Chapter 457: So, What If We Are Tired?
The Lion departed with an unprecedented sense of mission.
Going with him were Calgar and other contemporary commanders of the Ultramarines.
Ten thousand years had brought one good thing: in the 30k era, there were plenty who dared to talk back to Primarchs or even disobey them, especially from different Legions. Captains giving other Primarchs attitude was not uncommon.
But after ten thousand years of divine consecration, Primarchs had suddenly transformed from Legion Masters and Gene-fathers into Sons of God. Even Astartes from other Legions would inevitably choose to obey subconsciously.
Letting the Lion command the Ultramarines—this was unthinkable ten thousand years ago.
"I think this is mostly due to you, my Lords," Drakus said to Romulus while handing over documents, his gaze lingering briefly on Thiel, who was pretending to be a statue.
As an elder who had lived through that era and now looked back on history, forming a complete image of the 30k Primarchs through the analysis of the Lords, he knew that Imperial demigods were not completely gods; they each had their own character flaws.
And many were fatal.
In the view of the Grand Seneschal of the Ultramarines, the Dawnbreakers had made a good start, successfully turning the fantasies of countless humans about Primarchs over ten thousand years into reality, making the later Primarchs better accepted.
"Ah, you can't say that. People grow," Romulus waved his hand, knowing what Drakus was referring to.
"Indeed," Drakus nodded.
Then he watched the Lion leave with many Astartes of various bloodlines.
"Times are indeed very different," he sighed softly.
If it were the sharp and aggressive Lion of ten thousand years ago, would he have waited for them to finish discussing Guilliman's resurrection before speaking? He probably would have taken military command early on and gone to do what he thought was right.
Unlike now, carefully analyzing the situation, soliciting opinions, and then choosing to leave, not even intending to ask about logistics.
"Everything is developing in a good direction."
Romulus put down a report on the Sotha Sector.
"Still no movement from the Pharos beacon?"
He pointed to the planet Sotha in the west of Greater Ultramar on the report, confirming again.
This unique planet became the Astronomican of Imperium Secundus on the other side of the galaxy ten thousand years ago, and was finally destroyed under the siege of the Night Lords. Now it was just an ordinary agri-world.
Based on the information Romulus held and verification from Trazyn, it was proven that inside the Pharos beacon was a Supreme C'tan formed by the combination of multiple C'tan Shards.
This was undoubtedly a time bomb for Macragge, especially in the current grim situation. The Dawnbreakers had been guarding against whether Chaos would do something with this, like releasing it to cause destruction.
After all, if the bomb exploded, Chaos could run back to the Warp in a flash, but so many planets in Ultramar couldn't grow legs and run.
"No. The Scythes of the Emperor have maintained surveillance on the ruins after evacuating the civilians. There are no signs of C'tan Shard or Necron activity in the ruins. However, in the Chaos invasion zone, we have detected traces of the Nightbringer again," Drakus replied.
It was no secret to the current Imperial high command that C'tan Shards sealed by the Necrons had been breaking seals and operating across the galaxy over millions of years. The popularization of C'tan information also explained many historical mysteries of human colonies.
Ultramar had always had traces of the Nightbringer's activities since entering the 41st Millennium.
The Nightbringer, the strongest C'tan, symbolizing death in the material universe, and the prototype of the Grim Reaper in countless galactic civilizations' myths. Tricked by the Eldar in the War in Heaven, it permanently lost its weapon, and was shattered into shards during the subsequent Necron revolt.
According to Inquisition forces hunting C'tan Shards who held relevant clues, this shard's goal was to retrieve its scythe lost in the Warp to restore some power.
For this reason, the opponent had been active on planets with Necron ruins, including many human colonies, causing countless casualties.
"..."
Romulus had some impression of this shard. Ultramar had always been a disaster area for C'tan Shards. C'tan escape events appeared several times just during the Indomitus Crusade launched in the 41st Millennium.
And the threat of this shard was historically solved by the invincible Ultramarines 4th Company Captain, Uriel Ventris.
Recalling the specific process a bit, and thinking of the posture when they recovered the World Shaper on Dawnstar back then, a strained expression appeared on Romulus's face.
To this day, we still don't know how a C'tan Shard capable of easily destroying a planet's life was shattered by bolters.
'It must be the Emperor's might!'
"I'll let Arthur go guard it first—have the relevant materials been reported?" Romulus asked, consulting the data provided by the Inquisition.
Drakus replied immediately: "All released to combat units."
"Same for the Lion," he added, fearing he wasn't clear.
"Good."
Romulus pondered slightly while looking at the star map, flipping through the hazard range of attacks caused by relevant shards, sent the relevant information to the Lion, and then thought of the Lion's combat power, breathing a sigh of relief.
The most reassuring thing about a Primarch as a military core was that this core was very stable and didn't fear duels and beheading strikes much—
Except for individual Primarchs.
Romulus closed the book "The Emperor's Recognition of the Legitimacy of Imperium Secundus" prepared by Ramesses for Guilliman.
It fully combined the contemporary universal values of the Ecclesiarchy, recognizing Sanguinius's decisions as the Emperor's heir during the Imperium Secundus period, recognizing Guilliman's status as Regent, the Lion's status as Lord Protector, and recognizing the maintenance and supplementary role of Imperium Secundus in human history.
Just waiting for Guilliman to wake up and acknowledge these before he was fully lucid.
In short, for Primarchs who were clear about their own essence, whether it was their own combat power or professional ability, they were among the top existences in both the material universe and the Warp. One could safely entrust them with what they were best at.
Ding~
In the independent communication channel belonging to the Primarchs, the message that the Lion had finished reading the information came.
At the same time, a faint echo came from the sky, shocking the drifting clouds in Ultramar's azure sky into rings. That was the sound transmitted back through the space elevator when the near-earth orbit fleet departed.
Without much delay, the Lion met commanders at all levels, and then accepted everything easily.
The fleet set sail.
Amidst the brief and peaceful handover, this war machine centered on Macragge would operate again under the leadership of a new brain.
In a more efficient way.
"Next, it's time to get busy again, everyone."
Not surprised by this speed, Romulus looked around.
In this office that could be described as vast, all he saw were humans.
Astartes, mortal executives.
Heavy typewriters and communication equipment were like shackles, firmly confining them to their posts.
Why?
Why try so hard?
These people all looked up, briefly putting aside the information occupying their brains, facing him.
Tigurius, dressed in grey robes, came to the command level with a dozen colleagues. Everyone looked equally haggard, deep in a state that could be called torture.
And Tigurius's own expression seemed numb. Since being entrusted with unprecedented responsibilities, it could be said that the entire Ultramar had been pressuring him, often expressing dissatisfaction with his every slight slackness.
The reason was reasonable.
Based on everything they created now, this pressure had lessened over time, and Tigurius never complained.
But besides this, there was something else, not entirely a test.
Perhaps all this was more of a tempering, like a blacksmith needing to strike harder to forge a divine weapon.
"It's almost over."
Romulus told him directly.
"Everything that can be done has been done. Every delay, every counterattack, every preemptive strike. Now our support has arrived. Our predicament will end soon, then the cause of the predicament, then the rest."
Seeing hope, Tigurius's expression did not waver at all; only a firm undertone appeared in his eyes.
"Faster than we hoped."
Romulus said: "Very fast, but the war will not end yet. The form of battle will change. We will counterattack Chaos. The teams are in place."
Everyone remained silent.
"So, please let us encourage each other."
Romulus told them.
Everyone nodded again.
No one else would notice that besides habitual devotion to duty, there was something else in their eyes.
For example—
Hope.
"Let's go, our dear, our best warriors belonging to humanity."
Romulus always looked at these tired administrative staff under his command: "Now go do what we are best at, and should do. Go, take charge of all this, take your colleagues, help them. Outside, they will be deaf and blind alone, tired and hungry, so they need our help."
Hearing this, Tigurius, who had been in long-term numbness, almost smiled.
They had given everything.
They were exhausted, running on fumes, making the entire Macragge impregnable.
Now the Dawnbreakers were here, and the Lion was here...
Regardless, they were lucky.
The Astartes stood up first. They supported the administrative staff who were slightly clumsy due to carrying huge auxiliary equipment, and left together.
Their efforts were rewarded.
They could see the feedback of their work, not fear.
Not stone sinking into the sea after bouts of numb calculations, waiting for years, as if their painstaking efforts had never been recognized by this world.
When the Primarch issued orders, witnessing victories in wars, witnessing the improvement of various data in the files, witnessing letters sent back from afar by their descendants and relatives, telling themselves that their lives were slowly getting better.
Like parched earth being nourished, they almost craved this feeling. Whenever their fingers touched the pen tip, every beat of their hearts made them feel they were truly alive.
Now they were still afraid.
Afraid of the Primarch leaving again, afraid of making mistakes themselves.
They feared that the moment they relaxed, they would never grasp the future again.
So, what if we are tired?
Subsequently, the Death Guard relied on twenty-one faint lights to fumble forward in a pallid expanse.
Bloated figures, stumbling like lost children.
The Endurance had become too strange now.
The interior was refilled with extra virus equipment. Theoretically, if the enemy was about to break through the outer protective deck, the protocol would initiate a power cut and fill them with flame-retardant chemicals. In this case, the Endurance would lose certain naval gun strike capabilities after being invaded, but such behavior could also maximize the killing of enemies intruding into it.
The inner side was increasingly impregnable, a bit like the work of the Iron Warriors. The periphery was a pure meat grinder, the inside a gladiator arena.
Some Death Guard always felt this was too cautious.
A typical example of the Primarch's excessive caution. The Death Guard knew their gene-father left so much redundancy in every operation that the Legion's true power was difficult to unfold, and the results achieved were not impressive.
But now they had seen the enemy.
These survivors, along with countless attackers, had witnessed how the defense forces of Greater Ultramar rampaged among them.
It was not the weapons they mastered, or the power the False Emperor endowed them with that was terrifying, although those were already scary. What surprised the Death Guard most was their ferocity, and the precision hidden under that ferocity.
Completely different from the style of Romulus or others in the past.
Crack~
With the sound of dead wreckage breaking, Morarg led the Death Guard team to push open the gate.
This was an offensive extending from east to west. The speed of advancement was extraordinary. Ripples spread from where those damned dogs of the False Emperor had just stepped.
Those delaying areas they conquered, which obtained Warp blessings through sacrifices to the Grandfather and should have taken months to overcome, were suppressed within days, then crushed. This appalling scene shattered all the cover plans carefully arranged by the attackers.
The troops sent to counter this offensive were all crushed.
Morarg once thought that any Death Guard Grand Company would be an impeccable existence for the Ultramar defenders. The form and weight of this weapon, shaped by the Great Grandfather, were so terrifying now that its mere appearance should be enough to quell anything imaginable.
But seeing them destroyed—not heavily damaged, but blocked, slaughtered, and then dead in organized units...
What he saw could not be described in words, as if the one swinging the blade in front of them was not another similar Legion, but the Executioner.
This familiar flavor made those ten-thousand-year veterans from the 30k era instinctively panic.
They were caught off guard. Adding fuel to the fire, the offensive still made little progress.
And what hindered them was not only the Warp power they had always relied on, which had now become quite unstable, but also the courage of the defenders.
Whenever the Death Guard tore through the defense fleet and entered a planet, waves of despair surged, shrouding everyone's heart. Men stood on high walls fighting to the death, every step so difficult. Women used their lives to transport supplies, maintaining increasingly weak production, and then cut their own throats with bayonets before defeat.
The Legion's internal thoughts fell into chaos. Death Guards were dying all the time, and according to those sorcerers, they didn't see familiar figures in the Garden either. Lord Mortarion actively spoke to maintain order, but internal doubts were still accumulating.
But now, the situation became precarious.
Communication instructions could not be executed. Auspex readings deeply polluted by the Warp deviated hugely. Reports spat out by Daemonhosts were full of nonsense.
Those daemons... The Death Guard had to send armed teams to supervise their work, supervise and protect them, ensure they could complete tasks, and then personally go into battle under Mortarion's leadership to confirm everything, and find ways to ensure these daemons wouldn't go mad or commit suicide during this period, or be replaced by the power of the Changeling.
Thus, their speed was dragged down, stuck in the mire.
This was the decisive weakness.
They were too slow, and the enemy was too fast. Suddenly everything was imminent.
This made everyone realize a terrifying thing.
The Legion that destroyed Perturabo, the Dawnbreakers Legion along with Perturabo himself, had returned, along with that Executioner from ten thousand years ago!
A meeting was held on a wasteland that had been completely destroyed. A group of officers and retinues who could still maintain self-awareness gathered together, stepping onto this ship that gradually made them feel fear during the war.
A terrifying shadow was at the other end of the conference room.
This panicked many Death Guards. They gathered on the other side of the bridge. Morarg was one of them.
Out of exhaustion, he stayed beside Mortarion, observing the first sign of order born from disorder through painful eyes. He seemed to have never seen such signs in his life.
"You are afraid!"
The Nightbringer asked the question in a fierce, low voice.
"You want to betray?"
Mortarion answered in the same tone, terrifying power surrounding him.
With rumors spreading, the older the warbands, the more they feared that person's arrival. Stable hierarchy could not be established at all, only the suppression of the Primarch's authority. But even he didn't know exactly which team was where, which Chaos warband successfully crossed the impregnable Macragge defense line, which Grand Company under his command completed its breakthrough mission.
But this still had meaning. With the accumulation of death, Warp waves were forming in the tide. This was a natural rhythm belonging to life. Death began to condense on the Primarch presiding over this war, also gathering strength for the final attack like gathering power.
"No, before getting my scythe back, I won't."
The Nightbringer's voice was very low. This ancient existence looked with interest at the Death Lord who seemed to come from another world.
"But you need to speed up. I don't know why you fear that inferior creation, but I must remind you of one thing. That one is arriving. I can't understand other things, but the thing you call Arthur is definitely a complete C'tan."
He reminded matter-of-factly, also lamenting the oddity of this era.
Stuffing Warp entities into material shells as combat weapons was one thing; it wasn't unseen. But brainwashing a complete C'tan into this appearance, actually mixing into an inferior race to act as a human...
The creatures of this era really stopped at nothing for war. If the Old Ones had the determination of that so-called Emperor, they might not have been exterminated.
The ancient existence couldn't help but lament that the version updates were becoming increasingly exaggerated.
"Heh, why do you assert so?"
Regarding this 'ally' evaluating the Lion like this, Mortarion, who participated in the Rangdan Xenocides, just took it as farting. These transcendent lives of the material universe always liked to find some sense of superiority over them.
He rested one hand on Morarg's shoulder, as if gaining strength through this few surviving son.
Obviously, this Death Lord did not behave as calmly as he seemed regarding the recent war situation.
"Because he is unrestricted. He remains lucid, and wields his power freely."
The Nightbringer didn't seem to see Mortarion's mockery.
"As for other shards, it's like you creatures having a part of your brain lobotomized. Even if consciousness remains clear, and you know how to do it, you just can't do it."
"You cannot let the situation drag on until his arrival. In that case, I will choose to withdraw."
"I know."
Mortarion waved his hand irritably, having no mood to explain to this ally how powerful the Lion was and who they were facing now.
He looked around.
Inside the Endurance's increasingly pale assembly hall, which lacked much of the stench, many names were no longer mentioned. Their absence would become eternal.
Were they bogged down in battle elsewhere, or already dead?
Only Mortarion knew.
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