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"Look at those guys, those giants."
"Do you think they're really human?"
"How should I know?"
Sergeant Latobis raised his head high. Beneath the iron-curtained, hazy sky of Sarbis IV, he could still clearly see how those steel creations fell in droves, just like a miniature meteor shower.
Beside him, Lieutenant Tigre couldn't stop exclaiming in wonder. The two desolate mortals were still guarding this almost ruined trench, with no new orders to execute and no subordinate soldiers to command. The two men, barely considered non-commissioned officers, were, like their Legion, ruthlessly forgotten in a dusty corner.
The two huddled together, wrapping themselves in everything made of fur and fabric they could find. They leaned against a relatively gentle section of the trench wall, their feet on a continuous icy surface, covered by a fresh layer of snow from last night, enough to make even the most cautious person unable to move.
No orders, no allies, no winter clothing, no entertainment, not even a decent meal. The only silver lining was that the stingy quartermasters of the Legion, after round after round of exploitation and calculation, distributed the limited food in the warehouse to the extreme, ensuring every soldier received the minimum nutrition and calories barely needed to sustain their bodies. At least no one starved to death.
As for those unfortunate souls who lost all warmth and moisture in the cold wind of the deep night, may someone in their distant homeland remember them.
The Emperor's great endeavor and dream burned across the entire galaxy. This ruthless fire of the Great Crusade not only scorched countless xenos and enemy states but also the loyal people of the Imperium.
But no one cared about them.
A husband might be a wife's entire world, a son might be a mother's only child, but when they were taken by the Emperor, their existence was nothing more than insignificant dust in boundless glory; their lives and deaths were equally worthless.
Tigre's fingers fumbled in his arms. He pried open a small gap in his many layers of clothing, searching carefully until he confirmed that the letter, already ruined by grease and dust, was still intact in his embrace. Only then did he pull out his hip flask from the other side, shaking it, but hearing only the meager slosh of liquid at the bottom.
Tigre sighed.
"Those (beep——), they can't even give me more (beep——) liquor, I'm so (beep——)!"
But even so, after a few greedy sips, he still left a little for Latobis. The Sergeant, however, was mesmerized, watching the steel meteors continuously streak across the sky. He watched as the behemoths landed, and from within them emerged groups of the most awe-inspiring and powerful warriors he had ever seen. Even the dashing knights of his memory couldn't compare in the slightest to these magnificent figures.
They wore black armor, a terrifying armament he had never seen before. He even doubted if anyone could truly move those steel creations, which seemed as heavy as a thousand pounds just by looking at them. Yet, they moved with effortless speed.
"Are those… Angels of Death?"
Latobis whispered the name, a name he had heard from the officers.
"Yeah, Angels of Death, they're really fucking impressive."
When Tigre's gaze also shifted to the warriors, he couldn't look away. The dark-faced Lieutenant was stunned for a long moment, then he chuckled.
"Heh…"
"When I make it big someday, I'm going to come up with a badass name like that too."
Latobis didn't answer. He merely watched, almost obsessively, as the warriors formed up into formations and slowly disappeared over the horizon of the desert.
"Lieutenant."
"What is it?"
"What was that slogan you told me the Angels of Death shouted when they fought?"
"That's a battle cry, kid."
"For the Emperor."
"For…the…"
"For, the, Emperor."
Tigre rasped out the simple phrase, repeating it over and over. His exhaled breath condensed into pure white vapor in the air, drifting under the hazy iron sky like an immaculate cloud floating into an impending storm cloud.
Amidst this blend of grey and white, Tigre's hoarse voice posed a question.
"Why are you learning that, kid?"
"Just felt like… I might need it."
The Lieutenant's palm slapped his forehead without hesitation.
"Don't you dare jinx it!"
——————
Hektor looked at his data-slate, a rare expression of worry on his face.
"Cruiser Fleet 224 hasn't contacted us. They should have been in low orbit around this world by the time we arrived in this star system. Clearly, although Rear Admiral Jervis has always been a reassuring and steady captain, this time, he's overdue."
"Is the situation serious?"
Morgan sat opposite him in a makeshift military tent, the table covered with information about Sarbis IV.
"Not serious enough to warrant the Provost or a military tribunal yet; they're still less than twenty-four Terra Standard Hours overdue."
Zahariel shook his head.
"However, Rear Admiral Jervis might have to say goodbye to his perfect military record. It's a shame, he has always been a steady and cautious man."
A flicker of color passed through Morgan's eyes.
"Could there have been an accident, perhaps an ambush in the void, or special information jamming technology?"
The question made the Dark Angel ponder for a moment, but he eventually shook his head, half denying, half uncertain.
"Although it's only a patrol fleet, it still has the firepower of three cruisers. A typical Randan fleet couldn't overwhelm them instantly. Furthermore, we don't fully understand the Randan's void combat capabilities; most of our engagements with them so far have been ground operations."
Such self-justification clearly reassured Zahariel, but the Dark Angel's words did not satisfy the mortal sitting opposite him.
"Perhaps, I need some fresh air."
She said, and walked out.
Outside the Legion tent, a bustling scene unfolded: Astartes had requisitioned some Terra Veterans, who were building rudimentary fortifications at their temporary encampment. In return, surplus supplies from the warships would be brought down later.
Morgan's gaze did not linger on these matters. She avoided the busy main force and began to walk casually around the outskirts of the camp, her left hand hanging low, emitting a faint psychic energy flame. Without anyone noticing, she placed her markers in several remote corners of the desert.
These markers were not destructive; they merely allowed Morgan to instantly teleport to any marked location by focusing her will. She wasn't sure if these would ever be useful, but it was always good to be prepared.
Thus, the silver-haired female officer walked across the desert, occasionally overshadowed by colossal shadows: warships maneuvering in low orbit.
Approximately a thousand First Legion warriors had arrived in this star system, belonging to different companies and groups. There were Terra Veterans and Calibanites. This loose fleet had no actual commander, as they had been hastily assembled to complete this urgent investigative mission.
Zahariel and his Calibanite warriors had descended to the planet's surface as a temporary defense force. Another company, composed of Terrans, remained with the fleet. Some of them were investigating the massive Mandeville Point, while others were responsible for aerial defense.
Ahriman also chose to stay on the battleship with the Terrans, purely because he wanted to rest for a while and replenish his energy.
In addition, there were several more fragmented squads executing their missions in various corners of the star system. They were not accountable to any of the thousand Dark Angels, and no one had the authority to question their actions.
Morgan looked up and saw a particularly strange warship slowly moving in low orbit, casting a shadow she had never seen before on the ground. Morgan was certain this warship did not belong to any ship in the Imperial Fleet she remembered.
But just as she thought about it more, the shadow disappeared with the movement of the warship.
Morgan casually placed the thirtieth marker, this time choosing the spot where the Astartes had collectively landed earlier. Then, she turned, and with a faint flicker of psychic fire, her figure quickly vanished into the howling desert winds.
Soon after she left, a new landing craft arrived belatedly, from which three silver-armored warriors disembarked.
——————
Hektor was melancholy, but he didn't show it.
Although he was somewhat displeased with Salieri's sudden outburst, the possibility of finding a Primarch, however small, was something he couldn't let go of. So, while the Dark Angels were orderly descending or deploying defenses, Hektor followed Salieri wandering aimlessly.
Despite their careful attempts to avoid detection, his most basic sense of honor as an Astartes told him he was doing something shameful.
After much aimless wandering, Hektor received only one answer: that aura was no longer on the ship.
It took him three seconds to suppress the urge to kill that bastard Salieri.
"Listen, Salieri."
Hektor sighed.
"Master Kyron even refused this foolish action, and there's only one rally point on this world. If you can't find it again, then we'll have to try our luck at the Mandeville Point. The Terrans won't be as easy to talk to as these Calibanites."
Salieri simply nodded, then eagerly walked ahead.
Hektor didn't rush to follow him. He turned his head and whispered a few words to Ajax.
Then, he looked at the encampment, a dark mark in the grey-white desert and the howling wind.
For some reason, Hektor suddenly remembered a teaching from Lord Kyron.
——————
"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
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