Chapter 385: The Thirty-Year Plan
Woooo—
A desolate horn sounded, announcing the glorious conclusion of an epic.
Banners fluttered, blades and guns stood like a forest.
The vast City of Dawn was silent.
In the central square, two Astartes stood facing each other.
They were the last participants in this battle for glory.
Blood flowed slowly. Each pressed a hand against their blade, eyes filled with an unyielding gaze.
Technique had reached perfection. When both bodies were pushed to their limits, it became a contest of wills.
Time passed.
Silence reigned.
Iron Knights Champion Hervald Strom looked at Titus before him.
His opponent.
The final obstacle in this celebratory tournament, inherited from the rules of the Feast of Blades and spearheaded by Lord Romulus.
Titus.
Powerful, wild, a cold anger always remaining in his eyes.
Terrifying oppression.
Even though Titus was unfamiliar with the rules, even though he was more adept at battlefield slaughter, the high-intensity combat lasting over ten hours, from evening to dawn, had dragged this duel, which should have ended long ago, into the second day.
Under the influence of a potent neurotoxin capable of easily killing a mortal, they were finally deadlocked, waiting for the toxin to spread, putting their nerves to the subsequent test.
No one expected an Astartes to possess such resilience.
Gaze averted.
Was this a sign of weakness?
'There is always someone better.'
Lowering his eyes, Hervald adjusted his breathing, saying nothing.
He couldn't hold on any longer.
A familiar feeling enveloped him, the omen of reaching his limit in duel after duel.
Unwillingly, he raised his eyes and met the gaze again.
Cold, focused, angry...
Pure!
Time seemed to slow down, but the warrior still thought of nothing. Only the opponent in his eyes, always only the opponent.
Hervald had heard the stories of this warrior, learned of the glory he had experienced, heard of his unwavering resolve.
Now, he profoundly understood.
Such a soul could surely turn the tide.
His dry lips moved, but he did not persist further. His head dropped.
Below the dueling platform, dozens of recovered Astartes stood up one after another, roaring with all their might:
"Victory!!"
The roar spread far and wide, merging with the voices of the surrounding spectators, erupting into a tsunami of cheers.
"Victory!"
"Victory!"
Surging waves of sound rose one after another. It was the response of hundreds of millions to the heroes.
Men, women.
The elderly, children.
They dedicated everything they could give to this grand event.
Look, those are the warriors defending their lives, that is the power they possess, the will they embody.
Their current lives came from the sacrifice of these supermen, from the struggle of billions of human compatriots in the galaxy.
The Astartes were moved, finding it difficult to maintain their impassive expressions. The excitement brought by honor made even transcendent beings like them emotional.
Fighting to the death, isn't this public attention what they want? Just the experience of participating in this grand event is enough for them to boast about for a hundred years.
"Rise, warrior of humanity."
A proud and cold voice came from above. Titus raised his head.
Scarred, his armor without a power pack covered in hideous gashes, the toxin spreading in his chest with the pumping of his heart, bringing this body to the brink, vision blurring.
But he still rallied his spirit, standing before the Lord of Knights with the most determined posture.
The dawn light heralded his victory. Winning the championship selected from the twelve successor Chapters of the sons of Dorn in the 812th Feast of Blades, claiming the honor of this first titled battle.
This scene would probably be sung by countless people even ten thousand years later.
Watched by hundreds of millions, the Ultramarine on the high platform accepted it calmly, standing with his sword.
Consciousness began to clear. Unknown power diluted the toxin from his body. Muscles and bones, even the armor on his body gradually recovered.
He was not arrogant. This was just a temporary resolution. Many Chapter Champions had not arrived, many brave warriors were trapped by duty. The strong of the Dark Angels, Blood Angels, and other First Founding Chapters were scattered across the galaxy, devoted to various battlefields.
Titus's gaze swept over the viewing platform, the Chapter Masters from various Chapters. They also paid tribute to their Champion with complex emotions.
The Lamenters didn't come.
These good-natured folks genuinely felt they had already received supreme honor and shouldn't compete with other brothers and cousins. They should focus more on the duties bestowed upon them by this world, the things they should do better—
But this was also seen as arrogance by many.
Arthur followed the gaze, frowning slightly at the livery of some Chapters.
Frankly speaking, according to their values, they were destined to dislike the culture of some Chapters. Leaving aside the barbaric and cruel selection process of the Carcharodons in the past, the Marines Malevolent were also heavyweights among Astartes, as well as those Chapters with more or less dross.
Of course, the Dawnbreakers were not extreme enough to plan to eliminate them directly, which could easily cause another wave of replenishment for Chaos.
The attitude of the four, except for Ramesses, the guy who liked to watch the fun and shouted 'kill kill kill' every day, the remaining three decided to reform them first when actually working.
This victory celebration and titled champion battle were more about hoping to attract more Astartes to establish contact with them through honor.
Establish contact, then reform.
If reform was impossible, then they could only think of ways to disband, split, and reconstruct.
Arthur thought of the education plan within the Dawnstar Sector. In the future, they should focus on top-tier education to support the blood exchange of some Astartes Chapters, thereby further improving the overall quality of Astartes.
Then he shook his head slightly and raised his hand to signal.
Rustle~
Two Knights of the Round Table stepped forward. The container in front of them held armor.
It was cobalt blue overall, inlaid with pale gold grooves, engraved with noble but not complicated patterns, not only integrating the culture of the Ultramarines themselves but also inscribed with obscure text.
Over the heart, a line of gilded small characters was clear.
'Soul of Struggle'
The armor of every Champion would be unique. Every Chapter waited for their Champion, into which the Dawnbreakers poured their expectations.
"Armor up, warrior of humanity."
Titus nodded in response, spreading his arms. The damaged armor fell off, revealing the black carapace neural interface points and the tight bodysuit underneath.
Two Knights of the Round Table stepped forward to dress the Champion in the new armor.
Finally, the Lord of Knights picked up the helmet and personally crowned the Champion with the laurels of victory.
"For humanity."
Arthur said to Titus.
"For humanity!"
Titus thumped his chest in response.
The roar of the crowd was ceaseless.
Then the Lord of Knights left, leaving the glory of victory to the final winner.
Under the dawn light, the revitalized warrior looked around at everything, seeing the fortified city full of civilized beauty, seeing the heartfelt cheering humans, seeing the rolling steel torrent, seeing the opponents who fell under his sword, and finally focused his gaze on his own palm.
Plume fluttering, armor magnificent, sword in hand reflecting the sunlight. Whatever his future, at this moment he stood at the center of countless souls and gazes.
Everything he possessed was forged by what was before his eyes.
"For humanity!"
Titus raised his sword. He thought of what the Dawnbreakers wanted to bestow upon them. Standing here, anyone would know what this grand event bestowed upon them.
"FOR HUMANITY!!!"
"Not much time left."
Romulus flipped through the notebook in his hand, murmuring softly, his gaze lingering on the date 786.M41 for a while.
Proceeding according to the current strategy, with the passage of time, the number of qualified industrial population increases, productivity improves, military strength rises, and the overall security and productivity of the sector will get higher and higher.
The overall education level of the sector was also further improving. Personnel transported to various Chapters, Astra Militarum, Imperial Navy, and other departments would gradually influence these departments subtly, further improving internal stability.
Romulus was confident about this. After all, if the ideology wasn't superior, it naturally couldn't replace the original backward ideology. Without this confidence, they wouldn't be exporting it.
Thirty years.
Romulus calculated the time.
This was the estimated safe period.
Chaos's steps were completely disrupted, and how the opponent would play next was unpredictable. The Tyranid swarms were coming, and the Orks scattered across the galaxy were about to rise.
He looked at the reports submitted by Arthur and Karna one after another.
One focused on optimizing and improving the quality of the elite ruling class, and the other turned his attention to the vast ordinary group. Both jointly promoted the integration of supermen and mortals.
Relying on a perfect division of labor, they could further consolidate their work results.
Ramesses's current main work was to form a warp activity group with Corax. While completing a series of psychic research, he also had to advance the 'Eldar Pantheon Power Acquisition and Application Plan' and the 'Stable Wormhole Opening Plan'.
Then he needed to further advance construction, striving to double the number of warships in the Dawnstar Sector within thirty years, then diplomatic cooperation with the Eldar, clearing some Webway passages, further strengthening the response capability to emergencies.
Using these thirty years of stability to complete the final development, they wouldn't be able to fully focus on development afterwards. The future galaxy was destined to become lively.
Intercepting Hive Fleet Leviathan, launching a predatory attack on Commorragh, eliminating possible Ork rising threats, and then most importantly, Guilliman's awakening.
Romulus thought, gradually perfecting the plan in his hand.
From people's livelihood to military, from current production to future war, the sequence of projects began to be compiled gradually.
These plans must be steadily advanced within thirty years, finally providing power for the goals they wanted to achieve.
Boom~ Boom~
Cranes lifted tens of thousands of tons of materials, the sound of mechanical operation transmitted from the corridor.
The Victrix Guard waited quietly, ignoring the passage of time, silently watching another magnificent masterpiece gradually take shape in the Regent's hands.
"Let's call it—"
"'Project Centaur'."
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