When Dorian bid farewell to Gaius and the others, his solemn expression was like a warrior about to walk to the execution ground. He clapped Gaius on the shoulder, then showed Kolesa and Luna a smile uglier than a cry, before turning and disappearing down the corridor with heavy steps.
Luna, watching his departing back, uncharacteristically whispered, "Take care."
This sentence made Dorian feel even more that he was going to a banquet of no return, where death was certain.
The walk to the Chapter Master's office felt longer than ever to Dorian.
His legs, which could usually kick through Chaos Space Marines' armor with ease, now felt like they were filled with lead, each step incredibly difficult.
The servo-system of his Power Armor seemed to sense its master's "weakness," and its hum was much lower than usual.
"It's over, it's over... This is completely over..." Dorian wailed in his heart, "Discussing the Chapter Master... and discussing his hairstyle... By the Emperor, how could I make such a low-level mistake! I'm definitely going to be torn to shreds by the Chapter Master himself!
Maybe I'll even be made into a specimen and hung on the bridge to warn future generations..."
He already envisioned himself being crushed by the enraged Chapter Master Calgar's massive Power Fist, or being trampled underfoot by the "Armor of Fate."
He even began to silently review his life, wondering if there were any last words he needed to impart.
Finally, he slowly arrived before the heavy alloy door, symbolizing the Chapter's highest authority, engraved with the Imperial Aquila and the ring of macragge.
Two Honor Guard Warriors, standing like steel statues, turned their crimson visors towards him, seemingly having already received instructions.
They didn't question him as usual; instead, they silently and synchronously reached out and pushed open the heavy giant door.
Inside, the vast, hall-like scene of the Chapter Master's office unfolded before Dorian.
What first caught his eye was still the mountain of data-slates, flickering with a faint blue light, almost submerging the huge obsidian desk.
Then, his gaze involuntarily, and with fear, fell upon the figure seated on the throne.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar.
He was not wearing his renowned "Armor of Fate," but merely a deep blue Ironclad Pattern Autarch Terminator Armor, yet the majestic aura of commanding a thousand armies was undiminished.
His signature, impeccably short golden hair reflected a cold, hard sheen under the office's overhead lights.
But what made Dorian's heart stop was the Chapter Master's expression... an expression devoid of any expression.
There was no anticipated thunderous rage, no gnashing ferocity, only a profound, inscrutable calm.
This calm was more terrifying to Dorian than direct fury.
"Astartes Brother Dorian," Calgar's voice rang out, so steady that no emotion could be discerned, yet it struck Dorian's heart like a heavy hammer.
Dorian, almost reflexively, knelt on one knee in the most standard and respectful posture he could manage, bowing his head, which was usually held highest, his voice trembling uncontrollably: "Ch-Chapter Master!"
Calgar's gaze fell upon Dorian, a gaze that seemed to penetrate his Power Armor and look directly into his inner trepidation.
He did not immediately get angry, but instead, with that steady tone, asked the question that made Dorian's soul scatter:
"Dorian, do you have any... opinions on my hairstyle?"
"No! Absolutely not! Chapter Master!" Dorian abruptly raised his head, his face full of "sincere" panic, his words coming out like a Bolter on full auto, "I just... I was just idle with my brothers, talking nonsense!
Pure rubbish! Please don't take it to heart! Your hairstyle... your hairstyle is very... very majestic! Very fitting for your status as Chapter Master and King of Macragge!
Full of... full of power and... and wisdom! I have no opinion on your hairstyle! Not at all!"
He wished he could tear out his heart and show it to the Chapter Master to prove his "innocence."
Calgar quietly listened to Dorian's incoherent defense, his face still without any ripple.
He neither softened due to Dorian's panic nor was moved by the clumsy flattery.
He just looked at Dorian with his deep gaze, as if contemplating how to deal with this over-energetic subordinate who always couldn't control his mouth.
A suffocating silence fell in the office.
Dorian knelt on the ground, feeling every second stretch into an eternity, cold sweat on his back almost soaking through his undersuit.
Finally, Calgar seemed to have made a decision.
He slowly opened his mouth, his voice still steady, but what he said plunged Dorian into an ice-cold abyss:
"Since you have no opinion on my hairstyle..." Calgar deliberately paused, watching the flicker of hope in Dorian's eyes, then continued, "Very well.
It seems that your usual training and missions are not enough to exhaust your excess energy, leaving you with free time to discuss your superiors behind their backs."
Dorian's heart, which had just sunk a little, instantly shot back up to his throat.
"Then, starting tomorrow," Calgar clearly delivered his "verdict," "you will go to Captain Cassius's office door every day, replace the Honor Guard Warrior there, and be responsible for standing guard."
Dorian's eyes instantly widened! Stand guard at the First Company Captain's office door?! This... This would be better than being directly beaten by the Chapter Master!
Who doesn't know that Captain Cassius has been in a terrible temper lately due to heavy administrative duties, like a Bolter ready to explode at a touch?
His own wretched mouth had just "offended" the Captain in the comms, and now he had to stand at his office door every day?
What's the difference between this and sending himself to the mouth of an Ork Warlord?!
Calgar hadn't finished: "Guard duty time, eighteen standard hours a day."
Eighteen hours?! Dorian felt his vision go black.
"Furthermore," Calgar's tone carried an unquestionable authority, "you will give half of your high-grade nutrient paste and synthetic bread rations to Captain Cassius."
He glanced at the mountain of administrative documents on the desk, belonging to the King of Macragge, and added, "Lest he always covet my inventory."
This last sentence almost confirmed Dorian's earlier rumors of "stealing nutrient paste," and implied that Captain Cassius was aware of the matter or even involved!
Dorian felt that he was not only finished but might have dragged the Captain down with him...
"Ch-Chapter Master!" Dorian could no longer hold back; he tried to make a last struggle, his voice choked with tears, "Can I... can I have a different punishment?
Like cleaning all the toilets on the entire battleship? Or helping the Tech-Priest in the engine room? Even standing guard at your office door would be fine!
Going to Captain Cassius... I... I'm afraid..."
He truly couldn't imagine how he would live through eighteen hours a day facing the Captain's murderous gaze.
However, Calgar did not give him a chance to bargain.
He simply picked up an electronic pen from the desk, his gaze returning to the data-slates in front of him, as if Dorian no longer existed, and merely waved his hand dismissively, indicating he could leave.
"Tomorrow, at simulated time five, remember to report to Captain Cassius's office door," Calgar said finally, his tone flat, yet carrying a final, unchangeable decision.
Dorian opened his mouth, looking at the Chapter Master's attitude of "this matter is concluded, do not bother me further," knowing that anything more he said would be futile.
He saluted limply, as if his bones had been removed, then staggered out of the Chapter Master's office, utterly dejected and disoriented.
The heavy alloy door slowly closed behind him, separating the two worlds inside and out.
Dorian stood outside the door, looking at the cold metal door panel, then at the two Honor Guard Warriors still standing solemnly as if nothing had happened.
He felt a wave of dizziness, his vision blurring.
Standing guard at Captain Cassius's door for eighteen hours... and having to give up half of his rations... This punishment was even more cruel than throwing him directly into the Eye of Terror!
He seemed to already see his future miserable life, dark and endless, suffering both mental and physical torment.
"I... I'm kind of dead..." Dorian muttered to himself, dragging his body, which felt like it no longer belonged to him, like a wandering spirit, slowly and despairingly disappearing down the corridor.
The soft light of night once again filled the internal passages of the Macragge's Honour, the daytime hustle and the embers of battle gradually subsided, and the battleship, like a weary giant, entered a brief respite.
After completing the last set of high-intensity physical maintenance training, Gaius's forehead was covered in fine moisture, but his breathing remained steady.
Kolesa had been quietly accompanying him, and now naturally stepped forward, took out a soft cloth, and carefully wiped away his sweat.
The two packed up their training equipment, and like the most ordinary couple, held hands and left the brightly lit training area, walking towards their chamber i-10-a.
The passage was much quieter than during the day, with only the low hum of the circulating air system and the occasional, regular, and heavy footsteps of patrols from afar.
Kolesa held Gaius's warm and rough hand tightly, feeling the strength and warmth of his palm, her heart filled with peace.
She looked up, her purple eyes scanning the somewhat empty corridor, and whispered:
"Gaius, have you noticed that as soon as night falls, the patrolling warriors... seem to have increased a lot?"
Gaius nodded, his gaze habitually sweeping over every corner of the corridor and the direction of the surveillance cameras, explaining in his steady tone, "At night, most of the ship's crew and Astartes Brothers enter shifts or deep meditation, and the warship's defensive strength is relatively weaker than during the day.
Therefore, the Chapter Master's direct Honor Guard usually deploys in full force, cooperating with some of our First Company brothers, to form reinforced patrol teams, conducting cross-patrols throughout the entire ship to ensure all potential risks are eliminated."
His explanation was clear and concise, giving Kolesa a deeper understanding of the warship's operations.
She couldn't help but marvel at the rigor and efficiency of human military management.
Just then, from around the corner of the opposite corridor, came an exceptionally heavy set of footsteps, as if the metal deck itself would tremble with each step.
Soon, a squad of giants clad in deep blue Power Armor appeared in their line of sight.
This patrol squad was not an ordinary tactical squad; their bodies were exceptionally burly, and they were wearing heavy Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor!
Like moving steel fortresses, every step carried an unparalleled sense of oppression.
The two groups met in the corridor.
The Ironclad Pattern squad warriors saw Sergeant Karl and Miss Kolesa, immediately stopped, and the leading Sergeant raised his armored right arm, striking a clenched fist heavily against his left chest plate, emitting a dull thud, and rendered a standard military salute to Gaius.
His squad members behind him also saluted in unison, their movements precise.
Gaius immediately released Kolesa's hand, straightened his body, and returned the salute with crisp efficiency.
Kolesa, meanwhile, turned slightly, casting a grateful glance at these warriors guarding the warship.
After the salutes, the two groups passed each other, and the heavy footsteps of the Ironclad Pattern squad gradually faded away.
Kolesa looked back at the retreating figures of the blue giants and asked curiously, "Hmm... Gaius, why do those particularly heavy armors seem to come in so many different styles?
The ones those brothers were wearing just now look different from the kind you usually tell me Dorian wears?"
Gaius also glanced back at the departing Ironclad Pattern squad and patiently replied, "The brothers just now were wearing Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor.
While ensuring extremely heavy defense, it relatively optimizes joint flexibility and firepower carrying capacity, suitable for assault and defensive missions."
He paused, then added, "Dorian used to wear Saturn-pattern, but now, due to repairs, he's temporarily wearing Ironclad Pattern."
Kolesa nodded, half-understanding, a spark of curiosity in her purple eyes.
She tried to recall, then posed a new question, "Then... there was another kind, with particularly loud footsteps, and... the shoulder armor, it looked like... two semi-circular pieces?
It seemed especially sturdy."
Gaius smiled slightly; Kolesa's observation was very detailed.
"The kind you described is precisely the Saturnine Terminator," he affirmed.
"Its armor is the heaviest of all active Terminators; almost no conventional weapons, except for ship-grade small macro cannons or heavy plasma incinerators, can penetrate its main armor from the front.
However, its drawbacks are also obvious; for the sake of extreme defense, most of its flexibility is sacrificed, and the wearer cannot even change their Bolter's magazine themselves, requiring a specialized support frame or assistance from a comrade."
"So that's it..." Kolesa suddenly understood, recalling Dorian's massive physique and sometimes slightly clumsy movements.
She tilted her head, continuing to search her memory, as if another model had left an impression on her, but it was somewhat blurry.
"Then... there's another kind, the helmet looks like... a beast's head?
It looks a bit... fierce?" She gestured uncertainly.
Just then, a squad of shipboard soldiers passed by, and upon seeing Sergeant Karl, immediately stopped and saluted respectfully.
Gaius, while returning the salute with crisp efficiency, continued to answer Kolesa, "The beast-headed helmet you described belongs to the Indomitus-pattern Terminator.
This is the most widely equipped and classic Terminator model in the Imperium.
Although its armor thickness is not as great as the Ironclad Pattern and Saturnine, its firepower strike capability is the most formidable, capable of flexibly equipping almost all types of heavy firepower weapons such as assault cannons, missile launchers, and heavy plasma cannons, making it a mobile fire fortress on the battlefield."
Thus, as they walked back to the chamber, the two engaged in a "science popularization" conversation about various Astartes armors.
Gaius's steady and patient explanations, and Kolesa's curious questions, formed a rare and warm scene on the cold, giant warship.
Through this daily interaction, Kolesa not only gained knowledge but also became more deeply integrated into Gaius's world.
Upon returning to the familiar chamber i-10-a, which held countless emotions and memories for them, Kolesa immediately relaxed.
She walked briskly to the bed, took out the soft white nightgown from her luggage, and quickly changed into it.
The silky fabric clung to her slender and graceful body, outlining charming curves.
She eagerly climbed onto the bed, which was too wide for her, patted the spot beside her, and looked at Gaius with a coquettish gaze, signaling him to come over quickly.
After a day of training and an evening stroll, she now only wanted to comfortably nestle in Gaius's firm, warm embrace, smelling his reassuring scent, a mix of cleaner and faint machine oil, and sleep soundly.
Gaius looked at Kolesa on the bed, like a kitten waiting for its master to return home, and a hint of tenderness flashed in his eyes.
He quickly completed his simple pre-sleep wash, took off his outer clothes, and, wearing only his close-fitting shorts, lay down on the bed.
As soon as he lay down, Kolesa immediately clung to him like an octopus, her arms wrapped around his neck, one leg draped over his waist, burying her face deep into his robust and reassuring chest muscles, emitting a contented, animal-like purr.
Gaius naturally extended his arm, drew her small, soft body into his embrace, and gently patted her back.
The chamber lights were dim, leaving only the intertwined sounds of their breathing and heartbeats.
The smoke of the day and the fatigue of training were all dispelled by this warm embrace at this moment.
For Gaius and Kolesa, this small space was their only haven in the cruel galaxy, their most precious possession.
However, while Gaius and Kolesa were enjoying this peaceful and happy night, in another corner of the warship, someone else could not smile at all, sinking into deep despair and... wild fantasies.
Dorian was alone in his chamber, not even bothering to remove his heavy Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor, only taking off his helmet and placing it on the table.
He frowned, staring at his distinctive "eagle-faced" helmet with its eagle-wing decorations and prominent laurel wreath of honor, his mind frantically spinning with various unrealistic thoughts.
Chapter Master Calgar's "ultimate punishment" hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
Tomorrow morning at five, he had to go to Captain Cassius's office door and begin an eighteen-hour-a-day "hellish guard duty" for an unknown duration.
Just thinking of the Captain's face, perpetually grim from busy administrative duties and likely already "holding a grudge" against him, Dorian felt a spasm in his stomach.
"No... I absolutely cannot go..." Dorian groaned, clutching his head.
He had to find a way, he had to find a way to escape this "disaster"!
Suddenly, an extremely absurd, yet somewhat "hopeful" thought, like a meteor streaking across the darkness, surged into his mind—
Disguise!
His gaze once again focused on his helmet.
The laurel wreath of honor... too conspicuous!
If he could remove that... then, he'd figure out how to get... yes! Get a red cloak!
Just like the Honor Guard wore!
Dorian's eyes instantly lit up, as if he had grasped a life raft.
The more he thought about it, the more "feasible" it seemed: the Honor Guard's armor was also Terminator armor; although there were differences in style from his Ironclad Pattern armor, in a dimly lit corridor, from behind, it should... probably... maybe... pass for it?
As long as he didn't speak and stood motionless, pretending to be a glorious Honor Guard Warrior, the Captain might not notice it was him!
This way, he wouldn't have to directly face the Captain's wrath!
This thought spread like wildfire in his heart, temporarily dispelling his despair.
He even began to seriously consider which Tech-Sergeant to ask for help to "temporarily modify" his helmet, and where to "borrow" a suitable red cloak...
He completely ignored his physique, which was a size larger than most Honor Guard Warriors, ignored his unique, "personal style" standing posture, and even more so ignored Captain Cassius's observation skills, which were sharp enough to spot a punctuation error on a data slate...
Driven by extreme fear, Dorian was like a drowning man, desperately clutching at this fragile straw called "disguise," beginning his futile and ridiculous "preparations" for his "deceive the heavens" plan.
Tonight, some were destined for sound sleep, while others... would remain sleepless.
The next day, as the simulated time inside the battleship had just pointed to dawn and the simulated deep night still hung outside the window, Kolesa, like a lazy cat, held Gaius tightly, immersed in sweet dreams. Her long silver hair spread across the pillow, a stark contrast to Gaius's bronze skin, and her sleeping face was peaceful and content.
However, some people could not enjoy this morning's tranquility. Dorian had barely slept all night, sporting two enormous dark circles under his eyes. With a feeling akin to going to the gallows, he got up early and headed to the armory. He clumsily donned the heavy Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor, each clink of a plate buckle echoing in his heavy heart.
Finally, he picked up the iconic "Eagle-faced" helmet. He looked at the laurel wreath on it, symbolizing countless military achievements and honors. He hesitated and struggled for a long time, but ultimately couldn't bring himself to remove it—this honor was earned with his blood and sweat, and he couldn't bear to destroy it just to avoid punishment.
"Perhaps... perhaps the Captain won't notice the details?" he comforted himself with a sliver of hope.
Then, he stealthily slipped out of his cabin, found a brother he was on good terms with, and received a... red, finely made cloak from him. This was precisely the style of the Honor Guard's standard cloak! Dorian, like a thief, quickly fastened the cloak to his shoulder armor's magnetic lock. The vibrant red, paired with his dark blue Ironclad Pattern armor, looked somewhat mismatched and extremely out of place.
After doing all this, he took a deep breath, as if to steel himself, then took heavy, leaden steps towards the place he least wanted to go at that moment—First Company Captain Cassius's office. Along the way, he prayed incessantly: "Emperor protect, Primarch manifest... let the Captain be in a good mood today, or better yet, don't come out at all, and whatever you do, don't call me in... otherwise, I'm truly finished..."
Meanwhile, in Gaius's cabin, the warmth continued. Kolesa stirred unconsciously in her sleep, letting out a soft, sleepy murmur:
"Gaius... Gaius... you're pressing on my hair..."
This gentle voice, like the finest feather, lightly tickled Gaius's heart, instantly softening his rock-solid battlefield heart. He immediately woke up, carefully lifting his muscular, not-insignificant arm, and indeed saw a few strands of silver hair pressed beneath it.
His movements were extremely gentle, as if handling the world's most precious fragile item. He carefully used his fingers to pull out the trapped strands one by one, then patiently smoothed them, letting them fall softly back onto the pillow. Only after completing all this did he lie back down, embracing Kolesa's small, cool body with even more tenderness, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. He savored her unique scent, a blend of moonlight and ethereal orchids, and the delicate, cool touch of her Eldar skin.
He did not know that during their intimate embrace and sleep last night, Kolesa's vast and pure psychic energy had, unconsciously, seeped into his body like a trickling stream. This was not an intentional infusion or control, but a deeper connection and sharing born from soul resonance. In her dreams, she kissed him, and in the depths of her mind, she made a wish: that this innate power of hers could, in her stead, constantly protect the man who had given her new life and beloved affection.
Dorian finally dragged himself to the outside of Captain Cassius's office. That familiar metal door now seemed like the entrance to hell in his eyes. At the door, two Honour Guard Warriors, clad in ornate Terminator armor, stood solemnly like steel sculptures. They seemed to flicker their crimson visors when they saw Dorian arrive, but asked no questions, simply making a synchronized, silent gesture of "enter" to him, then turning crisply and marching away in unison, handing over the guard post to him.
Dorian stood nervously outside the office door, trying to straighten his back and mimic the Honour Guard's perfectly still standard stance, praying frantically in his heart: "Don't see me... don't see me... the Captain's in a good mood... the Captain's busy... please don't call me..."
Inside the office, Captain Cassius was indeed "busy," but he was drowning in an endless sea of administrative documents. He slumped in his chair behind the desk, his eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, and face haggard. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper night's sleep. The mountain of data-slates before him seemed to have no end.
"Damn it... why does even a trivial matter like a 0.5% reduction in grain yield on some agricultural world in the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar due to weather conditions have to be written into a lengthy report and sent to me?!" Cassius grumbled, pulling at his hair, "What are those Planetary Governors doing?! Do they really not know how to handle even the most basic administrative affairs without Lord Calgar's personal approval?! These fools! Incompetents!"
He felt like he was going crazy from these trivial yet unavoidable administrative tasks. It was more mentally taxing than commanding a difficult siege.
In his extreme fatigue, he subconsciously glanced out the door. Through the observation window, he saw that the "Honor Guard" had completed their shift, and a tall figure in a red cloak stood with his back to the door. Cassius's mind was a muddle at the moment, and he had no inclination to scrutinize the figure's details. He only vaguely felt that today's guard seemed... exceptionally burly? Perhaps it was a new brother on rotation. He didn't pay much attention.
A powerful wave of drowsiness washed over him, and Cassius decided that no matter what, he had to rest, even if only for an hour. He mused that once this damned patrol mission was over, he would definitely "reward" that culprit, Dorian! Should he send him on dangerous border patrols for three months straight? Or should he really apply to the Chapter Master to have him "split into three groups" to "reconnoiter" the edge of the Eye of Terror? Thinking of Dorian's potential "bright future," a twisted sense of satisfaction actually bloomed in Cassius's heart... However, he had greatly overestimated his limits of fatigue. The moment he closed his eyes, intending only for a short nap, the long-accumulated weariness instantly consumed him. He leaned back in his chair, his head lolling, and unknowingly fell into a deep sleep... Time passed, minute by minute. The allotted one-hour rest period quickly arrived, but the office remained silent, save for Cassius's steady breathing. He was too tired; he had slept so deeply that he didn't wake up on time.
Outside the door, Dorian stood, each second feeling like a year. His nerves were taut, his ears strained for any sound from inside, fearing that the next moment would bring the Captain's summons, like a demonic whisper. Yet, it remained utterly quiet inside.
"Could it be... the Captain is really in a good mood today? Quietly working on documents?" A sliver of unrealistic hope rose in Dorian's heart, "Or... he didn't even realize it was me?"
He dared not move, only continuing to maintain that awkward "Honor Guard" stance, his heart oscillating between torment and a desperate hope.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the distant star sea, the Night Lords Legion's fleet was growing at an astonishing rate. As if summoned by a dark lord, more and more Night Lords warbands, previously scattered across the galaxy like lone wolves, traversed dangerous star systems and returned to the Nightfall (Warship Name)'s command.
In the void, warships painted with various chaotic colors and bearing different warband markings were lined up, undergoing "modifications" from the Legion's Tech-Sergeants. Numerous Tech-Sergeants and servitors worked tirelessly, using special spraying equipment to cover and remove the original motley paint schemes and markings on the warships, then uniformly painting them a deep, midnight blue, along with the ferocious bat-wing and lightning insignia representing the Eighth Legion. A unified, grim, and cold-blooded fleet was gradually taking shape.
To accelerate the Legion's integration and equipment standardization, these reunited Sons of the Night naturally regarded other traitor Legion warbands as their optimal "resource supply points." Death Guard, Word Bearers, Black Legion... any isolated or weaker traitor warbands operating in nearby star systems became their hunting targets. Boarding actions, ship-to-ship combat, brutal massacres... after victory, the enemy's warships, weapons, power armor—all usable resources—were mercilessly plundered and, after modification, incorporated into the Eighth Legion's arsenal. Fear once again became their most effective weapon, though this time, it was directed more towards their former "brethren."
On the grim and magnificent bridge of the Nightfall (Warship Name), Konrad Curze silently gazed at the rapidly expanding fleet outside the window. His mood, however, did not lighten in the slightest due to the Legion's swift reunification; instead, it grew even heavier.
The sins committed ten millennia ago were etched into his soul like the deepest brand. Could the worlds destroyed by his prophecies and "judgments," the rivers of blood, the endless terror… could all of this truly be forgiven?
Lion King Lion El'Jonson, known for his loyalty and rigidity, how would he view a traitor Primarch and a renegade Chapter seeking to return? Roboute Guilliman, the Lord Regent attempting to reorganize the Imperium with reason and reform, would he have the courage and prestige to accept such a… notorious force?
And there was Sevatarion… Koz's gaze imperceptibly swept over the Raven Prince standing not far from him. Ten millennia ago, during the most chaotic and desperate moments of the Siege of Terra, it was this subordinate, his most trusted and valued, who shouted the earth-shattering words "Death to the False Emperor" on the battlefield… Would the Imperium easily forget this "dark history"?
The Imperium… this vast and ossified giant, after ten millennia of hatred-fueled indoctrination and internal strife, would it truly open its arms again to accept them, the Sons of the Night, who bore the name of "traitors"?
The road ahead was long and shrouded in mist. Koz knew that rebuilding the Chapter was only the first step; the path to return and atonement would be filled with more complex thorns and trials than any battlefield before.
Holy Terra, deep within the Imperial Palace.
Within Lion King Lion El'Jonson's fortress-like, solemn, yet relatively simply decorated residence, the atmosphere was so heavy it felt as if water could drip from it. There were no mountains of administrative data slates like in the Lord Regent's office, only cold metal walls, hanging Imperial battle banners, and a few ancient artifacts symbolizing the First Legion's long history. Lion himself stood before a massive mural of the Caliban forest, like a lion merged with the shadows, silent and majestic.
Roboute Guilliman's visit broke the silence. The two Primarchs, one the Lord Regent attempting to restore order to the Imperium, and the other the Lion King symbolizing ancient loyalty and absolute discipline, their meeting itself was of great significance.
Without much pleasantry, Guilliman went straight to the point, informing Lion El'Jonson of the message from Corvus Corax and the possibility of Konrad Curze's intention to rebuild the Eighth Legion and seek to return to the Imperium, in its entirety.
As Guilliman narrated, Lion El'Jonson's face, hard as if carved from granite, shifted several times.
Initially, there was extreme, undisguised disbelief. His sharp, eagle-like eyes widened slightly, as if he had heard the most absurd joke in the world.
"Konrad Curze?" Lion's voice was low, filled with incredulous questioning, "The night haunter who was long presumed fallen, or rather, completely insane? He's not only alive but wants to rebuild his Chapter filled with criminals and psychopaths? And… wants to return to the Imperium? Robert, are you sure Corax didn't bring some elaborate deception woven by a Chaos god, or a hallucination born from his twisted mind?"
Subsequently, when Guilliman confirmed the reliability of the information and mentioned that Koz had already begun to act, with numerous Night Lords warbands gathering under the Nightfall (Warship Name)'s banner, Lion's face was filled with uncontrollable rage. It was a pure fury stemming from ten millennia of steadfastness, a deep abhorrence for acts of betrayal.
"Return?!" Lion's voice suddenly rose, like the roar of a Lion King, echoing through the empty hall, making the walls seem to hum. "By what right does he think the Imperium will accept a traitor?! A butcher whose hands are stained with the blood of countless loyalists?! And his descendants, those dregs who revel in spreading fear and inflicting torture! They defiled the glory of the Adeptus Astartes; their names should be forever etched on the pillar of shame in history! Now, they want to brush off the blood and come back as if nothing happened?! Never!"
His fury was so intense it seemed to want to burn away everything related to the Eighth Legion. Guilliman waited quietly, not interrupting. He knew Lion needed to vent this hatred for traitors, accumulated over ten millennia.
However, the long millennia had, after all, left a deep mark on every surviving Primarch, even the Lion King, known for his stubbornness and majesty, was no exception. Intense anger surged like a tide, then gradually receded. Lion's chest heaved a few times, and finally, that surging fury was replaced by a deeper, colder feeling mixed with weariness and realism.
He slowly turned around, looking back at the Caliban forest mural, his gaze seemingly piercing through the painting, seeing the current fragmented and perilous state of the Imperium. He remained silent for a long time, so long that Guilliman almost thought he would use silence to express his most resolute opposition.
Finally, Lion spoke again, his voice having returned to its usual low and calm tone, but beneath that calm, a more complex emotion was contained:
"But…" He uttered this heavy transitional word, "the Imperium of today… is indeed not what it was ten millennia ago."
His words carried a hint of imperceptible helplessness and resignation.
"The threat of Chaos is everywhere, waves of xenos come one after another, and internally, countless parasites are gnawing at the Imperium's foundations… We are always short-handed. Every world cries for help, every front line is under pressure."
He slowly raised his hand, pointing to the deep, seemingly danger-filled shadows of the forest in the mural.
"Some corners, some enemies… the glorious holy light cannot illuminate, the righteous judgment cannot reach. There, perhaps… a different kind of force is truly needed, a more direct, more… terrifying method, to fight poison with poison, to deter the lurking specters in the shadows."
He did not explicitly agree, nor did he flatly refuse again. His attitude became extremely subtle and cautious.
"Koz and his Night Lords… they are indeed good at this." Lion's tone carried undisguised contempt, yet he acknowledged its value. "To rule fear with fear, to devour darkness with darkness… If used properly, it might achieve some… unexpected effects."
He suddenly turned around, his eyes, which seemed to pierce through people's hearts, fixed on Guilliman, and he said, word by word:
"But, Robert, there is a prerequisite."
"I need to know Konrad Curze's true attitude."
His voice was decisive, with an unquestionable resolve:
"Has he truly recognized his past sins? Is his seeking to return driven by a genuine desire for atonement, or merely to find a stronger sanctuary, or… does he harbor other ulterior motives?"
"Can he truly control his… complex Chapter? To make them a controllable blade in the Imperium's hand, pointed at the enemy, rather than mad dogs that turn on their master again?"
"For these, I must see clear evidence, and hear his own, unfeigned promise!"
Lion's implication was very clear: he did not entirely reject the possibility of accepting Koz and the Eighth Legion, but whether this door could open depended on Koz himself. Koz must prove his change and sincerity with undeniable actions and attitude, to wash away the stigma of ten millennia as a traitor, and to earn… even a shred of trust from the Lion King.
This was undoubtedly an extremely harsh condition, but it was also almost the only way to get the Lion King to agree.
Guilliman looked deeply at his brother, then slowly nodded. "I understand, Lion. I will convey your meaning to Koz through reliable channels." He knew this was the greatest concession Lion could make under the pressure of reality. Whether the path ahead could be traversed now depended entirely on Koz's own choices.
Meanwhile, in a distant star system, on the bridge of the massive Nightfall (Warship Name), Konrad Curze felt a subtle gaze and a heavy pressure almost simultaneously. He did not know the specific content of Guilliman and Lion's conversation, but he could foresee that the Imperium's response was imminent, and that response would certainly not be an easy acceptance.
He looked at the fleet outside the viewport, which had already taken initial shape and exuded a cold killing intent. He also recalled Corax's words upon leaving, "No betrayal is too great to forgive," and Lion's upright, evil-hating image.
He knew that merely displaying strength was not enough. He needed to make a statement, to offer a "pledge" sufficient to convince the Imperium, especially Lion.
His gaze gradually became cold and determined. The path of atonement could never be easy. Since he had chosen this path, then, whether ahead lay thorns or an abyss, he could only walk it.
It was time for the galaxy to witness the terror of the night haunter once more—but this time, this terror would be directed at the Imperium's true enemies.
In the eerie chasm between the real universe and the realm of madness, deep within the turbulent energies of the Warp, lies a unique and bizarre domain. Here, decay and vitality coexist in a twisted manner, putrid swamps intertwine with vibrant yet poisonous flowers, rotting giant trees hang with pus-dripping vines, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of disease and a certain morbid 'grandfatherly' affection—this is the Garden of Nurgle, the domain of grandfather Nurgle.
Deep within this Garden, in a fortress built from countless withered branches, rusted metal, and soil teeming with maggots, a structure that slowly grows and constantly decays, a colossal and bloated figure stands silently. He is clad in Power Armor stained with filth and rust, with strange fungi growing in the gaps between the plates, and in his hand, he grips a massive scythe, 'Silence,' which constantly drips corrosive liquid. He is Mortarion, the Primarch of the Death Guard Legion, the pale lord.
His gaze, hidden beneath a broken beak-like mask, pierced through the veil of the Warp, as if glimpsing fragments of the real universe. At this moment, his attention was drawn by a force that had reappeared on the galactic stage.
Before him, on a constantly shifting 'star map' spontaneously woven from countless rotting, wriggling plants and fungi, the shadow representing a vast fleet slowly moved. That fleet, centered around a magnificent Gloriana-class warship radiating a cold and ominous aura, was surrounded by a large number of vessels painted in midnight blue. They patrolled the void like ghosts, and wherever they passed, even the starlight seemed to dim.
"The Eighth Legion... the Night Lords..." Mortarion's voice, like the roar of a plague storm, rumbled low, carrying a hint of barely perceptible... interest?
He had noticed this reborn force, not only because of its scale but also because of its recent activities. The small groups of Death Guard he had dispatched to infiltrate the Ultramar Sector for reconnaissance and plague dissemination had recently been subjected to relentless attacks by this fleet. The Plague Marines, known for their resilience and vitality, had suffered heavy losses against these elusive Night Lords, who excelled at surprise attacks and instilling fear.
Just then, a Deathshroud Terminator, clad in heavy Terminator armor, surrounded by deadly miasma and swarms of flies, walked with heavy, slow steps behind Mortarion and reported in a voice that sounded as if his lungs were filled with mucus:
"grandfather... we... have ascertained the situation... Konrad Curze... has returned... He is regrouping... the Eighth Legion..."
The Deathshroud Terminator paused, seemingly processing the acquired information:
"There are indications... that Koz... he seems... to have an intention... to return... to the Imperium..."
"..."
Mortarion fell silent. His massive body seemed to make no movement, but the writhing of the surrounding rotting Garden seemed to slow for a moment. The expression on his face, hidden beneath his mask, was unknown.
After a long while, he slowly, in a tone filled with complex reminiscence and a cold quality, murmured to himself:
"Konrad... we haven't seen each other in a long time..."
His voice drifted in the putrid air, as if recalling the various past events with his Primarch brothers ten millennia ago during the Great Heresy that swept the galaxy. Koz, the brother tormented by prophecy and inner darkness, the night haunter who walked in fear and shadows... had he actually chosen such a path?
Return to the Imperium? In Mortarion's view, this was even more ridiculous than embracing Chaos, and even more... pathetic. But his plague-ridden, stagnant mind also began to ponder whether this might bring about some... new variables.
In the cold void of the real universe, the massive Nightfall (Warship Name) sailed silently like the master of the dark night. On the bridge, Konrad Curze received reports of allegiance from various Chaos Warbands and summaries of battle results against other Chaos forces.
He looked at the ever-expanding Eighth Legion's influence marker on the holographic star map, his face devoid of joy, only a heavy sense of responsibility and urgency. Power was gathering, but it was still far from enough. He needed to prove his worth and determination to the Imperium, especially to the Lion King, known for his loyalty and strictness.
"Sahar." Koz's voice was dry.
The head of the Black Guard immediately stepped forward, bowing to receive orders: "My Lord."
"Break down the existing formations of all allied Chaos Warbands and reorganize them based on their specialties and loyalty," Koz commanded, his gaze cold and sharp. "What we need is a unified Legion, not a disorganized mob fighting for themselves. At the same time, the Black Guard also needs to replenish with fresh blood, selected from the most excellent and loyal Warriors."
"Yes!" Sahar accepted the order without hesitation. He knew this was a necessary step for the Legion to become formalized and powerful.
Koz's gaze returned to the star map, and in his deep eyes, a dark flame seemed to burn.
"We also need a 'pledge of allegiance,'" he said slowly, his voice not loud, but it made the air on the entire bridge solidify. "A gift of sufficient weight, enough to make those high-and-mighty figures on Terra seriously consider our request to return."
He did not explicitly state what this "pledge of allegiance" would be, but all the Night Lords high command present understood. It had to be a target of immense value to the Imperium, while also demonstrating the Eighth Legion's strength and "sincerity." It could be a powerful Chaos Warbands leader, a critical strategic location, or perhaps... a notorious traitor Primarch or one of his important subordinates.
This path back was destined to be paved with the bones and blood of enemies, and even former "comrades."
Inside the Nightfall (Warship Name), in a relatively quiet, specially cleaned, and even somewhat cozy cabin, the two girls, Koreni and Otani, had just finished a game of "exploration" within the massive warship. They were tired from running and laughing.
The advanced translator around Koreni's neck glowed faintly, allowing her to communicate smoothly with Otani. Although Otani's body was still somewhat delicate, her face now bore a rare flush and vitality, befitting her age.
After playing, both girls naturally ran towards Sevatarion, who was sitting in a corner of the room, polishing his iconic Power Claw, the crow's talons (weapon name). They squeezed into his embrace, one on each side, finding the most comfortable positions.
Sevatarion's face, usually marked by cold ferocity, now showed an extremely complex expression, almost helpless yet implicitly indulgent. He did not push them away, merely adjusted his posture to make them more comfortable. Soon, tired from playing, Koreni and Otani fell into a deep sleep in his arms, their breathing steady.
Sevatarion looked down at the two fragile and pure lives in his arms, so out of place with his bloody and cruel past. In his eyes, like those of a dark raven, an indescribable light flickered. Their existence seemed to be the only faint yet stubbornly shining star in the infinite darkness of his heart. He put away the crow's talons (weapon name) and, with his armored yet remarkably steady hand, gently brushed back the golden hair scattered across Otani's forehead, his movements so soft that they completely contradicted his fearsome reputation as the prince of crows.
Meanwhile, in distant Ultramar, within the Chapter Master's office of the Macragge's Honour, Marius Calgar had just concluded another encrypted communication with Primarch Guilliman. His face was grave and thoughtful.
He connected to First Company Captain Cassius's internal channel.
"Cassius."
"Chapter Master?" Cassius's slightly weary but still respectful voice came from the other end of the communication.
"There is something you need to know," Calgar's voice was serious. "It's about... the Eighth Legion, the Night Lords."
Cassius was clearly stunned on the other end of the communication: "The Night Lords? Those traitors? Haven't they long since disintegrated? Or have they entered Ultramar?"
"The situation has changed," Calgar said in a deep voice. "Primarch Guilliman just informed me, a message conveyed by the Raven Lord. Konrad Curze, the Primarch of the Eighth Legion, has returned and is regrouping his Legion."
"Koz?! He's alive?!" Cassius's voice was filled with shock; this news was no less impactful than when he first heard of the Inquisition's arrival.
"Not only that," Calgar continued, his tone even more complex, "according to Primarch Guilliman, and confirmed by the 'Angels' dispatched by Primarch Lion King, the regrouped Night Lords fleet has recently been actively attacking Chaos Warbands, and even forces of the Black Legion."
He paused, then delivered the core information:
"Koz... seems to have the intention of leading the Eighth Legion... back to the Imperium."
A long silence fell on the other end of the communication. Cassius needed time to digest this earth-shattering news. A traitor Legion's Primarch, after ten millennia, not only not dead but intending to return with his Legion? This utterly overturned his understanding of the galaxy.
"This... is unbelievable..." Cassius finally murmured. "Chapter Master, how should we respond?"
"Observe and wait," Calgar gave clear instructions. "Primarch Guilliman and Primarch Lion King will handle this matter. Our current focus remains on the defense of Ultramar and patrols in the Konnor region. However, issue a warning: heighten vigilance. The galactic situation may undergo unforeseen changes due to the reappearance of the Eighth Legion."
"Understood!" Cassius responded solemnly.
The communication ended. Calgar sat alone on his throne, his gaze profound. Koz's return, the rebuilding of the Eighth Legion, and that seemingly absurd intention to "return"... all of it indicated that a massive, unknown stone had been cast into the deep waters of the galaxy, and no one could predict what ripples it would create.
The path ahead seemed to become even more perplexing.
After the shocking communication with Chapter Master Calgar, Cassius slumped back in his office chair, also piled high with data-slates, feeling his mind blank, even more chaotic than when he had been dealing with administrative duties. Konrad Curze's return... rebuilding the Eighth Legion... intending to return to the Imperium... each word was like a heavy hammer, striking his already overburdened nerves. The impact of this news even temporarily overshadowed his resentment towards Dorian and his aversion to endless documents. He imagined the legendary, nightmare-like night haunter, and his Legion, known for terror and cruelty, once again active in the galaxy, and possibly... becoming "allies"? This feeling was too absurd, so much so that he would need a long time to process it.
However, the pressure of reality did not lessen in the slightest because of his shock.
His gaze returned to the desk, where the mountain of data-slates showed no signs of diminishing; in fact, it seemed as if several more had appeared out of nowhere in the brief moment he had been distracted.
A desperate feeling, as if "solving one problem would immediately lead to two more," coiled around his heart like cold vines.
"Emperor… " Cassius let out a groan of pain, burying his face in his hands, "Chapter Master… when will you rescue me from this damned mountain of paperwork… I'd rather fight a Tyranid Warrior hand-to-hand… "
He felt as if he was about to be drowned by these words and data; the instincts of a Warrior were being completely eroded by this endless clerical work, leaving only exhaustion, irritation, and a deep sense of powerlessness.
When the warship's internal lighting system simulated the faint glow of dawn, Gaius had already finished his efficient and brief shallow sleep.
He opened his eyes, and his azure blue eyes instantly regained their clarity, without any of the fogginess of just waking up.
He first turned his head to look at Kolesa beside him; she was still deep in sleep, her silver hair, like brocade woven from moonlight, spread across the pillow, and her beautiful face wore a serene and peaceful expression.
Gaius's gaze softened for a moment; he carefully and silently got up, avoiding disturbing her sweet dreams.
He walked to the small Emperor statue in the corner of the room, knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and performed his daily, silent prayer, expressing his loyalty and reverence to the Emperor.
After praying, he stood up, walked to the desk, gently closed the thick codex astartes he had been reading last night, and respectfully placed it back in its designated spot on the bookshelf with both hands, his movements meticulous and full of respect for the Primarch's wisdom.
After doing all this, he went into the simple washroom, quickly splashed cold recycled water on his face to make himself more awake.
Then, he changed into his blue one-piece combat suit, preparing to go to the armory to don his Power Armor and begin the day's tasks—today, he was responsible for leading a portion of the First Company brothers, in conjunction with the Honor Guard, to conduct a comprehensive patrol of the warship's interior.
Walking through the slightly quiet corridor in the early morning, Gaius enjoyed this brief pre-battle tranquility.
However, this tranquility was soon broken by an overly lively voice.
"Hurry up! Champion! Just a quick test! I promise it'll be absolutely stable this time!" Airas's characteristic voice, with a hint of coquetry and mischief, came from the fork in the path ahead.
The girl with light pink short hair was vigorously pulling on the incredibly thick, Power Armor-covered arm of Draculas, the newly appointed Company Champion, trying to drag him towards the Tech-Sergeant testing area.
Draculas's massive body was as steady as a mountain; no matter how hard Airas pulled, he only swayed slightly.
The expression on his face, hidden beneath the Champion's helmet, was unknown, but it was probably one of extreme helplessness.
Airas's peripheral vision caught sight of Gaius walking over; her green eyes instantly lit up as if she had seen a savior, and she immediately let go of Draculas, skipping and hopping to stand in front of Gaius.
Looking up at him with her small face, she asked expectantly, "Sergeant Karl! Sergeant Karl! When can I go play with the pretty big sister again? I haven't seen the pretty big sister in so long!"
Gaius looked at the mischievous girl in front of him, a helpless yet gentle smile on his face.
He knew Airas had an inexplicable sense of closeness to Kolesa.
"Anytime, Airas," he replied, his tone calm, "Kolesa… she likes you very much too."
He was telling the truth; Kolesa had mentioned this lively and adorable girl, who had brought her a lot of joy, many times.
"Really?! That's great!" Airas was so happy she almost jumped, a brilliant smile blooming on her face.
Gaius said no more; he turned to Draculas, straightened his posture, and gave a standard military salute, his tone respectful: "Champion."
Draculas also raised his armored arm and returned the salute steadily, his gaze under the Champion's helmet calm and unruffled.
The two exchanged no further words, tacitly turning and heading to their respective destinations—Gaius walked towards the armory, while Draculas continued to be half-pushed, half-dragged towards the testing area by the excited Airas, whose chattering voice could still be heard: "…I'm telling you, this time I re-stabilized the energy circuit, and the overheating problem is definitely solved! I guarantee it won't nearly melt your gauntlet like last time…"
Gaius shook his head; he could only express his admiration for Airas's endless "inventions" and Draculas's patience.
He continued towards the armory, but a faint feeling lingered in his heart that, for some time now, compared to the frequent battles and conflicts before, this relatively "calm" daily patrol made him feel a little… unaccustomed?
Perhaps, a Warrior's instinct ultimately yearns to face challenges and enemies.
Arriving at the armory, it was already a busy scene.
The Warriors of the First Company assigned to today's patrol had already gathered there, conducting final checks of their Power Armor and equipping their weapons.
Seeing Sergeant Karl arrive, the Warriors immediately stopped what they were doing, straightened their postures in unison, and saluted him with a unified voice:
"Sergeant!"
Gaius nodded, his gaze sweeping over these battle-hardened veterans, and said in a deep voice, "Brothers, check your equipment, we assemble in five minutes."
He raised his arm and glanced at the mission details on his internal data-slate, "Today, we are responsible for patrolling all critical areas of the warship's upper deck, as well as the security of the main ammunition depot.
Ensure there are no safety hazards."
His voice was clear and powerful: "For Ultramar!"
"For Ultramar!" The warriors' deep response echoed through the armory, full of strength and determination.
The Warriors immediately dispersed to make their final preparations.
Gaius also walked to his equipment rack and, with the help of a Tech-Priest, began to skillfully don his artificer Mark X Power Armor.
Just then, he suddenly remembered that he hadn't seen Dorian since yesterday evening?
"That guy… after the Chapter Master called him yesterday, did he go back last night? Could he have been locked in the brig by the First Company Captain again for something?" Gaius speculated in his mind as he tightened a leg armor buckle.
Given Dorian's knack for getting into trouble and the First Company Captain's volatile temper, this possibility… was quite high.
He smiled helplessly, deciding to inquire about the situation after the patrol was over.
However, at this very moment, Dorian's situation was far more "exciting" and "critical" than being locked in the brig.
Outside the office of First Company Captain Cassius, Dorian, disguised as a standing Honor Guard, was enduring the longest torment of his life.
He tried to maintain a rigid stance, the borrowed red cloak looking particularly out of place on his heavy Ironclad Pattern armor.
He had prayed countless times in his heart, hoping that the First Company Captain would either never come out or have poor eyesight when he did… However, what he feared most came to pass.
The metal door of the office slid open inwards without warning.
Captain Cassius, with bloodshot eyes, a haggard face, and exuding a low-pressure aura, rubbed his throbbing temples and stepped out—he had originally intended to go to the adjacent lounge for a stimulating functional drink to forcefully extend his life and continue battling the damned documents.
His gaze, almost subconsciously, swept over the "Honor Guard" standing at the door.
Then, his movements froze.
That overly burly physique, even more massive than a standard Honor Guard… that slightly familiar Ironclad Pattern armor with details of Dorian's personal style… especially… that helmet with its unique eagle-face design and prominent laurel wreath, clearly visible even from a distance!
Where the hell was this Honor Guard?! This was clearly—
"De—clan—?!" Cassius's voice, due to extreme shock, anger, and a sense of collapse from "not again," instantly rose, becoming sharp and piercing.
He almost roared out the name syllable by syllable, his finger trembling as he pointed at Dorian, "You—how are you here?! Who sent you?! You—you're even impersonating an Honor Guard?! Has your brain been gnawed by a Grot?!"
Dorian shuddered at the sudden roar, nearly collapsing to the ground.
He knew it was over, completely exposed!
Under the First Company Captain's gaze, which seemed to spew fire, how could he dare to hide anything?
With a mournful face, he no longer cared about his stance, and with a crying voice, incoherently recounted how he had accidentally commented on the Chapter Master's hairstyle in a communication yesterday, how he had been summoned by the Chapter Master, how he had been punished to stand guard here for eighteen hours and surrender half his rations, and his foolish idea of a "disguise"… like spilling beans from a bamboo tube, he confessed everything in detail.
Listening to Dorian's narration, Cassius's expression gradually changed from initial fury to an extremely complex mix of extreme fatigue, unbearable annoyance, anger at Dorian's foolish actions, and deep depression over his own miserable situation… all sorts of negative emotions, like a bursting dam, suddenly overwhelmed his already fragile nerves, which were strained by overwork and immense pressure.
He felt a sudden blackout, his ears ringing, and Dorian's noisy voice seemed to grow further and further away… He reached out, pointing at Dorian, his lips trembling, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, not a single word came out.
Then, under Dorian's terrified gaze, First Company Captain Cassius's tall body swayed, and then… he fell straight backward with a "thud," heavily hitting the cold, hard metal floor outside the office door, completely losing consciousness.
"First—First Company Captain?!!" Dorian was scared out of his wits!
He rushed forward, looking at Cassius lying motionless on the ground, and immense panic instantly engulfed him!
He no longer cared about any disguise or punishment; he immediately pounced on his communicator and, with all his might, cried out with a sobbing voice and immense terror, yelling into the warship's public channel:
"Apothecary! Apothecary! Quick! Come to the First Company Captain's office immediately! The First Company Captain has fainted! Repeat! The First Company Captain has fainted! Someone, hurry!!!"
His desperate roar instantly resounded throughout the entire warship's communication network, and both Astartes and crew members alike learned the news that the First Company Captain had fainted.