"Store them away?"
Blazkowicz shook his head at the somewhat absurd reason, but a sudden thought struck him: Russ might be telling the truth. Canine creatures, when they have an abundance of food, will instinctively hide the excess to survive lean times. As a Primarch with wolf genes, it was highly plausible Russ had adopted a similar habit.
'He's just preparing for winter...'
But Blazkowicz didn't want to dwell on that reason. Another, more suspicious possibility occurred to him. He turned his gaze to Russ, asking with a quiet unease, "Do you want to be a reseller?"
The only logical explanation for acquiring such a quantity of weapons was to sell them for a profit. Even though Astartes armaments are designed to last for millennia, technology would inevitably advance with the rise of the Imperium and the technological reorganization of the Nur Stars. Weapons that seemed powerful now would eventually become obsolete.
Blazkowicz's extraordinary mind raced, but he couldn't think of any other reason to justify his brother's actions. Perhaps, after seeing the exorbitant profits from the fine wines of Nur, Russ wanted to resell armaments to build up the Space Wolves' treasury. The more Blazkowicz thought about it, the more he felt this was the truth.
This theory was supported by their recent discussion about the future of humanity. Blazkowicz had stated his belief that the human race's future belonged not to superhuman warriors, but to mortals. Russ, initially finding this hard to believe, had engaged in a fierce debate, but Blazkowicz's arguments, grounded in the realities of the Imperium, had left him speechless.
Blazkowicz had been candid about his own plans: after achieving success and retiring, Argent Nur would be handed back to mortals, to be governed once again by the Novick Family. This led Russ to express his concern: what would become of the vast numbers of Space Marines when the Emperor and the Primarchs receded from the stage?
They were the Astartes, the force that had conquered the galaxy; how could they willingly lay down their arms and return to civilian life? Blazkowicz remained noncommittal, as he, too, did not know how the Emperor would arrange for the Space Marines.
Would they be sent to an extra-galactic mission? To expand the Imperium forevermore?
He knows that war will end, not with the conquest of the galaxy, but after the Four Gods are eliminated. What fate would await the Space Marines when the Four Gods perished? He didn't know; it was too early to discuss such matters.
"How could I be that kind of person?" Russ' eyes widened in disbelief. He beat his bare chest, pledging solemnly, "I would never do such a thing. I despise those profit-driven merchants; acting like them would bring shame to the Legion."
Russ swore to his brother, but deep down, he had a different thought. He would carefully preserve the weapons he bought. Selling them was out of the question; they were a safeguard for the Space Wolves. Although he disagreed verbally, he inwardly agreed with Blazkowicz's statement that the Space Marines would eventually withdraw from the galactic stage.
If the Emperor allowed the Space Marines to die of old age, everyone would be happy, and the Space Wolves would accept this arrangement. Mutual destruction was impossible; the Emperor would not be foolish enough to make the Legions attack each other. The greatest possibility was deployment: sending the Space Marines into the void beyond the galaxy, where they would gradually perish in deep space. In that event, these sealed weapons would be a gift to his descendants for their journey.
Primarchs were extraordinary beings; when they believed something was bound to happen, they took precautions. Blazkowicz had done so, having already informed Flano of his predictions and plans. Russ, based on his brother's accounts and his own calculations, had begun to prepare for the future.
"So be it then." Blazkowicz stopped guessing, waving a hand. "Sophia, calculate the exchange materials and give our Great Wolf a list." Russ' face lit up; his brother's statement meant the deal was done. A list quickly appeared, and after careful review, Russ smiled with satisfaction. The materials listed had very little discrepancy from what he had expected, and the Space Wolves could afford the cost.
"They can be produced now," Russ said, a relaxed smile on his face. He leaned back in his chair, his arms behind his head, his wild features softening in contentment. His teeth, which had grown back, gleamed with a cold light. In just a few hours, his work in the Nur Stars was complete; now, it was time for some rest. Blazkowicz smiled at Russ' relaxed demeanor.
Argent Nur made his brother feel at ease, and a hint of pride swelled in his heart. Terra was the human homeworld, yet with the exception of Horus, all other Primarchs spoke of it with a sense of dread. When a Primarch returned to Terra, Malcador was the happiest of all, for he could finally get some rest.
"Do you play chess?" Blazkowicz pressed a button on the table, and the smooth surface opened, revealing an intricate, physical board.
"Rules," Russ responded, without wasting words. A holographic projection popped up, showing the rules of the game to the Primarch. An image flashed across Russ' retina, and he instantly understood the rules of the game that originated from Old Terra.
After a brief understanding, the two began to compete, testing their strategic abilities. Both sides had their victories, exchanging pleasantries as they played. Blazkowicz smiled, enjoying the peaceful exchange. In Argent Nur, no one could defeat him; a Primarch's computational ability crushed everyone else. Russ' arrival delighted him, giving him the satisfaction of meeting a worthy opponent.
Clack, clack, clack. The sound of pieces being placed echoed clearly in the great hall. The two Primarchs played quickly, the sound never ceasing. Not long after, two figures entered the hall, accompanied by Sentinels. The people Blazkowicz had been waiting for had finally arrived.
"Greetings, Great Primarch; the Omnissiah is with you," a mechanical voice intoned.
"Greetings, Great Primarch; may the stars be with you," a sensitive female voice followed.
A Mechanicus magos and a rogue trader, chosen by Sophia, stood before the two Primarchs. The magos performed the gear salute, while the rogue trader knelt on one knee in a warrior's salute. Blazkowicz did not even glance at them, his focus on the chessboard.
"Rise," his authoritative voice rang out. As for Russ, he paid them no mind, knowing that Argent Nur's internal affairs were not for him to participate in.
"Magos," Blazkowicz said slowly, deliberately, as he placed a piece.
"Please command," the Mechanicus magos responded, his hand on his Forge Axe, his posture humble. Under his red hood, the mechanical parts within his body trembled slightly. His cranial chip was calculating what the Lord of the Stars intended. Immense pressure overloaded his emotional modules; cold sweat streamed down his expressionless face, and the emotion of fear—long purged by mechanical organs—reappeared in his consciousness. This powerful Primarch clearly knew about the recent situation in the Gate System and was using a strong stance to express his dissatisfaction with Mars' actions.
"I hope you will consider carefully..." the magos's mechanical voice trembled, his vocal cords hissing as he carefully weighed his words.
"Consider what?" Blazkowicz's voice remained calm, roughly interrupting him. "I believe Mars' actions were also carefully considered. Since Mars' Forge Generals have considered it for me, then I see no problem whatsoever."
He looked up from the board, his hand, holding a chess piece, hovering in the air. "The Nur Stars will establish a large trading space station next to the Mars' void, selling Titans and other large machinery. I think the Imperium would be very happy to purchase our creations."
"That's great!" a surprised growl rang out from Russ, who sat cross-legged on the chair, repeatedly clapping his hands. "I think the Space Wolves should have their own Titan Legion!"
White smoke billowed from the magos's red robe collar; his internal heat sink crashed, and his logical thinking was in complete disarray. His calculations concluded that Blazkowicz was telling the truth; he fully intended to do so.
"We will immediately withdraw the trading platform," the magos responded at once, his mechanical appendages trembling cautiously. He had been in a high position for a long time and knew when compromise was necessary.
Once the Nur Stars began intervening in the market with Titans and other machinery, the blow to the Adeptus Mechanicus' profits would be terrifying. In his heart, he cursed Mars in binary code for making such an irrational decision.
Since the signing of the Denurian Accords, Mars had held countless internal meetings regarding the agreement. The Mechanicus magos were indignant, demanding the Forge General's resignation and accusing him of betraying Mars' interests.
"If any of you can handle it better than I can," the Forge General stated, silencing the magos, "I will willingly step aside."
They all understood the situation: there had been no other way to guarantee Mars' interests. Their indignation was merely a pretext to gain leverage over the Forge General and secure greater benefits for their own factions.
To express their displeasure with the arrangement, a magos eventually came up with a "good idea." They would establish an Adeptus Mechanicus space station in the Nur Stars' Gate World, selling the same goods as Argent Nur. The goal was not to earn a profit, but solely to spite the Nur Stars.
A few magos warned that Argent Nur's counterattack would be swift and fierce, but their dissenting voices were drowned out. How arrogant was the Adeptus Mechanicus? The loss of face had to be avenged. As for Argent Nur's retaliation? Who cared!
Initially, the plan proceeded smoothly. At the Gate World's trading hub, whatever Argent Nur sold, the Adeptus Mechanicus offered a competing product. The quality of their goods could not match Argent Nur's creations, but their products were cheaper. rogue traders had no sense of allegiance, and to earn a greater profit, they naturally chose the cheaper products. This business, which lost money to gain a reputation, was met with widespread praise.
Now, retribution had arrived. It came as swiftly as thunder, allowing no chance for resistance.
"I don't think you need to evacuate," Blazkowicz said, placing a chess piece and continuing his game with Russ.
No need to evacuate? The Primarch's words stunned the Mechanicus magos. Could it be that the Primarch would allow the space station to remain? However, Blazkowicz's next sentence made him feel he had overestimated the Son of the Emperor's magnanimity.
"Your personnel may evacuate, but leave the space station and all stored goods behind. All goods currently in transit must be brought here, along with ten resource planets, as compensation for our losses."
Blazkowicz's voice was calm, yet it was like the low roar of a lion, making the magos tremble with fear. "I need to discuss this with Mars," he said, bowing his head in respect and requesting a brief leave.
"You may." Blazkowicz nodded, indicating he could leave, then added a warning: "If they do not agree, Argent Nur will increase its current production capacity."
The magos flinched. The modified mechanical appendages beneath his red robe moved faster, and the communication module built into his body sent a mesmagos to the docked ship, requesting instructions from Mars via astropathic communication. He had been in the Gate World for many years and understood the Nur Stars.
Not to mention the newly constructed Forge Worlds, the thirty-six Forge Worlds within Argent Nur's core territory possessed a massive number of perfectly preserved STC templates. To maintain current war demands and provide civilian industrial goods, only six Forge Worlds needed to be activated. If the Nur Stars increased production capacity, they would inevitably sell war machines to the Imperium, creating immense competition with Mars.
Although the Denurian Accords stipulated that the Adeptus Mechanicus would provide STCs to Argent Nur, and the Nur Stars would provide limited armaments to the Imperium to protect the Adeptus Mechanicus' interests, it should not be forgotten that the clause also stated that the Adeptus Mechanicus could not infringe upon the Nur Stars' interests in the Imperium.
The Adeptus Mechanicus was also treading a fine line with their actions in the Gate System. Selling goods to rogue traders was a move to avoid direct conflict and blur the terms of the treaty.
"I will convey your words." The magos departed even faster, eager to make a decision quickly to prevent the Primarch from increasing the pressure further. The magos was certain that Mars would compromise; he only needed to await authorization. The Forge General would not possibly tear up relations with the Nur Stars over ten resource worlds; it would be bad for both sides. Anger had been vented, and the Primarch had been annoyed; it was time to leave.
Once the Mechanicus magos had withdrawn, Blazkowicz put down the chess game, and his chair rotated to face the lady who had been waiting for a long time below.
"My apologies, madam." He offered a kind smile, like a gentleman apologizing to a lady: "I neglected you just now."
"You need not apologize. To behold the Primarch's radiance is an honor for me and the family behind me." The lady knelt on one knee, speaking sincere words in a very emotional voice.
Blazkowicz slowly nodded, carefully scrutinizing the rogue trader selected by Sophia, a look of approval flashing in his eyes. The lady wore Gothic attire, her waist cinched very tight by a corset, and a ceremonial scimitar hung at her hip. She was not young, but still had her charm.
Her facial skin was slightly loose, heavily made-up with white foundation, vivid crimson on her lips, and thick eyeshadow around her eyes. A typical strong woman, she proudly raised her head, her white hair styled into an elaborate coiffure, and her amber eyes showed no trace of timidity.
"Victoria Legner, Leader of the Legner Family." The lady's information popped up before Blazkowicz, and he called out to the kneeling lady.
"A small rogue trader family, maintaining extremely high credibility in the Gate World's transaction records, never having defaulted," he said, nodding with satisfaction. "Precisely because of this, your family's transaction volume is very high, yet you haven't achieved better development. But I believe that this credibility and forthrightness should be rewarded."
Victoria's body trembled with excitement. Her eyes welled up, realizing that her family's insistence on credibility had finally brought its reward.
"Look at this shipping lane." As the Primarch's calm voice spoke, a miniature galaxy appeared before Victoria. In the brilliant star river, starting from the Denurian Stars, a shipping lane led directly to the Sol System, humanity's Throneworld—Terra.
"This is..." Lady Victoria was beside herself with excitement. Even though she had traversed the star river, facing this shipping lane, she felt like a family newcomer on her first ship.
"I have heard much from my brothers," Blazkowicz calmly explained to her. "Argent Nur's goods, after multiple resales, are overpriced by thousands of times their original value, and I dislike this very much."
"One crate of wine, one transport ship," Russ added, his face darkening as he seemingly recalled the actions of those unscrupulous merchants.
"So I intend to establish a shipping lane to transport goods to Terra at stable prices, and I will also leave a profit margin for you." Blazkowicz's gaze was piercing, as if to penetrate the lady's soul: "Can the Legner Family take on this transport lane?"
Since learning of the insane markups, Blazkowicz had intended to make a contribution to civilian welfare. Argent Nur's agricultural world's industrial scale was completely beyond its capacity to consume, and warehouses were being built more and more. Rather than let agricultural products pile up like mountains, it was better to ship them out so that people in impoverished worlds could have more to eat.
Terra, the political and cultural center of humanity, yet its impoverished population was by no means small. When he last left Terra, the population had already exceeded eleven hundred billion and was continuously rising. As the Great Crusade progressed, more and more people came to Terra, trying everything to stay there. And at the exit points from Terra, the most rigorously inspected items were the clods of Terran soil hidden in palms or backpacks.
In the under-hives of the Hive Cities, impoverished populations crowded together, with millions starving to death every day. One of Malcador's worries was how to procure vast amounts of water and food to sustain Terra's population. Terra no longer had oceans or a water cycle; the concept of oceans on her surface had been sacrificed to a daemon by an Old Night warlord.
Blazkowicz's idea was very straightforward. Wine and other luxuries would be sold to Terra's nobles; they never lacked money. The money and other resources obtained from luxuries would be used to offset the losses from grain transport, ensuring the healthy financial balance of the shipping lane.
He was not overly altruistic; the purpose of this action was simple. Reduce the Nur Stars' inventory pressure, suppress exorbitant prices to prevent smuggling, and incidentally help Malcador solve some minor problems.
"Thank you for the Primarch's favor; the Legner Family will not fail your expectations." Lady Victoria struck her chest with a fist, her voice resolute as she accepted the commission. She knew that her family's rise or fall depended on this one move and that she must seize this opportunity.
"Faced with immense profit, can the Legner Family uphold its original integrity? Let us witness it together with time." As Blazkowicz spoke, he raised his hand and took a parchment scroll from a court lady, a trading agreement that had been drafted long ago.
"Let me see." Russ suddenly rose, snatching the agreement scroll and reading it intently. His brother's action surprised Blazkowicz, but he did not reprimand or question him; every move of Russ had a deeper meaning.
"Bring a pen," Russ indeed gestured for the lady to hand him a quill. He bit the tip, the ink staining his lips black. He held the pen and wrote busily, adding new content to the parchment, nodding with satisfaction before stepping back in front of Blazkowicz.
Blazkowicz looked closely and immediately smiled helplessly. Russ valued the convenience of the rogue trader fleet. If Fenris ordered supplies from Argent Nur, the fleet would deliver them. This was harmless; Fenris was at the edge of the Sol System, so the fleet would not need to make a Warp jump, only enter and exit real space. In return, the Space Wolves would dispatch one hundred Space Marines to provide some security for the Legner Family's fleet. This was non-negotiable; Russ had already signed his name.
Blazkowicz signed his name, and the lady presented the parchment scroll to the lady, indicating she should sign.
"The Legner Family will never abandon the agreement!" Victoria cried out, drawing a ceremonial longsword from her waist, cutting her palm, and pressing it onto the agreement. Blood soaked into the trading agreement, her expression incredibly firm, as she recited the rogue trader's oath.
Blazkowicz nodded at her resolve but still sternly warned: "Do not forget today's oath. If you abandon the agreement, the Legner Family will face judgment."
"I dare not forget!" Victoria's voice was as firm as steel.
The lady signed the trade agreement and respectfully left the palace hall. The Legner Family would now be responsible for establishing a galaxy-spanning trade route. With such immense profits, the Legner Family would need to assemble a convoy fleet to protect their cargo. This wasn't a difficult task; rogue traders had their own codes of conduct, and through multi-party negotiations and profit-sharing, they could quickly raise a fleet. After all, profit was the eternal pursuit of merchants. Thanks to this trade agreement, the Legner Family would soon rise to become a new power.
Of course, the family also faced considerable challenges. Becoming the designated merchant between two empires, with such enormous profits, would naturally attract the covetous eyes of those with ulterior motives. Yet, with the support of two Primarchs and protection from the Space Marines dispatched by the Space Wolves, this was enough to deter most pirates.
Blazkowicz would assign these tasks and then not pay them much attention. Perhaps in the eyes of rogue traders, a trade agreement was enough to stir up a storm, but for a Primarch, such matters were not worth excessive attention. Different positions led to different perspectives. Under absolute authority, a Primarch had absolute dominion, with all profits and power stemming from himself.
If the Legner Family failed to manage this matter and perished, Blazkowicz would simply choose the next successor. He released profits from his own hand, choosing people of excellent quality to accomplish this task. Blazkowicz was not a nanny; he had no obligation to escort the Legner Family. The galaxy was cruel; it was survival of the fittest, and life had its necessary price.
"Why did you let the fleet stop at Fenris?" Blazkowicz continued to place his piece, his gaze fixed on the board. "Keeping the Fenrisians away from technology and maintaining their primitive appearance was a strategy you devised."
Russ had once mentioned in a casual conversation that he concealed the Imperium from the mortals of Fenris, preserving their wild nature to the greatest extent possible. The Wolf King believed that only those who endured the trials of harsh weather and extreme environments could grow into true warriors. The legends of their people were deliberately guided, and the arrival of Russ and the Emperor became a myth passed down orally.
In mortal perception, Russ, the Wolf King, had returned to the "Allfather's" side, going to "Valhalla" to fight eternal wars for the Allfather. If the Fenrisians passed the test, the Wolf King would send envoys to guide the warriors to the Valhalla in the stars, to continue serving the Great Wolf.
"That doesn't conflict, my brother," Russ said, placing a white piece. "I never intended to overturn my own decision and be someone who changes his mind from morning to night. I will establish a transit space station on the other side of the Fenrisian star, hidden from the Fenrisians' perception, making it forever undetectable by mortals."
"My brother," Russ' fingertips trembled slightly as he placed the piece, his weather-beaten voice hoarse, "as you said, we will eventually fade away. When the Great Crusade ends, and Fenris sheds its barbarism and frost, isn't that the opportune moment?" He looked up at Blazkowicz. "At that time, the Fenrisians will embrace civilization, and a prosperous trade route will make their lives relatively more affluent, wouldn't it?"
Blazkowicz nodded silently, continuing to place his pieces. He had no moves left, and Russ had won this fifth game. The Great Wolf was making his own arrangements, planning the future for the Fenrisians. The two continued their game of chess, the sound of pieces falling echoing, awaiting the return of the Mechanicus magos.
Three hours later, the Mechanicus magos cautiously entered the great hall, bringing news from Mars.
"Esteemed Lord of the Nur Stars, Mars is willing to offer you reparations," he said, bowing low. "Twenty mineral-rich worlds, along with their coordinates, are offered to you."
"Oh." Blazkowicz's voice was utterly devoid of fluctuation, deep as an abyss, making his thoughts unreadable. The Adeptus Mechanicus was also sensible, cutting ties very cleanly and leaving him no reason to find fault. The magos took a data-slate from his red robe, offering it with two mechanical appendages.
A handmaiden, holding a tray, walked before him and placed the data-slate on the red satin. At this point, the magos breathed a sigh of relief. The Primarch had accepted the gift, and this matter was settled.
"I will not disturb the two Primarchs' enjoyment; I shall take my leave. You may summon me anytime you have instructions; I am always waiting at the Adeptus Mechanicus outpost on the Imperial World."
His mechanical voice was soft and humble, and his body slowly retreated backward, wanting to leave quickly, yet beautiful words kept flowing from his mouth. Holding the forge axe in his hand, the magos dared not make any sound that might draw the Primarchs' attention.
Not until he left the hall and disappeared around the corner were no further instructions heard from within. Once out of the Primarchs' sight, the Mechanicus magos immediately sped up, the mechanical appendages of his lower limbs full of power, revealing a hint of joy.
"Tsk tsk tsk," Russ clicked his tongue and shook his head, his eyes gleaming with envy. "Twenty resource-rich worlds."
The Space Wolves' foundation was shallow; twenty resource planets might be nothing to Argent Nur, but they were worth the Wolf King's envy for a long time. Blazkowicz smiled slightly, not responding to Russ' envy, remaining silent and focused on the new game.
The return of the Lord of the Stars was widely known, and with the Legner Family's precedent, more visitation requests poured in. The rogue traders were extremely eager, hoping to receive a response from the Lord of Argent Nur and open new trade routes. In this age of human resurgence and great voyages, they sought to hold a pivotal position and ensure their families' legacy for ten thousand years. Blazkowicz rejected all requests, no longer interfering, allowing the market to compete freely.
The Legner Family assembled a massive fleet, laden with food and goods, departing from Argent Nur for Terra. Six months later, the heavily damaged rogue trader fleet returned, bringing vast wealth back to the Argent Nur Gate World. Their journey was an epic, with the fleet encountering countless human pirates and even Aeldari raiders. Had it not been for the protection of the Space Wolves' warriors, the rogue trader fleet's first transport might have been torn and chewed apart by plunderers.
At the fleet's return port, Victoria poured out crate after crate of Imperial currency, covering the entire docking port. The sight of gold completely drove the rogue traders mad. The tangible wealth spurred even more ships to join the long-distance trading caravan. With money right before their eyes, what were pirates?
Victoria Legner met Blazkowicz again, bringing him a personal letter from Malcador, expressing the elder's most sincere gratitude.
"That cunning old man rarely says thank you," Russ said, reading the letter, then returning it to Blazkowicz. "He never showed any gratitude for the countless worlds conquered by the expeditionary forces, sometimes even scolding the Legions for their methods of conquest. Yet, Blazkowicz sending food to Terra made the old man so grateful he shed tears, personally writing a letter of thanks."
"He loves humanity, especially its cradle—the place where he was born." Blazkowicz was even more emotional; he had never expected Malcador to write back in thanks. Carefully putting away the letter, the genuine emotion within it moved him; Malcador thanked Blazkowicz for what he had done for the people of Terra.
Russ shrugged, a corner of his mouth twitching as he walked ahead without speaking.
"Gather the goods and load them onto ships as soon as possible, and send them to Terra quickly," Blazkowicz instructed, catching up with Russ to head to the War College. Sophia would handle everything.
The fleet's round trip took six months, and the food transported was but a drop in the ocean of what was grown. Another six months later, the Space Wolves Fleet gathered at the Gate System's stargate, preparing to depart from the Nur Stars.
"Brother, all gatherings have partings," Russ said, clad in Fenrisian runic armor, standing tall at the port, bidding farewell to his brother. In a year's time, the fleet had already completed its upgrades and modifications, and the Wolves had rested, full of vigor and spirit, awaiting departure.
"Parting is for the sake of the next reunion," Blazkowicz smiled, without a trace of sadness, offering his brother a farewell blessing.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Two large hands clasped each other's forearms, and the two looked at each other and laughed heartily.
"Father is calling me; he has encountered Orks in the void," Russ said, a look of triumph on his face. "I am fully prepared to send the greenskins to meet their Gork and Mork." During his time on Argent Nur, Russ had not been idle.
He had learned much, and what he understood most deeply were the Orks. The Wolf King always remembered his brother's words: Orks were a powerful force in the void, and one day they would encounter the Imperium. He studied xenos lore so that when he encountered the greenskins, he could destroy them with thunderous force.
"It seems you've stumbled upon your area of expertise," Blazkowicz lamented the capriciousness of fate. The Emperor had encountered Orks and chosen to summon the Space Wolves for support. Russ waved his hand, bidding farewell to his brother, and without hesitation, turned and left, boarding the brand new Hrafnkel. After watching the Space Wolves Fleet depart, Blazkowicz also boarded the Royal Majesty, leading his fleet towards the Ultima Orientis Sector.
Targeting the Ultima Orientis Sector, Blazkowicz led an even larger fleet to the Imperium's largest star sector. Here, there are hundreds of millions of stars, countless more planets, and an innumerable variety of xenos races. The Rangdan appeared in this area, and Blazkowicz's objective for this trip was to hunt them down.
The Denurian fleet deployed a large number of scout ships, heading into the depths of space to search for traces of the Rangdan. Although the process was long, Blazkowicz had to do it; he would not allow the Rangdan to remain hidden.
From 831.M30 to 832.M30, a full year of searching yielded nothing. The Rangdan had vanished without a trace, with no eyewitness reports, as if this terrifying race did not exist in the universe. However, it was not entirely fruitless; during the search for the Rangdan, the Argent Nur fleet exterminated a hundred xenos species and completely wiped out over a thousand with intellectual potential.
Dozens of Human Worlds were discovered, allowing them to return to the embrace of the Imperium. The edge of the Ultima Orientis Sector was too far from the Denurian Stars, making Argent Nur's management difficult, so it was most appropriate to hand over the recovered worlds to the Imperium.
Battles with humans rarely occurred. Seeing the sky-obscuring fleet, rulers immediately forged peace treaties with the Imperium. Blazkowicz was not an inflexible person; he would observe the surrendered Human Worlds and scrutinize their local rulers. If the ruler was wise, he would allow him to maintain his rule, becoming a Planetary Governor of the Imperium.
If he was merely occupying his position, Blazkowicz would show no emotion on his face, but secretly dispatch the Alpha Legion to reshuffle the attached planet. Using the Alpha Legion's methods, they would instigate a revolution on the planet, establishing a new order through bloodshed and sacrifice, cleansing past darkness and corruption. Thus, the fleet cruised through the void, with the purpose of finding the Rangdan, clearing xenos, and searching for lost Human Worlds.
"My Lord," when Blazkowicz awoke from his bed, Sophia gently called out beside him, "The Emperor has sent an Astropathic mesmagos."
"Read it." Hearing it was the Emperor, Blazkowicz immediately perked up and walked into the room to wash.
"He wishes for you to meet him here." A projection appeared in Sophia's palm, displaying a star coordinate.
Blazkowicz felt the comfort of hot water flowing over him, glancing at the coordinates Sophia provided. The junction of the Noctis Tempesta Sector and the Ultima Orientis Sector, a peripheral area of the Ultima Orientis Sector, where the Emperor's Bucephalus was waiting for him. His thick brows furrowed, and he quickly recalled what the Emperor had done over the year, analyzing his specific purpose.
The Emperor had summoned Russ' Space Wolves to the Ultima Orientis Sector. They were battling Orks in the "Firewheel Sub-sector," a star system filled with irregularly moving planets, burning space dust, and raging ion and space storms.
The Orks controlled twenty worlds and were preparing to unleash a Waaagh! In the Emperor's and Horus', and even the War Council's, simulations, the Space Wolves might pay a heavy price. They contacted Ferrus Manus, preparing to have the Iron Hands support the Space Wolves in eliminating the entrenched Orks.
At the beginning of the war, the Space Wolves' professionalism far exceeded the Imperium's high command's expectations, earning the admiration of the Emperor and others. The Wolf King quickly assembled a strike force, personally leading the landing on the Ork world, using superior forces to ambush the Ork Boss. Ultimately, Russ' Kraken's Tooth chainsword severed the Ork Boss' head.
Two billion Orks, leaderless, immediately fell into infighting, vying for the position of Boss. Taking advantage of the Ork infighting, the Wolf Pack fleet unleashed extremely strong firepower, defeated the Ork junk fleet, trapped the Orks on various worlds, and struck at the Orks' effective forces.
During a year of war, the Space Wolves utilized their fleet advantage, continuously conducting aerial assaults, eliminating new Ork Bosses, and steadily weakening the Orks. On worlds where the Orks were completely eliminated, Russ ordered the Adeptus Mechanicus to burn the land with plasma flames to prevent Orks from burrowing out of the ground.
Witnessing such professionalism, the Emperor only stayed for three months before leaving the Firewheel Sub-sector. According to the War Council's estimates, it would take the Space Wolves at least three years to eliminate the Orks.
He could not stay for a long time, so he left without worries, continuing to search for Primarchs in the void. Before leaving, he also presented Russ with a golden spear named "Spear of Dionysus," commending the Space Wolves' bravery and wisdom.
"The Royal Majesty will proceed to the rendezvous point; the Argent Nur fleet will continue its mission, searching for traces of the Rangdan."
Blazkowicz curled his lips into a smile; after a brief thought, he decided to let the fleet continue its mission while he went to meet the Emperor. According to his calculations, there would be no accidents on this trip. Rather, the Emperor had found a new brother. The two parties were not far apart, both on the edge of the Ultima Orientis Sector.
With the Rangdan currently untraceable, he could temporarily leave the fleet to welcome the return of a brother. The Royal Majesty activated its Gellar Field, entered the Warp, and immediately set off for the Emperor's location.
When the ship emerged from the Warp and arrived in an unfamiliar star system, the Emperor had already been waiting for a long time.
"Prepare yourselves; we are landing on Nocturne." The Emperor's magnificent voice resonated, and his radiant image appeared in everyone's mind. He did not use holographic communication; the splendor of his psychic emanation alone compelled mortals to submit.
"What did he say?" Blazkowicz asked a Custodian beside him, as he could not receive psychic communication.
"He said to prepare yourself and land on Nocturne with him," Odysseus, the Shield-Captain, quickly relayed. A thousand Custodians, who had not returned to Terra after the Rangdan War, still remained with Blazkowicz. They had their own explanation, reasoning that the Rangdan had not been completely eliminated and the Custodians' mission was not yet complete.
In truth, Blazkowicz had long seen through it; the Custodians were using this opportunity to travel further into the stars and simultaneously monitor his actions. He understood the golden-armored warriors and did not comment on their intentions.
As the Emperor's bodyguards, the Custodians should indeed return to Terra to protect the Emperor after completing their mission. Still, there was that well-known reason—who could harm the Emperor in the real universe? A portion of the Custodians were allocated to the production of Doom Slayers.
Blazkowicz had a thousand with him, and besides those guarding the Imperial Palace, the Emperor always had a thousand protecting his safety. If someone could truly break through a thousand Custodians and then harm the Emperor, then the number of Custodians would make no difference.
As the Emperor's close guard, the Custodians clearly had other concerns—they firmly believed that this Warrior King might be the only being capable of threatening the Emperor, and therefore required strict surveillance. The Lord of the Doom Slayers was very strong. Psychic powers had no effect on him, and his combat prowess was even greater. I
t was said that he also possessed a divine sword; the Emperor once tried to pick it up but was burned, leaving an eternal scar on his palm. Combining all these reasons, Odysseus felt that without psychic powers, relying solely on close combat and martial arts, the Emperor would be in great danger.
And there were the Doom Slayers. Those warriors were nominally Astartes, yet they were an entirely different, higher form of existence. If the Primarchs harbored ill intentions, they would surely swarm him, and the Emperor might truly be unable to fend them off.
Although the Emperor had once warned the Custodians not to be wary of the Doom Slayers, stating they were the most reliable, as the Emperor's bodyguards, how could they lower their guard? The Custodians had to be constantly vigilant, standing between danger and the Emperor. Blazkowicz nodded, then moved to the shuttle bay to meet the Emperor. Two massive ships hid behind a star, not exposing themselves to space, to avoid being discovered by the inhabitants of Nocturne.
The Emperor was already waiting, dressed only in a simple robe, inside the Custodian shuttle's cabin. Seeing Blazkowicz enter, he psychically transmitted for the shuttle to proceed to Nocturne, to greet his son. Blazkowicz sat down in the shuttle, his tiger eyes slightly narrowed, detecting something amiss about the Emperor.
"Your power has grown stronger." He noticed that the Emperor's psychic radiance was brighter than before, without any dimness. The Emperor needed to maintain the Astronomican with his psychic power, guiding the Imperial fleet, and his psychic energy was consumed every moment.
Being far from Terra should have intensified the psychic consumption, yet the Emperor's surrounding radiance did not dim, but rather grew more intense. His expression showed no sign of fatigue, but rather a vibrant spirit.
"Faith." The Emperor spoke concisely, and the middle-aged man beneath the golden light revealed a helpless, bitter smile.
"As the Great Crusade progressed and the Imperium's territory continuously expanded, the mortals began to feel gratitude and faith towards me. Although I sternly warned against faith and ordered the Seventeenth Legion to destroy all beliefs, the reverence stemming from humanity's hearts gathered towards me like countless stars. I tore down temples, burned scriptures and religious texts, yet I myself became the embodiment of faith. The Adeptus Mechanicus regards me as the incarnation of the Omnissiah, and a portion of the faith from the doctrines they spread also flows to me."
After the Emperor finished speaking, he took a deep breath, sat in his chair, and said no more. He felt as if he hadn't spoken in a long time, and perhaps he had said too much.
"No, that's not it," Blazkowicz said with a serious expression, a dangerous glint in his eyes that sent a chill down the Emperor's spine. "I see divinity!" Blazkowicz's most sensitive and disliked characteristic had appeared on the Emperor.
Blazkowicz's gaze pierced the psychic mist, a flicker of divinity catching his attention—a tiny, corrupting trace within the Emperor's otherwise pure, untainted radiance. It was a darkness, black as death and nothingness, and it held a power capable of devouring all things.
"You'd better explain yourself," Blazkowicz said, his voice as cold as frost, instantly freezing the air in the cockpit.
The Custodes' superhuman bodies stiffened at the Primarch's icy tone, their hands instinctively tightening on their Guardian Spears. The sheer tension filling the cockpit shamed them; their reaction was one of self-ervation, not duty. Yes, the Emperor's own bodyguards felt fear.
This contradiction tore at them, as the danger radiating from Blazkowicz momentarily overrode their mission. They gripped their weapons, using the hard, cold steel to push back the weakness welling up from the depths of their souls.
The Emperor remained silent for a long moment. Blazkowicz's piercing gaze was undisguised; he demanded an answer that could satisfy the Godslayer. The air in the cockpit dropped to a freezing point that the Emperor's warm radiance could not melt.
"Divinity comes from worship," the Emperor finally began, explaining the source of the insidious power. "The human imagination is always glorious and magnificent when it comes to those they worship, filling them with all sorts of perfect definitions. 'God,' a word originating from religious worship on Old Terra, is rooted in this human imagination. A savior is a god, a powerful person is a god, an intelligent person is a god, and even a filthy person can become a god. Whatever the reason, the image of the worshipped always trends toward that of a god. Many people in the Imperium believe I am a god," the Emperor said with a helpless look. "I have dedicated myself to eliminating superstition, even deploying an entire Legion for the task, yet I have never been able to eradicate this deification of individuals. Compared to following the cold, ruthless Imperial Truth, with its emotionless definitions, it is simpler and more vivid for humans to build an idol to worship in their hearts."
Blazkowicz listened without comment, then asked the middle-aged man, whose divinity was just beginning to manifest, "Are you a god?"
For a powerful psyker like the Emperor, subjective factors were more powerful than objective ones. If he wanted to become a god, he would only need to cast aside his burdens and seek an opportunity. There would be no need to go to great lengths to bear the weight of the human race. The Emperor had already achieved immortality, transcending birth, aging, sickness, and death. Abandoning his humanity and embracing his divinity would not be difficult.
"I am not a god." For the first time, a vivid expression of disgust appeared on the Emperor's majestic face, an undisguised aversion to the word "god." His answer was categorical, without a hint of hesitation, carrying a sense of urgency to draw a clear line.
"Then we shall wait and see," Blazkowicz replied, his expression unreadable. He believed the Emperor's words, but he did not trust "humanity." The Emperor's current subjective state might change in the future, leading him to become a god, whether actively or passively. He decided to leave everything to time, to verify the facts and promises.
This conversation was concise and dangerous; in a few minutes, they had discussed the topic of divinity and godhood. It was strange to note that these two individuals, for whom becoming a god in the real universe was not difficult, both held a deep aversion to deities. This was because they both knew the price of becoming a god.
Gods were merely puppets driven by divinity and power, with no inherent nobility. They were beings who pitied and loved, despised and rejected. Gods schemed against each other, attacking one another due to differing powers, no different from the intrigues of mortals.
After a brief inquiry, silence fell over the shuttle, and the tense atmosphere between the two great beings eased slightly. The Custodes shuttle was efficient and stable, rapidly advancing towards its destination, the pilot eager to escape the suffocating oppression. Blazkowicz raised his left hand, and an image projected from his arm guard, displaying real-time data from the Royal Majesty.
Their destination was a death world, its surface covered in continuous volcanoes, the entire planet flowing with magma, like a molten hell from ancient legends. According to Sophia's scans and calculations, the death world named Nocturne would approach its massive moon every fifteen years, their gravitational pulls interacting to ignite the planet's entire volcanic system.
A look of awe flashed in Blazkowicz's eyes, again marveling at the wonders of the universe. Nocturne's moon was massive, and for it not to crash into Nocturne during their fifteen-year close approach was truly a cosmic miracle.
"Sirs, we can only take you this far," the Custodes pilot explained, the shuttle hovering above the clouds. Every fifteen years, massive volcanic eruptions occurred, accumulating thick layers of volcanic ash in the atmosphere. Aircraft struggled to penetrate it, and even a slight error could lead to a crash.
The Emperor nodded silently, and as he psychically communicated with the Custodes, the rear cabin opened. Blazkowicz's nostrils flared, and from the air rushing into the cabin, he smelled the pungent odor of volcanic sulfur. He stood up without speaking, walked to the cabin door, and looked down at the dust clouds, flickering with lightning.
"Let's go." The Emperor wrapped his long robe around himself, enveloped in psychic radiance, and floated out of the golden shuttle.
Blazkowicz was immune to psychic abilities; the Emperor's light could not approach him, so he had to find his own way. He leaped, his face serene, out of the cabin, plummeting rapidly with the whoosh of freefall. The arm guard on his left arm lit up with a signal, and a round shield was retrieved from an extra-dimensional space.
Blazkowicz placed the shield under his feet. It wasn't out of fear of falling damage, but rather the need for a stable form to press down on the air and break through the dust clouds. Without any protection around him, large amounts of dust clouds would rush into his mouth and nose.
Blazkowicz stood on the shield, punching a hole through the dust clouds, and accompanied by the flash of lightning, free-fell from ten thousand meters. Beside him was a golden radiance; the Emperor maintained a synchronized descent, both employing their respective methods to air-drop onto Nocturne.
With a muffled thud, a massive explosion was drowned out by the thunder, and Blazkowicz, with the might of a celestial descent, created a meteor crater on the ground. He took off his cloak, shook off the dust, only the hem slightly soiled, and casually picked up the shield, holding it in his hand.
Blazkowicz looked around; as far as his eyes could see, there were only volcanoes and magma, and he stood on a lake of obsidian.
"Go that way," the Emperor floated down, pointing in a direction. "I sense his presence."
Blazkowicz nodded, and without a word, advanced in the direction he indicated. He held the shield in his left hand, took the super shotgun from his waist with his right, and his eyes frequently scanned several directions.
"The local creatures are not friendly," he said in a deep voice, loading the super shotgun, but his steps did not falter.
The Emperor remained silent, raising his hand, and golden light shot from his fingertips, piercing into the magma river flowing beside the obsidian lake. The magma immediately boiled, and a colossal beast emerged from it, similar to a lizard from Old Terra. Its body was massive, covered in scales that could withstand the high temperatures of magma, and it lay in wait in the magma for prey to approach.
Blazkowicz did not hesitate, quickly ran across the obsidian lake, stepped on the corpse of a magma lizard, leaped over a hundred-meter magma river, and landed on solid ground. Then, a large group of strange creatures emerged from the magma.
Scaled scorpions and fire-breathing giant lizards all rose up, their crimson eyes fixed on their prey. Blazkowicz ignored them, his figure moving so quickly that he vanished from the native creatures' sight, leaving only the bewildered monsters. They looked at each other in the magma river, wondering if they had imagined it.
The Emperor flew suspended in the air, saving a lot of trouble, constantly pointing the way for Blazkowicz, preventing him from entering magma-surrounded areas. Although he disliked psychic powers, Blazkowicz sometimes had to admit that if psychic powers were used for good, they were indeed very convenient.
The two advanced rapidly, crossing the volcanic regions covered in magma, traversing obsidian land, and approaching their destination. Finally, after three hours of travel, Blazkowicz and the Emperor stood on a mountaintop, looking out at the distant highlands.
They finally saw a human settlement, a town standing on the high ground, with fertile land outside the town where some unknown crops were cultivated. The area outside the town was now bustling, with dark-skinned humans taking up weapons and engaging in battle with enemies. In the human ranks, a giant nearly six meters tall wielded a massive hammer, eliminating agile alien invaders.
Without need for explanation, both immediately recognized him as their lost brother/son.
"Do they need our help?" Blazkowicz stood on a large boulder, his eyes fixed on the human settlement. He recognized the invaders, the "Dark Eldar," who, after the fall of the Eldar, remained unrepentant in their depravity. Naked Eldar females—Wychs—moved with extreme agility, slaughtering humans with poisoned daggers in their hands.
(T/N : WOOD? )
"We need to observe," the Emperor said, sparks flickering at his fingertips, a barrier appearing before them, concealing their presence, "to examine his heart."
.....
The amniotic pod carrying the eighteenth Primarch burst from the Warp, crashing into the volcanic edge of Nocturne. It was here, in this treacherous landscape, that a blacksmith discovered the infant during a rare period of dormancy.
The tiny Primarch lay by a boiling river of lava, and from its depths, a monstrous beast was about to emerge. The blacksmith, sensing the imminent danger, rushed forward without hesitation. He scooped up the infant, saving the Primarch from the maw of the giant creature.
The blacksmith took the child back to his town, naming him Vulkan after the ancient legend of the god of fire and forging. The name was a subtle hope that the child would one day become a great blacksmith. The infant grew at an astonishing rate, his initially fair skin and black pupils changing to adapt to Nocturne's harsh environment. His skin darkened to a unique, textured hue, and his eyes turned blood-red.
He was massive, with sharply defined muscles, and though he appeared terrifying at first glance, Vulkan was naturally gentle. He followed his adoptive father into the forge, quickly mastering the craft with incredible speed and surpassing the blacksmith's skills in just a few months.
The townspeople were initially afraid of the Primarch, seeing his alarming height as an omen of terror. But over time, they grew accustomed to him and became captivated by his extraordinary forging skills. The tools he crafted were not only durable but exquisitely designed, like works of art. Many bought his creations, not for use, but to display them in their homes. Life in the town was uneventful, peaceful, and comfortable.
Until one day, a group of uninvited guests shattered that peace. The blacksmith called Vulkan home, a look of profound fear on his face, and told him to close the doors and windows. The entire town was in the same state: the bustling streets were empty, shops were closed, and people huddled in their homes, trembling. Vulkan, filled with confusion, gazed at his father. He could hear his neighbors grinding their teeth in fear.
"What's wrong, Father?" Vulkan asked, seeking an explanation.
The blacksmith explained that while Nocturne was plagued by natural disasters, the greater threat was 'man-made calamity.' Periodically, an alien race resembling humans would raid the local population. These aliens delighted in killing and wantonly tormenting the inhabitants. In the past, people had resisted, using weapons they crafted themselves.
But their resistance was futile against the swift and agile invaders, and it only brought more abuse and slaughter. Over time, resistance had dwindled. Now, when the raiders arrived, people simply hid, praying for the invaders to leave quickly. They had lost their courage and hid like livestock awaiting slaughter, waiting for the butcher to choose at will.
After explaining the full story, the blacksmith placed a hand on his son's knee, urging him to hide. His unusual size would surely make him a target.
"We should resist," Vulkan said, his dark cheeks tightening. He knelt before his father. "The victim's cowardice will not earn the abuser's pity! Father," the giant said softly, his form like a towering iron structure, "if there's a reason for my extraordinary nature, then it must be for today!"
Vulkan's expression was resolute. After reassuring his father, he stood up and took a massive hammer from the weapon rack. He had long understood his extraordinary nature and the vast difference between himself and ordinary people. Under his father's guidance, Vulkan had once returned to the place where he was first discovered.
There, he had smashed the obsidian and excavated the entire lava lake, finding a single clue: a damaged amniotic pod marked "X VI." He immediately understood he had been bred, and that there were at least seventeen others like him. He gripped his warhammer, and understanding dawned in his crimson eyes. Perhaps his inherent mission, this extraordinary power, was meant to protect humanity.
"Son, I'm with you," the blacksmith said, grabbing a longsword, his resolve mirroring his son's.
"You don't have to—" Vulkan began, anxious about his father's safety.
"You have the will to resist, and I have the right to follow you," the old blacksmith replied with a resolute smile.
Vulkan said no more, simply nodding and tightening his grip on the warhammer. The blacksmith's character was like an anvil, stubborn and unyielding. Father and son, armed with weapons, opened the door and stepped out.
Their heavy footsteps drew stares. People hiding in their rooms saw the huge, dark figure in the street. The weapon in the giant's hand was a declaration that he would not remain silent; it was a willingness to fight to the death. As they stepped into the street, there was no turning back. Perhaps captivated by the giant, more and more people emerged from their homes, weapons in hand. They gathered around Vulkan, silent, their eyes communicating a shared resolve.
In the distant fields, sharp, mad cackles echoed. The waiting people finally saw the legendary raiders: tall, agile figures of naked humanoid females, weaving their way through the farmlands.
Their bodies were largely similar to humans, but they had slender, pointed ears. Other than that, they were indistinguishable from humans, yet more delicate and graceful, and unnaturally swift. Their faces were painted with war paint, their eyes gleamed with bloodlust, and cruel smiles played on their lips.
When the Wyches noticed the black, tower-like figure at the front of the crowd, excited smiles appeared on their faces. "Bring that big prey back to Commorragh; I want to enjoy him thoroughly!" The leading Wych licked her lips, her eyes full of greed.
Facing the alien's sudden attack, Vulkan, wielding his hammer with both hands, sensed the raiders' weakness. Yes, weakness. Having never seen them before, he had always believed his abilities were limited.
But now, he offered a comforting smile, filled with the satisfaction of being able to protect everyone. The Wych charging toward him wondered why he was smiling; she had seen many humans, but never one so composed. There was no fear in that smile, only a profound satisfaction.
Then, the depraved Wych understood. Vulkan took a step forward, his massive form an unstoppable war machine, each step shaking the earth. The Dark Eldar saw only a blur as the black figure appeared before them, the massive warhammer pressed against their face, and then everything vanished.
The Eldar moved swiftly like phantoms; ordinary humans facing them could only be toyed with, dying in the humiliation of trying their utmost but never reaching them. But the man before them was a Primarch, a demigod created by the Emperor, the strongest being in the real universe.
The raiders were quick, but in Vulkan's eyes, they were no different from mortals. He swung his warhammer, striking at the nearest enemy. Smash! A sound devoid of glory rang out as the Wych's slender body was shattered by the warhammer.
Like a mortal swatting a fly, the hammerhead was covered in crimson blood, and the Eldar's body was reduced to pulp. Before the Wyches could react to their sister's death, Vulkan had plunged into their ranks, his hammer a blur, killing the invaders. By the time the mortals and Eldar present reacted, he had killed many Eldar, reducing them to mangled flesh.
"No!" The Wyches felt the death of their sister, the pain of her soul being devoured by the Dark Prince, and they let out anguished screams. The humans, however, roared, raising their weapons against the invaders and surrounding the damnable aliens.
Led by Vulkan, they unleashed immense power, grouping into small units to encircle and kill the aliens. The fire of human courage was ignited by the Primarch; they now knew the aliens were not unconquerable.
Vulkan led the charge, sweeping through the battlefield like a black whirlwind, utterly routing the Wych raiding party. Facing the speed of a Primarch, even the quick-reacting Eldar, whose eyes could perceive some of his movements, had no chance to react physically.
A massive hammer, striking with fierce power, meant instant death upon contact. Vulkan grew more confident with each strike, alien blood staining his dark face. The benevolent Primarch unleashed his fury upon the aliens. Only humans were worthy of his pity; all aliens deserved to die!
Within seconds, half of the Wych raiding party was dead, with few survivors against Vulkan's berserk assault.
"Get out of here!" The Eldar language shrieked as the terrified Dark Eldar began to retreat. Though he didn't understand their language, Vulkan saw their movements and knew they were trying to escape. He stepped forward again, a black shadow enveloping the terrified Eldar.
With a large hand, he grabbed a naked Wych, pinning her to the ground. Vulkan was a Primarch, a born strategist and leader. Even though he spent his days forging, he possessed a unique understanding of conflict. He knew the people of Nocturne needed a victory to re-inspire them. A captured alien would be a symbol of a new beginning, serving to dispel the fears of old.
More than a hundred mortals, led by their Primarch, had defeated the Eldar raiders. It wasn't until the Eldar retreated in disarray that the armed mortals truly realized what they had done. On the scorching world of Nocturne, a people long oppressed had overcome their fear and, with a sudden surge of courage, repelled the enemy. The mortals looked at the pale, sinister xeno in Vulkan's hand, raised their weapons to the sky, and cheered in triumph.
"Vulkan!"
"Vulkan!"
"Vulkan!"
The emotional crowd, some weeping with relief, chanted the black giant's name and knelt to show him their supreme respect.
"Please rise," Vulkan said, gently helping them to their feet. "I am not a ruler; you do not need to kneel to me. We fought side by side as comrades and kin. We are comrades, shoulder to shoulder."
Overwhelmed with emotion, the mortals wept again at Vulkan's words. They were deeply impressed by the giant whose appearance was fearsome but whose heart was gentle. He had always been gentle, never displaying violence or ferocity in their company. When he was needed, he had unhesitatingly taken up arms to lead his people in resisting violence and slaughter. Vulkan was never a hero, a ruler, or a monarch; he was just a blacksmith.
The mortals all stood and called out Vulkan's name in their local dialect: "Vulkan, Son of the Blacksmith." The word spread from one to ten, from ten to a hundred, as the crowd chanted his name, offering their blessings to their extraordinary kin.
"What exactly are you?"
Just then, the Eldar, held in Vulkan's hand, asked in broken human language.
"You are definitely not human."
The Wych clutched the giant human palm tightly to avoid being crushed, her eyes wide with hatred. The human language she spoke transitioned from unfamiliar to fluent within a few syllables. Hearing the xeno speak human language, the mortals were at a loss, all looking at the woman who differed only slightly from their own kind.
"I am human," Vulkan's voice boomed like a bell, filled with anger and revulsion. He was angry that the xeno denied his humanity, and the revulsion, as if innate, flowed naturally from his words.
"You are definitely not human!" the Wych denied again, her sharp, piercing voice refusing to admit that the black giant could be associated with humanity.
In her eyes, apart from his human appearance, he possessed no other common traits. His strength, speed, courage, intellect, and that radiant humanity, devoid of baseness and cowardice—he could not possibly be human. It was as if he had been purged of all of humanity's darkness, outwardly dark but inwardly warm and pure.
"I am Vulkan, son of the blacksmith," Vulkan reiterated, shaking his arm to get the xeno to be silent. Speaking of his father, he suddenly startled, his eyes scanning the surroundings for the old man. The blacksmith still stood among the crowd, a proud look on his face, gazing at his gentle yet powerful son. Vulkan let out a long breath, a stone finally settling in his heart.
The city residents poured out, surrounding the brave warriors who had stepped forward, showering them with blessings and praise. From then on, with these warriors protecting them, the town could finally avoid the man-made disaster of raids and no longer live in constant fear.
The cheering crowd looked at the naked xeno, their eyes blazing with hatred and yearning for revenge. They had lost loved ones to the aliens and now they could finally have their revenge.
The cheers gradually soured, turning into curses and wails. People picked up stones from the ground, venting their sorrow and anger at the xeno. In moments, the xeno was covered in wounds, bleeding freely, on the verge of fainting.
Vulkan frowned. He knew the people desired revenge, but not in such a "savage" way. "She will be judged and pay the price for her crimes," he said, lifting the xeno out of the mob's reach.
"In our current state, what difference is there between us and them?"
A roar came from the angry crowd: "They tortured and murdered our loved ones; can we not have our revenge?"
"You can have revenge!" Vulkan roared back in a low voice, his aura calming the agitated and furious crowd. "She committed crimes, and she should atone with her life. You can execute her after a trial, but you cannot abuse or humiliate her! We are humans, humans with the noble quality of 'compassion.' If we abandon compassion, what makes us any different from the xenos? It was compassion that led my father to carry me from the edge of the volcano, allowing me to stand here today to fight and protect you. Let her await judgment. Kill her with human compassion; grant the xeno a human mercy!"
After hearing Vulkan's statement, the crowd gradually calmed, their chests, which had been heaving with anger, returning to a steady rhythm.
"Vulkan!"
"Vulkan!"
"Vulkan!"
They shouted in unison, agreeing with Vulkan's point of view, stopping their retaliatory abuse, and granting the xeno the mercy she deserved—a swift end. Vulkan smiled broadly, returning to the town amidst the cheering crowd, accepting the shouts of victory.
On a distant mountaintop, two figures witnessed everything, a look of relief on their faces. The Emperor's heart rejoiced. He had found a son full of humanity, one who taught mortals with pure goodwill. The Eighteenth, like his sons, was full of goodwill toward mortals, embodying the most precious kindness in humanity.
Blazkowicz nodded slightly, admiring his brother's tolerant heart even though he held a different view. Perhaps it was the connection between a Gene-Father and his gene-sons, but it seemed the Eighteenth Legion, in battle, displayed compassion for mortals.
The Astartes of the Eighteenth Legion progressed slowly in the Great Crusade; they were always very cautious when it came to assaults and conquests. Battle plans were formulated to minimize mortal casualties, striving to reduce losses to the lowest possible level. In war, they would unhesitatingly sacrifice their lives to protect mortals.
The actions of the Eighteenth Legion were seen as irrational by many brother Legions, even considered excessive sacrifice. A Legion should indeed protect mortals, and it is one of the reasons for the Astartes' existence. But the Astartes' mission is to conquer the galaxy for the Emperor, and they need to use their lives carefully, avoiding squandering the divine power bestowed upon them.
Saving and protecting mortals are praiseworthy actions, but wasting lives equals delaying the progress of the Great Crusade. To exchange the life of an Astartes for the life of a mortal… No Legion could afford such a price; the number of Astartes dictated that commanders often could not protect mortals.
The Eighteenth Legion, however, was different; they would make many unreasonable sacrifices to protect mortals in battle. They would use their bodies to shield mortals from bullets, sacrificing themselves just to protect a few mortals. Many Legions disliked fighting alongside the Eighteenth Legion because their "excessive" compassion led to many unnecessary casualties.
The Eighteenth Legion continued to go its own way, slowly advancing the Great Crusade, indifferent to any criticism or scrutiny. The actions of the Legion's warriors were admirable, but that didn't prevent some from secretly calling them foolish.
Blazkowicz appreciated his brother's approach, but it was merely admiration; he had no other opinions. The population of Nocturne was sparse and could not withstand excessive sacrifice. He would cherish the lives of his sons, ensuring they died meaningfully as much as possible, avoiding the cheap waste of life.
"Aren't you going to meet him yet?" Blazkowicz asked in a low voice, seeing the Emperor's excitement beneath his robes.
"The time is not yet right," the Emperor shook his head, his expression very mysterious.
"Are you going to play your father-son games again?" Seeing his expression, Blazkowicz's mouth twitched, and he immediately knew the Emperor's plan. He didn't know what kind of quirk it was, but the Emperor seemed to enjoy playing these 'games' when reuniting with his sons.
First, he would conceal his identity and make contact, then, through various contests, he would gain their admiration. Finally, they would kneel and call him "father." Sometimes Blazkowicz was grateful that he had found the Imperium of Man, otherwise, the "father-son games" he would have faced would have been of an unknown nature.
"Come, let's continue to observe his actions." The Emperor used his psychic powers to conceal his form and went into the city to observe his son.
Blazkowicz nodded silently, pulling his cloak around him, completely covering his body except for his eyes. The cloak shimmered, its adaptive camouflage activating, and his figure merged with the environment, completely disappearing from sight. The two most powerful beings in the galaxy, stealthily, crept toward the town on Nocturne.
(T/N: Who's Blaz Junior? At first I thought it was the memories, but author seems to have forgotten about them. Then I thought this random person must be this universe's Blaz. You see I thought Du Ma(protag) and Ma Tang (Blaz Junior) were related. It was neither, it turns out he was a an OC from a long forgotten Eastern Dynasty who's on a quest to restore his noble Chinese dynasty's prestige. I cut all that out of course LMAO)