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Contrary to popular belief, the Space Wolves during the Legion era were not a completely undisciplined force.
In fact, during the Great Crusade, the clear hierarchy and class divisions among Leman Russ's sons were among the most distinct and stringent of the twenty Astartes Legions. This was merely masked by their savage and reckless appearance.
And this was the result of Leman Russ, the Wolf King of Fenris's, day-to-day efforts and calculations.
Initially, when the Emperor first embarked on the Great Crusade, the Sixth Legion was the most terrifying, savage, and corrupt Legion under his command. Its reputation was even worse than the Eighth Legion,
which reveled in spreading terror, and the Ghoul Legion, which practiced cannibalism. After all, the former still knew how to use appropriate reasons to cover up their bloody tactics, while the latter's behavior was mostly due to inherent flaws in their bloodline.
But the Sixth Legion was different. These "ravagers" had neither inherent flaws nor compelling reasons. They simply indulged in one horrific massacre after another out of bloodthirsty desire. Countless hive cities and worlds were reduced to ruins under their iron boots.
No matter the mission—attack, defense, forced surrender, aid—it would most likely end in a slaughter targeting everyone. Even unarmed elderly, weak, women, and children would receive not the slightest sympathy.
In the end, the Sixth Legion even had to establish a never-before-heard-of internal military police within the Astartes, specifically responsible for executing Legion soldiers who lost control and engaged in wanton slaughter.
This situation continued until Leman Russ's return. The King of Fenris also promised his father that he would change his sons and Legion, preventing them from falling into the worst and most depraved abyss.
Leman Russ indeed succeeded.
He first fought alongside his sons, slaughtering countless xenos and enemies, earning true respect.
This supreme king of the frozen world introduced the customs of his homeworld into his Legion and bestowed upon them the name [Space Wolves]. The past cold and bloodthirsty atmosphere began to change due to the gene-father's commands.
Wood-carved poems and animal hide decorations concealed blood-stained walls. The Sixth Legion quickly became a symbol of roughness and savagery in the eyes of mortals,
but it also gradually washed away its former wanton slaughter, transforming those impulsive desires into a kind of magnanimity and open-mindedness, creating a soul unique to the Space Wolves.
At the same time, Leman Russ was also silently instilling the crude but stubborn royal power of barbarian society into the Legion's bloodline. The Primarch's innate power and authority allowed this simple and crude method of rule to be maximized.
The Sixth Legion finally ceased to be a force that would arbitrarily act independently due to individual temperaments. All its savagery and ferocity were tightly reined in by Leman Russ.
But this also seemed to imply that if, one day, even Leman Russ lost his sanity, then the situation would instantly descend into the worst possible outcome.
In this Legion system, which was outwardly undisciplined but actually strict, only two types of people could operate outside of Leman Russ's authority: one was the Wolf Priests, whose status dictated that they needed a fearless position to offer advice and counsel to officers. The second type was the most special unit in the entire Sixth Legion.
This was the Thirteenth Company, which had now caused immense trouble.
The Wolf Lord of the Thirteenth Company, Jorin Bloodhowl, and his warriors were the most special group of people in the entire Legion. Most of them were Leman Russ's earliest comrades.
When the Primarch was just an ordinary prince on Fenris, they fought side by side. And when Leman Russ returned to the Imperium as the Emperor's son, these warriors, who were no longer young, insisted on following their king.
Most of them never left the operating table of Astartes modification surgery. The successful survivors, led by Jorin, became Leman Russ's most trusted and most indulged force. The Wolf King allowed them to charge wildly through various battles, achieving victory and bloody pleasure.
Until this time, when a great disaster was brewed.
Jorin completely ignored the Dark Angels' communications. Although he had received them early, his anger and dissatisfaction at missing the beginning of the war made him casually ignore them.
The [Hrunting], under the Wolf Lord's command, sped forward, rushing towards the biggest opponent, preparing to claim the glory of destroying the Duran flagship. This was a gift from Leman Russ, to reward them for months of hard fighting.
As for the Dark Angels warships that constantly bypassed the Duran flagship, he didn't bother with them. Under the Wolf Lord's continuous roaring and commands, the [Hrunting],
enduring the Duran fleet's final firepower and the Dark Angels' incessant communication requests, fired two rounds of deadly lances, sending the massive prey before them to the eternal underworld.
It wasn't until the crimson cracks, a sign of impending doom, began to spread across the Duran flagship's entire body that Jorin finally slapped his seat in satisfaction. Months of frustration and annoyance vanished with this exhilarating hunt.
The entire warship, along with its Wolf Lord, cheered loudly, turning its rudder and direction, ready to search for the next prey.
No one noticed that the Dark Angels fleet, which had previously been in constant communication, now seemed to have fallen into a strange and eerie silence.
"Lord…"
"I present a request to you."
"I request your approval for our revenge."
"This is murder, Lord, this is outright murder and betrayal! He is slaughtering our warriors! Slaughtering your finest sons! They refused communication, refused all communication! This is premeditated murder!"
Through the hissing static of the comm-unit, the captain of the [Sword of Numark] pleaded in Lion El'Jonson's ear. He begged for permission for revenge and counterattack. Anyone could hear the terrifying anger emanating from his voice, and the immense restraint he used to suppress it.
One hundred and eighty Dark Angels, they came from the [Unbending Truth], from the [Sword of Numark], from the best formations of the Second, Sixth, and Ninth Chapters, from Terra and Caliban, from countless crusades filled with honor and sacrifice.
They might have campaigned across the galaxy for the Emperor's great work since before the Great Crusade began, they might have listened to his guidance and commands under the Emperor's banner, and they might have never suffered setbacks or defeats in countless past battles against enemies.
But now, all was lost.
Everything was clearly displayed on the electronic projection. Lion El'Jonson could see the death of the Duran behemoth: it had been completely torn apart by the kinetic energy of the explosion.
The terrifying power contained within its reactor was slowly torturing it to death. He could even clearly see how the battleship's keel suffered the most extreme bending, finally snapping with a crash.
All the decks and corridors were shattered, facing the oxygen-deprived void and deadly radiation. Tens of thousands of Durans were entombed with the beast the moment it died, while those who were unfortunate enough to survive had to endure a longer period of pain and struggle.
Everyone was like this.
Including his sons.
His sons were also like this.
They died meaninglessly.
The Lion of Caliban's face was shrouded in endless gloom and silence. He did not speak, nor did he refute. He merely maintained a terrifyingly low pressure. He quietly witnessed the Duran warship transform into a burning wreck amidst continuous explosions. His emerald eyes captured the fleeting glimpse of a shield.
He seemed to remember something. His face, occupied by anger and grief, moved out of the shadows, looking towards his sweating kin beside him.
Sheets of sweat covered Morgana's cheeks and neck, dampening thousands of strands of hair. She breathed somewhat heavily. The psychic power, intensely squeezed in an instant, was now continuously backlashing against her. Her back was slightly hunched, and streaks of blood-red light flashed in her azure pupils.
She noticed the Lion's gaze and lowered her head, seemingly with some shame and regret.
"[Thirty-three… alive.]"
Lion El'Jonson remained silent. He still said nothing. The Primarch merely nodded slightly, then returned his face to the shadows.
At this moment, he was terrifying, yet so quiet and refined.
On Sabbis, on Vollaston, on Belisarius, even on Sisyphus…
He had never been this terrifying.
Lion El'Jonson slowly raised his comm-unit to his lips and quietly issued a command. His unequivocal voice naturally overrode the [Sword of Numark]'s request.
"[Deploy Stormbirds. There are still our men alive on the Duran warship. Ensure their safety at all costs.]"
The other end of the comm-unit fell silent for a moment, then came a chaotic flurry of activity. But as these sounds slowly faded, the high-ranking knight's slightly trembling voice reappeared, still requesting approval for revenge.
The Lion of Caliban did not answer immediately. He merely watched the electronic projection quietly, watching the [Hrunting] swagger through the burning wreckage, as if an innocent savior, enjoying everything that was rightfully his in his infinite glory.
He breathed.
He tried his best to calm himself.
He had to remain calm.
…
That warship was about to leave…
…
Finally, Lion El'Jonson's brow twitched uncontrollably. His pupils were ultimately consumed by some unknown mist.
He spoke.
[Understood.]
[I permit it.]
"Maintain course! Increase speed!"
"You sons of bitches! Get moving!"
"Prepare the lances! We're going for another kill! We can't let those bastards from Ogvaii get the upper hand! Let everyone see, mates! We're the strongest!"
Jorin sat on his throne.
His husky cries, characteristic of a Fenrisian, reverberated through the command center. All the Space Wolves began to howl, and even the common crewmen and mortal servants were cheering excitedly, enjoying the savage pleasure of the hunt.
The Wolf Lord involuntarily stood up, full of vigor, searching for the next target. Then, an anomaly occurred.
"Bang!"
Suddenly, an unexpected attack precisely hit the Wolf Lord's warship. This seemed to be a test, an attempted adjustment, the first breath in a fervent revenge.
"Damn it, how did…"
Before the Wolf Lord could utter his confusion, the second strike followed. A most intense and deadly destructive energy beam came straight for their warship. All warning instruments and runes screamed desperately, but they were utterly useless.
The second strike arrived as promised. This was an undisguised blow of hatred. The lance perfectly hit the Wolf Lord's warship. Three layers of void shields were ionized into useless plasma under the torment of high temperature and energy.
Explosions and impacts began to wreak havoc across the [Hrunting]'s bridge and hull. The entire capital ship tilted and fell under this solid hit, even being caught by the gravity of the nearby Duran homeworld, slowly sliding towards the surface.
In the chaos, only the Duran Tyrant's almost incessant, ear-piercing shriek still echoed in every corner.
"What the hell is going on!"
Jorin roared. He was completely confused by this inexplicable strike. The Wolf Lord lunged towards the Divination Box, carefully searching in Duran's direction, but saw no enemy ships that could have delivered such a threat.
Unless…
A terrifying thought emerged in his mind.
Jorin adjusted the angle of the Divination Box, turning it in another direction: a direction he disliked, yet never had to worry about or guard against.
He saw it.
The [Sword of Numark] was facing them directly. This was a perfect position for a sniper attack. Around this Dark Angels warship, astonishing energy was gathering: the Divination Box faithfully reflected reality. The [Sword of Numark] had once again prepared its lances, and that deadly weapon was aimed precisely at the [Hrunting], which had temporarily lost its mobility.
And behind it, the Dark Angels' capital ships were one by one adjusting their direction, aiming their cannons and heaviest armor at the Space Wolves fleet. Even in the furthest distance, the [Unbending Truth] had slowly started its main engines.
The Space Wolves fleet also clearly sensed that something was wrong on this side. The [Nidhogg] had already discovered its brother's dangerous predicament and was rushing towards the [Hrunting] at all costs.
And on the public channel of the comm-units, the inter-ship emergency communications, which should have been chaotic due to the battle, suddenly exploded into an uproar due to this sudden murder.
All Space Wolf warships let out their roars and questions. Hundreds of messages crashed chaotically through the channel, making it impossible to hear any clear sound.
Jorin's eyes widened. He stared blankly at all of this, as if a child witnessing the ocean for the first time.
This fearless Wolf Lord could now only instinctively utter a sigh.
"By the Allfather…"
Jorin's sigh could not change anything.
Without even a second's delay, the moment the lances were ready, the [Sword of Numark] fired its final blow without hesitation, delivering a death sentence to the perpetrator who had taken the lives of a hundred Dark Angels.
The [Hrunting] detected this strike. It was trying its best, struggling to turn amidst countless drifting debris, intending to counter this murder, but it seemed to be in vain.
That bright lance carved a deadly, man-eating streak across the void, yearning to reap the last lives. But just as it was about to hit its target, the [Nidhogg] arrived in time. This sudden savior activated all its reserve energy fields and solidly blocked the strike for its battle-brother.
The lance destroyed all its void shields, and all its bridges and masts were vaporized in the most violent shockwave. The entire warship tilted and fell under the double impact of speed and power. Even countless lights visibly disappeared from the [Nidhogg]'s portholes.
For a time, the two Space Wolf battleships lay side-by-side in the center of the battlefield, having lost the power to continue fighting and sailing. In the endless void, only the Duran Tyrant's incessant, long laughter enveloped them.
And at this moment, Leman Russ's roar finally drowned out all other messages, exploding in Lion El'Jonson's ear.
[LION EL'JONSON! MY BROTHER!]
[WHAT ARE YOU DOING!]
[ANSWER ME!]
[THIS IS MURDER!]
[YOU ARE ATTACKING MY SONS! YOUR COMRADES!]
[WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING! STOP IT NOW!]
Countless shouts like these erupted from the Space Wolves' Primarch, echoing through the room like thunder in a valley.
Lion El'Jonson lowered his head, listening to these roars. He seemed deliberately to maintain a certain quietude, enjoying Leman Russ's voice gradually twisting and becoming anxious in the long roar.
Finally, at some point, his dim expression did improve somewhat.
Morgana could see a deliberately manufactured smile on his lips. Accompanying his smile was the Primarch's low, restrained, refined, yet unashamedly acerbic and disdainful voice.
[You're here too, Leman Russ.]
[I thought your foolish dogs had finally gone completely mad, abandoned you, and come before me to bark incessantly.]
[So, I helped you discipline them a little.]
[DISCIPLINE?!]
[ARE YOU FUCKING MAD!]
[OUR ENEMY IS DURAN! NOT EACH OTHER! IF YOU WANT TO GO MAD! DON'T FUCKING GO MAD NOW!]
Leman Russ's roar filled the entire public channel, and amidst this blunt roaring and insults, Lion El'Jonson surprisingly maintained a silent and dangerous elegance.
He brought his lips close to the comm-unit, first lightly mocking Leman Russ's brain and intelligence: as if mocking two lumps of air.
He wantonly ridiculed Leman Russ, in front of everyone, both Dark Angels and Space Wolves.
Until he felt that the Wolf King was about to go mad, Lion El'Jonson's tone suddenly shifted. He began to recount his plans and actions, telling Leman Russ, little by little, in front of everyone, what his sons had done.
Then, he heard silence.
Leman Russ's roaring gasps transformed into a deathly stillness the moment he understood everything.
It transformed into a stillness that filled him with satisfaction and pleasure.
Then, Lion El'Jonson heard roars. These were not Leman Russ's roars, but the roars of Jorin, Blackblood, Bravier, and all the Space Wolves. They all roared, howled, clamored for blood for blood.
But in the next second, Leman Russ's most violent roar drowned out all other sounds. This roar was not directed at others, but precisely at Leman Russ's own sons and warriors. He suppressed all voices eager for continued conflict with an undeniable attitude, then took a deep breath.
Subsequently, everyone on the public channel could hear Leman Russ's low, slow, and even as soft as possible voice.
[Lion El'Jonson, my brother.]
[You've been wronged.]
[Please wait a moment on your warship.]
[I will personally come to you… to apologize.]
As soon as his voice fell, the public channel connecting hundreds of warships immediately fell into a deathly silence.
Lion El'Jonson smiled.
His brother, after all, was still not a Space Wolf.
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