"Sacrifice is essential if we want to turn over a new leaf and become our own masters. I am already prepared for this!" Corax said with great determination.
"Since we're forming our own army, have you thought of a name for this unit?" Swain asked.
"A name? No, I haven't thought about it. Shouldn't that be your job? You're the leader of The Saviour Camp, aren't you?" Corax retorted, as he genuinely hadn't considered the question.
"Ah!" Swain was also dumbfounded. In his subconscious, shouldn't Corax have already thought of the name Dark Raven Guard? Because the Nineteenth Legion was still called the "Pale Nomads" at that time; Dark Raven Guard was the name Corax adopted after he returned to the Imperium and accepted his Legion. In fact, the situation was similar for every Legion; they all had different names before their Primarchs returned. For example, the First Legion was known as the Heavenly Host, only changing its name to Dark Angels after the Lion King returned. Mortarion, who lived next to Corax, had a Legion called the Dusk Raiders before his return; after Mortarion returned, he renamed it the Death Guard.
Only now did Swain remember that his The Saviour Camp should perhaps not be called Saviors, but rather Dark Raven Guard. But it didn't matter, changing it now was just as good.
"Let's just call them the Dark Raven Guard. The rest of the unit's organizational structure and everything else is up to you. Just remember to reserve a spot for me as Vice Commander." Swain shamelessly claimed the name without any psychological burden, then immediately ran off after saying it.
It was a joke; he certainly didn't want to rack his brain and expend energy on complex military organizational structures. As for why it was a Vice Commander position, it was naturally because most of this unit was made up of people from other camps. They recognized Corax; Swain, with his homebody nature, rarely showed up. Besides the people from The Saviour Camp, people from other camps didn't know Swain well.
Swain wasn't worried about Corax seizing power; in fact, he wished Corax would handle all the affairs of The Saviour Camp anyway. After all, Swain's strength would grow as Corax worked. Who cares who does the work? We're all brothers.
"Dark Raven Guard, it sounds strangely familiar. Alright, then that will be the name." Corax settled on the name without any objections. It was your own name in the first place, so why wouldn't it feel familiar?
Just as the two main leaders on Lycaeus began to establish their own forces and prepare for the uprising, on Sacred Terra, a vast fleet silently lay across the void. Various warships, layered three deep inside and three deep outside, firmly guarded a small fleet at the core of the main fleet. Unlike the other warships, this not-so-large fleet was entirely noble gold in color.
At the center of this golden fleet was an enormous warship—no, rather than a warship, it was more like a golden palace. On this golden palace, a soaring eagle with spread wings served as the prow, while the hull was covered with a massive city composed of statues and war temples. The hull and flanks gradually tapered, forming a spear-like point, and the engine blocks emitted a cold blue light. This magnificent warship was precisely the flagship of the great Human Lord, the Emperor, the Emperor's Dream.
"My Lord, beyond the Sol System, currently only Warp travel to the Storm System is unobstructed." A tall figure, enveloped in a gilded power armor, bowed and reported to the throne.
"An invitation?" On the throne, the tall golden figure tapped the armrest with a slender finger, and ancient eyes flickered with the light of wisdom.
"Go..."
An unquestionable command emanated from the figure shrouded in golden light.
"Yes, My Lord!" The Custodian in golden armor saluted the entity on the throne and retreated.
As the command from the Lord of the Imperium was transmitted, the vast fleet began to set its course. The previously stationary fleet slowly accelerated, and the sterns of the warships began to emit scorching pale blue exhaust flames. The massive cluster of warships went from stationary to sub-light speed in just a few tens of seconds.
Sacred Terra. Imperial Palace.
The Lord of Iron watched the departing massive fleet for a long time without speaking. His strong arms, with their silvery metallic sheen, gave off an exceptionally powerful impression, and in fact, it was not a meaningless decoration. The scene of him tearing apart a tank with his bare hands on the testing ground was still firmly etched in the Custodes' minds.
This individual, with a rugged, chiseled face, was Ferrus Manus, the Primarch of the Tenth Legion, whom the Emperor had just brought back from the Nebula System. According to the current Imperium of Man calendar, it was the 824th year of the 30th Millennium.
"Uncle Malcador, don't worry, I will quickly complete Father's instructions." Ferrus's somewhat somber voice carried the unique rigidity of steel.
"Alright, don't be so tense. Leman Russ sent someone from Fenris with his personally brewed mead. This is a vintage he's aged for several years." Malcador smiled and waved his hand. It was clear that this scene of brotherly affection between the Primarchs made Malcador, as their uncle, very pleased. Then, two palace attendants carried up two large wine vats, each a meter and a half tall.
"Hahaha, I never thought Leman Russ, despite the hardships of fighting Orks on the front lines, would still remember me, his brother. Surely there's a share for Uncle Malcador here too." Ferrus smiled as he looked at the wine vats the palace attendants placed on the ground, and his usually steel-like voice gained a touch of tenderness.
Leman Russ encountered a formidable opponent in the first war he commanded his Legion. The Space Wolves were currently engaged in a grueling battle against a Greenskin Ork Empire that spanned an entire sector. Even with the ferocity of a Space Marine Legion, their losses were heavy. What Leman Russ didn't know was that what he was currently facing was only the outer fringes of the Orks' power. His true opponent was an Ork Empire that spanned the entire Firewheel Sector.
Beneath Leman Russ's rugged exterior lay a very meticulous mind; he naturally wouldn't forget to send a share to Malcador. When Leman Russ first returned to Terra, it was Malcador who taught him everything hand-in-hand. Leman Russ greatly respected, and also greatly feared, Malcador; after all, the psychic power that this seemingly half-dead old man could unleash from his hunched body was enough to beat Leman Russ soundly.
"Leman Russ has already led his army to war for several years; I also need to quicken my pace." Ferrus sighed with emotion.