"Greetings, Lord of the Shadowmoon Wolves."
A mortal he didn't recognize bowed to him.
They always liked to do that.
When he saw the short figure by the door, Horus, the Emperor's most beloved son, the Shepherd God of the Imperium, and the Primarch of the Sixteenth Astartes Legion, thought thus.
This Primarch from Cthonia still wore a benevolent smile on his face. His gaze quickly swept over the mortal, lingering on the gleaming medals and buttons, and gracefully flowing over his meticulously groomed hair.
He was certain this was a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Army, but definitely not from his own forces or expedition fleet, for he did not recognize this person.
He might have fought alongside this mortal in some battle, but such temporary cooperative engagements with allied forces were as numerous as stars for a Primarch and easily forgotten.
Yet, even so, Horus strode forward, affectionately patting the mortal's shoulder.
[No need for such formality, my comrade.]
The Primarch's voice resonated like a great bell. Though he never raised his voice, it effortlessly created waves throughout the corridor and room.
[You and I are both warriors who shed blood for the great cause of the Imperium and humanity, brothers fighting side-by-side. When is there a need for such stiff etiquette?]
These friendly words made the mortal officer's shoulders tremble involuntarily, and his voice became one of disbelief as he questioned.
"You... you still remember me, my lord?"
Good. It seems he truly forgot something.
[How could a warrior forget a comrade with whom he shed blood and sweat? I imagine every detail of that war, every drop of blood, every sacrifice is similarly etched into your memory, my comrade.]
Beneath this almost gentle voice was a mortal soul, nearly unable to maintain thought in the face of the Primarch's aura and charisma.
"Yes... yes, my lord, of course I remember!"
"On Cotosnor, it was you and your warriors who arrived in the crisis of battle, beheaded the Ork fleet's admiral and Warboss, saving my regiment, my fleet, and the entire world!"
Cotosnor...
The name rolled around in the Primarch's brain. Horus took a moment to search through the vast sea of his memories and thoughts for similar fragments, and in the next instant, he confirmed it.
It was nothing special, a small matter he would hardly remember: he and Ezekyle, with a few dozen warriors, ended the battle within a standard Terran hour. In the Primarch's heart, it was like an impromptu outing on a weekend afternoon.
But in a mortal's heart, that could be the most memorable and revered moment of a lifetime.
The Primarch's heart smiled. At the same time, he recalled the mortal's name.
[It's nothing, Captain Oster, nothing. Our arrival was indeed important, but if it weren't for your and your subordinates' valiant fighting, that world would not have waited for our aid. You are the true hero and meritorious servant of that battle, more important than me.]
[You and your officers fought to the death and shed blood for the Emperor's great cause. That is enough.]
[In this burning galaxy, no sacrifice will be overlooked, just as no betrayal will be forgiven.]
——————
"Father is wasting time on these mortals again."
Ezekyle lowered his voice, letting out a soft, compassionate chuckle.
He, Ezekyle, or rather, the name that would be far more famous and beloved in the future:
Abaddon.
"I truly don't understand. What's the point of being so open with these mortals? Is there anything we absolutely need them for? Can't we just destroy countless Xenos and traitors without them, from the starports of Holy Terra all the way here?"
As soon as his words fell, a series of playful remarks erupted beside Abaddon.
"Oh, of course, we don't need them at all. At least, the valiant Lord Abaddon doesn't need them at all. He can single-handedly wipe out an entire Ork fleet, swallow an entire rebellious planet whole, completely without need for fire support or flank defense or anything."
"I..."
"Who needs such sissy stuff? Our Abaddon is famously victorious in every battle~"
"Torgaddon!"
Abaddon snorted with displeasure, and laughter already echoed around him.
The Shadowmoon Wolf, who had let out a string of playful remarks, showed no further embarrassment towards his comrade. Torgaddon's face was as always enveloped in a joyous mood. He affectionately nudged Abaddon's chest with his elbow.
"Oh, come on, my Ezekyle... Are you angry?"
Abaddon kept a stern face, seemingly trying his best to show his anger, but when his gaze involuntarily shifted to Torgaddon's face and saw his winking expression, he finally couldn't hold back.
"Pfft—I, I'm angry—pfft, hehehe..."
The corner of the corridor was temporarily filled with cheerful laughter.
When Horus once again patted the shoulder of the overly emotional mortal, watching him finally disappear down the corridor, profusely thanking him as if he had received some great benefit, he turned his head, only to see his sons laughing together.
The Shepherd God didn't have to expend much effort to understand everything that had happened here, because Abaddon was laughing, arm around Torgaddon's shoulder, and with a voice still laced with laughter, informed him of the wonderful things about to happen in the arena.
Horus patiently waited for his sons to recover from their merriment before signaling Abaddon and Torgaddon to follow him. The remaining Shadowmoon Wolves bid farewell to their gene-father and went off to find entertainment in the arena or elsewhere.
The Shepherd God led his two sons through a flight of stairs and around a long corridor, finally stopping before a private hall.
"Oh... I still miss the Vengeful Spirit. That's where a warrior should be."
Looking at the gilded handrail, Abaddon couldn't help but complain softly.
[I also miss the Vengeful Spirit, I miss its unassuming exterior and mighty reputation, and the Halls of Honor and the Legionary Arena. But regrettably, Ezekyle, my strongest child, it still needs to remain on Mars for a while. A Glorious Queen-class battleship is not an easy thing to overhaul.]
Horus's voice was always sincere and firm towards the Shadowmoon Wolves. This was the voice of trust that those mortals would never hear, and would never be worthy of hearing.
Abaddon was caught in a vortex of nostalgia and slight dissatisfaction, while Horus slowly pushed open the grand doors. Inside was a palace that had once been gloriously extravagant. Despite being redecorated by the Astartes, hints of its past splendor and indulgence could still be seen.
People were already waiting there. These were the two sons Horus trusted most: Serjanus and Asymonus. Of course, the latter was usually referred to as "Little Horus" by his battle-brothers, because he bore a striking resemblance to his gene-father.
Horus slowly walked to the head seat. After his sons were in position, he slowly sat down, signaling the start of the meeting.
Serjanus, Abaddon, Torgaddon, and Asymonus.
This was the Shepherd God's most trusted brain: the Council of Four Kings.
——————
"Four standard Terran months have passed since the end of the Sabis campaign. According to intelligence, the Rangdan forces on the Eastern Front have not launched any new offensives. The Dark Angels are attempting to advance the front line, and Forge World Xana has gradually shifted from a frontline battlefield to a supply hub."
As always, Serjanus stood in the center of the room, presiding over the meeting. As Horus's favorite son, this Fourth Captain was also the de facto second-in-command of the Shadowmoon Wolves Legion.
[If I remember correctly, according to the last intelligence report, some factions on this Forge World are discontent with Imperial rule?]
Serjanus nodded, confirming his gene-father's question.
[Yes, some Forge Masters and priests of Xana believe they should not be too deeply involved in the war between the Imperium and the Rangdan.
Due to Xana being the core battlefield for a period in the past, even directly invaded by the main Rangdan army, it suffered extremely heavy losses. This has led to growing discontent with the Imperium on this world.]
"A bunch of short-sighted fools. Without us, wouldn't those Xenos still come?"
Abaddon scoffed disdainfully, while Horus kneaded his chin, contemplating something.
[My brother Jonson, has he not tried to appease them?]
"The Dark Angels' Primarch did indeed hold a meeting on Xana, but according to leaked intelligence, he used some rather... forceful and direct methods to make the Forge Masters continue serving the Imperium."
Horus chuckled softly. He quietly noted the name of this Forge World.
[Alright, continue.]
Serjanus nodded.
Subsequently, the meeting proceeded as usual, everything appearing no different from normal: Horus himself rarely spoke directly or offered opinions. If possible, he preferred to watch his chosen sons debate and discuss, fully absorbing the sparks of wisdom that shone in their words.
And even if the Primarch himself made a decision, he wouldn't expect the Shadowmoon Wolves to immediately comply.
They would still adhere to their own opinions until Horus made them agree with flawless logic and words. In extremely rare cases, a son's wisdom would even overcome his gene-father's, making Horus cleanly admit the shortcomings of his plan.
In this truly pleasant atmosphere, their topics ranged from the edge of the galaxy to Holy Terra, then expanded to the most fiercely contested places in the current galaxy.
"It is said the Thirteenth Legion once again returned empty-handed."
Little Horus said with a sigh of melancholy.
"They only found an empty, utterly desolate world. It's highly likely it was also attacked and controlled by those Osiris mind-control spores, until it was completely drained dry."
[My brother Roboute Guilliman, he has taken those Xenos who manipulate sorcery as a personal affliction.]
Horus's sentiment was mixed with a chuckle.
[Bearing past humiliation together with his Legion, washing it clean through fighting side-by-side—there's nothing wrong with that. But Roboute is always somewhat dogmatic;
he tends to be stubborn when things don't go smoothly. If it weren't for this flaw, he might be the greatest strategic master in the galaxy. No one could rival his terrifying calculations and organizational skills on the chessboard of the stars.]
The lament for another Primarch was quickly overshadowed by new topics, and these rough and ready topics invariably revolved around war.
"The Eleventh Legion just won a battle. Yes, they won again. It is said they heavily damaged a Rangdan battle moon in a boarding action. If they hadn't failed to follow up in time, they might have repeated the Dark Angels' glorious victory in the Sabis system."
Horus chuckled.
[My brothers are always so outstanding, so outstanding that they even make me feel some pressure. Perhaps I should also request my Father to let the Legion earn some merits on the Rangdan front, instead of being idle here and being criticized behind our backs.]
Laughter echoed in the room. Horus's four sons laughed casually. They cared nothing for supposed merits or battle achievements, just as they equally cared nothing for nameless, malicious rumors.
Since Horus decided to keep the Shadowmoon Wolves here, they would obey. After all, it was well-known that the Shepherd God was the Emperor's most beloved son. He must have had some reason for leading his Legion to sweep through the western galaxy, thus not participating in the great war against the Rangdan.
Everyone thought so.
Except Horus.
But no one could see the hint of anxiety in his eyes.
"However, there is one point worth noting, Father."
Serjanus's tone suddenly shifted.
"The Eleventh Legion... has penetrated too deeply into Rangdan-controlled territory. I can understand this is because their front line is beyond the Solar System and Holy Terra, but this action is unavoidably too risky. That 'Witch-Killer' always refuses to fight alongside other Legions. He might lack sufficiently powerful flank support."
[He always has been.]
Horus wasn't overly concerned.
[The Eleventh Legion's strength is sufficient to handle such situations and losses. Although my brother is reclusive, he always possesses incredible power. The only ones who can defeat them are probably themselves.]
"But... Father, the Eleventh Primarch rarely even brings mortal auxiliary forces. And according to intelligence, the Eleventh Legion has purged many human worlds previously controlled by the Rangdan, citing 'contamination.' This violates the preparations and rules needed for prolonged warfare."
[...That is indeed a problem. Perhaps I should remind him, but I'm not sure if he will take my advice seriously.]
"Disregarding the strength of mortals."
Abaddon showed a contemptuous smile.
"That is not a wise move. Disregarding the strength of mortals can lead to great chaos."
Torgaddon, nearby, widened his eyes.
"By the Emperor, Ezekyle, have you been possessed? Has a truly intelligent person just taken over your body?"
"...Get out!"
Abaddon was a bit annoyed, and also found it somewhat amusing.
"I just dislike those who hide in the Strategos departments, never leaving their offices. Those so-called officers and commanders in mortal armies, many climb the ranks through bloodline and connections. They do have capabilities, but their capabilities may not be commensurate with their positions."
"Conversely, in the trenches, it is indeed possible to find admirable individuals. Their bayonets and bullets can be equally deadly under certain circumstances. I still distinguish that much."
Abaddon's voice grew low, somewhat rambling, and interspersed with Torgaddon's and Little Horus's occasional interjections and discussions. It soon devolved into a debate mingling memories and battle achievements, and Horus didn't intervene. He leaned back in his seat, watching his sons argue with each other, finding it delightful.
Then, he looked up, feeling somewhat dazed.
Subconsciously, he seemed to have thought of something, but when he focused, he couldn't recall it.
In a trance, he could only be certain that he had just thought of one of his brothers, the commander of the Eleventh Legion.
Why was he thinking of him?
Could something have happened?
Horus blinked. A vague sense of unease slowly crept into his heart.
But in the end, he suppressed that feeling.
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