Leman Russ was not truly a Space Wolf. Although he was the sole leader of the pack, this did not mean he was entirely in cahoots with his progeny in his bones. More than that, he wasn't even truly a Fenrisian.
He did not belong to that cold death world, nor to the Human Imperium, nor even to himself. From a certain point in time, Leman Russ had submitted to the blazing light of a ruthless sun, becoming what he considered a mere spear of execution.
Of course, in this galaxy, no one could live entirely according to their own self-perception, not even a Primarch. While Leman Russ could indeed change Fenris and the Space Wolves, whether he himself remained entirely unaffected, as he believed, was a matter of perspective.
But regardless of Leman Russ's thoughts, he ultimately had to account for his actions: over the past few decades of Terra Standard Years, he had successfully purged the baseness from his legion's bloodline with grandeur and savagery. At this moment, he had to face the backlash brought by these "virtues."
More specifically, when Leman Russ softly uttered those placating words and promised to personally go to the Unbending Truth to apologize, the first thing he had to do was face the uproar of thousands of Space Wolves.
The battle continued. It would not halt for a fatal misunderstanding or a solemn apology.
Lion El'Jonson and Leman Russ were not fools prone to losing control. The masters of the two legions tacitly put aside the recent events for a while: Duran's fleet had not yet collapsed, and the colossal fortress serving as the defensive core remained firmly in the hands of these resistors. The allied forces of the two legions still needed to slaughter these tenacious resistors; this was their most urgent task.
In the solemn silence of the Dark Angels, Leman Russ and his Thirteenth Great Company boarded new warships and launched a fierce assault on the final core of Duran's fleet. This battle of attrition within the Void Fortress ended within one Terra Standard Hour. The Space Wolves lost seventeen squads, but cut down tens of thousands of Duran's heads.
At the same time, the Dark Angels' warships continuously passed by this burning purgatory. They pursued the remnants of Duran's forces, which had disintegrated after losing their leader,
gradually expanding the Imperium's occupied airspace until complete air superiority over Duran was achieved by the allied forces of the two legions.
This world had still not surrendered, and the Imperium would not allow the Duran Tyrant to continue living. A brutal landing and decapitation operation was a mutually understood undertaking between both sides.
And as the Imperial fleet swept the last corners of the battlefield, the Wolf King of Fenris once again returned to the Nidhogg. According to his previous orders, all the Wolf Lords, Wolf Priests, and high-ranking officers of the fleet had gathered in the ship's circular chamber, collectively facing a major problem that would give anyone a headache.
The Primarch moved among his progeny, then plopped down onto his stone throne. Jorun, the Wolf Lord of the Thirteenth Great Company, who had caused this great disaster, stood at his right hand. To his left stood Grunni-Blackblood, Leman Russ's guard. Next to the guard was another Wolf Lord: Ogwai-Helmshrow, master of the Third Great Company and the true owner of the Nidhogg.
Leman Russ sat on his throne, somewhat fatigued, without anger or reproach.
This Primarch of the Space Wolves was more burly and robust than most of his brothers; only a few demigods like Vulcan could surpass him. He wore his almost never-removed storm-grey Power Armor,
etched with runes from Fenris. Above this Power Armor was a ruddy and rugged face, as if he were a mortal agent meticulously crafted by a savage god, born to be the ruler of all barbarian kings, commanding all wild realms.
At this moment, the Primarch was heavily bearded, his pure golden hair twisted into tangled braids, looking somewhat unkempt. His pupils were bloodshot, a weariness from months of long campaigns.
[Speak your minds.]
He spoke.
[My brother is still on his warship, waiting for my move, waiting for how I'll deal with this mess.]
[As far as I know, though he has patience, it's certainly not very good. If our answer fails to satisfy his delicate heart, this matter will be endless.]
The Primarch's jest brought a few lighthearted moments to the room, but most still maintained their rugged expressions. After exchanging glances, the Wolf Lord of the Third Great Company stepped forward.
"Under no circumstances should you personally go to the Unbending Truth, my Lord."
"To present yourself as an emissary of apology, in an inferior manner, to another Primarch who should be your equal, is a profound insult to you, my Lord. You should not endure such humiliation. Neither on Fenris nor in the Sixth Legion would anyone agree to this."
Leman Russ remained silent. And in that silence, his guard, Blackblood, and other officers successively expressed similar views.
"This is a tragedy, my Lord. Perhaps we should apologize, but never should it be you personally."
"War is war. People will always die. This cannot be avoided."
"We have proven our attitude with our sacrifices and actions, my Lord. If he still insists on appealing all of this, then at worst, let us shed more blood, shed it until he has nothing more to say. The entire Legion will fight to the death for your honor."
The Wolf King listened quietly. After almost everyone had spoken, he rolled his savage and cunning eyes towards Jorun, who was the only one who hadn't spoken: due to the awkward position of the Wolf Lord of the Thirteenth Great Company in this incident, he could not speak proactively.
[What are your thoughts, Bloodhowl?]
One of Leman Russ's earliest comrades stepped forward. Jorun looked directly into the face he had sworn to follow to his dying breath decades ago, raising his chin, with a sense of pride that could not be lost, articulating each word carefully.
"Let me go, my Lord."
"I will go to the Unbending Truth, alone. To be killed or flayed, it is up to him..."
Leman Russ smiled.
He waved his hand, interrupting Jorun's lofty ambitions.
[Send you, then what?]
[You'll probably raise your axe the moment you see my brother, give him a leaping strike, and then this whole bloody mess will be utterly confused.]
The Wolf Lord merely proudly puffed out his chest.
"The Hrunting can still fight, my Lord. Our lances are fully charged. For your honor, we are ready to plunge into fire and water at any moment."
Leman Russ smiled, shaking his head.
He didn't doubt the truthfulness of Jorun's words. He knew that with just a single command, this Wolf Lord, whom he trusted the most, would do anything for him.
But not this time.
The Wolf King of Fenris stood up. His tall figure loomed over several of his progeny. Leman Russ carefully observed his confidantes, looking at all the Wolf Lords, Wolf Priests, and high-ranking officers, one by one, from Blackblood to Jorun.
The Primarch mused, almost to himself.
[All this time, we have lived in isolation, finding amusement in the narrow-minded remarks and prejudices of those fools, searching among the vast stars for the blizzards we felt on Fenris.]
[We have our pride, and we once thought of changing the minds of those fools, but our attempts always backfired. To my brothers, I am a King of Barbarians, leading my bloodthirsty, foul-smelling tribe, wandering between their respective castles, kingdoms, and libraries.]
[They dislike me, but they can't do anything to me. Our bloodline and genes prevent most of us from killing each other.]
[But Lion El'Jonson is different. This brother of mine, he is completely different. He is an incorrigible knight-lord. If he ever feels his honor has been challenged, he will charge out of his castle, fully armed, and fight us in the wilderness until our last drop of blood.]
[That would be too foolish, utterly foolish.]
Leman Russ let out a long, hot breath. He looked at his progeny, his tongue constantly licking his sharp fangs.
[Yes, my warriors, this concerns honor. Our honor, their honor, are equally important. But if for the sake of mere honor, an indelible blood feud is formed between two legions, that would be an even more foolish act.]
[So...]
[Let us temporarily set aside our honor.]
He spoke, like a foolish monarch issuing unpopular orders. A genuine shock appeared on the faces of all the attendees.
Jorun almost uncontrollably rushed forward.
"My Lord! You cannot appear so weak..."
[Weakness?!]
Before the Wolf Lord's words even finished, Leman Russ's roar shook the entire circular chamber.
[Do you consider this weakness, Bloodhowl!]
[To face one's mistakes, not to evade!]
[To bear one's vows, not to hide!]
[Or to let true blood flow senselessly for abstract ideals?]
[This is not weakness, my warrior.]
[Everyone must bear their own position, and be responsible for their own actions. Evading one's responsibilities, avoiding one's mistakes, that is true weakness.]
He looked at his progeny again, seeing the mostly confused expressions on their faces, and silently sighed in his heart.
[Furthermore, we must consider reality.]
[In this star system, in this battle, my brother possesses more power. His soldiers outnumber all of ours combined, and he also has his Glory Queen.]
[If he wanted to, he could interfere with us, obstruct us. Even if he didn't do that, he could still mobilize all his forces, strike down the Duran Tyrant's head first, and swallow all the credit himself, leaving not a speck of residue for us!]
[Do you know what this means! It means all our efforts of these past few months would turn into nothing, into utter garbage! Those bastards on Terra are already dissatisfied with our progress.
Those scoundrels haven't experienced real war; they only complain about our slow progress, constantly thinking of kicking us aside. I even had to seek help from the Sigillite to ensure we could continue this war against Duran.]
[Only in war do we have a place. We are Space Wolves. I once swore to shatter that tyrant's neck. If we fail, our oath will be no different from horse dung, and our sacrifices of these past few months will be meaningless.]
[I absolutely forbid such a thing from happening, even if there's only a slight possibility. I want everything to proceed smoothly until I cut off that tyrant's head!]
He roared, he bellowed, he took deep breaths. In his majestic presence, all the Space Wolves were silent as death.
Leman Russ nodded. He then mentioned several names symbolizing calmness, as his attendants for this operation. These progeny were among the few who weren't obsessed with fighting and killing. He no longer wanted any further complications.
[Now, dismissed. Once I've finished these messy affairs, we can continue fighting.]
He showed a grim smile, making a promise to his progeny.
[When I return, this mess will be over.]
"The Stormbird of the Wolf King has set course."
Corswain's voice came through the communicator, accompanied by the sound of bustling footsteps.
For this war, Lion El'Jonson had brought three fully equipped knightly orders. Although most of them were fighting on the front lines at this moment, the Unbending Truth could still draw upon hundreds of the most elite Dark Angels to form a welcoming formation for Leman Russ.
Countless intricate combat formations were deployed in the spacious hangar of the Glory Queen-class vessel. Greeting a Primarch certainly warranted the most solemn attitude:
hundreds of Dark Angels formed a human sea-like array, with over a hundred battle banners fluttering above their heads. Each banner was meticulously chosen, symbolizing hundreds of illustrious military achievements that could rival or even surpass those of the Space Wolf Legion.
Everything was ready, just waiting for the two most important protagonists to make their appearance.
Corswain glanced at his chronometer, thinking thus.
He did not stand within the formation, but rather in the open space in the middle, waiting as the Lion King's right hand for his gene-father to arrive for this meeting.
Of course, even Corswain did not know that in Lion El'Jonson's eyes, this was more than just a meeting.
[This is Leman Russ.]
Morgana witnessed the electronic projection before her. The appearance of the Wolf King of Fenris was clearly displayed, a wild demigod's demeanor completely different from Magnus, Perturabo, Lion El'Jonson, and Morgana herself.
The Primarch of the First Legion did not reply. He was carefully inspecting the intricate纹章 on his armor, ensuring there were no flaws.
Finally, he nodded and summoned his blood kin to welcome his other brother.
But Morgana did not respond to him either. She meticulously observed Leman Russ's projection, so carefully that Lion El'Jonson's brows furrowed slightly. He noticed his blood kin's gaze lingered far too long on the majestic chest and ruddy face, and she was periodically looking at him, as if making some kind of comparison.
Lion El'Jonson simply walked over and stood beside Morgana.
[You are wasting time.]
Morgana casually nodded, as if she hadn't heard him at all. And before Lion El'Jonson's anger could further brew, she suddenly spoke in a soft yet resolute tone.
[He seems shorter than you, but also sturdier. And he looks... healthier. Compared to him, your complexion is somewhat pale, and your face also appears a bit gaunt.]
Lion El'Jonson's face darkened by a shade.
[What are you trying to say?]
Morgana's gaze wandered around the room. She quickly found her target: on the display cases in the very corner of the room lay Lion El'Jonson's hunting trophies. Most of them were the heads and bone claws of great beasts, but there were also some more delicate items among them.
Then, her gaze returned to Lion El'Jonson, scrutinizing his golden hair and emerald green eyes, sweeping over his erect posture and the features always seemingly shrouded in shadow.
Then, she smiled.
Morgana lightly hooked her finger, and a nearly perfect sable cloak came into her hand. Of course, for the current Morgana, this cloak could easily serve as a cape.
She thought for a moment, then hooked another, smaller white mink cloak. She draped this opulent white garment over Lion El'Jonson's shoulders, then gently rubbed her chin, pondering the compatibility and conflict between the white cloak and the black armor.
Lion El'Jonson said nothing, he merely lowered his head, watching the scene with interest.
Morgana pinched her pale lower lip with her index finger. She pondered for about two seconds, then draped the black mink cloak over him as well. Then, her psychic energy moved over Lion El'Jonson's shoulders, bustling like bees, mixing the black and white colors together, making the pristine white a perfect accent to the gleaming pure black.
She manipulated it, murmuring softly.
[Our brother is a barbarian, Lion El'Jonson, a true barbarian king.]
[And now, you are to meet him, before your countless progeny, meeting him as the souls of your respective legions. You may not care about the details of this meeting, but others will, Lion El'Jonson.]
[He is a barbarian king, or at least he appears to be. He is more imposing than you, and his ruddy complexion also looks healthier than yours. You cannot surpass him in these aspects, so you must become the other extreme.]
[A civilized, rational, powerful, and composed endpoint.]
[He is a barbarian king, so you must become a true, the best knight, the greatest knight-lord in the entire Imperium, symbolizing civilized and rational conquest. Such an identity is enough to look down upon even the most powerful barbarian king.]
She whispered, she chattered, she tirelessly corrected and modified every flawed detail on Lion El'Jonson's armor, occasionally tapping her lips, pondering better combinations, her fingers lightly tracing the pure black Power Armor, leaving invisible marks.
Lion El'Jonson said nothing, nor did he refute. He even remained somewhat stiff, letting his blood kin fuss over him, until he noticed that she seemed to hesitate over the color of the curled edges of the cloaks.
[Silver.]
Lion El'Jonson spoke.
This voice made Morgana pause. Then, she looked up, her cerulean eyes meeting Lion El'Jonson's gaze. The next second, her pupils were filled with amusement.
Morgana shook her finger, and a layer of the purest silver encircled Lion El'Jonson's black armor and golden emblems, transforming the Lion into a truly unapproachable monarch.
[Perfect~]
She murmured softly, sincerely, and proudly, hands on her hips, looking slightly upwards, as if triumphantly awaiting any compliments or praise.
Lion El'Jonson let out a soft grunt. His gaze also roamed over his blood kin, but no matter how he looked, he could only force himself to identify one problem.
The Lion of Caliban walked to his weapon rack. After a moment of thought, he picked up a dagger and handed it to Morgana.
His blood kin pouted, expressing her dissatisfaction without reservation.
Lion El'Jonson's lips curved into a pleased smile. He turned his head, ignoring his blood kin's protests, and merely glanced at the time before straightening his expression.
[Alright, stop fooling around. It's time.]
[Understood.]
That cold aura returned to Morgana. Lion El'Jonson couldn't help but take a deep breath. He always liked this capable and efficient aura.
[This time, don't hide among the crowds. You must stand by my side.]
[...]
[This is an order. You will face this day eventually. Don't play tricks.]
[...Understood.]
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