Chapter 91: The Lion's Hunt Begins
The Master of Mankind stood watch on the command spire of the Emperor's Grand Design, staring into the void.
The battleship's steel spine stretched before him, its massive gun towers and fortress-monasteries forming the backbone of a metal beast.
A dozen vessels sailed toward the Mandeville Point at the galaxy's rim, their plasma drives cutting blue trails across space.
Four of his gene-sons travelled among those ships, heading for the Great Crusade's forward lines.
"They should fare well enough," the Emperor murmured, though uncertainty moved through his psychic presence like distant thunder.
The Raven perched on his golden shoulder with casual disrespect, tilting its head in amusement. "You sound like an anxious father watching his children leave for their first campaign."
"By genetics, I am exactly that." The Emperor's reply carried defensive notes that would have surprised those who knew him only as the cold architect of human destiny.
"Such obvious emotion from one who claims detachment," the Raven observed with pointed humor.
"I remember your protests about viewing your creations as mere tools, yet you show clear reluctance to risk those you claim not to love."
The creature's tone grew serious, memories of alternate timelines bleeding through its casual manner.
"During the final confrontation with Horus, you nearly fell to the Warp's embrace rather than let Sanguinius remain in danger. Even when corruption threatened your soul, you hesitated before striking down Ollanius Persson, a mortal who had opposed you, even wounded you during the Babel Incident. Yet still you held back."
The Emperor's golden features tightened slightly. "Valdor," he called to his equerry, "contact Malcador. Several agricultural research projects need immediate termination."
The Raven's eyes blazed with sudden fury. "You dare threaten my potato and tomato programs?" Small talons extended as the creature launched itself at the Master of Mankind's face.
"I will not stand for such betrayal, tyrant! Valdor, summon the Legio Custodes - the Emperor has revealed his treacherous nature!"
Constantine Valdor, the First of the Ten Thousand and Shield of the Emperor, served as the first Chief Custodian and Captain General of the Legio Custodes, the Emperor's elite bodyguard.
A veteran of a thousand campaigns and witness to countless crises, he suddenly found the void's stellar formations utterly fascinating. "Magnificent," he declared with theatrical wonder. "These stars look like precious gems scattered across midnight silk."
'I cannot handle this,' he thought desperately. 'One threatens agricultural research, the other demands I mobilize the Imperial Guard against their creator. Both are forces of nature, and I am merely mortal.'
If he contacted the Sigillite to terminate the research projects, the Raven would undoubtedly assign him to guard some impossibly valuable pond, one that the creature would create from nothing if Terra lacked suitable bodies of water.
If he tried to mobilize forces against the Emperor... his mind recoiled from such an impossible thought.
"Peace," the Emperor declared, raising his hands. "The agricultural projects remain untouched."
Only then did the Raven cease its assault, settling back with ruffled dignity.
"However," the Master of Mankind continued, "you must moderate your criticism of my character."
"I shall criticize as I see fit," the Raven replied with defiance. "I am the supreme architect of Imperial policy, and you have no authority to constrain my observations."
"Then I shall pursue more productive work in the laboratories," the Emperor stated, turning toward the chamber's exit. "The Marvel technologies need integration with our existing systems."
"An excellent idea," the Raven agreed, wings rustling with renewed enthusiasm. "I shall accompany you. My own research into optimal tuber preparation and fermented tomato enhancement demands attention."
In the cold vastness between stars, Lion El'Jonson stood before an armored viewport, watching the Fourth Expedition Fleet's formation dwindle with distance.
The magnificent vessels, each a cathedral of war capable of reducing worlds to ash, appeared as mere specks against infinity's backdrop. Soon, even these vanished beyond the naked eye's reach.
Separation carried its own weight, regardless of its temporary nature. The Primarch felt the pull of his absent gene-brothers' companionship, the familiar corridors of the Emperor's Grand Design, and the sense of belonging that came with proximity to those who shared his elevated nature.
Behind him stood silent companions: Astelan of Terra, his features bearing the stern nobility of humanity's birthworld, and Luther of Caliban, the man who had found him in dark forests and raised him to lordship.
Neither spoke, understanding that some griefs required quiet acknowledgement rather than empty consolation.
When the last traces of the fleet faded beyond sight, Lion turned from the viewport. His expression resumed the marble composure that marked him as the First Legion's master, sorrow banished behind walls of duty and determination.
"Summon the Fourth Fleet's operational records," he commanded. "I would review Commander Seran's disposition before our arrival."
His destination lay with the Fourth Expedition Fleet, a formation dominated by Dark Angels gene-stock and commanded by one of the Legion's most distinguished veterans.
Hector Seran had carved his reputation in the blood of the Imperium's earliest victories, a warrior who had stormed the gene-cults of Luna, shattered the Aral Dynasty on Jupiter's moon, and claimed over thirty worlds for the Eagle's domain.
"Commander Seran has transmitted multiple greetings expressing anticipation for your arrival," Astelan observed. "His enthusiasm suggests smooth integration with existing command structures."
"One hopes so," Lion replied, settling into the strategy chamber's central throne. Data-slates and holo-projectors surrounded him like the tools of some ancient ritual.
"Resistance would complicate our mandate and reflect poorly upon my performance in the Emperor's estimation."
The implications remained unspoken but clear. With military tribunals assigned to monitor Legion conduct, any friction between Primarch and existing command could prove problematic.
Within the Invincible Reason's strategium, Hector Seran studied the latest Imperial dispatches with the careful attention of a veteran who had survived three decades of warfare.
The massive Gloriana-class battleship stretched over twenty kilometers through the void, its weapon batteries capable of sterilizing continents. Yet for all its might, it remained subject to the Imperium's evolving command structure.
"Analysis is straightforward," Seran addressed his assembled officers. "The Emperor desires his gene-sons at war's forefront, but not as absolute autocrats within their own Legions."
The deployment of both Primarch and military tribunal spoke to careful planning, a system of mutual oversight designed to prevent the concentration of power that might breed independence.
"Does this restriction apply solely to the First Legion?" inquired Captain Merir, his scarred features betraying concern.
"Negative. All Expedition Fleets will receive tribunal oversight." Seran's tone carried absolute certainty. "Our authority to impose summary punishment ends with their arrival. Disciplinary matters become tribunal jurisdiction exclusively."
The assembled officers absorbed this information with varying degrees of unease. Command structures built over decades would shift overnight, requiring careful adaptation.
"Perhaps this represents strengthening rather than restriction," offered Chief Astropath Valdris.
"Private dueling, hazing rituals, shipboard hierarchies based on brutality rather than merit, such practices undermine unit cohesion."
"Bullying flourishes in isolated environments," agreed Master-at-Arms Korun.
"When vessels spend years between port calls, they develop their own savage customs. Strong discipline prevents such degradation."
"Speculation serves little purpose," Seran concluded. "We will evaluate these changes when our new commanders arrive. Prepare to receive them at the Bale system's translation point."
Days passed before the Warp's tides delivered Lion's flotilla to the appointed rendezvous. Reality tore like fabric as the vessels translated from the Immaterium's chaotic currents, their Gellar fields crackling with residual energy discharge.
The Fourth Fleet waited in perfect formation, a constellation of Imperial might arranged around the Invincible Reason's massive bulk.
Seran assembled his senior staff within the flagship's primary docking bay, their ceremonial armor polished to mirror brightness.
When the Primarch's Thunderhawk settled onto the deck with hydraulic precision, the commander stepped forward and dropped to one knee in formal obeisance.
"Lord Primarch, your presence honors the Fourth Fleet beyond measure."
"Rise, Commander." Lion's voice carried the authority of ancient nobility, tempered by genuine warmth. "Such formality proves unnecessary between warriors of the same cause."
Strong hands lifted Seran to his feet with surprising gentleness. "Forgive my delayed arrival. I requested assignment to your command repeatedly, but commanders refused me pending other considerations."
"No apology required," Lion replied, adjusting the commander's cloak with paternal care.
"Duty demands no justification. Rather, I must thank you; your victories reflect well upon our Legion's reputation, enhancing my standing among my brothers."
"To serve your glory remains my highest privilege," Seran answered, genuine pleasure evident in his weathered features.
"Come then," the Primarch gestured toward the bay's exit. "Brief me regarding the Bale system while we walk."
Within the Invincible Reason's primary strategium, holographic displays painted the local star system in blue light. Seran stood before the projection, indicating key tactical points while his audience absorbed the intelligence.
"Multiple colonial settlements exist throughout the system," he began, his voice carrying the crisp precision of a military briefing.
"Technological development varies dramatically; some worlds maintain early industrial capacity, others have regressed to steam-powered machinery or even more primitive states."
"Advanced diplomatic teams have contacted most colonies with favorable results. The majority acknowledge Imperial authority and request integration. Only Bale IV demonstrates active resistance."
Lion studied the resistant world's orbital pattern with growing interest.
The planet traced a complex figure-eight course between the system's binary stars, experiencing extreme temperature variations as gravitational forces alternately drew it close to stellar heat or flung it into the cold between suns.
"Their industrial capacity?"
"Steam Age equivalent, Lord Primarch. However, they possess ancestral weapons of unknown capability and demonstrate remarkable resolve. Our diplomatic overtures met with threats of mutual destruction should we attempt a surface landing."
"Now, I am Curious," Lion mused. "A regressed world making such bold claims suggests either desperation or hidden capabilities."
His superhuman intellect processed orbital mechanics, stellar positions, and tactical possibilities with inhuman speed.
"I shall investigate Bale IV personally," he decided. "Direct contact may reveal the source of their confidence."
The hunt had begun, and Lion El'Jonson would discover what secrets lay buried beneath a world caught between two suns.
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