Chapter 262: Bjorn: I Get It Now, You're Just Here to Show Off!
Although the questions were still piling up—why were the Primarchs treating them so well? Did the Ultramarine Primarch intend to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors from the Great Heresy and put a new leash on the Space Wolves? What did Fenris have that was worth plotting for?—in the end, under Logan's direction, the Space Wolves still held a grand welcoming ceremony, and even opened a feasting hall in the Fang that had been sealed since the end of the Legion era.
Creeeak~
The doors of the feasting hall, sealed for ten thousand years, were slowly pushed open. The hinges let out a long, groaning sound, as if awakening a slumbering piece of history.
Romulus strode into the hall with a steady gait. He was met with a roar of noise. In his hands, he held three different types of Catachan Devil wine as a gift. The precious liquid gleamed like amber in the light and was carefully taken by the reverent Chapter serfs.
As the Lord of the Dawnbreakers walked through the long hall, the Space Marines of the various Chapters along the way rose to salute. Even the Space Wolves, who were boasting of their battle-deeds, stopped their clamor and offered a distant, chest-pounding salute. Although they had been little haters of Guilliman for ten thousand years, when it came time to give a Primarch his due, these wolves would not cause trouble. After all, this wasn't the Guilliman that Ancient Bjorn had been nagging about for ten thousand years.
The Wolves' gazes followed the Primarch's movements. When Romulus took his seat at the head of the table, they all raised their drinking horns as one. However, everyone's eyes couldn't help but drift to the center of the hall, where a high-backed, empty chair was placed. The black iron horn before it was filled with dark Mjod, the rising cold condensing into frost on its rim. This seat belonged to the Wolf King, Leman Russ. The Space Wolves had always believed that their gene-father would return and drink with them again.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Wolves of Fenris," Romulus said, raising his own horn in a distant toast.
"Awooo~" the Wolves' reply came, scattered and half-hearted, like a perfunctory howl. The horns of several young warriors stopped halfway, their eyes filled with a clear suspicion.
"Of course, I know this is not the main point," a slight smile touched the Primarch's lips. He put down his horn, the metal gauntlet and the stone table making a crisp sound. When he spoke again, his voice was like a war drum, shaking the entire hall. "Today, I have had the honor of witnessing many warriors work together to shatter the enemy's plot! I have had the honor of coming to the home of the sons of Russ, to embrace the glory of victory! And the glory of this victory—" his voice suddenly rose, his fist slamming on the table, making the horns jump. "—I thank the great sons of Russ for being willing to share it!"
"AWOOOO!!!"
This time, the Wolves' roar shook the very dome. Mjod spilled from overturned horns. The laughter of the warriors and the clashing of their horns instantly filled the entire hall. The feast had begun.
The Wolves put aside their prejudices and, fueled by the Mjod, began to get to know their cousins with their rough and blunt words. In the open space in the center of the hall, warriors with their power packs turned off were already brawling. For the Wolves, a fight between brothers was a sign of affection. Any conflict had to be resolved through a fight. After the fight, it was forgotten.
Bjorn sat alone in a corner, the wolf-pelt on his Dreadnought chassis hanging limply. His gaze swept across to the other side, to the ranks of the Dark Angels and the Blood Angels, where familiar old faces were arm-in-arm with new recruits, their laughter and cheers constant. Hmph! The old wolf let out a barely audible snort from his machine, which was lost in the boisterous toasting.
Azrael was looking around curiously, observing the technical details, and analyzing the function of these structures with his own experience. "Are you curious about this fortress?" Cypher's voice suddenly came from his side. This senior, who always wore a mysterious smile, had at some point appeared next to him, playing with an ancient Dark Angels sigil. He quite liked this little old-brother. He possessed the trait of compromise that most Dark Angels lacked. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he could get along with most of them.
"I am," Azrael said, taking the opportunity. "Senior, are you very familiar with this fortress?"
"Of course," Cypher nodded. The Lion had returned late. Before that, the Dark Angels had always followed the Emperor, and had naturally been to Fenris. And as a Legion with a similarly special status, the construction of the Wolves' fortress had naturally had the intervention of the Dark Angels. As for these Wolves who, when drunk, had the discipline of a wet Grot? It was a miracle they had even remembered to install a power core.
"At that time, the already simplified Ironwing had participated in the design and construction of most of the areas. Specifically..." Cypher began to talk at length. It was a common affliction of old veterans.
Azrael listened quietly. He somewhat understood their desire to share. He wasn't really curious. He was trying to test his own professional ability. The mechanical maintenance of the Dark Angels Chapter was all handled by the Master of The Rock. These warriors, who had accepted the faith of the Omnissiah and had been trained on Mars, had never been trusted by the Inner Circle. But they were the ones who truly controlled the operation of The Rock. Once appointed, the Master of The Rock would be taken deep into the fortress, and would be physically connected to the mechanical devices that controlled the fortress-monastery. In this process, he would become one with it. His senses would be directly connected to the Chapter's home. The Chapter's machine-spirit would communicate with his soul. The Chapter's sensors would become his eyes. Thus, he could learn many secrets about the Dark Angels' hidden, ancient technology.
And the price was eternal solitude. His only companions were his dead predecessors. Their withered corpses still remained by his side, until he died, and the next successor would arrive.
If Azrael wanted to make a move on The Rock, then the loyalty of the Master of The Rock was a hurdle he had to overcome. And Azrael also felt that the Dark Angels' internal exclusion of their Techmarines was too extreme. This paranoia, this stubborn tradition, had to be corrected.
His plan had already formed in his mind: to screen out reliable individuals through the trials of the Inner Circle, to incorporate them into the Ironwing's system, and to use the true heritage of the "Wardens of Steel" as a bargaining chip. Those minds who thirsted for knowledge and the recognition of their comrades would surely make a wise choice. And the knowledge he possessed was to ensure that he would not be deceived by lies.
"...as a fortress designed to withstand the orbital bombardment of a large fleet, its technology is all cutting-edge from ten thousand years ago. To this day, it should be one of the most powerful fortresses in the Imperium," Cypher said with a certain sense of superiority for his era. Aside from Chaos, everything from ten thousand years ago was stronger.
"One of?" A Wolf Guard, unusually tall and with shoulders almost as wide as two ordinary Space Marines, pushed through the crowd and couldn't help but ask, "Which other fortress in the Imperium today can compare with the Fang?" At his waist, a runic power maul bumped against his armour with his movements, as if to echo his master's question.
"..." Azrael wanted to be humorous and say the Fortress of Hera, which the Ultramarines used to protect their Primarch. But considering the other's size, and the probability of him leaving Fenris alive after saying that, he chose a safer answer.
"The Imperial Palace on Terra," Azrael said calmly, before Cypher could speak. To be honest, after hearing so many of Lord Ramesses's jokes about Terra, Azrael was rather skeptical about the Palace's sturdiness. Especially after the recent great purge on Terra had proved that the other's jokes were not baseless, it had made him have no small amount of doubt about the professional ability of the Custodes. Many times he had imagined, with the Dark Angels' infiltration skills, if they could also have a 'say-and-go' trip in the Palace.
"...You are indeed correct," hearing Azrael's response, Arjac Rockfist's angry expression softened, his jawline gradually relaxing, and his thick fingers moved from the handle of his maul. He had accepted the other's statement.
"Well said," Cypher, who had been about to mock them, clapped Azrael on the shoulder and had another drink with him. The wolf-pups of today had fallen on hard times.
He sighed internally and couldn't help but say, "I tell you, in the Great Crusade era, these wolves would have stubbornly said that the Fang was stronger than the Imperial Palace, because their gene-father had well and truly defeated the Emperor." This was the proudest achievement of the sons of Russ. Leman Russ had defeated the Emperor in a drinking and eating contest! Twice! Could any other Primarch do that?
Bjorn was even more dejected. At the same time, he secretly swore that in the future, he would have to tell the wolf-pups this story properly. And these Dark Angels... you must be showing off, showing off, right?! If not for the fact that a Dreadnought duel was a bit like bullying, Bjorn would have loved to drag this familiar bastard up for a fight. He instinctively wanted to grab a horn and take a swig. The Dreadnought's claws pierced through the table.
"..."
Looking at the wolf-pups who had come up to ask him what was wrong, Bjorn noticed that one of them still had the foam of a Macraggean ale on his lips, which was now rolling down onto his own claw with his movements. He then looked at the Dark Angels, who were drinking and talking merrily. No father, no peers, no similar living conditions. It was like an old man, alone, half-buried in a coffin, still having to worry about the survival of his juniors, being compared to a peer who had a father who could hold up the sky, juniors who were full of talent, was in his prime and free, and was still accompanied by his comrades.
Bjorn was about to shut himself down.
"By the way, Arthur, is that technology of yours complete yet?" Ramesses, who had been watching the show, couldn't help but ask, seeing Bjorn's miserable state.
"The full-body re-cultivation technology?" Following Ramesses's gaze and seeing Bjorn's 'I might as well just die' look, Arthur confirmed.
The Dawnbreakers did not use Dreadnoughts. After all, a Dreadnought was a very torturous thing, and in terms of performance, it would be replaced by the Wraith-constructs. And a seriously wounded warrior was usually sealed in a stasis field, or was first 'dead' and stored in the 'Belisarian Furnace,' one of the Primaris Astartes' surgical organs, which was used to store a soul, until Ramesses had figured out the principle of how the Aeldari could be resurrected by directly entering a matching body through the warp. At that time, as long as the Belisarian Furnace was not destroyed, they could have an extra life by re-implanting it into a newly cultivated body.
The ritual to summon a "Stormcast" warrior was too expensive. In terms of efficiency, it was not as good as training an Astartes from scratch. Ramesses, who had gotten into the habit of looting the warp, was often muttering about whether he should go and rob Commorragh. In terms of the technology of combining souls and reality-medicine, the Haemonculi of the Drukhari were clearly more authoritative.
And aside from the iteration of the "Stormcast" technology, Arthur's side had also begun research on the biological level. The A.I.-optimized Belisarian Furnace was too excellent. The Angels of Redemption had been conducting related technology applications and explorations, striving to give those seriously wounded warriors a new life.
"It has entered the clinical stage," Arthur replied. He looked away from Bjorn and then at Logan, whose ears had perked up. "If there is a need, I can personally perform the surgery."
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