"Oh, how beautiful Camelot has become under the Imperium," Herald said relaxedly, sitting down at a table in a restaurant in the inner quarter. "And do you like the Emperor?"
"Of course," I replied, sitting down at the table and looking out the panoramic window the size of the entire wall, courtesy of the Rangdan projectile.
— And how do you prefer to show your love for the Emperor?
- Well, I read the Imperial Truths, fight on the battlefield and shed blood for humanity. All for the sake of our Emperor, Beloved by All.
— Praise the Emperor some more.
- Well, how can I praise him? Well, the Emperor is fucking awesome. A fucking great ruler. How else can I praise him? He-he.
- And a couple more beautiful words?
- Aquila in the heart, the light of Truth in the mind.
- Thank you.
- Yes, to your health! We are all servants of the Emperor.
What can I say, from the very beginning I did not believe in any impartiality of these journalists, calling themselves chroniclers. As well as Herald, they understood perfectly well what they were doing. There is such a thing as ideology, without it the state will not survive for long. And there is also such a tool with a frightening name as propaganda. In fact, there is nothing scary in this word, because propaganda is simply the dissemination of information with the aim of forming the necessary public opinion.
And so the Imperial Truths propagated, as it were, all good against all bad. You know, no false idols, atheism, all that stuff. Rationalism at the head of the Imperium, knowledge as a way to conquer fear and free ourselves from the horrors of the Age of Strife. No belief in the supernatural, only a scientific approach and human will, capable of breaking everything. For the sake of Humanity, work three shifts, kill enemies and bring the coming of communism closer. Or not communism?
I didn't really pay attention, because they were pissing in my ears, and sometimes extremely contradictory moments would slip through. For example, faith in gods was condemned, but I definitely saw several soldiers of the Imperial Army praying to the Emperor. And it seems that the Emperor forbade calling himself a god, but in fact they swapped an awl for soap. I won't even mention that this entire system was built solely to maintain morale and furious expansion to capture the galaxy.
All these chroniclers were not telling the truth. They were allowed into military installations under strict control, showing them only what the primarchs decided. Sometimes they were not allowed out at all and were only told what had happened. Sometimes they were simply ordered to remove certain aspects, such as the presence of humans in the Rangdan camp. Yes, many human colonies survived the Age of Strife and not all of them wanted to join the Imperium. And what did the Imperium do then? Commit genocide, forcing those who disagreed by force.
And to speak about it directly in books, to write it down in history... well, you understand, only a fool would allow freedom of speech, because people are not ready for freedom as such. So, in my conversation with Herald, I passed everything through critical thinking. However, I managed to get some constructive ideas in brief.
The Great Crusade was underway, the Primarchs under the Emperor were crushing everyone's skulls, all resources and forces were thrown into conquest and if you are not with us, then you are against us and your entire planet will be slaughtered. The war against the Rangdans began quite a while ago and everyone was very surprised when they came across a Knight House on the edge of the galaxy.
We talked with Heraldry for a long time, while we were served by the staff of Galahad's bodyguards. The Chronicler was a VIP, nothing should have happened to her. And although the enemy was thrown far away from Camelot, no one could predict the reaction of the local population. Anything had happened before, anything could happen again.
So I said what they wanted to hear from me. I told them a little about my path, which formed the basis of the Herald's records about Alba. And then, by the end of the third day of my rest, I was summoned to the palace, where my full-fledged training in the management of the Knight began. This time I was given a knight-cerastus, armed with a spear and shield.
This model was perhaps not only the most difficult to master, but also the most brutal. This Cerastus Knight was designed exclusively for ruthless conquest. It did not cover the infantry, had no auxiliary weapons, it had to go into the thick of the battle and kill everything in its path. A powerful ion gauntlet provided protection, the model itself had extremely high speed and agility, and one blow of a shock spear could put an end to any duel.
That is why it was usually used by impulsive offspring of clans, accustomed to resolving disputes with duels. This model was also chosen for me for a reason, because as Moiran already said, I will fight on the front lines ahead of everyone else. After all, Moiran, although he looked much more broadly at the possibilities of subjugating the warp, understood all the risks. Therefore, he tried to immediately throw people like me into hell and study them. Will he die in battle? Surely he will be useful. Will he survive? He will die a little later before the warp breaks him.
And if I break down earlier, then destroying me will be easy, because my model fights exclusively in the vanguard, aiming at the most dangerous target and destroying it.
- So you not only survived, but also earned Moiran's favor, - Galahad himself met me in the repair bay. - I don't like him, but it's only thanks to him that we're alive. Although I liked communicating with other legionnaires more. This Moiran is too self-confident.
"Do you still think that I should be burned to avoid taking risks?" I asked bluntly, catching up with Galahad and raising my head to the towering knight.
- Your fate is no longer in my hands. In the history of Camelot, you and your name will become a collective image, and you yourself will most likely never return home.
"Yes, it will be easier for everyone," I chuckled, realizing that despite everything that had happened, my existence discredited my entire family and Galahad, who was, one way or another, my blood relative. "Don't worry, I won't come back here."
- Thank you. If you can, don't hold a grudge against me. I did and do everything for Camelot.
- Of course.
— Choose a new coat of arms and colors for yourself.
So my new life began, although I didn't die. It's just that Galahad decided to end my story. The great Mordred, the very collective image of all bastards, will remain here. Formally, my name was cleared, but in fact... in fact, I will have my own coat of arms, a new nickname, and no one will ever remember me. Well, screw them all, I don't need their gratitude and honors.
The colors were black and white, like the eleventh legion. I used a skull as a coat of arms, so as to never forget about imminent death and calmly await it. Many regiments and legions did this, marking themselves with signs of death. A kind of preparation for death. Living surrounded by skulls and scythes, you somehow look at this very death differently, you are not afraid of it and you endure the deaths of your comrades more calmly.
Percival himself acted as a teacher. Ground operations proceeded as usual, the encircled enemy was completely exterminated, so some of the knights went to the rear to lick their wounds, solve the problems of their fiefs, and also pass on their experience to the new generation. Many pilots died in battle, some of the youngsters were completely broken by the Machines due to not very strict selection at the time of preparation for the end of Camelot.
In addition, Moiran gave the order to prepare all forces for a throw into another system, so while the space marines were working at the front, the freed forces were preparing for war. Total mobilization continued, military factories were working around the clock, but at least there was no more panic. In many ways, this was due to the chroniclers, because as soon as the common people saw them, they immediately understood that since these civilians were allowed into the city, it was unlikely that missiles would fly here or someone would strike the city from orbit. Everything was under control.
- Slowly! Your model is faster than mine! - Percival's dissatisfied voice constantly sounded from the speakers in the cabin.
We fought quite fiercely, but our weapons were at minimum power. Therefore, although the blows of my spear raised a menacing roar, Percival did not receive any damage, and vice versa. At worst, dents remained, and the paint was scratched.
Sword versus spear, it would seem that the sword had a huge advantage, but it was not worth drawing any parallels with human combat. Rather, the opposite, the spear was much better, it's just that Percival and his family devoted their entire lives to fencing. Hereditary swordsmen, they fought perfectly with swords both outside the Knight and in it, passing on and accumulating knowledge from generation to generation.
And the battles with Percival were truly important because of this, because the longer I fought him, the better I understood the advantages of his knight and my weaknesses/strengths.
- Well done, that's it! Remember that the Knight's hands are superior to human ones! - Percival continued to give advice, twirling his sword. - How do you feel?!
"It's fine, why?" I answered, trying to get used to my new hands.
— Doesn't the car put pressure on you?
- Not at all.
- So you're a good candidate.
Yes, sometimes all sorts of things could happen to pilots. Mostly they were cuckoo. Some were faster, some were slower, it all depended on the pilots themselves. However, one way or another, I came from a family of hereditary pilots, so apparently there were no surprises with my genetics. Moreover, I had almost no side effects after using the Knight. This was good, but the lack of time was already upsetting.
Things were not going well for the Imperium. Communicating with other pilots, with soldiers, sometimes exchanging words even with the captain of the first company of the Fatebringers who was watching me, I learned more and more about the current state of affairs. So the victory in the Alba system turned out to be meaningless. Yes, we managed to batter the alien fleet, but it was small and most of the ships retreated. The ground forces, although significant, were only within the framework of one planet.
This victory had no strategic value, except perhaps to gain another knightly house as an ally. However, this move created an extremely unpleasant opportunity for the enemy. The Primarch of the Death Guard, Mortarion, pursued the retreating enemy, intending to finish them off, but fell into a trap. Only the intervention of the Space Wolves saved the Imperium from a crushing defeat. However, the damage suffered was still too great a wound.
The enemy was rapidly taking the initiative in the war, something had to be done, and the more fears grew, the more forces were thrown into the Halo Stars. More and more Space Marine forces were urgently being drawn here. Moiran was considering the most radical ways to win, and the Emperor was paying more and more attention to this war, which indicated that Rangda was the most serious problem in the entire galaxy.
However, I was worried about something completely different. I slept for four hours, in the morning there were army training sessions to strengthen the body and master the technological prosthesis, then lunch and training until late evening in the Knight. There was no time for rest at all and at best I managed to catch my breath while Percival devoted time to other pilots. However, even completely exhausted, I lay in bed and thought about what happened that day, in the battle with the demon prince.
That enormous will that was capable of suppressing such a powerful being, forcing Tzeentch to retreat and even calming a huge warp storm… I did not even see the bearer of that will, but I was already ready to say goodbye to life, having experienced incredible torment, incomparable even to the tortures of the inquisitor. Or maybe comparable, this fragment of my memory was sealed in the chambers of the mind to preserve my own sanity.
"Perhaps it is the Emperor himself?" the bird suggested, speaking directly into my mind.
- Then why is he hiding? Judging by the stories of Heraldry, he, on the contrary, personally appears before the new world at the first convenient opportunity. After all, his personal presence alone is enough to bring the world to agreement. They immediately recognize him as their leader, and more often than not, they call him a god. And he does nothing about it.
- Then I don't even know who else can compete with Tzeentch. Although maybe he left on his own? Well, he just wanted to, hid and strategically retreated. By the way, he's still silent.
— Perhaps. But either way, the wielder of that will drove away Slaanesh, shut down its storm, and turned the Daemon Prince into a punching bag.
- And immediately after that, Moiran struck. So the primarch and the owner of that will acted together. One disarmed, the other landed and destroyed everyone while they were still there. Although the weaker demons died right away. I almost died too.
- Can you really die?
- I don't know. It depends on what you mean by death.
- Will you be reborn?
- Everything is reborn. Law of conservation of energy. Nothing disappears without a trace.
— Will memory and personality be preserved?
- No, most likely I will be devoured by more dangerous demons, unless of course I get back to the safe crystal garden by the will of Tzeentch.
- What is the meaning of your life?
"I don't know," the bird admitted honestly, and then answered with the same coin: "And yours?"
Because of such moments, I slept even less and worse. The unspoken and uncertainties caused anxiety and apprehension. It was as if the sword of Damocles hung over me and only one horsehair separated me from death. It could break at any moment and that would be it, my head would fly off my shoulders, and I would also die, perhaps for the last time. On the one hand, this had its advantages, but on the other… the fear of death returned. And because of my habituation to immortality, this fear became even stronger.
So, after the first week of training in mastering the Knight, the captain of the first company of the Fatebringers came to me. Without further ado, he took me away from the morning training and led me to the field camp of the Eleventh Legion. After all, in addition to learning to control the Knight, I needed to train my psychic potential. Many other "gifted" were gathered there.
Everything was done in secrecy and not even all the legionaries knew about what was happening. It was a so-called fraternal lodge. It was recommended to create it by one of the captains of the Word Bearers Legion. A place where the space marines could rest and relax, communicate with each other as... as brothers or friends, where for a short moment the war and rigid subordination ceased to exist.
Thus, the company captains could understand the mood in their ranks, and the primarch became closer to his legion. Moiran liked this idea immediately and agreed, but for some reason the Word Bearers quickly retreated, and the essence of the lodge began to change in favor of another goal. At secret meetings, everyone could talk about what was on their minds, and somehow quickly issues emerged that worried almost all the space marines and the primarch.
What was their purpose? Yes, the question would seem stupid, because they were created for war. However, war was so multifaceted and complex. Each legion was different in some way, some were masters of assaults, some of defense, some were masters of sabotage, and others of lightning attacks. And why was the Eleventh Legion needed if it was no different from the others? Why were resources spent on it when they could have been given to the same Ultramarines or Luna Wolves?
The Emperor had clearly created the Eleventh Legion for a specific purpose. And one day, after a long conversation with Lorgar, Moiran came to his Legion and gave an answer. That day, the Eleventh Legion was renamed the Fatebringers. The Emperor did not give an answer, and Lorgar, though he was the better thinker, could not answer the question either.
And then Moiran himself decided to determine his purpose and the purpose of the legion.
"The Emperor considers us unprepared for the truth, but we will prove the opposite with our actions," Moiran began the lodge meeting with the same words, addressing both his sons and the people. "We will walk this path to the very end, continuing the deeds of those who fell before, gathering experience for the next. In spite of everything, we will prove that our existence is not... not a mistake ."
Moiran said the last word as if he had swallowed a lump in his throat. It seemed very strange to me, and some of those present took this word rather painfully. At that moment, it seemed to me that it was about the attitude of the other Legions and my father towards Moiran and his Space Marines, who did not stand out from the others.
However, the matter turned out to be something completely different, something I least expected.
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