She recognized the armor, recognized the face, and now confirmed the name! Everything perfectly matched the warning from the white bird-beaked helmeted lord! This most dangerous, most irritable, and most xenophobic giant was standing right in front of her! And she had even "caught his attention"!
"Wah—!"
Eiras could no longer suppress the terror in her heart. The mop in her hand clattered to the floor, and her legs gave out, causing her to collapse onto the wet floor, crying loudly and without any regard for her image. Green tears rolled down like broken pearls, mixing with the cleaning solution on the floor. She trembled all over, gasping for breath, and begged for mercy in a mix of Eldar and broken gothic:
"Don't kill me…ahh…Lord Dorian…please…I didn't mean it…I'll work hard…I won't dare again…ahh…don't smash me…don't kill me…"
Her sudden breakdown and crying left Dorian stunned. He was only curious to confirm something, not expecting such a strong reaction from her. He scratched his helmet, muttering in confusion, "Damn it…do I look that scary? I didn't say I was going to hit her…"
Sergeant Golden looked at Eiras, who was sprawled on the floor, crying her heart out, and then at Dorian, who considered himself innocent. He sighed helplessly. He, of course, understood why the girl was so terrified; Dorian's fierce reputation and his attitude towards xenos were well-known throughout the Chapter.
"Alright, Dorian, say less." Gorden stopped Dorian, who was about to say more, then said in a deep voice to Eiras on the floor, "Stop crying. No one is going to kill you. Continue with your work."
After speaking, he gestured to Dorian and Lina and turned to walk towards the lounge. This was all he could do. The Chapter Master allowing her to live was already an extraordinary act of "mercy." As for her inner fear and predicament, that was not something he needed to be overly concerned with. On this ship, everyone had their place and challenges to face.
Dorian pouted, finding the xeno girl utterly inexplicable, and bothered no longer with her. He waved at Lina, "Come on, Lina, ignore her. I'll show you my well-maintained hammer when we get back!"
Lina cast a sympathetic glance at the pitifully crying Eiras but obediently followed Dorian and Gorden away.
In the corridor, only Eiras remained, slumped on the cold floor, surrounded by scattered cleaning tools and a puddle of cleaning solution and tears. She cried for a long time until her tears were almost dry, and her body was exhausted from fear and weeping.
Eventually, she slowly and tremblingly got up, picked up the heavy mop, re-submerged it in water, and began to mechanically, repeatedly, wipe the floor. Only this time, on the gleaming metal floor, in addition to the smell of disinfectant, there seemed to be a hint of bitter and desperate saltiness.
She understood Lance's warning more deeply and realized her situation more clearly—simply being alive was a gift that required careful, tiptoeing maintenance. And that Terminator giant named Dorian became an indelible shadow of terror deep within her heart.
Eiras' work progressed extremely slowly. The mop, too large for her, the heavy bucket, and the muscle aches from long hours of bending and straining all made her suffer immensely. Her physical strength was already weak; as the lowest-ranking servant in Commorragh, going hungry was the norm, and her physical foundation was very poor. After arriving on this human behemoth of a ship, although her life was temporarily saved, her mind remained in a state of high tension and fear, which consumed a great deal of energy.
She dared not stop, gritting her teeth, using all her strength to clean the vast floor area bit by bit. Sweat soaked her rough work clothes, stray hairs on her forehead stuck to her skin, and her arms and lower back burned with pain. Her stomach had long been rumbling with hunger, but she remembered the cold instructions of the tech-servitor—she would only receive her daily food ration after completing her work. And she, clearly, would not be able to finish within the allotted time.
Time passed slowly. The lights in the corridor and resting area gradually dimmed, entering the ship's "night" mode. Fewer and fewer Astartes warriors came and went, until finally, only the regular, heavy footsteps of patrol teams echoed in the distance. In the vast space, it seemed only she remained, along with the monotonous, faint sounds of the mop and bucket rubbing.
Loneliness, exhaustion, hunger, fear… all these emotions intertwined, almost crushing her. Her green eyes welled up with tears, but she bit them back, afraid of attracting unnecessary trouble. She just numbly, repeatedly, performed mechanical motions, with only one thought in her mind: finish quickly, go back, and maybe… maybe there would still be something to eat.
When she finally finished cleaning the last area, she could barely straighten her back. She painstakingly tidied up her tools, put them back in the designated storage corner, and then, dragging her almost collapsed body, walked towards the small room located at the edge of the 7th Company's quarters.
Each step felt like treading on cotton, and her vision blurred. Her stomach ached from emptiness, and her throat was dry. She just wanted to return to that cold little room immediately, curl up in bed, and use sleep to ward off hunger and fatigue.
Just as she was about to reach the secluded corridor leading to her room, a calm voice sounded from the shadows of a side resting area:
"Hey, you."
Eiras startled, almost collapsing to the ground. She turned her head in alarm, looking towards the sound.
She saw a giant sitting on a bench in a corner of the resting area. He was not wearing the awe-inspiring blue power armor, but only a form-fitting black training suit, revealing strong and well-proportioned muscle lines. His face showed a hint of fatigue, but his eyes were very clear in the dim light. It was Gaius; he had just finished his late-night extra training and was resting there.
Eiras recognized him—he was a member of the same squad as the terrifying Dorian! Her heart instantly leaped to her throat. She almost scrambled over, humbly bowing her head, standing before Gaius, her body trembling slightly from fear and weakness, afraid that slow movements would displease him.
Gaius looked at the thin, disheveled Eldar girl before him, scared like a bird that had been shot. Her face was smudged with dirt, her eyes were red and swollen, her lips were chapped from dehydration, and her small body shivered in the overly large work clothes. She looked utterly pitiful.
Gaius was silent for a moment. He had never shown the slightest mercy when facing Dark Eldar warriors wielding witchblades and delighting in torture; his bolter would shatter them without hesitation. He also lacked compassion for the Dark Eldar civilians obsessed with intrigue and pleasure. But this girl…
He knew her. Sergeant Golden had mentioned her; she was the maid they captured at the "Spire of Bitter Pain" who could speak gothic. From her appearance, she was probably about the same age as Lina, just a wretched creature struggling to survive at the lowest level, likely never even killed a chicken, yet she was caught up in this war and became a captive.
A rare flicker of sympathy, seemingly at odds with his Astartes identity, quietly arose in his heart.
He said nothing, only reached for something wrapped in oil paper beside the bench and offered it to Eiras.
It was a large, square piece of synthetic bread. For an Astartes, this was just ordinary food to replenish energy after training, but for Eiras, it was enough to last her an entire day.
Gaius knew that, given her work efficiency, she certainly hadn't finished her work on time today and would most likely have her food ration withheld. This kind of punishment was commonplace in the Imperial system, especially for a captive of her status.
Eiras froze, staring blankly at the huge bread, then looked up at Gaius, her green eyes filled with disbelief and confusion. She dared not take it.
"Take it." Gaius' voice was still calm, but it seemed to lack some of its usual cold harshness. "Eat quickly."
Hearing this clear instruction, Eiras tremblingly reached out her hands and took the heavy bread. The warmth and aroma of food from the oil paper package made her empty stomach cramp violently.
She no longer cared about etiquette or fear; the strong instinct for survival overwhelmed everything. She eagerly tore open the oil paper, opened her mouth, and ravenously devoured the hard but precious synthetic bread! She ate incredibly messily, her cheeks bulging, constantly swallowing with effort, almost choking several times. The synthetic bread did not taste good; it was coarse, bland, and even had a hint of industrial ingredients, but at that moment, in her mouth, it surpassed any delicacy of any noble in Commorragh! At least, it was ten thousand times better than starving or eating that incredibly elastic, strange nutritional paste that even the Grey Knights found repulsive!
Gaius watched her almost frantic eating, silently sighed, and then picked up a water cup nearby, offering it to her.
Eiras quickly took the cup and gulped down the clear water, finally washing down the food stuck in her throat. She let out a long sigh, and a little color returned to her pale face.
She ate about half of the bread before her movements slowly became less frantic. The hunger pangs receded slightly, and reason returned. She looked at the remaining half of the bread in her hand, hesitated, then carefully rewrapped it in the oil paper, clutching it tightly to her chest as if it were a priceless treasure.
She looked up, gazing at Gaius again. This time, her eyes held less fear and more gratitude and… inquiry. Although he was in the same squad as the terrifying Dorian, he… was completely different from that irritable, terrifying big guy. He hadn't mocked her, hadn't threatened her, but instead had given her food and water.
Gaius watched her carefully hide the half-eaten bread, and the sympathy in his heart deepened a little. He thought for a moment and said, "Later… if you don't have anything to eat again, and can't find anyone… you can come to my cabin."
He paused, then added, "My cabin is in Sector B-17, 7th Company barracks, door number 7-2-G." He knew this girl would most likely not dare to come to him on her own, but at least he had given her a possible way out of starving.
Eiras suddenly looked up, her green eyes filled with shock and… a faint, incredible glimmer of hope. She opened her mouth, as if to say something thankful, but ultimately just nodded vigorously, engraving the cabin's location firmly in her mind.
Gaius looked at her, and as if remembering something else, he took out another large bread, also wrapped in oil paper, from behind the bench. This one looked even bigger.
"This one is for you too." Gaius handed her the bread. "…It's Dorian's share; I got it from him."
When Eiras heard the name "Dorian," her body instinctively shivered again, but hearing that Gaius had gotten them for her, she hesitated for a moment before taking them and hugging them tightly to her chest. The two large loaves almost made her unable to hold them.
"Here, try to... protect yourself," Gaius looked at her, his tone flat but with a subtle warning. "If... someone bullies you, you can use Sergeant Golden's name. He is our Sergeant, it might be of some use."
It seemed that was all he could do. He was powerless to do more.
"Alright, go back," Gaius waved his hand, signaling that she could leave.
Eiras, hugging the two heavy loaves, bowed deeply to Gaius, then said in a choked, stuttering gothic, "Th-thank you... Sir... thank you..."
After speaking, she dared not linger, turning and running quickly towards her room. Her small figure soon disappeared at the end of the corridor. The bread in her arms was the first, and only, "gift" she had received since arriving on this terrifying giant ship, and it was a small, fragile guarantee for her survival.
Gaius watched the direction the girl disappeared, sitting quietly for a while before standing up and preparing to return to his cabin to rest. A day of training and the recent small incident had left him feeling a little tired.
However, he did not know.
In the distance, behind a higher-level ventilation grate almost completely hidden in shadow, six eerie blue eyes were silently, unblinkingly, staring intently at everything he had just done.
In those six eyes, a cold and cunning light flickered, as if evaluating, calculating, and brewing.
Sympathy... pity... for a humble, alien, insignificant life? Interesting... very interesting... this emotion... this weakness... it seems it can be... exploited.
Silently, the six eyes quietly disappeared into the darkness, as if they had never existed. Only the cold air in the corridor remained, and the seed of "exploitation" quietly planted.
Meanwhile, the five Grey Knights confined to their exclusive cabins were not having an easy time. Not just because of their loss of freedom, but because of a constant, pervasive "torment"—the standard ship nutrient paste dispensed by the logistics department.
These Grey Knights, as transcendent beings specifically to counter Warp threats, had their bodies specially gene-modified and imbued with psychic energy. Their material needs were far lower than those of ordinary Astartes, and they could even sustain life by drawing energy directly from the Warp through deep meditation. Ordinary food was more of a formality than a necessity for them.
But even so, when the few tubes of grayish, strangely-smelling nutrient paste, their daily ration, were placed at their door by emotionless Honor Guard warriors, an indescribable sense of revulsion would still permeate the cabin.
This day, when the Honor Guard Terminator warrior once again placed five portions of nutrient paste on the tray outside the isolation field and then turned and left without a word, Uriel Ventris was the first to let out a low growl, suppressing his fury.
He walked to the edge of the force field, his purification-flame-burning oculars fixed on the few tubes of gray, rubber-mud-like substance on the tray, and in his rigid and cold tone, as if pronouncing a verdict, he said:
"This creation... its color is pallid, its smell is bizarre, and its texture is utterly anathema to reason! Its distorted form is enough to defile the perfection of the Emperor's sacred creation! This is not sustenance for life; it is an evil artifact of heresy! I refuse to consume it!"
His voice echoed in the cabin, carrying an undeniable resolve. As a Grey Knight who purifies all, he could not accept putting something that looked and smelled so utterly "unclean" into his body.
Gabriel Storm, hearing this, strode over. He looked down at the few tubes of nutrient paste, then up at the Honor Guard warriors on duty outside, who were indifferent to the situation. The fury in his chest boiled like his psychic energy.
"Brother Uriel speaks truly!" Gabriel's voice was like a thunderstorm. "This creation is more nauseating than the blood pools of Khorne's daemon legions! To consume this creation is a double defilement of our bodies and minds! I would rather my psychic energy wither and return to the Emperor's throne than touch a single drop of this wicked gruel!"
Saying this, he suddenly stretched out his hand, passing through the isolation field (the field only restricted entry and exit, not the passage of small objects), grabbed the few tubes of nutrient paste, and without looking, threw them violently towards the door as if he were throwing a bolter round!
Splat! Splat!
The few tubes of nutrient paste hit the metal wall of the opposite corridor, then bounced to the floor. The viscous gray paste splattered everywhere, and their strange elasticity even made them bounce a few times on the ground.
The two Honor Guard warriors outside the door were stunned by this sudden "attack." They looked down at the gray specks on their bodies and the wall, then at the two furious Grey Knights inside the cabin. Their expressions beneath their faceplates must have been very ugly.
One of the warriors stepped forward and, with a clearly displeased, muffled voice through the megaphone, said, "Grey Knight Sirs! Please mind your conduct! These are standard provisions allocated by the ship!"
"Standard provisions?!" Gabriel roared back through the force field. "It is fundamentally poison! It is a heretical creation! And you would have the Emperor's warriors consume such a thing?!"
The Honor Guard warrior seemed provoked by his unreasonableness and responded coldly, "We eat the same thing! The Chapter Master eats this too! All crew members eat this! While the taste is indeed... hard to describe, this is the only option logistics can consistently supply at the moment! Don't eat? Then starve!"
After saying this, he seemed to deliberately provoke them, bending down to pick up the few tubes of nutrient paste on the ground, which, though damaged, still contained most of their paste. He even scraped some off the wall, re-formed them, and pushed them back into the Grey Knights' cabin through the force field!
"You!" Gabriel was so enraged that the silver flames in his oculars flared, almost making him smash his hammer against the force field!
"Enough, Brother Gabriel," Ezekiel Watch, who had been silently observing, spoke up. His voice was relatively steady. "Arguing with the guards is futile. This substance, though... difficult to swallow, is not intentionally so. The logistics department may indeed have difficulties."
"Difficulties? I see it as being corrupted by Nurgle!" Uriel said sharply. "That is why they would produce such a creation favored only by the Plague God!"
Raphael Whisper, meanwhile, drifted eerily to the re-thrown, even more misshapen clumps of nutrient paste, his hollow gaze seemingly scanning their surface: "Its composition... upon analysis, is indeed a standard mixture of synthetic proteins, carbohydrates, vitamins, and minerals... no significant toxicity or signs of Chaos corruption... However, its texture and form... are indeed... abnormal. Suspected to be due to an unknown deviation... in some stage of the production process..."
Captain Keirano, who had been sitting in the center of the cabin like a silver statue, finally moved. He slowly stood up and walked towards the pile of "heretical evil things" so detested by his comrades.
He silently bent down and picked up a relatively intact tube of nutrient paste. The gray, astonishingly elastic paste subtly swayed within the tube.
Under the gaze of all his brothers, Captain Keirano—this battle-hardened Grey Knights Chapter squad leader who faced Greater Daemons without flinching—slowly removed his majestic silver helmet, revealing a weathered face with hard lines, but which now bore an almost "tragic" expression.
He looked at the nutrient paste in his hand with a grave expression, as if conducting an extremely dangerous mission assessment. Then, he unscrewed the cap, hesitated for a moment, and finally, as if having made a monumental decision, brought it to his mouth, carefully squeezed out a tiny bit, and put it into his mouth.
The cabin was silent; everyone watched their Captain.
Captain Keirano's cheek muscles suddenly twitched! His brow instantly furrowed, and his eyes, capable of discerning the Warp's deceit, widened, revealing an expression of extreme shock and disbelief!
The next second—
"Pfft—!"
He suddenly turned his head and spat all the paste from his mouth onto the floor, even dry-heaving a few times!
"By the Emperor..." Captain Keirano's voice was distorted, carrying an aversion from the soul. "What... what is this thing?! Its texture... like chewing inferior rubber soaked in machine oil and disinfectant! Its taste... it's a desecration! A culinary disaster!"
Even the usually calm and composed Captain Keirano gave such a "horrific" evaluation, showing the immense power of this nutrient paste.
Gabriel and Uriel, seeing this, became even more resolute in their decision never to touch the stuff.
"I told you! Captain! This is no ordinary thing! It must be a heretical conspiracy!" Gabriel shouted.
Captain Keirano took the water that Raphael silently handed him (Grey Knight cabins had independent water sources) and rinsed his mouth several times before he could barely suppress the nauseating taste. He put his helmet back on with a grim expression, as if this could block out the terrible memory.
He walked to the force field and, speaking to the Honor Guard warrior outside in as calm a tone as possible, yet still with a hint of pain, said, "Warrior, this batch of nutrient paste... indeed has problems, and... significant ones. Its texture and taste have far exceeded the category of 'unpleasant,' bordering on... inedible. Could you reflect this to the logistics department and verify the production process? Or provide other alternatives? Even unflavored basic synthetic protein blocks would suffice."
The Honor Guard warrior looked at the Grey Knight Captain inside, who seemed genuinely "poisoned," and was silent for a moment. They, too, suffered greatly from it, but had long since grown accustomed to enduring it. He finally replied, "...I will report your situation and feedback upwards. But until there is a new order or supply, you only have this."
After speaking, he said no more, turning to continue his duty.
Captain Keirano silently returned to the center of the cabin and sat down again. The other four Grey Knights also fell into silence.
They looked at the few clumps of gray paste on the floor, thrown back and forth and even more disfigured, as if it were not food, but some unseen enemy that needed to be treated with utmost seriousness.
Perhaps, for these Grey Knights accustomed to facing swords and magic, this kind of "soft blade" from logistics, with its utterly terrible taste, was one of the most bizarre and difficult challenges they had encountered in their professional careers.
A hunger strike seemed to be their last resort to maintain their dignity and taste buds. Although it sounded somewhat ridiculous, at this moment, it was the most realistic and most exasperating predicament faced by these five confined silver-armored giants.
Months passed in the eternal hum of the Macragge's Honour's engines. For the long-lived Astartes, it was but a brief moment, yet for a small alien captive, it was a long and arduous period of adaptation.
Eiras gradually became part of the background of the 7th Company's life. The warriors seemed to have grown accustomed to the Eldar girl who always kept her head down, silently scrubbed the floor, and then huddled in the most inconspicuous corner of the lounge area. The initial taunts and teasing gradually subsided; after all, continuously bullying a helpless weakling, personally designated to remain by the Chapter Master, was not an honorable act for the honor-bound Ultramarines. As long as she behaved herself, most chose to ignore her.
Eiras also strictly adhered to the rules Lance and Gaius told her. She still diligently completed the cleaning work each day, which remained strenuous for her. Although her speed was still not fast, at least she no longer went hungry—she would occasionally, emboldened, sneak to Gaius' cabin door following the route she remembered, waiting when she couldn't find other food. Gaius seemed to have given some instructions; each time she went, she would either encounter Gaius and receive some food, or find synthetic bread wrapped in oil paper at the door. This filled her with gratitude and completely distinguished Gaius from the "Terrifying Dorian."
After finishing her work, she would carefully sit in her designated corner, close to the shadows of the wall pipes, hugging her knees, trying to minimize her presence. She would quietly listen to the giants chat, discussing training, equipment, and tactics, occasionally mentioning past battles and future missions. She dared not interject, only listening silently, striving to understand this entirely different world and the giants' way of thinking. These fragmented pieces of information were her only way to understand her situation and strive to survive.
She was still afraid of Dorian. Every time she heard the heavy, thunderous footsteps of the Terminator, or his distinctive loud voice, she would tense up like a startled small animal, immediately burying her head even lower, even holding her breath, until she confirmed that the "Terrifying Dorian" hadn't noticed her or had walked straight past her. Only then would she secretly let out a sigh of relief. That name and image had become synonymous with deep-seated fear in her heart.
There were also some warriors, perhaps out of boredom, or perhaps pitying her, who would come over and chat with her during their leisure time. Mostly, they would ask innocuous questions about the customs of Commorragh, the social structure of the Dark Eldar, or how she learned gothic. Eiras always answered cautiously, only responding to what was asked, never saying an extra word, and never revealing any information that could be considered valuable. She knew that the more she spoke, the more likely she was to err.
Meanwhile, in the Chapter Master's office.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar looked up from a pile of documents requiring his signature, rubbing his brow. An Honor Guard warrior was placing a newly delivered box of supplies nearby. Calgar's gaze swept over the contents of the box, and his brow immediately furrowed—it was that incredibly elastic, strangely flavored "new type" nutrient paste again.
He shook his head in disgust, pointing to the box of nutrient paste and saying to the Honor Guard warrior, "Take these away. Take them to the lower deck and distribute them to the auto-servitors who don't need taste, or... dispose of them as you see fit. I don't want to see them in my sight again."
"Yes, Chapter Master," the warrior replied impassively, picking up the box and turning to leave. Clearly, the Chapter Master had also reached his limit with the several months of food issues.
Calgar sighed, his gaze returning to the desk. The accumulated pending documents and data-slates were almost taller than the Honor Guard Terminator warrior standing beside him. He had just picked up a report on border system patrols when the office door slid open again, and another warrior entered, carrying a thick stack of new documents to be approved, silently piling them onto the already precarious stack of files.
Calgar looked at the "document mountain" that had grown even taller, his mouth twitching slightly, but in the end, he merely picked up his pen with a helpless sigh and buried himself back in the endless work. As the commander of a main Chapter, especially after a large-scale crusade and internal purges, there were simply too many matters requiring his attention and decision.
And in the 7th Company's quarters, the members of Second Squad received a new mission notification.
Sergeant Golden gathered his squad and announced the Company's order: "Brothers, we've just received orders. Our squad will depart in three days, aboard a Thunderhawk Gunship, for the Isha's Weep system, to carry out a reconnaissance mission."
"Isha's Weep?" Lex frowned, "That name sounds like an Eldar place."
"It used to be," Gorden confirmed, "According to archival records, it was once an Eldar Craftworld. Approximately one hundred and fifty years ago, it was completely destroyed by a punitive expedition from our Ultramarines Chapter. Now, only ruins and wreckage remain there."
Destroy a Craftworld? Upon hearing this, everyone's expressions grew more serious. Although they were mortal enemies with the Dark Eldar, Craftworld Eldar were usually more... "low-key," with relatively fewer direct conflicts with the Imperium of Man. To launch an expedition to destroy a Craftworld, an extremely serious event must have occurred.
"What are the specific mission details?" Cliff asked, always more concerned with mission specifics.
"The Captain will brief us on the specific mission objectives personally before departure," Gorden shook his head, "Currently, we only know it's a reconnaissance mission that requires deep penetration into the ruins. Everyone prepare, check your equipment, especially environmental protection and detection gear. After more than a hundred years, no one knows what strange things might have bred there or what Eldar traps might remain."
The squad members nodded, beginning to discuss the equipment they needed to prepare and the potential dangers they might encounter.
Their discussion also reached Eiras' ears in the corner. "Isha's Weep"... Craftworld... destroyed... These words stirred a strange pang of emotion and... sadness within her? She had never seen Craftworld Eldar; Commorragh's propaganda always depicted them as hypocritical, cowardly, and insular. But hearing of an entire world being destroyed, the deaths of countless kin, still created an indescribable ripple in her heart. She quickly lowered her head, not daring to let anyone notice her abnormality.
Just then, a figure walked up to her, blocking the light.
Eiras timidly looked up, and upon seeing the person, her heart involuntarily tightened slightly.
It was the 7th Company's Company Champion, Cassius. He was the 7th Company's strongest swordsman and defender of its honor. He wore ornate blue armor, with a master-crafted power sword at his hip, his demeanor stern and proud. He was somewhat different from the other warriors; he seemed... very interested in this small Eldar captive.
Over these past few months, Cassius Champion often called her over. Sometimes he would give her a piece of old-style nutrient paste that tasted decent, or a synthetic bread, and then start asking her questions.
This time was no exception. Cassius handed Eiras a piece of nutrient paste wrapped in tin foil, which looked considerably more ?? than what was currently being distributed.
Eiras quickly took it with both hands, softly saying, "Thank you... Champion..."
Cassius waved his hand, signaling her not to be so formal, then leaned against the nearby wall and asked casually, "Eiras, I remember... you said before that the Archon you served, Malys, you were present as a translator when she was interrogated by the Chapter Master, right?"
Eiras' heart leaped, and she nodded cautiously: "Yes... yes... sir..."
"Tell me in detail," Cassius' eyes gleamed with interest, "How did the Chapter Master interrogate her? What did he ask? What methods did he use? How did that woman... break down and finally speak?"
He seemed particularly fascinated by the details of the interrogation, especially how the Chapter Master broke through a Dark Eldar Archon's psychological defenses. This might be related to his belief as a Champion, striving to surpass powerful enemies in all aspects.
Eiras felt somewhat troubled and afraid. The interrogation scenes were also terrifying memories for her, and they involved the Chapter Master and classified intelligence. But she dared not refuse Cassius, so she could only carefully, vaguely, and omitting key information, describe the tense atmosphere, the Chapter Master's suffocating presence, and Lady Malys' eventual breakdown under fear and pressure.
Cassius listened very carefully, occasionally pressing for details, such as the Chapter Master's tone, expression, and the specific threatening words he used.
Eiras answered while nervously observing Cassius' reaction, afraid of saying anything wrong. She felt like she was walking a tightrope, on one hand needing to satisfy the Champion's curiosity, and on the other, needing to guard the secrets that should not be revealed.
And in the shadows where she could not see, those six luminous blue eyes seemed to reappear silently, watching everything, as if evaluating this newly discovered potential tool called "curiosity."
Days passed, and a ray of light quietly shone into Eiras' cautious, trepidatious life.
This light came from a human girl her age—Lina.
After Lina finished her daily auxiliary work and basic studies with the Tech-Priest, she would always flutter like a cheerful bird to the 7th Company's resting area to find Eiras.
For Lina, Eiras was the only "companion" on this steel warship full of giants who was close to her in size and age, even though she was an Aeldari.
Initially, Eiras remained wary and distant towards Lina's approach.
But Lina's enthusiasm and innocence quickly melted her icy shell.
Lina didn't carry the suffocating oppressive feeling like those blue giants, nor did she have the soul-shaking fear of "Terrifying Dorian."
She was just an ordinary, lively, and even somewhat chatty human little girl.
Thus, in a corner of the 7th Company's resting area, a scene often unfolded: a slender Eiras laboriously dragged her giant mop, slowly wiping the gleaming floor; while Lina, like a little shadow, followed beside her, chattering incessantly.
She would share the name of a new part she learned today, what new knowledge Luna taught her, how Uncle Tech-Priest praised her, or complain about the strange-tasting nutrient paste.
Most of the time, Eiras just listened quietly, occasionally showing a faint smile, or responding with a few words in her accented, slightly stiff gothic.
In this relaxed atmosphere, her tense nerves would slightly loosen, and she would even unconsciously tell Lina fragments of life at the bottom of Commorragh—the fights over a bit of moldy food, the tricks to avoid the mad nobles' patrols, the terrifying legends about the upper districts circulating among the servants… Of course, she would still carefully avoid any content that might involve military or sensitive information.
For Eiras, Lina was an unexpected and precious comfort in this cold, steel world.
She didn't need to feign fear in front of her, nor did she constantly worry that a misspoken word would get her smashed into paste.
Lina was the only one with whom she could slightly lower her guard and briefly be "Eiras" instead of "the 7th Company's xenos servant."
One day, after Lina finished her work, her eyes sparkling, she found Eiras wiping the corridor and mysteriously pulled her hand: "Sister Eiras! Come! I'll show you my treasure!"
Eiras looked around hesitantly.
"It's okay!" Lina saw her apprehension and whispered, "Sergeant Golden said I could take you to my room to play for a while after I finish my work! As long as we don't disturb anyone!"
Hearing Sergeant Golden's name, Eiras felt a little more at ease.
She put down the mop and followed Lina, like a thief, tiptoeing through several corridors to Lina's small bedroom, which had been converted from a storage room.
The room was small but warmly decorated.
On the walls were her own somewhat crooked Ultramarines doodles, and in the corner were some small tools and parts Luna had given her.
Lina excitedly ran to the bed, carefully took out two cloth dolls from under the pillow, and presented them to Eiras like treasures.
"Look at this!" She pointed to one of the slightly worn but very finely stitched blue cloth dolls, "My mom made this for me! It's an Ultramarines! But Mom already…"
Lina's voice dropped for a moment, but she quickly cheered up and picked up another doll.
This doll was clearly much newer, and its craftsmanship was… well… more "abstract art."
It was made exceptionally burly, with one hand exaggeratedly large, carrying something pieced together from scraps that looked like a Chainsword, and a crooked, embroidered black line on its face resembling a scowl.
"This one!" Lina said proudly, "I made this one myself! It's Lord Dorian! Doesn't it look like him?"
"Te-… Terrifying Dorian?!" Eiras' hand trembled when she saw the doll, especially the scowling expression, and she almost dropped it.
Even as a doll, that image was enough to trigger her internal fear alarm.
"Oh, it doesn't look like him?" Lina pouted a little dejectedly, "I think it looks a lot like him… Lord Dorian looks fierce, but he's actually very kind! He even helped me teach a Tech-Priest who was bullying me a lesson!" She had completely forgotten about Dorian and Lex being confined because of it.
Eiras forced a smile and didn't dare to respond.
She had serious reservations about the statement "Lord Dorian is very kind."
Just then, her gaze inadvertently fell upon the top of a makeshift storage cabinet by Lina's bed.
There, silently placed, was something completely out of place with the style of her entire room—an exquisitely crafted statue, gleaming with a cold metallic luster.
It was a statue of a warrior in ornate silver-grey armor, wearing a beaked helmet, and wielding a warhammer entwined with demonic faces!
Every detail was lifelike, filled with a chilling majesty and… a killing aura!
Eiras' breath caught sharply!
Her green pupils instantly constricted!
She recognized this armor!
She recognized this weapon!
Grey Knights!
Moreover, the warrior depicted in this statue, its posture, the details of its weapon… were exactly like that terrifying entity that had suddenly appeared like a silver grim reaper in the landing chamber that day, smashing her kin who tried to rescue their mistress into paste, fragments, and green blood with swings of its twin hammers!
But the image of this statue was clearly Valerius.
The despair, fear, and smell of blood from that moment seemed to instantly engulf her again!
She could even clearly recall the cold, object-like gaze of those emotionless rotating visors as they swept over her!
"Ah!" Eiras let out a short shriek, her face instantly turning ashen, her body uncontrollably stumbling backward, hitting the wall behind her, trembling.
Lina was startled by her reaction, followed her gaze, and suddenly understood.
"Oh! You mean that!" Lina quickly ran over, trying to take down the statue, "Kaldor gave me this! He was one of those Grey Knights from before… Although he's as cold as the others, he doesn't seem as fierce… Uh… at least not to me.
He said he gave this to me as a souvenir… I think that's what he said."
Lina tried to explain, but Eiras couldn't hear her at all.
She just stared at the statue in horror, as if it wasn't an inanimate object, but a frozen re-enactment of that massacre.
Seeing Eiras so frightened, Lina was at a loss, quickly tucked the statue into a drawer, then ran back to hold Eiras' cold hand, comforting her: "Don't be scared, don't be scared! Sister Eiras, that's just a statue! It's put away now! You can't see it anymore!"
She tried to make her voice sound light and reliable: "And I'm telling you, everyone in our squad, even though they all look very powerful and serious, are really good people! Lord Gorden is very reliable, Lord Kaldor is quiet but kind-hearted, Lord Cliff knows a lot, Lord Lex's marksmanship is very accurate, Lord Thor can heal, Luna doesn't speak but has always been helping me… And Lord Dorian, even though he looks fierce, he will also protect me! So none of them will hurt you! Don't worry!"
Lina sincerely comforted Eiras, trying to make her believe that not all the giants here were terrifying.
However, the innocent and kind Lina seemed to have selectively forgotten something—the members of the Second Squad, whom she called "good people," whether fighting the Tyranids on Catonia or purging the Dark Eldar in "Stinger of Dark Pain," were always ruthless, efficient, and merciless when killing xenos and enemies.
Among the Dark Eldar smashed by Dorian, headshotted by Kaldor, or mowed down by Lex, there might have been companions Eiras knew or even grew up with.
This huge cognitive gap and Lina's unintentional "forgetfulness" made her comfort seem both warm and tinged with a cruel innocence.
Under Lina's soothing, Eiras slowly calmed her violent gasping, but her face remained pale, and the deep-seated fear in her eyes had not dissipated.
She was grateful for Lina's kindness, but she also realized more clearly that there would always be a huge chasm between her and these giants, formed by blood, war, and racial differences.
To gain a moment of respite and a tiny, insignificant friendship at the edge of this chasm was perhaps already a luxury. And the Grey Knights statue, tucked away in the drawer, was like a cold reminder of the terrible truth hidden beneath this fragile peace.
Inside the hangar of the Macragge's Honour, the roar of engines was deafening.
The entire Second Squad—Sergeant Golden, Sniper Gaius, Assault Specialist Dorian, Heavy Weapons Specialist Lex, Tactical Expert Cliff, Medic Sore, Tech-Sergeant Luna, and Lina, who insisted on coming as technical support and received permission from Gorden and Luna—stood fully armed beside the Thunderhawk Gunship, ready for departure.
Their blue Power Armor gleamed with a cold, hard luster under the lights, and their meticulously maintained weapons exuded a chilling aura.
The 7th Company's adjutant, a stern-faced, experienced veteran, stood before them, delivering the final mission briefing.
His voice, amplified through his helmet, clearly reached each member's comms channel.
"Brothers, mission objective confirmed," the adjutant said, bringing up a star map and pointing to a system labeled "Isha's Weep."
"You will proceed to this location.
According to archives from a century ago, this was once an Eldar Craftworld, codenamed 'Artemis' Veil,' which was destroyed by a punitive expedition from our Chapter around M41.750."
His tone was flat, as if stating a mundane fact, yet the content was enough to weigh heavily on anyone who understood the significance of a Craftworld.
"Your primary objective," the adjutant continued, switching the display to a blurry, faintly psychic-glowing rhomboid crystal projection, "is to locate and retrieve this item—an Eldar relic, codenamed 'Prophet's Eye.'
The Chapter Librarium believes this item may be connected to the Eldar's prophetic abilities, possibly containing vital information, and even potentially linked to the Fateweaver we recently encountered.
Highest priority."
The Squad members' expressions sharpened, realizing the importance of the mission.
"Secondly," the adjutant's voice grew heavier, "the battle back then was exceptionally fierce, and the withdrawal was... rather hasty.
Many brothers' remains and... precious gene-seed could not be recovered in time, remaining forever beneath those ruins.
If conditions permit, while ensuring the primary objective is completed, try to find and bring them back, so they may rest in peace in the Hall of Heroes on Macragge, rather than in the cold ruins of an alien world.
This is our duty to our fallen brothers."
Everyone nodded silently.
Recovering gene-seed and the remains of comrades is one of the Astartes' sacred duties.
The adjutant added a final caution: "It should be noted that, according to sporadic reports from recent frontier outposts, there have been occasional signs of Aeldari activity in that ruin area.
They are likely there to recover the spirit stones of their fallen.
Try to avoid conflict with them.
Our objective is the relic and our brothers' remains, not to initiate another war.
However, if they attack first, you are authorized to retaliate with full force.
Understood?"
"Understood! For the Emperor! For Ultramar!" the Squad members roared in unison.
"Move out!"
The Thunderhawk Gunship's ramp slowly closed, its engines spewing scorching torrents, carrying the Second Squad away from the colossal Macragge's Honour, transforming into a streak of light, and hurtling towards the planet shrouded in sorrow and deathly silence.
Passing through the fragmented asteroid belt and thin atmosphere, the Thunderhawk Gunship landed on the surface of Isha's Weep.
The ramp opened, and a desolate, silent, dust-laden air, mixed with faint psychic residue, rushed out.
What greeted their eyes was an incredibly vast and breathtaking ruin.
Once magnificent Eldar structures now lay as broken crystal spires, twisted metal frameworks, and countless shattered debris.
Huge impact craters and explosion marks were everywhere, silently testifying to the ferocity of that destructive war.
A deep sense of sorrow and deathly silence permeated the air, even overshadowing the lingering hum of the warship's engines.
"Maintain formation, advance to the target coordinates," Sergeant Golden's voice cut through the uncomfortable silence on the channel.
The Squad began to advance in standard reconnaissance formation.
Dorian, in his Terminator armor, led the way like a mobile fortress.
Gaius and Cliff were responsible for flank reconnaissance, Lex and Sore provided central support, Gorden commanded, while Luna continuously scanned environmental data, and Lina, her small face filled with tension and curiosity, followed closely beside Luna.
They walked through a graveyard of civilization.
Beneath their feet lay what might have been fragments of an Eldar family's home, or perhaps decorative remnants of a sacred shrine.
Soon, they discovered their first remains.
It was the body of an Eldar Striking Scorpion warrior, clad in dark blue, sleek Eldar armor.
Even after a century, the armor remained largely intact, but there was a massive, charred Bolter penetration wound in the chest.
He lay beside a broken wall, his uniquely shaped Chainsword Power Fist fallen nearby.
Not far away was the remains of an Ultramarines, clad in Mark IV 'Maximus' Power Armor.
His armor was covered in horrific tearing wounds, as if ripped apart by some powerful force, his helmet shattered, revealing a face long since turned to bone.
One of his arms was missing, and his other hand still tightly gripped his Bolter.
Such scenes repeatedly appeared throughout their journey.
Remains of Aeldari Striking Scorpions, Howling Banshees, and even the rarer Wraithlords, were intertwined with the Ultramarines' remains, clad in old Mark IV, Mark VI, and even earlier models of Power Armor.
They were frozen in time in various combat poses, some locked in struggle, others torn apart by distant artillery or psychic powers.
Shattered weapons, blood-stained armor fragments, and even occasionally some long-defunct spirit-bone devices were scattered everywhere.
Each such scene was like a frozen war mural, silently yet deafeningly recounting the cruelty and ferocity of the century-old war.
Even the battle-hardened members of Second Squad felt their spirits grow heavy in the face of this sight.
"Mark the positions," Gorden ordered in a low, hoarse voice.
"Prioritize marking our brothers' positions.
On the return journey, try to bring them back."
Medic Sore and Luna began using instruments to scan and mark the location of each discovered Ultramarines' remains, recording coordinates and possible identification information.
This was a slow and somber task.
They continued towards the relic's coordinates; the closer they got to the target area, the denser the traces of battle became, and the more remains they found.
The faint psychic residue in the air also seemed to become more pronounced.
Just as they were less than a kilometer from the target coordinates, Gaius and Cliff, responsible for flank reconnaissance, issued an alarm almost simultaneously.
"Movement on the left!"
"Right side! High-speed moving targets! Multiple!"
Their hushed voices came through the channel.
The Squad instantly went to maximum alert!
All weapons were raised, muzzles pointing at the shadows and broken walls of the surrounding ruins!
Dorian immediately took the lead, his Storm Shield raised, his Thunder Hammer emitting a low charging hum.
Lina was quickly pulled by Luna into a protective position in the middle of the Squad.
Sergeant Golden scanned the silent ruins through his helmet and said in a deep voice, "Stay alert! But do not engage first!
Repeat, do not open fire until hostility is confirmed!"
He kept the adjutant's caution in mind.
A tense silence permeated the air, broken only by the faint hum of the Power Armor's servo systems.
Suddenly, on a higher, broken crystal platform ahead, the air rippled like water, and a slender figure slowly materialized.
She wore exquisite green and white Ranger armor, held an elegantly shaped long-barreled Lasgun, her silver-white hair gently swayed in the breeze, her face largely obscured by her helmet's visor, but her exposed jawline was taut.
Immediately after, beside her, three other female Rangers in similar attire, and three Warlocks, clad in more ornate robes and surrounded by faint psychic glow, successively appeared.
Their appearance was silent, as if they had always been there.
The appearance of these Aeldari warriors carried a different aura from the Dark Eldar—more ethereal, more... sorrowful, yet equally filled with vigilance and... hostility.
One of the Warlocks stepped forward, her voice, transmitted psychically, was ethereal and melodious, yet contained deep sorrow and condemnation, resonating directly in the minds of every member of the Second Squad:
"Astartes of humanity..." Her voice was like a sigh, "You are not welcome here.
Your war has long turned the song of Artemis' Veil into an eternal lament, transforming our home into a cold grave.
Must you mercilessly disturb even the final rest of the dead?"
Her gaze swept over Sore and Luna, who were marking the remains, her meaning clear.
Sergeant Golden took a deep breath and replied, "Aeldari.
We are not here to provoke a new war.
Our purpose here is twofold: first, to recover the remains of our brothers who fell here, so they may return to their homeland and rest; second, to seek a lost item as ordered.
Once completed, we will depart."
Another female Ranger raised her long-barreled Lasgun, its muzzle slightly lowered, but full of menace.
Her voice was equally ethereal, yet carried a hint of cold mockery: "A lost item?
Upon these ruins, which you yourselves destroyed, everything is 'lost.'
There is nothing belonging to humanity here.
Leave this place, before sorrow turns into new wrath."
Just then, Gaius noticed the positions where these Eldar warriors appeared, and their seemingly casual yet strategically placed stances, which effectively blocked several main paths to the relic's coordinates.
He immediately whispered on the channel: "Sergeant, they are preventing us from reaching the target area.
They are likely also here for that relic, or... guarding it."
Gorden's heart tightened.
Dorian, meanwhile, had long since grown impatient.
He held no goodwill towards the Eldar—whether Dark Eldar or these so-called "Aeldari"—only deep-seated disgust and a killing urge.
Seeing the enemy display weapons and clearly obstructing the mission, his rage instantly ignited.
"Damn it! Why waste words with these pretentious pointy-eared freaks!" Dorian's roar exploded through his vox-caster, shattering the fragile standoff.
His massive Terminator body lunged forward, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground slightly.
The huge Thunder Hammer in his hand slammed up, its head erupting with chilling blue electrical arcs, pointing directly at the Eldar Warlocks and Rangers ahead!
The meaning was simple, brutal, and unmistakably clear—
Move aside, or be annihilated!
Instantly, all the Eldar warriors' weapons snapped up!
The Warlocks' psychic staffs began to glow with dangerous light, and the Rangers' Lasguns locked onto Dorian's vital points!
The atmosphere became taut to the extreme, battle imminent!
Gorden cursed Dorian's recklessness under his breath, but with things as they were, he couldn't afford to show weakness.
He raised his Bolter and said coldly, "Aeldari! We have no intention of making enemies of you, but the mission must be completed!
Clear the path!"
The leading Eldar Warlock shook her head, her sorrowful voice now imbued with a touch of resolve: "It seems peaceful words cannot move hearts of steel.
The slumber of the dead shall not be desecrated.
The purity of the relic shall not be defiled."
Her psychic staff slammed down!
"For the fallen Artemis' Veil!"
Dorian's provocative actions and the crackling arcs on his Thunder Hammer were like sparks thrown into a dry tinder pile, instantly igniting the already volatile standoff!
The leading Eldar Warlock's eyes flashed with grief and determination, and her psychic staff slammed down again, emitting a crisp, soul-piercing resonance!
"For the fallen Artemis' Veil! Drive out these desecrators!"
With the command given, battle erupted instantly!
The four female Rangers moved like phantoms, instantly dispersing and quickly finding firing positions using the ruins' terrain.
Their long-barreled Lasguns fired precise and deadly high-energy beams, silently striking at the members of the Second Squad!
Meanwhile, the three Warlocks simultaneously raised their psychic staffs, chanting ancient and arcane Eldar words.
Powerful psychic fluctuations converged in the air—a distorted, sense-scorching "Blinding Light"; a force attempting to directly tear apart the Astartes' will, "Mind Rend"; and an invisible, shackling "Binding Field" that enveloped Dorian!
"Open fire! Suppressing fire! Attention! Focus on subduing, lethal force only if absolutely necessary!" Sergeant Golden's voice rang out amidst the roar of Bolters; he remembered the adjutant's caution.
These were Craftworld Eldar, not their implacable foes the Dark Eldar; mission priority, unnecessary killing was to be avoided if possible.
"Understood!" the Squad members replied in unison, but execution proved quite difficult.
Lex's Heavy Bolter roared, its barrage sweeping like a metal storm across the areas where the Rangers were hiding, forcing them to constantly move, preventing accurate aiming.
But trying to "subdue" high-speed Eldar Rangers without killing them was an almost impossible task.
Gaius and Cliff's precise volleys focused on the three Warlocks, Bolter rounds exploding on the spirit-bone debris around them, disrupting their psychic casting.
Gaius even attempted to shoot their psychic staffs with his sniper rifle, trying to destroy the casting medium.
Sore, meanwhile, nervously monitored his teammates' status, ready to respond to damage from psychic attacks at any moment.
Luna shielded Lina behind her, her Plasma Gun calmly seeking opportunities, her data processing capabilities helping her predict the Rangers' movement trajectories.
Dorian, meanwhile, became the Eldar's primary target.
The "Binding Field" was like an invisible quagmire, attempting to immobilize his massive Terminator body.
A normal Astartes would likely have been rendered immobile, but Dorian's strength far surpassed that of an ordinary man; he roared, his muscles bulging, the Power Armor's servo systems humming with overload, and he actually managed to resist the psychic binding, though his movements became sluggish, he still advanced step by step!
"Is that all you've got, pointy-ears?!" Dorian roared, his Storm Shield held before him.
The laser beams from the Rangers and the "Blinding Light" from the Warlocks struck the energy field, creating ripples, but utterly failing to penetrate.
"Damn it! It's like a tickle!" Dorian even had time to taunt, swinging his Thunder Hammer. Although its speed was slow due to the binding force field, its immense power still put great pressure on the Eldar.
A Ranger tried to flank, attacking the squad's relatively weak point—Lina, who was protected by Luna. Her movements were incredibly fast, flashing out from behind a broken wall like a ghost. Her laser gun had just been raised—
Bang!
A crisp Bolter shot! Gaius had already anticipated her movement, and an electromagnetically accelerated Bolter round accurately struck the barrel of her laser gun! The immense impact directly knocked the exquisite weapon from her hand, and the Ranger's arm went numb from the shock, causing her to stagger back and expose an opening.
"Now! Grab her!" Sergeant Golden immediately ordered!
Cliff, who was closest, instantly pounced! His movements were as swift as a leopard's. Before the Ranger could react, he had already used his powerful strength to tackle her to the ground, skillfully disarming the pistol she was trying to draw, and firmly pinning her back with his knee, subduing her.
"Let her go!" Another Ranger, seeing this, cried out anxiously, attempting to rush over for a rescue, but was immediately suppressed by Lex's heavy Bolter fire.
Dorian, seeing that one had been captured, became even more triumphant. While continuing to block attacks with his Storm Shield, he loudly taunted the struggling Eldar Ranger pinned by Cliff:
"Hey! Look! Got one! Weren't you so good at dodging just now? Weren't you so noble? How come you're on the ground now?"
"Your crappy guns can't even break my shield. And you call yourselves warriors?"
"Tsk tsk tsk, with those thin arms and legs, why aren't you at home weaving instead of causing trouble? Now you know what's what, don't you?"
His words were crude and insulting, making Sergeant Golden frown, but he couldn't make him shut up. The subdued Ranger heard these taunts and struggled even more violently, her green eyes filled with humiliation and rage, but she couldn't break free from Cliff's iron-like grip.
"Dorian! Shut up! Focus on the battle!" Sergeant Golden had no choice but to scold him.
Just then, the leading Eldar Farseer, seeing her companion captured and the prolonged stalemate, a hint of sorrow flashed in her eyes. She glanced at the direction of the relic, then at the Second Squad, which was steadily advancing and had captured one person, and seemed to make a difficult decision.
She let out a long, sharp Eldar shriek.
The other Eldar warriors in battle heard the shriek, their movements noticeably faltered, and then they began to fight and retreat, using the complex terrain of the ruins to quickly disengage from combat. Their movements were extremely fluid and swift, as if melting into shadows, and they soon disappeared among the broken walls and rubble, leaving only a few faint psychic afterimages.
The battle came suddenly and ended quickly.
Second Squad did not pursue. Sergeant Golden ordered them to remain vigilant. Their primary mission was the relic and body recovery, not to hunt down these Craftworld Eldar.
Cliff pulled the captured Ranger to her feet, twisted her arms behind her back, and bound her with a high-strength restraint strap. The Ranger no longer struggled, only hung her head, her silver-white hair covering her face, her body trembling slightly with anger and humiliation.
Dorian walked up to her, his massive Terminator body casting a heavy shadow. He snorted triumphantly, about to say something more, but was glared back into silence by Sergeant Golden's stern look.
"Check for casualties, resupply ammunition," Sergeant Golden ordered, then walked up to the captured Ranger.
He looked at the silent captive and said in a deep voice, "We do not wish to be your enemies. We are only here to complete our mission and then leave. If you cooperate, we will not harm you."
The Ranger gave no response, as if she hadn't heard.
Sergeant Golden said no more, turning to Cliff: "Keep an eye on her. We continue forward, objective: the relic."
The squad re-formed, escorting this unexpected captive, and cautiously continued towards the coordinates where the Eldar relic and the scars of a century-old war were buried. The ruins once again fell silent, with only the heavy footsteps of the Astartes and the hum of their power armor echoing, as if the brief but intense conflict had never happened. But the lingering psychic fluctuations and the smell of laser burns in the air, as well as the silent captive, silently testified to the irreconcilable hostility and division between the two ancient races.
Escorting the silent Eldar captive, Second Squad continued to move through the desolate ruins of Isha's Weep. The closer they got to the core area, the more horrifying the scars of war became, and the pervasive scent of sorrow and death grew stronger.
The Eldar warriors had seemingly vanished after the last brief skirmish, not reappearing since. But the squad members dared not relax their guard, for no one knew if they were lurking in some shadowy corner, awaiting the next opportunity to ambush.
Along the way, they discovered more remains. The bodies of Striking Scorpions and Ultramarines were still intertwined, telling of the brutality and stalemate of the war a century ago. It wasn't until they reached a relatively open area, seemingly a plaza, that they witnessed a awe-inspiring sight.
A body clad in specially painted power armor, leaning against a broken wraithbone wall, still held a combat posture even after a century. His armor was the classic Ultramarines blue, but his shoulder pads and helmet bore a striking red main color with white tops—the insignia of a Company Captain!
Around this Captain, no fewer than ten bodies of Striking Scorpions lay fallen in a fan shape! Some had been shattered by Bolter rounds, some cleaved by power weapons, while others looked as if their bones had been brutally crushed by immense force. It was easy to imagine how this Captain, in the final moments of his life, fought against overwhelming odds, bathed in blood, until his last drop of blood was shed.
"Mark him," Sergeant Golden's voice was filled with immense respect. He even removed his helmet and performed an Aquila salute to the remains, "Prioritize his recovery. We must bring this hero back to Macragge."
Sore and Luna stepped forward, carefully scanning, recording, and pinpointing the location. They could feel the indomitable courage and loyalty of this predecessor, even in death.
Continuing onward, the scenery began to change. Large numbers of non-combatant remains started appearing, as well as the wreckage of some massive machinery.
Many civilian Eldar bodies, dressed in ordinary attire, lay in the ruins. They had not died from Bolter rounds or chainswords, but had been crushed or torn apart by some immense, purely physical force. Alongside them were numerous wraith constructs—the shattered remnants of Wraithguards and Wraithlords—that once glowed with an eerie blue light but were now broken beyond repair.
Gaius crouched down, carefully examining the ground and the surrounding walls. He picked up several unusually large brass shell casings scattered on the ground, then looked at the huge impact and tearing marks on the walls that no Bolter could have caused.
"These are autocannon shells, and they're… Dreadnought-class caliber," Gaius stood up, his voice heavy, "And these claw marks and impacts… It seems that one or even multiple Dreadnoughts from our Chapter fought here back then. These Eldar civilians and wraith constructs were likely cleared by him."
An ancient war machine, nicknamed a "living coffin," slaughtering its way through enemy ranks… The scene was chilling just to imagine.
"I hope those old heroes are still serving well in the Chapter," Lex whispered. All Astartes held the highest respect for Dreadnoughts.
When they were less than two kilometers from the relic's coordinates, the sight ahead once again brought the squad to a halt.
A colossal, twisted statue, seemingly formed from some petrified creature, stood in the center of the ruins. It vaguely resembled a human figure, but was abnormally tall and grotesque, with bulging muscles, as if it had roared in extreme pain and fury before turning to stone. The statue presented a dull, dried-blood-like color.
"That is…" Sergeant Golden gazed at the statue, seemingly recalling records in the Chapter archives, "…a statue of 'Bloody-Handed' Khaine? No… this feeling… it's more like a Khaine Avatar forcibly petrified by some power?"
He briefly explained to the squad members: "Khaine is the Eldar god of war and murder. It is said that when needed, the Eldar will summon his avatar through a ritual, possessing world-shattering power. It seems that this thing was indeed summoned here back then."
The squad members looked at the huge and grotesque statue. Even though it was now inanimate, they could still feel a lingering, chilling aura of savagery and slaughter.
And scattered around the statue were the wrecks of numerous Ultramarines main battle tanks—Predators and Rhinos. They looked as if they had been crushed by a giant's fist or melted by extreme heat, the scene incredibly tragic.
But most striking was the colossal, smooth-edged, terrifying melt-through wound directly through the statue's chest, front to back!
Gaius carefully observed the shape of the wound and the traces of molten and then solidified rock around it, then looked at some even larger indentations in the distance, not belonging to Astartes equipment, and scattered, massive shell casings that would require several people to embrace…
"It's a Volcano Cannon," Gaius concluded, a hint of disbelief in his voice, "and it's damage that only the main weapon of a Warlord-class Imperial Titan could inflict."
A Warlord-class Titan! God-Machine!
Even such ultimate weapons of war were deployed? To destroy this Eldar war god's avatar?
All the squad members fell silent. They once again deeply realized that what happened here a century ago was by no means an ordinary punitive expedition, but a devastating war of extreme brutality, one that even required the deployment of Titans to decide the outcome! What exactly did this Craftworld, "Artemis' Veil," do back then to incur such merciless, even genocidal, wrath from the Ultramarines?
Sergeant Golden turned his gaze to the silent Eldar Ranger captive, who was still being escorted by Cliff. He walked up to her, trying to get some information from her.
"Your world," Sergeant Golden asked in a deep voice, "what exactly happened back then? Why did it incur such… complete destruction? And what about that petrified Khaine Avatar?"
The Ranger still kept her head down, her silver hair covering her face, like a lifeless statue, completely unresponsive to Sergeant Golden's questions.
Dorian, standing nearby, had long since lost patience. In his opinion, the Sergeant was asking questions politely, and this captive dared to ignore him? It was an absolute challenge to the Sergeant's authority!
"Damn it! The Sergeant is talking to you! Are you deaf?!" Dorian roared, and his massive mechanical hand suddenly pushed forward!
The Ranger had no idea Dorian would suddenly act, or rather, she was utterly incapable of resisting a Terminator's strength. She cried out in surprise, and her entire body was sent flying like a broken kite, tumbling seven or eight meters across the ground before stopping, covered in dust and rubble.
Before she could struggle to get up, Dorian had already strode forward, grabbing her by the collar and lifting her up like a small chicken, forcing her green eyes, filled with pain and anger, to meet his cold optical sensors.
"What? You dare to ignore Sergeant Golden's orders?" Dorian's voice was like thunder, full of menace, "Are you tired of living? Want a taste of my Thunder Hammer? Answer the questions or eat a Bolter round, you choose one, you bastard!"
His method was simple, brutal, and full of oppressive force.
However, despite her face turning pale from pain and choking, the Eldar Ranger still bit her lip fiercely, staring intently at Dorian's faceplate with eyes full of resentment and hatred, not uttering a single word. Her gaze seemed to want to etch Dorian's image into her very soul.
"Hey! You're still glaring at me?!" Dorian was thoroughly enraged by her gaze, "You're refusing a toast only to drink a forfeit, huh?!"
He violently slammed the Ranger to the ground, then, with a backhand, unholstered the intimidatingly large heavy Bolter rifle from his back. With a click, he chambered a round, and the massive muzzle, almost as thick as the Ranger's head, was pressed directly against her forehead!
"I'll ask one last time! Speak! Or not?!" Dorian's roar made the surrounding dust fall.
The cold metal muzzle pressed against her skin, and the scent of death instantly enveloped the Ranger. Her body trembled violently from extreme fear, her green pupils contracted to their maximum, but she still gritted her teeth, even closing her eyes, adopting a stance of preferring death over submission.
"Dorian! Stop!" Sergeant Golden barked, stepping forward and gripping Dorian's thick arm, "Put the gun down! That's an order!"
Dorian was panting, his optical sensors fixed on the seemingly frail but incredibly stubborn Eldar woman at his feet. Finally, he grunted in frustration and reluctantly put away his Bolter rifle.
"Damn it… you got lucky…" he muttered, stepping aside.
Sergeant Golden looked at the Ranger, who was trembling slightly from her near-death experience but still refused to speak, his brow furrowed. He knew that he likely wouldn't get any information from her. The stubbornness of these Craftworld Eldar was beyond his imagination.
"Cliff, keep an eye on her," Sergeant Golden ordered helplessly, "Continue forward. The objective is just ahead."
The squad set off again, but the atmosphere grew even heavier. The mists of history, the chasm between races, and this unyielding captive all cast a more complex and somber shadow over the mission. They were getting closer to the relic, but it seemed they were also getting closer to the core truth of the tragedy that had occurred a century ago.