given the situation and the needs at hand... it did seem a bit lacking.
Eden looked up at the White Sanctum captain, apologizing sincerely:
"Apologies. There were indeed mistakes in this file. I'll contact the logistics department right away to correct it…"
"So it really was a mistake with the file…"
Malachai's suspicions were confirmed, and a deep sense of disappointment washed over him: If only that support had really been intended for this world...
But it was simply too extravagant, far beyond what could be reasonably expected.
Right there and then, Eden contacted the logistics department head in front of Malachai:
"Hello. Yes. Adjust the support for Istrad. I need to wrap up this war as quickly as possible.
Push yourselves harder. Gather as many resources as you can. No mistakes—this place will serve as a model."
Malachai didn't quite understand what the Savior meant by "model," but his heart filled with gratitude nonetheless.
Even in this difficult situation, this figure was trying his best to allocate scarce resources and save this planet on the brink of destruction.
A while later, Eden received the updated file.
He reviewed it carefully, then projected it in front of the captain:
"This time there's no mistake. Take a look. If there are any other specific needs, let me know quickly—I can still add to it…"
Malachai glanced at the file... and was utterly stunned.
He couldn't stop himself from exclaiming:
"By the Emperor... it's been doubled?!"
What was happening defied all logic.
Upon further confirmation—
He had to accept the reality: this was indeed the support the Savior had promised, and it was overwhelmingly generous!
"Perhaps, Lord Savior, you don't need to allocate so much to Istrad... There are many other regions that also require assistance…"
Malachai hesitated, then cautiously offered this suggestion.
He had no choice.
The Savior's support was simply too much.
Dozens of large warships, including numerous battleships, had been dispatched, accompanied by an entire battle group formation.
It was the equivalent of ten or more sector-level naval fleets combined.
These forces weren't here just to fend off a minor Tyranid tendril—they could crush the entire xenos force underfoot.
And that wasn't all.
The Savior also ordered multiple large-scale defense platforms to be placed in orbit, while the planet's surface was to be fortified with ultra-heavy armored vehicles, artillery, and the construction of massive defensive bastions.
These platforms, artillery, and armored vehicles weren't just temporary assets—they were permanent gifts.
Once the war ended, the Savior's forces would withdraw, leaving all of it behind for the planet.
By the end of this war, Istrad—guarded by the White Sanctum's Third Company—wouldn't just have survived; its defensive strength would have increased dramatically.
It was almost on par with the White Sanctum's own homeworld!
What was this...?
Even more dizzying to Malachai was the additional equipment the Savior provided for their company.
Beyond the standard issue of power armor and even Terminator armor, they received an array of bolters, power weapons, heavy weapons, and a collection of master-crafted equipment.
He even delivered over a dozen Centurion suits!
These rare suits of armor, weapons, and vehicles would make the Third Company the strongest company in the entire White Sanctum Chapter!
Eden waved his hand lightly, signaling not to refuse:
"It's fine. Just a little more than the usual support standard. Other locations are also receiving sufficient aid."
"Lord Savior, you truly are..."
Malachai's gaze overflowed with gratitude.
He wanted to say more, but words failed him. So instead, he and his warriors knelt on one knee, offering their heartfelt loyalty.
In times like these, loyalty was all they could give.
Then, another thought crept into Malachai's mind—a thought of utmost importance.
Perhaps... the Savior himself could be our gene-father...
The White Sanctum had been struggling with the issue of their genetic lineage, caught in an extremely awkward situation.
For millennia, the White Sanctum had been considered a successor Chapter of the Imperial Fists, descended from the gene-seed of Rogal Dorn—pure, loyal, and untainted.
However, several years ago, officials within the Administratum discovered new gene-data, casting doubt on this belief.
It was a severe accusation.
It enraged the White Sanctum's Astartes.
After all, to suddenly be told, thousands of years later, that you might have been worshipping the wrong progenitor during your rituals—that you'd been paying homage to the wrong gene-father all this time... who could endure such a blow?
Even worse, the question of loyalty loomed large.
The Imperium placed immense importance on the loyalty of its Space Marines, and an unclear gene lineage put the White Sanctum in an awkward position.
If their gene-stock originated from a Traitor Primarch, the entire Chapter would be endangered—possibly even slated for extermination.
After all, who could guarantee they wouldn't turn and join their true gene-father?
The White Sanctum's warriors, though furious, were helpless.
They couldn't prove their own loyalty.
Over the millennia, their gene-seed had diverged significantly from that of the Imperial Fists.
This, combined with the accusations, placed them in a severe identity crisis.
They didn't know where they came from, nor could they be certain of their loyalty.
If they couldn't resolve this crucial issue, their entire Chapter could collapse.
Thus, the White Sanctum had made this their highest priority mission.
They launched an expedition to seek the truth, to find their true gene-father.
Most of the White Sanctum's warriors joined this quest, leaving only a few companies behind to protect their homeworld and the planets they had sworn to defend.
Malachai's Third Company was among those few.
The captain's mind churned.
Could it be... that the Savior himself is our gene-father?
It wasn't an unreasonable thought.
Over the past ten millennia, the Imperium had seen countless upheavals: the Heresy, the Codex Astartes, the Redemption Crusades... Many records and genetic data had been deliberately destroyed or lost.
Historical truths had been reduced to fragments, and many Chapters didn't even know how many Primarchs had existed—let alone their fates.
As those who knew the full history died or disappeared, and as the Imperium's records decayed and Chaos gnawed at reality, much of the truth had been swallowed by the darkness.
This was one of the reasons the White Sanctum had been unable to uncover the truth.
Current Imperium gene-data on loyalist Primarchs showed little compatibility with the White Sanctum's gene-seed.
Some accusers had even hinted that their gene-stock might be linked to a Traitor Primarch.
This was also one of the reasons why the Custodians treated them with such severity and caution.
Had it not been for Custodian Tylys' relatively calm temperament and patience, if it had been another Custodian in his place, they would have already taken action against them.
The warriors of the White Sanctum absolutely refused to believe that their gene-father could be a Traitor Primarch. They did not believe that their gene-seed was tainted with disloyalty.
Their gene-stock must have been loyal.
The emergence of the Hope Primarch now gave Malachai a glimmer of hope—this meant the possibility of another loyal Primarch's gene-stock existing.
Perhaps the White Sanctum's gene-seed had a connection to this figure.
He fervently hoped it to be true.
If so, the White Sanctum would have a living Primarch as their protector, sparing them from the looming threat of destruction.
They might even achieve further growth and development.
After all, this Hope Primarch was incredibly wealthy.
Malachai's heart swelled with hope. The more he looked at the Savior, the more he felt a sense of closeness—he even faintly sensed an illusion of a blood connection.
The White Sanctum had waited and yearned for the truth of their gene-line for far too long.
"Gene-fath—"
His eyes grew moist. He nearly blurted it out right then and there, risking a scene of roaring laughter.
"What is it?"
Eden noticed the man hesitating and spoke up.
"Ah, nothing, Lord Savior. Your support... it has stirred me greatly. With your help, this planet will surely survive the Tyranid threat."
Malachai glanced at the others and shook his head slightly.
This wasn't the time or place to bring up such a bold request.
After all, acknowledging a gene-father was a solemn and serious matter.
He planned to wait until the war was over, then hold a formal ceremony where the warriors would collectively pray for the Savior's blessing—to bestow a gene-seed sample that could be tested.
Eden gently patted the captain's shoulder, his tone warm:
"Do not worry. This planet, and all of you, will survive this war!"
The Savior's kind words nearly brought tears to Malachai's eyes. He was filled with reverence.
"Your light shines upon us. The warriors of the White Sanctum will follow your will!"
Eden nodded lightly.
He couldn't help but feel that the captain's attitude had shifted a little too quickly—almost too enthusiastic, to the point that it felt like even his gene-sons might not show such devotion.
Did I give them too much... he wondered silently.
Ssss~
Just as Eden was about to speak further, a sudden Tyranid roar erupted. Dark shapes darted toward them.
Bang bang bang!
The Tyranid creatures barely had time to screech before they were swiftly cut down by the Custodians and Thunder Guard.
But it wasn't over yet.
He sensed a fluctuation in the Warp—a disturbance in the Shadow of the Tyranids.
Zzzz!
Psyker lightning arcs crackled around Eden's body as he rose into the air, using his remote sensor array.
He detected strong bio-signatures deep within the mountain ranges tens of kilometers away. Countless shadowy forms were gathering and shifting.
There was no doubt—
They were Tyranid vanguard organisms that had infiltrated the planet.
They had harvested enough biomass from the surface to spawn more Tyranid swarms, preparing for an imminent assault.
"Savior!"
Malachai also received the scout team's alert and immediately reported:
"Those xenos are likely to launch an attack—at the latest, within a day, their claws will reach us!"
The White Sanctum had been watching that region closely. If they'd had more vehicles and manpower, they would have launched a preemptive strike already.
"This is... troublesome."
Eden frowned slightly.
"The logistics fleet will take two more days to deliver the support materials here. We might not make it in time to clear out the Tyranids in that sector."
Malachai glanced at the Custodians, the escort detachment, and the two hundred-plus Thunder Guard nearby, feeling slightly reassured.
With the White Sanctum warriors and these formidable forces, they should be able to hold the line.
However, the Savior's voice rang out once again:
"Fortunately, I have a small guard force with me—they can deploy to the planetary surface immediately."
Malachai assumed the Savior meant the Thunder Guard, so he replied:
"We will coordinate with your personal guard to secure the sector!"
"We won't be defending..."
Eden gently shook his head.
"While the Tyranids haven't fully gathered yet, we'll take the initiative and wipe them out!"
His nature was cautious—
Wherever he went, he always carried a force capable of waging war, an elite among elites.
The Thunder Guard were only part of this—they served more as his close protection and ceremonial retinue.
The main guard force did not normally participate in battles. They would only deploy when the Savior himself was in danger.
Now, with the Tyranids preparing to strike, this was the perfect time to unleash them.
Eden sent another file to the captain:
"This contains the guard force's details and the commander's contact information. Coordinate with them and work out the operational plan."
This kind of small-scale battle didn't even warrant his direct involvement.
"Yes, Lord Savior!"
Malachai accepted the order, his eyes scanning the astonishing unit data listed in the file—he was once again left dazed.
Does the Savior carry these kinds of forces with him wherever he goes? If they take part in the fight, there's no need to wait for reinforcements at all, is there?
No matter how you looked at it, there was no way they could lose—even if the Tyranid numbers doubled, they wouldn't lose!
This captain of the White Sanctum was already contemplating where to build the victory memorial plaza after the war. He would definitely erect a grand statue of the Savior there.
He couldn't help but think once more:
I really hope the Savior is the White Sanctum's gene-father...
...
High Orbit.
A large, gold-painted strike cruiser roared into position above Istrad's atmosphere. Its arrival was swift and imposing, its hull adorned with the sigil of the Custodians.
On the bridge—
A towering figure clad in golden armor readied his power weapon.
This was Custodian Tribune Lycias, his face stern and shadowed with a hint of smoldering fury.
It was rare to see a high-ranking Custodian, directly under the Captain-General himself, show such visible anger.
Lycias was furious because the Custodians' authority had been challenged.
A certain figure had disregarded their loyalty to the Emperor and dared to strike at the Emperor's voice—a grave act of disloyalty!
Even more infuriating, that figure had summoned the Custodians here to explain themselves!
What insolence!
If the Custodians didn't respond, they would lose all authority and respect. The very notion was unacceptable.
If people believed they could attack a Custodian without facing consequences...
How could they safeguard the Emperor's honor and ensure His safety?
Lycias transmitted a message to all Custodians aboard the vessel:
"We must warn the Hope Primarch—show him our might."
He intended to question the Hope Primarch—did he still hold loyalty to the Emperor, or had he, like the other Traitor Primarchs, betrayed the Emperor's trust?
And beyond questions—
This Custodian Tribune had already resolved to lead a Custodian strike force to confront the Hope Primarch directly.
Any who dared attack the Custodians must pay in blood. Those Hope Primarch's guards who dared raise a hand against the Custodians would pay for it with their lives!
If the Hope Primarch truly harbored traitorous intent—if he placed his own interests above his loyalty to the Emperor, if he sought to obstruct them or raise a hand against them—
This event would serve to reveal his true nature to the Imperium.
Even if some Custodians perished in the process, it was a price worth paying.
When that moment came—
The Custodians would officially declare this Primarch a traitor and launch a full-scale manhunt.
The Imperium might suffer grievous losses, but the hidden rot was far more dangerous than a temporary wound.
They had to cleanse the Imperium of any lurking traitors before they gained too much power, lest a second Horus Heresy unfold!
Soon, hundreds of Custodians assembled.
The Standard Bearer raised the Imperial Aquila high, its wings spread in majesty.
A towering Galatus-pattern Dreadnought strode forward, its massive frame capable of crushing any living foe.
Behind it came the Allarus Custodians—larger, stronger than even Terminators.
Following them were the Custodian Guard, led by veteran Watchers.
This fully equipped Custodian force could breach any Imperial defenses and cut down enemy leaders with ease.
Once assembled, the Custodians swiftly boarded their golden Ares gunships, descending rapidly toward the Savior's location on the planet's surface...
(End of Chapter)
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