On the bridge of the Iron Resolve, the atmosphere was solemn and focused. A vast star chart slowly rotated on the main screen; countless light points represented known star systems and channel, yet the marker for their current position was isolated at the edge of a large, dark region labeled "Insufficiently Explored" or "Data Missing."
Captain Valus, his adjutant, and Lieutenant Golden stood before the star chart, their brows furrowed.
"I was so busy fending off those Space Sharks just now," Captain Valus said, his thick finger tapping the console, a hint of almost imperceptible annoyance in his tone, "that I forgot to ask them where this damned place is!"
The Imperial Fists' adjutant shook his head, his voice steady: "Even if we had asked, they might not have told us the truth. The Space Sharks are secretive; their operational star systems and navigation data are never shared with outsiders. Asking might have caused unnecessary suspicion."
Golden nodded in agreement: "Yes, Captain. It's fortunate enough that we escaped from them safely. The immediate priority is to quickly determine our position and return to our scheduled course."
At this moment, the navigator's pale and weary voice came through the comms, confirming their worst fears: "…After six hours…triangulation and Astropathic Choir comparison…we are currently at…the unknown fringe of the boundary between the Storm Sector and the Obscurus Sector…codenamed 'Void Echo' region…further from the Ultramar Sector…than before the storm deviation…"
"Further?!" Captain Valus's face darkened. This meant they had not only failed to shorten their journey due to the storm but had gone in the opposite direction, wasting even more time.
"Immediately reverse course! Calculate the optimal path back to Ultramar! Full speed ahead!" He gave the order without hesitation, his tone decisive. "Notify the engine room and Geller field maintenance teams to be on high alert and ensure everything is foolproof! We absolutely cannot be delayed by any more incidents here. If those sharks get tangled up with us again…"
He paused, not finishing his sentence, but everyone understood his meaning. Next time, they might not have enough "supplies" to meet the "exchange" demands of those deep-sea predators, and what would happen then was anyone's guess.
Lieutenant Golden left the tense bridge and returned to the rest area assigned to the Ultramarines.
Pushing open the door, the atmosphere inside was relatively relaxed but also filled with animated discussion. Dorian, Gaius, Luna, and the statue-like Draculas were all there. Ailas was curled up in a chair in the corner, still clutching a small tool bag, already dozing off, her little head nodding. It seemed the fright from the Space Sharks had been replaced by exhaustion.
"…Did you guys notice?" Dorian rarely lowered his voice, but his excitement and curiosity were still irrepressible. "They're so poor! Seriously! I, Dorian, have never seen Astartes this broken in my life!"
He gestured wildly, describing: "Their Power Armor is basically ancient models! I think they must be 'Iron' pattern or 'Ultima' pattern, or even older antiques! The coating is worn off in many places, revealing the base, and it's covered in dents and scratches! And did you guys notice? It seems like many of them aren't even a complete set! They're cobbled together from various different patterns, even parts from different Chapters! The arm and leg patterns don't match! How poor must they be to be like this?!"
He vividly described the "dreadful" equipment of the Space Marine warriors, his face filled with disbelief.
"And their fleet!" Dorian continued, as if he had discovered a new continent. "That strike cruiser is so dilapidated, it feels like it's going to fall apart any second! The engine sounds all wrong! And that pattern, I think I saw illustrations of it in ancient records in the Chapter's historical archives; it's probably an old antique from the Great Crusade era! Did they take it out of a museum?"
As an Ultramarine from Ultramar, enjoying the Empire's top logistical support, Dorian indeed found it hard to imagine an Astartes Chapter living such a… "frugal" life. In his perception, Astartes should be like them, well-equipped and amply supplied.
Gaius and Luna listened quietly, their faces thoughtful. Draculas's white helmet moved slightly, seeming somewhat unimpressed by Dorian's "fuss," but he did not speak to refute him, because what Dorian described…was largely true.
Just then, Golden walked in.
"Lively discussion," Golden's voice made everyone look over.
"Lieutenant!" Dorian immediately leaned forward. "You came at the right time! Tell us, what exactly is the Space Sharks Chapter's background? How did they end up so miserable? Their equipment is even worse than the Planetary Defense Forces in the remote sectors! Are they really Astartes?"
Golden walked to the center of the room and motioned for everyone to sit down. He glanced at the sleeping Ailas and lowered his voice slightly.
"They are indeed the Emperor's Astartes; there is no doubt about that," Golden began slowly, his expression serious. "As for their condition…this is related to their unique methods of survival and resupply. What you saw is the result of them practicing 'Grey Tithe' and 'Red Tithe'."
"Grey Tithe? Red Tithe?" Gaius repeated in confusion. He had never heard these two terms in the Codex Astartes or Chapter doctrines.
"Yes," Golden nodded and began to explain. "This is a tradition the Space Sharks Chapter has maintained for possibly ten thousand years, and it is the cornerstone of their survival in that desolate star system known as the 'Great Dark' or 'Outer Void'."
"The 'Grey Tithe'," Golden continued, "refers to their 'exaction' of supplies and equipment. They do not, like us, have a stable homeworld or sector to provide logistics. Their equipment sources primarily rely on 'collection' — clearing battlefield relics, excavating ancient ruins, and even… 'requisitioning' Imperial supplies they encounter that they deem 'superfluous' or 'mismanaged'."
He looked at everyone: "The patched-up, ancient armor you saw on them likely came from some forgotten ancient battlefield, or an Imperial warehouse they 'visited.' They don't care if the models are uniform, only if they are still usable and sturdy enough. Their warships are the same; many are early Imperial or even Great Crusade-era models, repaired and refitted by them generation after generation, and still in use today. This is the 'Grey Tithe'."
Dorian listened, dumbfounded: "This…this isn't just…"
He wanted to say "robbery" but ultimately didn't dare to speak it aloud.
Golden did not comment directly but continued: "As for the 'Red Tithe,' it is even more…special. It refers to the replenishment of personnel. The Space Sharks Chapter's gene-seed…according to some ancient records and conjectures, very likely originated from the Nineteenth Legion—the Raven Guard."
"Raven Guard?" Gaius was somewhat surprised. That Chapter known for stealth, raids, and guerrilla warfare? It seemed quite different from the Space Sharks' brutal and direct style.
"Yes. Although their parent Chapter identity has never been officially confirmed, many characteristics point to the Raven Guard," Golden said. "However, they do not maintain contact with their parent Chapter like other successor Chapters. Their new recruits also rely on 'exaction'."
"They regularly travel to remote, savage, and even cursed Death Worlds. There, they follow ancient traditions, directly 'exacting' the strongest, most savage, and most resilient adolescents from that planet as new recruits or exchanging them for physically stronger children. This process…is often accompanied by violence and selection, and is extremely brutal. This is the 'Red Tithe'."
The rest area fell silent. Dorian no longer clamored but fell into contemplation. Grey Tithe and Red Tithe, this survival method completely outside the Imperial regular system, explained why the Space Sharks looked the way they did, and why they acted so strangely and directly. They were scavengers and predators roaming in the shadows of the Imperial fringe, fulfilling their duty to the Emperor in their own way, even if this method was unacceptable to many insiders.
"So…" Gaius slowly began, "their exchange of Black Legion captives for supplies is also a kind of… 'Grey Tithe'?"
"You could understand it that way," Golden nodded. "In their view, those traitors themselves are a 'resource' that can be exchanged. And the ammunition and medicine we provided are 'hard currency' they urgently need and cannot easily obtain through 'collection'."
Draculas's hoarse voice sounded again, carrying a world-weary vicissitudes of life: "The Imperium…needs all sorts of… 'loyal hounds'…to guard different 'yards,' some glamorous, some…have to roll in the mud."
Just then, the comms in the rest area rang. A steady and authoritative voice came through—it was a communication link from the Macragge's Honour; Captain Cassius of the First Company was contacting them personally.
"Lieutenant Golden, have you reached the designated rendezvous point? Primarch is very concerned about your journey," Captain Cassius's voice came through the loudspeaker.
Golden immediately stood up and walked to the comms: "Captain Cassius, I apologize, we encountered an unexpected high-intensity Warp storm, and the ship was thrown off its original course. We are currently re-orienting and making our way back."
He briefly reported the situation but cautiously omitted the specific details of the encounter with the Space Sharks, merely stating that the delay was due to the storm.
"Warp storm? Was it severe? Any loss of personnel or equipment?" Captain Cassius's tone became concerned.
"The storm was very strong, but the ship and personnel are unharmed; only the journey has been delayed," Golden replied. "We are returning at full speed."
"That's good, just make sure you're safe…" Captain Cassius had not finished speaking when a boisterous voice interrupted.
It was Dorian! He had somehow squeezed next to the comms and shouted into the microphone: "Captain! Captain! It's me, Dorian! We're fine! Doing great! Oh, and Captain, since we've been assigned to the First Company for our merits, shouldn't we be issued new equipment? I think the Saturnine Terminator looks good! Can I get a set? Or an Indomitus pattern would be fine too! I'm not picky!"
There was an instant of silence on the other end of the communication. Clearly, Captain Cassius was choked by this sudden, unceremonious "equipment request."
Then, the Captain's voice, devoid of discernible emotion, slowly sounded, with a hint of cold mockery:
"A Terminator? Declan Catonia, with your reckless personality and thick skin, I think you're better suited for a Dreadnought... How about I reserve a spot for you in advance? There seems to be an empty Redeemer in the company's armory, just waiting for a 'soul'."
Dorian's face instantly fell, his mouth agape, unable to utter a single word. A Dreadnought? While it was the highest honor, it also meant being forever confined in an iron coffin! The Captain's words were too venomous!
"Cap... Captain... I..." Dorian stammered, trying to explain.
Lieutenant Golden's face darkened. He unceremoniously slapped Dorian's large face, pushing him away from the comms unit, and warned in a low voice, "Shut up! If you cause any more trouble, I'll throw you out the airlock and let you swim all the way back to Macragge!"
He quickly apologized into the comms unit, "My deepest apologies, Captain Cassius! Dorian's brain was rattled by the Warp storm just now; he's babbling nonsense! Please ignore him!"
From the other end of the comms, Captain Cassius let out an ambiguous hum, "...Control your men, Lieutenant Golden, and return safely as soon as possible."
The communication abruptly ended.
Dorian rubbed his face, which Golden had pressed painfully, and mumbled with a long face, "I was just asking... Was it really necessary to say I should go into a Dreadnought?"
Golden glared at him irritably, "If you dare to be so disrespectful in a formal communication again, next time I won't just push you away. I'll directly implement the Captain's 'suggestion' and help you get used to Dreadnought life in advance!"
Dorian shrank his neck, not daring to speak further. Gaius shook his head helplessly, and even Draculas's white helmet seemed to turn slightly, casting a 'serves you right' look.
"Dorian, according to your seniority, you are not yet qualified to enter a Dreadnought," Luna, as a Tech-Sergeant, naturally knew that not everyone could be placed inside a Dreadnought.
After the small interlude, the common room returned to silence. But the discussions about the Carcharodons, the Red Tithe, and Captain Cassius's 'cordial' concern, all gave everyone a richer... anticipation for their impending return to First Company life.
The Iron Resolve adjusted its course, engines at full throttle, and steadily sailed towards the distant Ultramar.
Once the correct course was confirmed, the Iron Resolve, like a traveler eager to return home, pushed its engine output to the safe limit, steadfastly heading towards Ultramar. Imperial Fists' vessels were renowned for their unparalleled reliability and robustness; even after enduring the turbulence of the Warp storm and the tense standoff with the Carcharodons, it continued to navigate steadily through the bizarre and kaleidoscopic Empyrean.
However, the Imperium's territories, especially these remote sectors, were never short of warnings of danger and death.
After a routine sensor scan, an alarm sounded again, but it wasn't due to enemy contact. Instead, it detected a large amount of spatial debris.
The warship cautiously approached. The sight displayed on the main screen was shocking—dozens of civilian ship wrecks, like toys crushed by an invisible giant hand, scattered in the cold void. These ships were of various models, mostly illegally modified, with flashy and cheap patterns painted on their hulls, but now only twisted metal skeletons and shattered shells remained.
"Identifying wreck models... mostly 'Starfox' class, 'Shadow Walker' class light freighters... generally non-standard modifications... no official registration signals... presumed to be a smuggling fleet," the sensor officer reported calmly.
"Scan for life signs," Captain Torun commanded.
"No life signals... faint energy readings... large amounts of... unnatural high-temperature melt marks and... physical tearing damage detected inside the wrecks."
Gaius gazed at the gruesome scene on the screen, his brow deeply furrowed. The way the ships were damaged was extremely bizarre; it didn't look like they were destroyed by weapons, but rather torn apart from within by some violent force. Many hulls had huge, irregular breaches, with edges showing mixed traces of immense pulling force and high-temperature scorching.
"Did they... also encounter a Warp storm?" Lieutenant Golden said gravely.
"Most likely," Captain Torun's expression was solemn, "Looking at this damage... their Geller field probably failed in the storm. And then..." He didn't finish, but everyone understood what that implied.
Gaius took a deep breath, his voice low and certain: "It's the Daemons of Khorne. Look at these marks... tearing, hacking, pure physical destruction and high heat... This is the typical method of the Blood God's Daemons. They were drawn by the Warp rift, boarded these unprotected ships, and... devoured the crew within."
His words seemed to lower the temperature in the common room by several degrees. Imagining the scene of those smugglers being hunted and torn apart by bloodthirsty Daemons in despair, even battle-hardened Astartes could feel that cold cruelty.
Dorian looked at the screen, clicking his tongue, "Tsk... a bunch of unlucky bastards. But not many smugglers are good people anyway." His words were still crude, but his eyes, unusually, held a hint of seriousness. Facing the horror of Chaos always made one shed some of their casualness.
Luna's gaze slowly shifted from the wrecks on the screen to Dorian. Her brow furrowed slightly, as if she had recalled something extremely important and unsettling.
Khorne... the word was like a key, unlocking a temporarily shelved box deep within her memory.
It was when they had just finished the Cadia Gate campaign and were resting on Macragge that Dorian told her about his dreams.
She recalled Dorian saying, "...a place... all blood and fire... a huge bone throne... a shadow seemed to be sitting on it... in the distance... there was a particularly tall guy... seemed to be nailed with many nails... constantly roaring... it made my brain ache..."
At the time, the fighting had just ceased, and everyone was exhausted. Luna simply assumed he had a nightmare due to combat stress, and since Dorian quickly returned to his usual carefree self, she didn't delve deeper, merely archiving the data for future reference.
But now, combining the brutal methods of the Khorne Daemons before them with Dorian's dream description of a 'Brass Throne' and a 'tall figure nailed and constantly roaring'... Luna's heart sank sharply.
That was probably not just a simple nightmare!
It was very likely some kind of... erosion or whisper from Warp energy, specifically the power of Khorne's domain, affecting Dorian's mind! Although Dorian himself seemed oblivious, still loyal and brave, who could guarantee that this wasn't a seed planted by Chaos? At some crucial moment in the future, would this seed sprout and drag him into the abyss? Would he become like Gaius?
Her gaze returned to Dorian, who was pointing at the wreck of a smuggling ship, cut in half on the screen, loudly commenting on how powerful the Daemon was. Looking at his guileless profile, Luna was caught in an unprecedented struggle.
As a Tech-Sergeant, as a comrade, she had a responsibility to report any potential threat. Especially situations that might involve Chaos corruption; they had to be taken seriously. Lieutenant Golden was now the First Company's Lieutenant, with the authority and responsibility to handle this matter.
But... she looked at Golden, who was quietly exchanging opinions with Captain Torun about how to deal with the debris. If she reported it, what would Lieutenant Golden do? According to standard procedure, Dorian would likely be immediately isolated, subjected to rigorous psychic and psychological examination, and might even be sent to an Inquisition court! Regardless of the outcome, this would be a huge blow to Dorian's reputation and his spirit. They were brothers in a squad, having crawled out of mountains of corpses and seas of blood together. She had personally witnessed how Dorian selflessly covered his comrades... Did she really want to destroy him over an unconfirmed nightmare?
Perhaps... it really was just a nightmare? Dorian was thick-skinned, with almost zero psychic talent. How likely was it for him to be targeted by Khorne? Maybe it was just an hallucination caused by excessive stress?
Two thoughts fiercely battled in her mind. Reason and duty told her she must report, but emotion and trust made her hesitate.
Her unusual silence caught Gaius's attention. Gaius walked over to her and asked in a low voice, "Luna, what's wrong? You look preoccupied."
Luna looked up, meeting Gaius's calm and concerned blue eyes. She opened her mouth, almost ready to pour out her doubts. Gaius was their squad Sergeant, and one of Dorian's best friends; he had a right to know, and perhaps he could offer better advice.
But the words caught in her throat. What was the difference between telling Gaius and telling Lieutenant Golden? Ultimately, Gaius would most likely still need to report it. Moreover, burdening Gaius with this secret, making him decide whether or not to report, would also be a burden for him.
"...Nothing," Luna finally shook her head, her voice a little hoarse, "Just seeing these wrecks... it's unsettling."
Gaius gave her a deep look, clearly not entirely believing her excuse, but he didn't press. He simply patted her pauldron, "It's all over. We'll be home soon."
Luna nodded, saying no more. She turned her gaze back to the debris field outside the viewport, which was gradually being left behind, but her heart was like that expanse of space, filled with cold fragments and silent struggle.
She decided... to keep it hidden for now. She would observe Dorian more closely, record any abnormalities, and perhaps privately seek some informal, reliable avenues for consultation. But until she had concrete evidence or clear signs, she would not easily make public this 'nightmare' that could destroy her brother.
This was her choice, based on risk control after rational analysis, and also on that heavy, untarnished trust in her comrade.
However, she did not know that the whispers of the Warp never disappeared due to an individual's silence. That potential seed had already been sown, awaiting the right soil and timing.
The Iron Resolve continued its journey, leaving the wreckage of death and silent secrets behind in the deep, dark void. The path home ahead seemed bright, yet hidden currents lurked.
The Macragge's Honour, this mobile fortress sailing through the stars, operated as efficiently as ever. Inside the vast hangar, various aircraft took off and landed in an orderly fashion, servo-skulls buzzed, and ground crew and Tech-Priests moved busily, forming a picture full of power and order.
Accompanied by a steady roar of engines and the hiss of hydraulic systems depressurizing, a Thunderhawk Gunship, its hull bearing fresh marks of battle, landed precisely in its designated berth. The hatch slowly opened, and three Ultramarines in azure power armor stepped out.
The lead warrior's helmet was painted a striking red, signifying his rank as a Sergeant, a squad commander. His steps were steady, and though armored, his figure appeared slightly leaner than the seasoned veterans around him, hinting at a lingering youthful inexperience. Yet, his every movement exuded a soldier's efficiency, and his gaze, sweeping the hangar through his visor, held a calm and sharpness unbefitting his age.
The two team members behind him seemed more relaxed, checking their weapons while quietly discussing the details of their recent mission.
Ground crew immediately approached for routine inspections and resupply. The red-helmeted Sergeant raised his hand, skillfully unlatching his helmet. With a slight hiss of depressurization, he removed it.
A young but resolute face was revealed. His short black hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks still bore a faint, lingering flush from battle. His eyes were bright, his nose bridge high, and his lips were tightly pressed, outlining a face full of determination, yet with faint traces of a youthful contour.
It was Vik—the boy rescued from the ruins of the agricultural world Vesta, ravaged by Greenskins, by Gaius's squad and brought back!
Time flew by. The anxious youth who, on the transport ship, was filled with awe and yearning for the Astartes, now wore blue ceramite armor, becoming a true Ultramarine. He was even exceptionally promoted to Sergeant of the Eighth Company's Third Squad, thanks to his outstanding command talent and undeniable courage, which far surpassed other recruits of his generation!
His promotion speed was nothing short of a miracle, benefiting both from the Chapter's need for reinforcements after the Cadia Gate campaign and an absolute recognition of his own abilities.
Vik took a deep breath of the familiar air in the hangar, a mix of oil, ozone, and metal. A subtle trace of fatigue crossed his face, but it was overshadowed by a sense of accomplishment after completing his mission.
His gaze instinctively dropped to the arm guard on his left arm. There, not adorned with splendid battle honors or relics, was a carefully secured wreath, severely withered, dull in color, and almost unrecognizable.
It was a farewell gift woven for him on Vesta by Lina and Ailas, made from a tough local wild grass and unknown, brightly colored small flowers. They had smiled and said it was Vesta's blessing, hoping he would have good fortune on Macragge.
Despite Vik using the best preservation methods taught by the Tech-Sergeant, time and the harsh combat environment relentlessly eroded this fragile creation. The flowers had long lost their color and moisture, becoming brittle and yellowed, and the grass stems were fragile, as if they would turn to dust with a light touch.
But it was still worn by Vik with immense cherish. This withered wreath was his most direct and precious link to the past, to the benefactors who had saved him from hell. Every time he saw it, it reminded him of where he came from and what he fought for.
"Sergeant, do the weapons need to be sent for maintenance?" A team member's voice interrupted Vik's thoughts.
Vik snapped back to attention, tucking his helmet under his arm, and shook his head: "No need, routine maintenance will suffice. This mission went smoothly, and weapon wear is minimal. You two go return your equipment, then rest. I will report the mission's details to the Captain."
"Yes, Sergeant!" The two team members saluted and left.
Vik tidied his appearance, ensuring he looked sufficiently sharp, then strode towards Captain Sibilus's office of the Eighth Company.
Captain Sibilus's office was located near the ship's training area, with a simple yet practical style. Tactical charts and the Eighth Company's recruit training progress reports hung on the walls, and the air seemed to be permeated with a sense of exhortation and expectation.
Vik straightened himself at the door and reported in a deep voice: "Sergeant Vik of the Eighth Company's Third Squad, returned from mission, requests to report to you!"
"Come in." Captain Sibilus's steady voice came from within the door.
Vik pushed the door open. Captain Sibilus stood behind a large tactical table, which projected complex star charts and data streams. The Captain himself was like a steady mountain, his gaze sharp and insightful, constantly assessing the performance of each subordinate.
"Captain." Vik walked to the table, rendered a standard military salute, and then began to clearly and concisely report the details, results, personnel, and equipment status of the patrol and extermination of small groups of space pirates. His report was well-organized and highlighted key points, completely unlike a Sergeant of limited experience.
Captain Sibilus listened quietly, occasionally asking one or two questions, which Vik answered quickly and accurately.
After the report, Captain Sibilus nodded, a hint of satisfaction on his resolute face: "Well done, Sergeant Vik. Your command is becoming increasingly steady. Keep it up, and do not betray the Chapter's exceptional promotion of you."
"For Macragge and the Emperor! I shall never forget!" Vik straightened his chest and responded loudly.
With the official report concluded, the atmosphere relaxed slightly. Captain Sibilus seemed to recall something, and while operating the tactical table to retrieve a file, he said casually: "By the way, I have some news you might be interested in. We just received a communication from the Iron Resolve; they are on their way back."
Vik's heart skipped a beat! The Iron Resolve? Isn't that... Captain Sibilus didn't notice his subtle emotional fluctuation and continued: "Lieutenant Golden, Sergeant Karl, and the others are all on board. I heard they went through a lot on Terra, but all's well that ends well, and they'll be rejoining the Chapter soon."
It really is them! Sergeant Golden... no, now Lieutenant Golden! Sergeant Karl! Tech-Sergeant Luna! And... Dorian!
Vik's eyes instantly sparkled with bright light, and an inexpressible excitement and joy surged through him. Although he was now an Ultramarine Sergeant, deep down, he would never forget the heroes who had saved him from the despair of Vesta. Especially Dorian, the big man who, like a rampaging giant bear, had shown a hearty smile to the dirty boy he was and personally introduced him to the Chapter, was a goal he aspired to and pursued in his heart!
He strove to become a warrior as powerful and brave as Dorian! And now, he heard that Dorian and the others had also been assigned to the glorious First Company for their merits! This made him feel even more honored!
"This... this is truly wonderful! Captain!" Vik's voice trembled slightly with excitement. He tried hard to maintain his composure, "When are they expected to arrive?"
"The exact time depends on the variables of Warp travel, but it shouldn't be too long now." Captain Sibilus glanced at him, seemingly understanding his feelings, and the corner of his mouth curved slightly upward, "Go back and wait. You'll have a chance to meet them when they return."
"Yes, Captain!" Vik saluted again, then almost impatiently, with light steps, left the Captain's office.
Walking down the corridor back to the barracks, Vik's heart remained restless for a long time. He subconsciously touched the withered wreath on his arm guard again.
Lina... Ailas... are they well? Would they be happy for me if they knew I am now a Sergeant?
And Dorian... if he saw me now, would he approve of me? Would he think I lived up to his recommendation?
Countless thoughts swirled in his mind. He wished the Iron Resolve would appear in the hangar the very next second.
He could almost see what it would be like when the Thunderhawk Gunship's hatch opened and those familiar figures reappeared. He would be the first to rush up, to report his growth to them, to express his highest respect!
The once-saved had grown into a qualified Angel of the Emperor. And the heroes who had guided him were about to return with honor.
This bond, spanning the stars and time, like the withered yet cherished wreath on his arm guard, had endured the trials of time and had not faded.
Vik clenched his fists, his eyes filled with anticipation and steadfast determination. He wanted to stand before his heroes in the best possible state when they returned.
And for many on the Macragge's Honour, the return of Golden, Gaius, and the others would undoubtedly bring new changes and stories. Within the battleship, it seemed that this news had quietly stirred a wave of anticipation.
The Iron Resolve, like a loyal messenger, finally carried its passengers through the last leg of its Warp journey, entering the relatively stable and bright glow of the Ultramar Sector. The distorted colors outside the windows gradually gave way to the familiar starry sea, and in the distance, the outlines of Macragge and its moons were clearly visible, marked by navigation instruments.
A palpable sense of relief permeated the entire vessel. The Imperial Fists warriors remained dutiful, but their taut nerves had relaxed. For Gaius and the others, this was even more true. After a long absence, they had finally returned to this orderly sector, personally forged by the Primarch, and it felt as if even breathing became smoother.
There were approximately three standard hours of travel left until they rendezvoused with the Macragge's Honour. Gaius was in the lounge making final preparations, ensuring his equipment and condition were optimal for his return to the flagship.
Just then, there was a knock on the lounge door. Standing outside was Captain Tolun Valerius himself, a rare, almost respectful expression on his stern face.
"Sergeant Karl," Captain Valerius's voice was deeper than usual, "please come with me. Before leaving Terra, Lord Regent entrusted some things to me, instructing me to deliver them to you as you were about to depart the Iron Resolve."
Gaius's heart stirred, and he immediately stood up: "Yes, Captain."
He followed Captain Valerius through a simple yet sturdy corridor to a quiet spare cabin. Inside the cabin, there was only a plain alloy table.
Captain Valerius retrieved a long, dark metal box from a nearby storage cabinet. The box was emblazoned with the Ultramarines' Chapter symbol and the Lord Regent's personal crest.
He reverently placed the box on the table, then looked at Gaius.
Gaius did not hesitate, dropping to one knee with his right knee touching the ground, and bowed his head. This was the proper etiquette when facing a gift bestowed by a Primarch, no matter what it contained.
Captain Valerius slowly opened the box.
A cool, ethereal blue gleam met Gaius's eyes. The box was lined with dark velvet, and upon it lay a power sword. The sword's design perfectly embodied the Ultramarines' style—composed, grand, emphasizing practicality over excessive ornamentation. The blade's lines were fluid, the hilt was engraved with Macragge's runes and the Imperial Aquila, and the energy conduits shimmered with a faint glow, clearly the work of a master craftsman, a rare and finely crafted weapon.
But what was most striking was the end of the hilt. Clearly engraved there were two elegant Gothic letters—R. G. (Roboute Guilliman).
This was one of the Primarch's personal swords! Or at least, a weapon he personally ordered forged and approved!
"This sword is named 'unyielding will'," Captain Valerius's voice was solemn, "Lord Regent hopes that you will use it to continue cutting through the thorns ahead and to guard the truth of the Imperium."
Gaius took a deep breath, extended both hands, and with extreme care, as if holding a peerless treasure, lifted the weighty power sword from the box. The sword felt substantial in his hands, perfectly balanced, and a cold, powerful sensation transmitted through his gauntlets. He could feel the weight the sword carried—not just physically, but the Primarch's expectations and trust.
"In the name of the Emperor and the Primarch, I shall defend honor with this sword, until death," Gaius vowed in a deep, resolute voice.
Captain Valerius nodded, a hint of satisfaction on his face. But he wasn't finished; he retrieved another, smaller square box from the storage cabinet.
This box was also made of special material, but it appeared more ancient.
"And this," Captain Valerius opened the small box, "Lord Regent said... this is recognition of your past contributions, and an expectation for your future path."
Gaius's gaze fell upon the contents of the box, and he couldn't help but be slightly stunned.
Inside the box was a power armor helmet. But the style of this helmet was completely different from the 'beak' style sensor faceplate with sniper characteristics he had used before. Its facial armor structure was heavier, and the breathing grille directly in front adopted a unique, outwardly protruding multi-layered filtration design, making it look overall... somewhat like a 'pig snout' of some animal? This design usually focused more on protection and airtightness in harsh environments.
However, this slightly peculiar, even somewhat clumsy design, could not conceal its dazzling radiance in the slightest!
On the left eye of the helmet, a precise multi-spectral auxiliary aiming bionic eye was installed, flashing with a cold red light, clearly a tactical accessory of the highest specifications.
And what was even more astonishing—at the very center of the forehead of this 'pig snout' helmet, a wreath of honor, crafted from adamantium and white jade, symbolizing supreme glory, was conspicuously affixed!
The leaves of the wreath were lifelike, encircling the helmet, exuding a sacred and solemn aura. This was an honor only warriors who had rendered outstanding service to the Imperium were qualified to receive!
Captain Valerius held up this seemingly contradictory helmet—both with its peculiar design and bearing the highest honor—with both hands, and his voice became even more solemn: "Sergeant Karl Horn, kneel."
Gaius obeyed, once again dropping to one knee.
Captain Valerius personally and carefully placed this heavy, profoundly significant helmet onto Gaius's head. The helmet and gorget's locking mechanisms produced a crisp click of engagement.
Instantly, Gaius's vision was replaced by the helmet's internal display interface. Various tactical data streams began to initialize, and the auxiliary aiming bionic eye on his left eye automatically calibrated, providing unprecedented clear vision and tactical awareness. The technological sophistication of this helmet far surpassed any equipment he had used in the past.
"Stand up, Sergeant," Captain Valerius commanded.
Gaius stood up, wearing this weighty, both glorious and slightly peculiar new helmet.
"Do not betray Lord Regent's trust, nor the duty represented by this wreath," Captain Valerius looked at him, speaking earnestly, "You may return."
"Yes! Thank you, Captain Valerius!" Gaius's voice, transmitted through the helmet, carried a slight hum but was full of power. He saluted Captain Valerius again, then, holding the power sword named 'unyielding will', turned and left the cabin.
When he walked back into the Ultramarines' lounge, wearing his new helmet and carrying his new sword, he immediately drew everyone's attention.
Dorian was the first to jump up. He had just been bragging to Golden about how they would celebrate upon their return. Seeing Gaius's new look, especially the unique 'pig snout' faceplate, he was stunned for a moment, then burst into undisguised, deafening laughter:
"Pfft—hahaha! Gaius! My good brother! What... what is this new look?! Did the Primarch only bestow you with such a thing?! This nose... hahahahaha! Are you planning to root for potatoes in the mud? Or has the Adeptus Mechanicus' aesthetic on Terra suddenly become so... distinctive?"
He laughed so hard he bent over, pointing at Gaius's faceplate, tears almost coming to his eyes. Even the usually composed Golden and the stoic Luna, seeing Gaius's distinctive new helmet, had a flicker of surprise and oddity in their eyes.
Gaius was somewhat helpless with Dorian's laughter and was about to explain.
However, just then, Dorian's laughter ceased abruptly, as if he had been choked!
His gaze was fixed on the front of Gaius's helmet—the wreath of honor encircling it, shimmering with a sacred metallic luster under the lights!
The smile on Dorian's face vanished instantly and completely, replaced by extreme shock and disbelief! He instinctively, almost reflexively, raised his hand and touched the wreath of honor, also bestowed by Guilliman himself, that he wore on his own eagle-faced helmet.
The entire lounge fell silent in an instant. You could hear a pin drop.
Golden and Luna also saw the wreath, and their expressions immediately became incredibly serious and solemn. Their previous surprise vanished, leaving only deep respect.
A wreath of honor! One of the highest honors an Imperial warrior could aspire to! It represented not a comical appearance, but tangible merits forged with blood and loyalty! It was the highest recognition of his contributions by the Primarch himself and even the Imperium!
Dorian opened his mouth, as if to say something, but not a single word came out. He looked at Gaius, at the wreath helmet that, against the backdrop of the 'pig snout' design, appeared even more solemn and unique, his eyes filled with complex emotions. There was shock, envy, but more than that, a heartfelt recognition and... pride for his brother receiving such a distinction.
All his previous mockery and teasing seemed so childish and inappropriate in front of that weighty wreath.
He withdrew his hand, straightened his back, and his expression became more serious than ever before. He heavily and silently thumped his left chest towards Gaius—this was the Astartes' gesture of highest respect.
No words were needed. This wreath explained everything.
Through his visor, Gaius observed the change in his brothers' reactions, especially the solemn expression on Dorian's never-yielding face. A warmth surged in his heart, along with a heavy sense of responsibility.
He raised his hand and gently touched the exquisite wreath leaves on the helmet, as well as the slightly protruding breathing grille.
He understood that this might not be the most ornate and dazzling helmet, but it was certainly the most suitable for him. The heavy protection and powerful sensing capabilities symbolized the Primarch's expectations for his steadfastness and insight. And that unique, 'pig snout' design—was it not also a reminder? A reminder that no matter what glory he achieved, he must remain grounded, never forgetting his roots, tenacious and pragmatic like a farmer tilling the land.
Glory and simplicity were strangely fused together in this helmet.
Gaius did not remove his helmet; he simply thumped his chest plate in return towards Dorian, Golden, and Luna.
Everything was unspoken.
In the lounge, the silence was replaced by a deeper, more concentrated atmosphere. The end of their journey was approaching, and each of them was ready to face future challenges with a new demeanor.
That 'pig snout' wreath helmet would undoubtedly become Sergeant Karl Horn's new emblem.
The bright yellow hull of the Iron Resolve, like a loyal and resolute guardian, slowly sailed into the azure ocean of the Ultramarines fleet. Surrounding it were various warships, all bearing Macragge's insignia, from massive battleships to nimble frigates, forming a moving fortress of steel. An invisible sense of belonging, named 'home,' instantly enveloped every returning Ultramarine.
A small transport craft, belonging to the Macragge's Honour, was already waiting nearby, docking lightly with the Iron Resolve's airlock, like a fledgling returning to its nest.
The moment of departure arrived.
Lieutenant Golden led Gaius, Dorian, Luna, Draculas, and Ailas, who was rubbing her sleepy eyes, in a neat line, facing Captain Torren Valerius and his aide.
Golden stepped forward, his right fist striking his left chest plate with a resounding clang, his voice loud and respectful: "Captain Valerius, thank you and the brothers of the Imperial Fists' 7th Company for your selfless escort and care along the way! The Ultramarines will remember this!"
Behind him, Gaius and the others simultaneously pounded their chests in salute, their movements unified, expressing their sincerest gratitude. Although their time together was brief, the Imperial Fists' warriors' meticulousness, reliability, and decisiveness when facing the Flesh Tearers had earned their respect.
Captain Torren Valerius's resolute face showed a hint of an almost-smile. He returned a standard military salute: "It is our duty; no thanks are needed. I am glad to see you return safely. May the Emperor protect your journey, Lieutenant Golden, and all the brothers of the Ultramarines."
There was no excessive small talk; a soldier's farewell is often concise and powerful. After another solemn salute, Golden and the others turned and stepped into the familiar small transport craft, its interior painted in Ultramarines blue.
The hatch closed, and the transport craft gracefully detached from the Iron Resolve, flying towards the Macragge's Honour mothership, colossal as a mountain, with its bow inscribed with the glorious insignia.
When the transport craft smoothly landed in the Macragge's Honour's incredibly familiar, spacious, and grand main hangar, a genuine sense of being home finally surged through them. The bustling scene in the hangar, the scent of Ultramar's unique freshener in the air, and the brothers in blue power armor moving back and forth... everything brought a sense of peace.
What made them feel even more honored was that waiting for them at the landing zone were not ordinary reception personnel.
Captain Cassius of the First Company was personally there, waiting for his new Lieutenant and new team members!
Captain Cassius was tall, his presence as steady as a mountain. He was not wearing Terminator Armor, but a set of artificer power armor, with a massive Roman numeral 'I' and Golden decorations on his shoulder pads, signifying his noble status as the First Company's highest commander. His face was weathered, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, sweeping over those who had just disembarked from the transport craft, finally settling on Golden.
"Lieutenant Golden, welcome back to the company." Captain Cassius's voice was deep and magnetic, carrying an undeniable authority.
"Captain Cassius!" Golden immediately stepped forward and saluted again, his tone conveying absolute respect for his superior. "The honor is mine! The Primarch and the Chapter's trust, Golden will defend with his life!"
"I trust the judgment of the Primarch and Chapter Master Calgar." Captain Cassius nodded, a faint smile seeming to appear on his face. "I couldn't be more pleased that you've come to the First Company to serve as my Lieutenant. However..."
He paused, his tone taking on a rare hint of teasing: "...That fellow Heck has been complaining to me for ages, saying I stole his best Lieutenant, and almost came to challenge me to a champion's duel."
Hearing this, Golden also showed a helpless smile. He could imagine how reluctant and 'displeased' the Third Company Captain, known for his bravery and fiery temper, must have been.
"Alright, we'll save the pleasantries for later." Captain Cassius returned to his usual decisive manner. "All necessary paperwork and transfer documents with the Third Company have been personally handled by me. What you need to do now is immediately return to your old barracks in the Third Company and gather all your personal belongings and equipment."
His gaze swept over Gaius, Dorian, and Luna: "Then, move everything to the First Company's barracks. Your Terminator Armors—" He specifically looked at Dorian and Gaius—"—I've already sent someone to the Third Company's armory to transfer them all to the First Company's armory for safekeeping. Someone will take you to claim and maintain them shortly."
At this point, his gaze fell on Ailas, who was trying hard to look more energetic: "Tech-Sergeant Ailas."
Ailas stiffened, immediately straightening her small frame: "Here, Captain!"
"Effective immediately, you are officially assigned to the First Company's Tech-Sergeant roster." Captain Cassius announced. "Your primary duty will be to maintain the First Company's exclusive Thunderhawk Gunship fleet, as well as the company's Dreadnoughts."
Ailas nodded vigorously, answering loudly: "Yes, Captain! I guarantee the mission will be completed! No Thunderhawk Gunship or Dreadnought will have any problems!"
Captain Cassius nodded slightly. Then, his gaze became incredibly sharp, like a drawn sword, sweeping over Gaius, Dorian, and Luna in turn.
"As for you, Sergeant Karl, Dorian, Tech-Sergeant Luna." His voice suddenly rose, carrying the solemnity of a formal announcement. "By Chapter Master's approval, and by my direct order: The four of you will form the First Company's Tenth Tactical Squad!"
The Tenth Squad! The First Company's complement was usually full; suddenly adding a Tenth Squad was itself a strong signal!
Captain Cassius's words were like a heavy hammer, striking everyone's hearts: "Remember, the First Company is the Ultramarines' warhammer, the sharpest blade to cleave through the enemy's toughest shields! And your Tenth Squad will be the sharpest, most resilient tip of that blade! The Chapter will entrust you with the most dangerous, most arduous missions! You will face the most powerful enemies, delve into the most desperate battlefields!"
His gaze was almost tangible, pressing down on the three of them: "In return, and to ensure you can accomplish these missions, the best weaponry and equipment in the entire Chapter, along with the highest priority logistical support, will be infinitely open to you! You have the right, according to mission needs, to request and use any equipment in the armory that you deem fit, at any time! Remember, it's the best! Don't be modest, because your missions deserve the best equipment!"
These words, while making even the impetuous Dorian feel a surge of hot blood, also made him feel a heavy pressure. The tip of the blade? This meant they would always be at the forefront, enduring the fiercest attacks.
Finally, Captain Cassius's gaze turned to Brother Draculas, who stood silently like a white wraith.
"Brother Draculas." The Captain's tone carried a special respect for a seasoned veteran. "Your place is not within a fixed tactical squad. Your experience and strength are needed in more critical areas."
"I officially appoint you to the First Company's 'Sword Veteran' roster." Sword Veterans—they were the elite of the First Company's elite, the company's stabilizing force and strongest firepower!
"As a Sword Veteran, you will support various squads as battle conditions require, or form assault teams to execute decapitation missions. The First Company's armory is also fully open to you."
Draculas's white helmet lowered slightly, emitting a dull but firm syllable: "Understood."
With the orders announced, Captain Cassius's gaze swept over everyone again: "Any other questions?"
"None, Captain!" Everyone answered in unison, their voices echoing in the vast hangar.
"Very good. Now, dismissed! Go gather your belongings. New barracks and equipment await you. Glory and duty be with you!"
After Captain Cassius finished speaking, he turned and strode away, leaving the few individuals with surging emotions.
After a brief silence, Dorian was the first to leap up, growling excitedly: "Tenth Squad! The tip of the blade! Hahaha! And the best equipment to choose from! I'm going to see if there are any more powerful assault cannons!"
Golden, however, appeared more composed. He took a deep breath and looked at his team members—Gaius, Dorian, Luna. He knew this was not merely a promotion, but a heavy burden placed upon their shoulders.
"Did you all hear?" Golden's voice regained the calmness befitting a Lieutenant. "Gather your things, then head to the First Company armory. We need to adapt to our new identities and equipment as quickly as possible. Don't forget the Captain's words: the best equipment means the most dangerous missions."
Gaius touched the glorious 'pig-snout' laurel helmet on his head, his gaze firm. Luna nodded silently, already pondering how to equip the squad with the most suitable weapons and tactical accessories. Even Ailas clenched her small fists, determined to maintain the Thunderhawks and Dreadnoughts perfectly.
A new Chapter had begun. They were no longer an ordinary squad of the Third Company, but the First Company's Tenth Squad—a sharp blade poised to strike at the very heart of the Imperium's enemies.
Returning to the mothership was not an end, but the beginning of an even more arduous journey.
The relocation process was efficient and swift. The First Company's logistical efficiency far surpassed that of the Third Company. When they arrived at the brand-new barracks assigned to the Tenth Squad with their few personal belongings, they found it not only larger and better equipped, but even included a small tactical simulation room. Everything was ready, as if awaiting their arrival.
Before they could even properly examine their new home, the First Company's Tech-Sergeant team arrived. Silent, precise, and efficient, like intricate machinery, they immediately requested Gaius, Dorian, and Luna to remove their power armor.
"According to company regulations, newly assigned members require standardized painting," the lead Tech-Sergeant explained succinctly.
The three complied. Soon, their armor was secured on work stands, and the Tech-Sergeants activated automatic spray arms and manual fine-painting equipment.
The familiar deep blue remained the primary color, but white, symbolizing the First Company's exalted status, began to cover key areas. The shoulder pads—both those of the power armor and the massive spaulders of the Terminator Armor—were uniformly sprayed with a pristine white coating, edged with Golden trim, and centered with a prominent Roman numeral 'I.' The helmets were also painted a majestic white, creating a distinct and classic contrast with the blue chest and leg armor.
Dorian's two sets of Terminator Armor—the heavy Saturnine and the standard Ironclad Pattern—underwent the same process. The white shoulder pads and helmets added an air of veteran elite solemnity and oppressiveness to these already formidable armors.
The painting process was quickly completed. The Tech-Sergeants then performed a series of rapid calibrations and checks, then silently departed, just as they had arrived.
Looking at their freshly painted armor, the three felt a subtle mix of emotions. This touch of white was not merely a change in color, but a shift in identity, a coronation of responsibility. They had officially become members of the First Company, donning the battle-garb that symbolized strength and glory.
The First Company had its own independent, more spacious and quiet resting area. It wasn't as noisy as the public areas of other companies; instead, it had a more subdued and solemn atmosphere. Gaius sat on an alloy bench, his gaze slowly sweeping over the other members in the lounge.
Here, there were almost no fresh faces. Every warrior exuded a steady aura, their eyes sharp, bearing the marks of years of combat and a contained confidence. Their power armor was meticulously maintained, but subtle repairs and wear silently spoke of the brutal experiences.
Gaius's gaze was drawn to the decorations on their helmets. Many veterans' helmets were adorned with varying numbers of Golden service studs, each representing a hundred years of loyal service. Veterans with two, three, or even four service studs were not uncommon; they simply sat there quietly, radiating an awe-inspiring presence.
Even more striking, as Dorian had noticed earlier, the laurels of honor were indeed not rare here. Gaius saw several veterans whose helmets bore laurels similarly carved from adamantine and jade. Some of these laurels even had slightly chipped leaves from years of combat, which only added to their weighty significance.
Here, glory was not capital to be flaunted, but a natural presence, like breathing—an invisible medal left after every mission, every victory. This pervasive, profound sense of honor filled Gaius with both pressure and motivation. The brand-new laurel on his head found its place here, but also reminded him that he needed to give more to truly be worthy of it.
On the other side, Dorian was crouched in front of his two freshly painted Terminator Armors, staring intently.
The white shoulder pads and helmets made the Saturnine Terminator appear even more massive and imposing, and the Ironclad Pattern Terminator even more upright and majestic. He extended a thick finger, carefully touching the distinct 'I' on the Saturnine's shoulder pad, then touched the laurel of honor on his own helmet, personally bestowed by Guilliman.
"Hehehe... so awesome..." he mumbled softly, a satisfied and proud smile on his face. But soon, his smile receded slightly, and a deeper longing flashed in his eyes.
His gaze shifted to the other end of the lounge. There, several veterans in older, more ornately decorated Ironclad Pattern Terminator Armor stood together, conversing in low voices. They were members of the First Company's Terminator Squad, the absolute core for assault and breakthrough.
He then looked to the other side, at several veterans wearing specially designed artificer power armor and insignia symbolizing long-range precision strikes. They were Sword Veterans, the company's tactical core and long-range firepower support.
And there were those veterans draped in heavy cloaks, wearing ancient power swords, their aura even more profound—they were Sword Veterans, masters of lightning assault and close-quarters combat.
Draculas had already been assigned to the Sword Veteran roster.
Dorian looked at them, then down at his own brand-new white shoulder pads and laurel, and a powerful ambition burned within him.
"Tenth Squad... the tip of the blade..." He clenched his fist, thinking to himself, "I must make my mark! I cannot disgrace the squad, and certainly not the Primarch!"
He was no longer content with just owning two sets of Terminator Armor. He wanted more! He wanted to prove he was worthy of this white battle-garb, worthy of this laurel!
"Just you wait..." Dorian muttered, his eyes becoming exceptionally firm. "In the future, I will definitely join the Sword Veterans! Or the Sword Masters will do too! Or... being a main force in the Terminator Squad is fine too! In short, I must become one of the best in the First Company!"
He seemed to already see himself in more glorious armor, standing among the strongest warriors of the First Company. This longing burned like a flame in his heart, dispelling all confusion and complacency.
The new environment, the new identity, brought new pressure, but also ignited new fighting spirit. Every member of the Tenth Squad, in their own way, felt and responded to this weighty honor and expectation from the First Company.
The white armor was not just a symbol of identity, but a silent oath, declaring that they would bear greater responsibility, rush to more dangerous battlefields, and add new glory to the Ultramarines' battle standard.
Ten years, but a fleeting moment for the vast galaxy, yet for the warriors fighting on the Empire's front lines, it was enough to sharpen their edge and forge legends.
Gaius, Dorian, and Luna were no longer new faces in the First Company needing introduction. Ten years of baptism by fire and countless brushes with death had tempered them into a terrifying spearhead force within the First Company and even the entire Ultramarines Chapter.
They were no longer limited to the standard Tenth Tactical Squad formation. Due to their unparalleled synergy, courage, and efficiency displayed in extremely dangerous missions, they were granted greater autonomy and flexibility, becoming a special assault squad. Their mission list was often chilling—decapitating enemy commanders, tearing apart the most fortified strongholds, destroying critical war machines... Each deployment meant they would face the enemy's most furious counterattacks and most stringent defenses.
The extremely high danger factor brought an extremely high possibility of casualties, but it also forged their formidable reputation. In this squad, Declan Catonia was undoubtedly the raging bulwark at the forefront.
The passage of time seemed to have added few wrinkles to his rugged face, but it had etched a quiet strength into his eyes. Constant, high-intensity combat had long since smoothed away the overly outward boisterousness and frivolity of his youth. He still spoke with a booming voice and still liked to boast of his valor between battles, but the content of his words was no longer exaggerated, empty showing off, but had become cold and bloody facts—he had indeed smashed the heads of how many Chaos Champions with his massive Thunder Hammer, and blocked how many fatal bombardments with his Storm Shield.
He learned how to use his strength more effectively, how to cooperate with his teammates, and how, like a true veteran, to retain a trace of prudence amidst the frenzy. However, his nature as a "war maniac" had not changed; it had only become more controlled, more lethal. This also led to him being "warmly welcomed" by the Tech-Priests and Apothecaries in the medical bay almost every time he returned from a mission, where he would lie for several days, various means used to repair injuries that would have killed an ordinary Astartes several times over.
The laurel wreath of honor personally bestowed by Guilliman, along with his meritorious Thunder Hammer, Storm Shield, and the two sets of Saturn-pattern and Ironclad Pattern Terminator Armor he treasured, were polished to a shine every day, spotless, as if new. They were his glory, and his reliance to live and achieve more glory.
Gaius, on the other hand, seemed to be the same as ever: calm, focused, and reliable. His daily, unshakeable routine was the meticulous maintenance of his "Eagle Eye" master-crafted sniper rifle, which had been modified countless times and had long since become an extension of his body, as well as the Power Sword named "unyielding will" bestowed by Primarch Guilliman. The "pig nose" laurel wreath helmet on his head was also polished to a pristine shine, its white coating reflecting a soft yet resolute light under the lamps.
Ten years of campaigning had brought his sniping skills to perfection. A calm mind, extraordinary patience, and an ultimate grasp of ballistics meant that he almost never missed, hitting his target every time. His bullets always appeared at the most critical moment, taking out the most dangerous enemies, and tearing open a path to victory for the squad. Just three months prior, after a crucial long-range assassination mission, he was personally awarded the honorary title of "Champion Sniper" by Chapter Master Marius Calgar, the highest recognition of his long-range strike capability.
Luna Aisa, like other Tech-Sergeants of the First Company, had her life strictly divided into two parts: combat and maintenance. In combat, she was the squad's reliable fire support and tactical node; during rest, her figure was almost constantly present in the First Company's astonishingly vast armory. This armory housed the Chapter's finest and most ancient weaponry and equipment, and its maintenance workload was extremely heavy. Luna, with her usual composure, precision, and efficiency, earned the high trust of the armory's chief Tech-Sergeant, responsible for maintaining some critical master-crafted weapons and special equipment.
And Ailas, the former little follower, had now grown into a seasoned Tech-Sergeant. One of her most important weekly tasks was the routine maintenance of the First Company's three renowned Dreadnoughts.
These three Dreadnoughts were respectively: "fist of macragge": a powerful Redemptor Pattern Dreadnought, armed with a deadly array of heavy weaponry on both arms, an absolute pillar of firepower on the battlefield.
"shield of the emperor": an extremely rare and well-preserved Ironclad Pattern Dreadnought, known for its unparalleled sturdy defense, often serving as a mobile fortress.
"wrath of corax": another Redemptor Pattern Dreadnought, renowned for its extraordinary mobility and assault capabilities, its name derived from the swift and deadly style, like the Raven Lord, displayed by the veteran sleeping within during a battle with the Dark Eldar.
In addition, there was a special Redemptor Pattern Dreadnought without an occupant sarcophagus. It stood quietly in the corner of the armory, like a silent giant, awaiting a pilot who would arrive at an unknown time. Ailas also meticulously maintained it, ensuring it was ready for combat at any moment, although no one knew who would be worthy and needed to enter it.
After completing these important maintenance tasks, Ailas's remaining time was immersed in her various small inventions and creations, or... going to "challenge" the veterans of the First Company. She still maintained that "fiercely cute" demeanor, sometimes suddenly jumping up, using her small fists equipped with "Ailas" pattern miniature Power Fists to pound the veterans' leg armor, or even trying to bite—of course, for an Astartes, it barely even counted as a tickle. Most veterans responded to her with tolerant, even slightly doting smiles, which had become a unique sight in the serious First Company.
As for Lieutenant Golden, his performance was as outstanding as ever. His calm mind, excellent tactical planning abilities, and decisiveness at critical moments made him Captain Cassius's indispensable right-hand man. He even, at times, needed to act as Captain and command the entire First Company in combat.
Captain Cassius had told Golden more than once in private, with his steady tone: "Golden, your abilities far exceed that of a Lieutenant. Continue to accumulate experience and prestige. If... I mean if, in the future, a Captain unfortunately falls, and someone is needed to take over... I will unhesitatingly recommend you to the Chapter Master."
This was extremely high praise and trust, and it also implied greater responsibility. Golden silently took these words to heart, diligently fulfilling his duties.
Ten years passed, and the spearhead was now sharpened, its edge fully revealed. They were no longer new sprouts needing shelter, but had become solid pillars supporting the Chapter's glory. Future wars would still rage, but they were ready to use the next ten years to continue writing the immortal legend of the Ultramarines. The silent Dreadnought also seemed to be whispering, anticipating rushing to new battlefields with them.
Life aboard the Macragge's Honour was like a precisely running clock, day after day, filled with training, maintenance, vigilance, and the occasional small-scale conflict that would erupt and then be swiftly extinguished with thunderous force. However, this orderly calm was suddenly shattered on a seemingly ordinary watch day by a top-priority emergency communication.
The message came from Chapter Master Marius Calgar himself, directly to Captain Cassius of the First Company.
The content was chilling—a crucial Forge World named Austin Star was suffering an unprecedented, catastrophic invasion!
It was not a common xenos attack or a raid by Chaos Space Marines, but a more terrifying, more fundamental threat: on the vast wasteland in the northern part of the planet, a group of long-latent Chaos cultists, through an extremely powerful and blasphemous ritual, had forcibly torn the veil of realspace, opening a stable, massive portal to the Warp!
Endless Warp Daemons, like a bursting flood, poured out from behind the gate! Bloodthirsty Bloodletters, cunning Tzeentch Horrors, decaying Nurglings, and many more unspeakable Horrors instantly overwhelmed the wasteland and began to spread towards the nearest forge city.
Even worse, this portal seemed to be a signal beacon, not only attracting Daemons but also drawing in Chaos warbands from surrounding star systems—those fallen Astartes who had betrayed the Emperor and humanity! Countless assault boats and landing craft, emblazoned with blasphemous symbols and carrying Chaos Space Marines, like sharks smelling blood, passed through the chaotic Warp fluctuations, descending upon Austin Star to join this feast of destruction!
The local Planetary Defense Forces and the Adeptus Mechanicus's Skitarii, though bravely resisting, suffered heavy losses and were steadily pushed back under the combined assault of Daemons and Chaos Space Marines. Even an advance company of the Iron Hands Chapter, which had rushed to assist upon hearing the news, found itself locked in a bitter struggle under extremely unfavorable conditions, sustaining significant casualties.
Chapter Master Calgar's tone in the communication was extremely grave. He explicitly stated that a few Chaos cultists hiding in the wasteland could never possess the power to open a portal of such scale and stability. Behind this, there must be a stronger, more evil force controlling everything—perhaps a powerful Chaos Sorcerer, perhaps a Daemon Prince, or it might even involve a deeper conspiracy. This matter was no small thing, concerning the safety of the entire sector, and potentially the beginning of a larger invasion!
Therefore, he commanded: the entire First Company, immediately enter maximum combat readiness! Check equipment, replenish ammunition, and be ready to deploy at any moment! This would undoubtedly be an extremely arduous, incomparably brutal, and hard-fought battle!
Alarms blared across the Macragge's Honour and the entire escort fleet! The previously calm battleship instantly transformed into a high-speed war machine!
Within the First Company's quarters, the atmosphere instantly tensed, but without the slightest confusion. All veterans immediately put down everything they were doing, silently and swiftly rushing to the armory and equipment racks. Power Armor clanged softly, laurel wreaths trembled slightly as they ran, and every face was etched with calm determination.
Captain Cassius's orders were swiftly relayed through the company's communication channel: "All personnel, combat readiness level one! Check weapons and armor! Logistics personnel, prioritize issuing Bolters, plasma cells, melta bombs! Apothecaries, to your stations! Tech-Sergeants, ensure all vehicles and heavy weapons are in perfect working order!"
Lieutenant Golden's figure appeared at the armory entrance, his voice steady and strong, assisting the Captain in coordinating the preparations: "Tenth Squad 'Sanx,' proceed to the designated area to collect special equipment! Sternguard Squad, check heavy Bolters and special ammunition! Terminator Squads, prioritize donning your armor!"
"Sanx"—this was the designation personally bestowed by the Chapter Master three years ago, due to the squad's astonishing resilience and survival capabilities displayed in several extremely dangerous missions, like the indestructible deity of oaths and covenants in ancient Terran myths. This name was now a symbol of the First Company's spearhead.
Dorian heard the order and grinned, a warlike glint in his eyes. He strode towards his equipment rack, where his heavy Saturnine Pattern Terminator Armour had already been prepared by Tech-Sergeants and maintenance servitors.
"Old friend, a big job awaits!" he growled, and with the aid of servo-systems, began to don this powerful suit of armor custom-fitted for him. The heavy breastplate closed, the massive shoulder pads locked into place, the huge Power Fist on his left hand hummed through its final self-check, and the terrifying twin-linked Storm Bolter in his right hand was fully charged, radiating cold killing intent. He was already eager to use this equipment to smash the bones of those Chaos scum!
Gaius calmly checked his "Eagle Eye" sniper rifle and "unyielding will" Power Sword, pressing special armor-piercing rounds into the magazines. Luna swiftly moved through the armory, selecting suitable special weapons and tactical gear for herself and her teammates, while ensuring all communication and reconnaissance equipment was in optimal condition.
Ailas had already rushed towards the hangar; she needed to complete the final emergency checks before the Thunderhawk Gunships departed.
Meanwhile, from the observation windows of the battleship, it could be seen that two strike cruisers in the fleet—carrying the warriors of the Sixth Company and the 7th Company—had already broken formation, their engines spewing incandescent trails, like arrows from a bow, speeding towards Austin Star. They would serve as the vanguard, attempting to establish a defensive line and stabilize the situation, gaining time for the main force to arrive.
And the Macragge's Honour, this massive mobile fortress, accompanied by the rest of the escort fleet, began to adjust its course, its colossal hull slowly turning, engine power gradually increasing, preparing for a Warp jump, heading straight for Austin Star!
The massive fleet, like awakened steel behemoths, began to sail towards the war-torn Forge World.
Inside the battleship, the clang of weapons being loaded, the hum of Power Armor servo-systems, and the low, resolute pre-battle prayers of the warriors echoed.
Glory and farewell, like twins, always accompanied the battlefield. Every warrior knew that the journey ahead was fraught with peril, but they were fearless.
White shoulder pads and blue robes would soon be stained once more with the blood of enemies and the smoke of war.
Sanx Squad, its fangs sharpened, stood ready for deployment. What awaited them would be a hellish battle testing loyalty and courage.