Inside the Word Bearers' second flagship, the torment of the word, the initial majesty and order had long vanished, replaced by a scene of hellish carnage. The Eighth Company's boarding assault, like a red-hot iron poker, had plunged deep into the heart of the warship, causing severe necrosis.
Every inch of steel corridor became a focal point of contention. Bolter fire echoed deafeningly in the narrow spaces, and spent casings fell like rain. Chainswords and power weapons clashed, sending sparks flying, each engagement accompanied by the sound of tearing armor and splattering flesh. The Word Bearers, relying on their familiarity with the terrain and numerical superiority, counterattacked ferociously, while the warriors of the Eighth Company, led by Captain Sibilus and her adjutant, fought fearlessly, contesting every inch of ground.
They cleared out the enemy in squads, providing cover for each other, floor by floor. Some squads established temporary defensive lines at intersections, using dense firepower to block enemy charges; others engaged in brutal close-quarters melee, fighting the traitors in the most primal way within cabins and corridors. Casualties steadily mounted, blue figures intertwined with dark red corpses, but the Eighth Company's offensive remained as steadfast as a rock, pushing step by step towards the heart of the warship—the bridge.
And at the forefront of this chaotic battle, Sergeant Vik, a warrior who had transformed into an avatar of death, with an insane will that surpassed all limits, carved through layers of defenses and was the first to storm the bridge of the torment of the word!
The scene inside the bridge was equally chaotic, but more permeated by a sense of pre-apocalyptic panic. Control panels flickered with red error lights, and some crew members were frantically destroying data or attempting to initiate emergency protocols.
Vik stood at the entrance to the bridge, his appearance so wretched it was unbearable to look at. His helmet was long gone, revealing a face pale as paper from blood loss, yet contorted by a furious battle-lust. His left leg was severely wounded, a deep, bone-exposing gash extending from his thigh to his knee, caused by a vicious blow from a chain axe. He could barely support himself, unable to stand truly upright. Almost no part of his body was unscathed; his power armor was shattered, hanging on him like rags, and blood had stained him almost entirely red.
However, his bloodshot eyes, like burning coals, were fixed on the figure at the far end of the bridge, clad in the robes of a Dark Apostle—Erebus.
Erebus's mood was far more panicked than his outward appearance suggested. He had just received the thunderbolt news via the chaotic psychic network: Primarch Lorgar was banished, his body destroyed, his head severed! The main fleet had been ambushed by the Space Wolves and suffered internal betrayals, sustaining heavy losses, and had already scattered and fled!
The tide had turned!
He no longer had the will to continue fighting. He only wanted to quickly extricate himself from the current mess, lead his remaining forces back into the Warp, and plan for a future resurgence. But this Ultramarine, who had pursued him like a maggot, and who, though clearly at the end of his strength, still exuded a dangerous aura, had become a thorn he had to remove before retreating.
"Foolish and stubborn Imperial dog…" Erebus's voice came through his demonic mask, tinged with exasperation, "Your bravery is meaningless; it will only bring you a worthless death!"
He waved his staff, and the remaining Word Bearer guards and several summoned lesser daemons on the bridge slowly surrounded Vik, sealing off all possible escape routes.
Vik seemed oblivious to the surrounding threats; his eyes held only Erebus. He painstakingly adjusted his balance, slightly retracting his almost useless left leg, and gripped the hilt of his chainsword tightly with his right hand, thumb pressing the activation button.
"Whirr—!!!" The chainsword roared again, a tired but unyielding sound.
Vik raised his pale, determined face and, with all his might, let out a hoarse but thunderous roar:
"Daemon! Your end… is here!"
At the same time, on the Space Wolves' flagship, the Fang of the Wolf, which was speeding towards the battlefield, in stark contrast to the lively bustle of the bridge, was a secluded observation chamber.
Corvus Corax stood alone, silently before the massive viewport, gazing at the rapidly passing, star- and war-debris-strewn vast emptiness outside. He had removed his iconic bird-beak helmet, revealing his pale face, his pure black eyes so deep they seemed to absorb all light.
The raging war outside seemed to have nothing to do with him; his thoughts drifted to a more distant past and more hidden corners.
During the brief period after he had escaped the Eye of Terror and returned to the edge of the real universe, he had accidentally sensed an extremely faint, yet somewhat familiar, psychic fluctuation. He followed the trail and eventually found the source of the fluctuation on a barren, almost forgotten planet on the edge of Imperial territory.
It was an existence he never expected to meet—Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, the nightmare of Nostramo, Primarch of the Eighth Legion, who should have been successfully assassinated by the Imperial Inquisition ten thousand years ago.
However, what appeared before Corax was not the mad monster immersed in prophetic nightmares and terror. Curze lived in seclusion in a humble, almost primitive village, dressed in coarse cloth, leading a small group of Night Lords descendants who had also shed their madness and whose eyes were calm. They silently toiled on the barren land, cultivating a hardy root crop.
When Corax's figure appeared like a ghost on the field ridge, Curze was first startled, then revealed a complex and bitter smile, a smile that held both relief and a resigned acceptance. He put down his farm tool and looked at Corax calmly, as if saying, "You finally came, to end this long exile." He thought Corax had been sent by the Imperium to finish off him, "the one who should have been dead."
Ten thousand years had passed, and even a soul as extreme and twisted as Konrad Curze seemed to have had his edges smoothed. The former paranoia, cruelty, and fear of fate seemed to have settled into a deep weariness and indifference.
Corax looked at this brother, so different from his memory, and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he just slowly spoke the other's name in his deep voice:
"Konrad…"
There was no drawing of swords, no questioning of the past, not even superfluous conversation. Just this one call seemed to encompass ten thousand years of time and complex, unspeakable emotions.
Upon hearing this call, Curze's body trembled slightly, and an indescribable light flashed in his eyes, but in the end, he merely nodded gently, picked up his farm tool again, turned around, and continued his silent labor, as if Corax had never appeared.
Corax did not linger either; his figure, as silently as he had arrived, merged into the shadows and left the planet. He knew that some brothers had chosen to completely bid farewell to the past, existing in a way he could not understand, but also did not need to disturb.
His thoughts drifted back, and Corax recalled another unexpected encounter—deep within the intricate Webway left by the ancient Eldar.
He had not deliberately entered the Webway, but while hunting a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, he had accidentally stumbled into a relatively stable area. There, he encountered a unique cavalry force. They rode modified anti-gravity bikes, moving at extreme speed, coming and going like the wind. The leading knight was agile, wearing goggles that obscured half his face, but his unique aura and psychic signature instantly allowed Corax to recognize his identity—Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars.
The Khan also recognized Corax, and the two Primarchs exchanged brief words in the silent Webway. The Khan told him that he was not lost within the Webway as Imperial records stated, but had actively chosen to remain. He was weary of the Imperium's bureaucratic rigidity and Terra's endless politics; the vast unknown territories of the Webway and the freedom to roam suited his nature, which sought speed and liberty. He and his White Scars had become rangers of the Webway, guarding these ancient ruins while also staying far from the turmoil of the Imperium.
The Khan's words resonated with some of the thoughts of Russ, and even Corax himself. The Imperium's body was already decaying, and even Primarchs, as powerful as they were, found it incredibly difficult to set it right, and might even be dragged down by it. Choosing to leave was perhaps a helplessness, but also a liberation.
"Lord Raven Lord." A respectful voice interrupted the Raven Lord's contemplation. A Space Wolves Wolf Guard stood at the observation chamber door, maintaining his distance, his tone full of awe, "We are about to arrive in the star system where the Ultramarines' flagship is located. Lord Russ requests your presence on the bridge."
Corax withdrew his thoughts from distant memories, and his pure black eyes regained their usual coldness and serenity. He slowly put on his bird-beak helmet, once again concealing all emotions beneath the shadows.
"Understood." He responded faintly, his figure gradually fading, and the next moment he had vanished from the observation chamber, as if he had never been there.
The war outside continued, and he would continue to fulfill his duty as a shadow.
Just as the atmosphere on the torment of the word's bridge solidified to its extreme, and Sergeant Vik, dragging his broken body, prepared to launch a final, almost suicidal charge against the Dark Apostle Erebus, the entire warship, and indeed the entire void battlefield, felt new changes.
From a distant direction came a long, wild wolf howl that was not transmitted through a medium but acted directly on the soul! This howl was not from a lone wolf, but from hundreds, thousands, converging into a surging tide proclaiming victory and arrival!
Immediately after, the Word Bearers, Black Legion, and other Chaos warband warships in the void that were still stubbornly resisting or attempting to besiege the Macragge's Honour, plunged into even greater chaos, like an ant's nest doused with boiling water. They no longer attacked, even abandoning hard-won gains, overloading their engines, turning frantically, and fleeing desperately towards the Warp jump points!
The main fleet of the Space Wolves had arrived!
The figures of the wolf pack appeared in the void; the grey warships, like hungry wolves scenting blood, ferociously pounced on the fleeing Chaos vessels. The artillery fire intensified, but this time, it was the loyalists' relentless hunt of the traitors.
Lorgar Aurelian's grand crusade, meticulously planned to annihilate Ultramar, abruptly drew to a close with his own beheading and the disastrous rout of his main fleet, due to the unexpected intervention of two Primarchs who had been missing for ten millennia.
Inside the torment of the word, this sudden turn of events instantly demoralized the remaining Word Bearers.
"Retreat! Everyone retreat!"
"Back to the landing craft! Hurry!"
Panic spread like a plague. The Word Bearers, who had been stubbornly resisting, abandoned their positions one after another, scrambling towards the nearest hangar or escape pod entrance, desperate to flee the warship that was about to be completely captured.
Captain Sibilus of the Eighth Company, leading her remaining warriors, fought her way through the final obstacles, finally reaching the bridge area. What they saw was a scene of devastation: control panels spewed black smoke, the floor was covered with the corpses of Word Bearers and daemons, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and ozone.
And in the center of this devastation, a figure, like a blood-stained monument, stood firmly.
It was Sergeant Vik.
He was almost a man of blood, barely supported by the chainsword he held, which was plunged into the floor and still emitting a low hum, preventing him from collapsing. His left leg was bent at an unnatural angle, clearly completely ruined. His breathing was as faint as a candle in the wind, his face terrifyingly pale, as if he could expire at any moment.
But what most shocked Captain Sibilus and all the arriving warriors of the Eighth Company was what Vik held tightly in his other hand—
A head wearing a grotesque daemon helmet!
The unique markings of a Dark Apostle on that helmet clearly identified it—Erebus!
Vik, despite being severely wounded and alone, had slain the Word Bearers' high-ranking Dark Apostle, one of the invasion commanders, on the enemy's bridge!
How did he do it? No one knew. It was nothing short of a miracle! An incredible feat created by will transcending the limits of the flesh!
"Vik!" Captain Sibilus rushed forward, supporting the swaying Vik, her voice filled with incredulous excitement and concern.
Vik seemed to expend his last ounce of strength, lifting his head to look at his Captain, his lips moving as if to say something, but in the end, he only weakly twitched the corner of his mouth, then his head lolled to the side, and he completely lost consciousness. But the hand holding Erebus's head remained clenched, unyielding.
"Apothecary! Quick! Save Sergeant Vik!" Captain Sibilus roared, carefully taking the heavy head. She knew what immense Merits Vik had achieved for the Eighth Company, for the entire Ultramarines!
This Word Bearers' second flagship, after a brutal boarding action, finally changed hands, falling to the Ultramarines.
Meanwhile, inside the Macragge's Honour.
With the sudden reduction in external pressure and Chapter Master Calgar's personal leadership of the final reserve counterattack, the Word Bearers' boarding parties within the warship were quickly fragmented, surrounded, and annihilated. Deprived of command and hope of reinforcement, some traitors fought to the death, but more chose to surrender in despair—though what awaited them was likely the Inquisition's purification.
When the last stubbornly resisting Word Bearer was gunned down by the Honour Guard in a hangar corner, the alarm signifying the all-clear finally sounded inside the warship.
Victory.
But Chapter Master Calgar on the bridge showed little joy. He looked around; the screens displayed damage reports for various sections of the warship, a shocking sight. The casualty list continuously scrolled, each name representing a heavy loss.
This was merely a fraction of the enemy's fleet, a targeted assault and boarding action, and it had cost them such a painful price, with the warship's core areas almost falling. Had it not been for Primarch Leman Russ and Primarch Corvus Corax descending like divine soldiers, the consequences would have been unimaginable... the entire northern defense line of Ultramar, and even Macragge itself, might have faced complete annihilation.
This victory was a Pyrrhic one, and a resounding alarm bell. The threat of Chaos was far greater and more imminent than they had imagined. The Imperium, and indeed Ultramar, was far from being able to rest easy.
"Count the casualties, rescue the wounded, repair the warship." Calgar's voice was weary, yet exceptionally firm, "Also, prepare the highest honors to welcome the two Primarchs."
He looked out the viewport, where the Space Wolves' grey fleet was clearing the battlefield, like loyal sheepdogs guarding a scarred flock. The road ahead was destined to be more difficult, but at least for now, they had defended their home.
The main hangar of the Macragge's Honour, after non-stop emergency repairs by Tech-Sergeants and crew, still bore the scars of battle—bullet holes in the walls, patches of melted metal on the floor, and a faint smell of charring and blood in the air—but at least basic order and functionality had been restored.
Damaged aircraft and equipment were pushed into corners, and the central area was cleared and covered with a blue carpet symbolizing honor.
Chapter Master Marius Calgar, leading Company Commander Cassius, Company Commander Hek Hansen, and Company Commander Sibilus—who had just returned from boarding action, still bearing the scent of gunpowder and blood—along with several other core Company Commanders, stood solemnly in the center of the hangar, awaiting the arrival of their esteemed guests.
Their expressions were grave, yet held a hint of uncontrollable excitement.
To be granted an audience with a Primarch was the highest honor for any Astartes warrior, let alone two legends who had been missing for ten millennia and had just averted a crisis.
Lieutenant Golden was busy coordinating the ship's aftermath and defense, and thus could not be present.
Gaius also came to the hangar, not for the audience, but out of concern for Eilaas.
After the battle, he immediately heard that the little one had been frightened during the hangar's defense.
He found Eilaas in a relatively quiet corner.
The usually lively, fearless Tech-Sergeant was now huddled behind a stack of cable boxes, hugging her knees, her small shoulders shaking as she sobbed softly.
The terrifying face-to-face encounter with a Possessed Marine had clearly left a deep psychological scar on the seemingly bold girl.
Gaius's heart softened, and he quickly walked over, crouching in front of her, his voice extremely gentle: "Eilaas?"
Eilaas raised her tear-filled little face, and seeing it was Gaius, her mouth drooped, and she cried even harder, saying in broken sobs: "Gaius... Lord Gaius... that monster... it was so scary... it... it almost..."
"It's alright, Eilaas, it's alright," Gaius said, reaching out his large hand and gently patting her trembling back, comforting her, "The monster has been eliminated, and you did very well, very brave.
You protected our warriors."
Under Gaius's gentle soothing, Eilaas's emotions gradually calmed down a bit, but she was still sniffling.
Seeing her poor state, Gaius said softly: "It's still a bit chaotic here.
Shall I take you back to the rest area first and have the Apothecary check on you?"
Eilaas nodded obediently.
Gaius was about to pick her up when, at that moment, the hangar's massive main gate slowly opened with the roar of hydraulic mechanisms!
First to appear were a group of tall figures, as if from a savage legend.
Ten Space Wolves Wolf Guard, clad in grey Power Armor, adorned with wolf fangs and furs, exuding a rugged, wild aura, strode in two columns with steady, powerful steps.
Their gazes were sharp, scanning the hangar environment, maintaining maximum vigilance.
Next, an even more imposing figure, with an aura like a mountain, appeared at the entrance.
Leman Russ, the Lion King, still wore his attire of Power Armor mixed with animal pelts, his golden hair loosely flowing, his wolf-like eyes scanning the welcoming Ultramarines with a hint of curiosity and scrutiny, and a faint, almost imperceptible, triumphant smile seemed to play on his lips.
And right beside the Lion King, shadows seemed to gather automatically, and a lean, upright figure in sleek, black Artificer Power Armor, as if weightless, quietly stepped in.
Corvus Corax, the Raven Lord, wore his iconic beaked helmet, hiding all expression beneath the shadows, with only his pure black eyes, visible through the eyepieces, coldly sweeping the entire hall, as if able to discern all secrets.
The simultaneous appearance of the two Primarchs, and the invisible, inherent pressure emanating from their very essence, instantly enveloped the entire hangar.
All Ultramarines, including Chapter Master Calgar, instinctively straightened their bodies, striking their left chests with their right hands in the most sacred Aquila salute!
"Welcome, Lord Primarch!" A uniform, awe-filled voice echoed through the hangar.
Eilaas, held in Gaius's arms, was also drawn by this sudden spectacle and powerful aura, temporarily forgetting her crying.
Her small head peeked over Gaius's shoulder, curiously observing the "important figures" who had entered.
She first quickly scanned the ten furry, fierce-looking Wolf Guard, muttering to herself: "Are these Space Wolves warriors? They look so scary..."
Then her gaze fell on Leman Russ, who was at the forefront: "Wow, he's so tall and strong! Is he their Alpha Wolf?"
Finally, her gaze fixed on Corax.
When she saw the Power Armor, black as night, sleek and majestic, the unique beaked helmet, and the cold, mysterious, yet indescribably charming aura, Eilaas's large, tear-stained eyes instantly lit up!
As if she had seen something incredibly captivating.
She forgot the occasion, and she forgot her earlier fear, instinctively pointing at Corax with her small hand, excitedly shaking Gaius's shoulder, her voice, though not loud due to weakness, was exceptionally clear in the At this moment in the quiet and respectful hangar:
"Lord Gaius! Lord Gaius! Look! That person... he... he's so handsome!"
Childish innocence, her clear voice echoed in the pin-drop silent hangar.
In an instant, all eyes, including those of the two Primarchs and the Wolf Guard, instinctively focused on the source of the voice—the tiny, tear-stained Aeldari girl in Gaius's arms.
The expressions of the solemn Wolf Guard became somewhat strange; they looked at their own wild, unrestrained, masculine Primarch Russ, then at the silent, cold Raven Lord Corax, who seemed to be formed from shadows, and couldn't help but inwardly grumble: Handsome? What kind of taste does this little girl have? Clearly, our Lion King is the most handsome!
Corax's beaked helmet turned slightly, and his pure black eye lenses fell upon Eilaas.
He did feel a touch of bewilderment.
A Dark Eldar girl?
Why was she on an Ultramarines flagship, and seemingly on close terms with the warriors here?
This combination was indeed somewhat strange.
But he did not sense any malice from the girl; there was only pure curiosity and admiration in her innocent green eyes.
He looked at Eilaas's undisguised "adoration" directed at him, remaining silent, making no response, and offering no explanation.
Leman Russ, on the other hand, had clearly not heard exactly what Eilaas said.
He turned to the nearest Wolf Guard beside him and asked in a gruff Fenrisian dialect: "What was that bean sprout yapping about just now?"
The Wolf Guard suppressed a laugh and whispered in gothic: "Father, she said... she said Lord Raven King... is very handsome."
"What?" Russ was first stunned, then, as if he had heard the funniest joke, he suddenly burst into an extremely loud, hearty laugh that even made the hangar ceiling hum:
"Hahahaha! Hahahahahaha! Corvus! Did you hear that? You, who always wear a straight face and hide in the shadows pretending to be profound, actually have a charming side sometimes? And to such a little one! Hahahaha! I'm dying of laughter!"
Russ's laughter was full of teasing and undisguised mockery, instantly making the originally solemn and respectful atmosphere somewhat subtle and... awkward yet amusing.
Gaius quickly whispered in Eilaas's ear: "Eilaas, don't point or speak carelessly.
That is Lord Corvus Corax, the Primarch of the Raven Guard, the Raven Lord.
The other is Lord Leman Russ, the Primarch of the Space Wolves, the Lion King."
Eilaas's small mouth instantly formed an "O" shape, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief as she looked at the loudly laughing Lion King, then at the silent, cold Raven Lord!
The Raven Lord! Corax!
He was the Primarch she had been discussing with Vik just a few days ago, the one who was good at "sneaky fighting"!
Oh my god!
She had just called a Primarch "handsome"!
Just then, Corax seemed to have no intention of further acknowledging this little interlude or Russ's teasing.
He raised his hand slightly, gesturing.
A Wolf Guard immediately stepped forward, presenting an item bound by a special force field and emanating ominous warp energy—it was the massive Daemon head of Lorgar Aurelian, its expression frozen in terror and rage!
Corax's gaze turned to Chapter Master Calgar, and his low, calm voice echoed through his helmet, clearly reaching everyone's ears:
"Deliver this traitor's head to Robert.
Tell him it is an offering to the Emperor."
Marius immediately stepped forward, solemnly taking the heavy and blasphemous head with both hands.
The force field generator vibrated slightly in his hand; he could feel the terrifying power and dark history contained within it.
"By your will, Corvus Corax!" Marius's voice was firm and strong, "I swear by the honor of the Ultramarines, I will safely deliver this item into the hands of Roboute Guilliman and present it before the Golden Throne!"
Corvus Corax nodded slightly, saying no more.
The atmosphere in the hangar once again became solemn due to the demon's head and the significance it represented.
Only Eilaas remained, immersed in the immense shock of seeing two legendary Primarchs and the embarrassment and excitement of her earlier "reckless words."
Her small face flushed then paled, looking from one to the other, feeling her little head was about to burst.
The bridge of the Macragge's Honour had become a sight rarely seen in ten millennia.
The arrival of two long-lost Primarchs—Leman Russ and Corvus Corax—cast an epic glow over this usually solemn and efficient command center.
Chapter Master Calgar dared not delay, immediately activating the highest-priority communication protocol to contact Terra, the Lord Regent of the Imperium, Roboute Guilliman.
The process of establishing communication seemed longer than usual, as if the state affairs on Terra were so heavy that they affected communication efficiency.
Finally, the holographic projection flickered, and Roboute Guilliman's figure appeared.
He was still seated behind a desk piled high with data-slates and documents, but anyone could see the undeniable haggardness and fatigue on his handsome face, his eyes sunken, even showing fine blood vessels.
The pending administrative documents beside him were almost piled into small mountains, as if they would never end.
"Marius," Roboute Guilliman's voice was a little hoarse.
He rubbed his temples, not even looking up at the communication screen immediately, "I've received initial reports on the situation in northern Ultramar; the losses seem severe.
Tell me the specifics, do you need further support? I will do my best to coordinate..."
As he spoke, he habitually rubbed his somewhat swollen eyes, then looked up, preparing to listen carefully to Marius's report.
However, when his gaze swept past Marius and saw the golden-haired giant standing beside him, arms crossed, with a bold and playful smile on his face, Roboute Guilliman's movements instantly froze!
His blue eyes, always filled with rationality and wisdom, suddenly widened, filled with extreme shock and disbelief!
"Le... Leman Russ!?" Roboute Guilliman's voice was distorted by surprise.
He even instinctively leaned forward slightly, as if to pierce through the holographic projection to see more clearly, "You... how are you with Marius?! This... what on Terra is going on?!"
He could hardly believe his eyes!
Leman Russ, who had been missing for ten millennia, the Wolf of Fenris, had actually appeared alive on the Macragge's Honour!
The impact of this news was no less than a Terra-level earthquake!
Before he could recover from the shock of Leman Russ's appearance, his gaze caught the silent, ice-cold, pitch-black figure standing in the shadows slightly behind.
"Corvus..." Seeing Corvus Corax, Roboute Guilliman's shock subsided a little, but his heart was still surging.
Corvus Corax's whereabouts were equally a mystery, but there were occasional, extremely subtle warnings or signs of his actions; his appearance, though unexpected, was not entirely unimaginable.
But Leman Russ... he was truly believed to have fallen in some unknown corner long ago!
"Quick! Immediately send for Lion El'Jonson! As fast as possible!" Roboute Guilliman suddenly turned and urgently ordered the Ultramarines Victrix Guard standing by.
He needed another brother present to face this sudden drastic change, especially... with Leman Russ also present.
The communicator was not muted, and Roboute Guilliman's words were clearly transmitted to the bridge of the Macragge's Honour.
As soon as Leman Russ heard the name "Lion," the bold smile on his face instantly vanished, replaced by an undisguised expression mixed with disdain and provocation.
He snorted, crossed his arms, and deliberately mumbled in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear: "Hmph, that guy who hides in a fortress and always has a grim face is coming too? How boring."
The Wolf King and the Lion King, these brothers who had disliked each other and been filled with rivalry and friction since the Great Crusade, even after ten millennia, their "profound" "friendship" seemed undiminished.
And at this moment, in a temporarily cleared hangar bay on the Macragge's Honour, as Leman Russ had "expected," a "friendly" exchange was underway—a Wolf Guard who had accompanied Leman Russ, and a Dark Angels Champion who had come as a representative of the Lion King, were engaged in a tradition that had lasted for nearly ten millennia between the two Legions—a "friendly" champion's duel.
The clang of Power Swords and the low roars of the warriors cheering them on could be faintly heard from that direction.
Corvus Corax seemed uninterested in the old grievances between Leman Russ and Lion El'Jonson, or rather, he was long accustomed to them.
He stepped forward, his pure black gaze passing through his bird-beak helmet, looking at Roboute Guilliman in the holographic projection, and spoke in his characteristic, calm and low voice:
"Robert. It has been a long time."
He paused, then continued: "Lorgar Aurelian's invasion has been repelled.
His physical body was personally beheaded and banished by me, and his main fleet scattered.
The situation in Ultramar is temporarily stable.
You... need not worry too much."
His words were concise but contained a huge amount of information and undeniable power.
Roboute Guilliman listened to Corvus Corax's narration, watching his cold and reliable figure, and the tumultuous waves in his heart, stirred by Leman Russ's appearance, finally gradually calmed down a little.
At least, the imminent threat from Lorgar Aurelian was removed.
Meanwhile, in the ship's medical bay, the atmosphere was relatively peaceful, yet also harbored a hint of hidden worry.
Gaius, holding a now-calm Eilaas, came to visit his injured comrades.
They first arrived at Dorian's medical pod.
After a brutal battle, the reckless giant, due to excessive blood loss and exhaustion, was finally forced onto a medical bed by the Apothecaries and was now in a deep sleep, connected to various monitoring devices and IV lines.
Eilaas looked at the bandages wrapped around Dorian and his shocking shoulder wound, her small face filled with distress, and whispered to Gaius: "Dorian will be alright, won't he, Gaius?"
Gaius nodded, but his gaze rested heavily on Dorian's sleeping face.
His mind kept replaying the scene of Dorian fighting outside the medical room—those crimson eyes, that violent strength, that complete disregard for pain, and those roars that were not human-like... It was too similar, truly too similar.
Just like the World Eaters Berserkers whose minds were controlled by the Butcher's Nails and had completely degenerated into killing machines!
Gaius's heart sank.
He didn't know what exactly had happened to Dorian, was it a stress reaction after severe injury, or... something worse?
He would never allow his brother, like he himself had once faced the temptations of Tzeentch, to be tainted by Chaos, ultimately falling into darkness, and endless pain and suspicion.
He secretly resolved that he must, at the appropriate time, report Dorian's abnormal situation to Company Commander Cassius and the Company Chaplain.
This was not only for Dorian but also for the safety of the entire squad.
Next, they came to Luna's medical room.
Although Luna was still unable to move, she had regained consciousness and could speak in a low voice.
Seeing Gaius and Eilaas safe and sound, especially Eilaas, who, though frightened, was unharmed, a gentle expression of relief finally appeared on her perpetually tense face.
"It's good to see you two are alright..." Luna's voice was still weak but clear, "Thank you... Dorian, and Gaius... thank you for protecting me."
Gaius shook his head: "It's what we should do, Luna.
Rest and recover, don't think about anything."
Eilaas also leaned close to the medical pod and whispered: "Luna, you must get well soon!"
Watching the heartwarming scene before him, Gaius could not feel completely at ease.
The external great enemy had temporarily retreated, but the internal hidden dangers seemed to have just begun to emerge.
The communication link between Terra and the Macragge's Honour connected two vastly different worlds—on one side, the heavy throne of the Lord Regent of the Imperium, overwhelmed by endless affairs, and on the other, the front lines of a battlefield just purged by fire and blood, with the unexpected arrival of two legendary Primarchs. In the holographic projection, Guilliman's initial shock gradually gave way to a complex, ineffable emotion, containing joy of reunion, reminiscence of the past, but more profoundly, a deep weariness and helplessness concerning the current situation.
He looked at the two distinct yet equally powerful brothers on the other end of the projection—the wild and untamed Leman Russ, and the cold and mysterious Corvus Corax. They had returned, at the Imperium's most desperate hour, crushing a formidable enemy with overwhelming force. A question, almost driven by instinct, slipped out:
"Leman, Corvus... will you... return? Return to the Imperium, return to... us?" Guilliman's voice carried a hint of imperceptible hope, though deep down he might have already foreseen the answer. He knew his brothers too well, and he knew too clearly what the Imperium had become.
As expected, Leman Russ was the first to answer. He stood with his arms crossed, a flash of untamed spirit in his wolf-like eyes, his voice loud and direct, without the slightest circumlocution:
"Return? Robert, look at where you are now!" Russ gestured with a thick finger at the mountain of documents behind Guilliman. "Is that still the Imperium we once fought for? That's a giant cage, bound by bureaucrats and dogma, almost suffocating! Terra? Ha, it long ago lost the feeling of home."
His tone was filled with undisguised disappointment and detachment: "I, Leman Russ, and my pups, our roots are on Fenris! That bitter land of ice and fire is our true home! We are loyal to the Emperor, loyal to humanity, that has never changed! But we cannot, and will not, shackle ourselves again to Terra's nauseating political mire and rigid dogma! The stars outside are vaster, and the enemies clearer! We will fight in our own way, for the Emperor, and for the freedom of Fenris!"
Russ's words were resounding, full of undeniable resolve. He was not betraying, but choosing a different path from Guilliman's, a path more befitting his nature as the Wolf King, hunting beyond the Imperium's borders.
Guilliman remained silent; he did not argue. For he knew that what Russ said was, to some extent, the truth. The stagnation and decay of the Imperium, he felt more deeply than anyone. He tried to change, to mend, but the process was like Sisyphus pushing a stone uphill, arduous and long.
At this moment, Corvus Corax made a move. He slowly raised his hand and removed his iconic beaked helmet, revealing a pale, sharp face that already bore distinct avian features. His eyes, pure black like eternal night, gazed calmly at Guilliman, without the intense emotion seen in Russ, only a deep, calm demeanor, as if he had seen through the vicissitudes of ages.
"Robert," Corax's voice was still low, but it had shed some of the coldness of the helmet, gaining a rare touch of brotherly warmth, "I... apologize for this."
He did not vehemently criticize the Imperium like Russ, but his choice was equally clear.
"Shadow is my domain. Silence is my weapon," Corax said slowly. "My existence, for the Imperium, perhaps serves more effectively as a warning and a blade wandering on the edge of light, rather than a symbol sitting in a council. The clamor and light of Terra would scorch my wings and make me lose my ability to see in the dark."
He expressed himself subtly, but Guilliman understood. Corax's nature dictated that he could not, and would not, integrate into the Imperium's existing framework. He belonged to the shadows, to those corners that required silent purification and a deadly strike.
"I understand, Corvus." Guilliman sighed softly, his voice heavy with weariness and a hint of disappointment. "I respect your choices. It's just... this burden is truly heavy."
Corax nodded slightly, acknowledging Guilliman's understanding. He paused for a moment, as if weighing something, then spoke again, his voice even lower, as if sharing some secret not meant for outsiders:
"Robert, during these years I've... wandered outside, I have indeed gathered some scattered news of other brothers."
Guilliman's spirit suddenly lifted, and he unconsciously leaned forward: "Who? Are they still alive?"
"Konrad..." Corax spoke the first name, and seeing the astonishment flash in Guilliman's eyes, he continued, "He is alive. But when I met him, he... was no longer the Night Haunter you and I knew. Ten thousand years of time have smoothed his edges; he has chosen a kind of... almost eternal silence and exile, on a forgotten planet, living in peace. I do not advise, nor do I wish, for anyone to disturb his current tranquility."
Guilliman processed this astonishing news. Konrad Curze, the brother immersed in prophecy and terror, was "surviving" in this manner? He nodded, indicating he understood.
"And Jaghatai," Corax continued. "He did not get lost in the Webway. He chose to remain there, becoming a cavalryman within the Webway. Its vast space and freedom better suit his nature. He also... does not wish to return to this Imperium that he finds restrictive."
The Khan was also found, and also chose to leave. Guilliman's heart was a mix of emotions, both relief at finding his brothers' whereabouts and sadness at their choice to depart.
Just then, Guilliman asked about the two names he cared about most, those two brothers known for their resilience and reliability, whose whereabouts had always been a great question lingering in his mind:
"Then... what about Rogal? And Vulkan? Do you have any news of them?" Guilliman's voice held an imperceptible tremor, full of anticipation.
However, in response to this question, Corax's usually calm and unperturbed face, uncharacteristically showed a hint of regret. He slowly, but very definitively, shook his head.
"None," his voice was low and certain. "Regarding Rogal and Vulkan, I have no definite news. They... seem to have completely vanished into the river of history. Even the deepest shadows have failed to capture their traces."
The flame of hope that had just ignited in Guilliman's eyes instantly dimmed. The Primarch of the Imperial Fists, the symbol of the Iron Wall; the Primarch of the Salamanders, the never-extinguishing Master of the Forge... they remained missing, their fates unknown.
The communication fell into a long silence. Three Primarchs, spanning ten thousand years, briefly "reunited" in this way, yet faced their own different paths and choices. Return, or uphold one's self? This was not only the choice of Russ and Corax, but also an eternal question of loyalty and the meaning of existence, laid before all Primarchs.
Finally, Guilliman broke the silence, his voice regaining its usual composure and rationality, though still tinged with weariness: "I understand. Thank you for everything you have done, and thank you for informing me of these things. Whatever path you choose, remember, you are always the cornerstone of the Imperium, the strength of humanity. May... the Emperor guide us all."
The communication ended in a complex and heavy atmosphere. Corax put his helmet back on, once again hiding himself in the shadows. Russ, meanwhile, grinned, seemingly impatient with this "serious" conversation, his gaze already fixed on the void outside the bridge, awaiting cleanup.
As for Guilliman, sitting in his office on Terra, looking at the endless affairs before him, his concern for his missing brothers and his worries about the Imperium's future deepened. The road ahead remained long and arduous.
The communication between Terra and the Macragge's Honour had not been completely cut off when the somber atmosphere on the bridge was broken by new activity. In the holographic projection, next to Guilliman, space subtly distorted, and another dignified and steady figure appeared.
The newcomer wore deep green power armor, his face as resolute as carved stone, his eyes sharp as an eagle's; it was none other than the Primarch of the Dark Angels, Lion El'Jonson. He first frowned slightly, looking at Guilliman, his tone carrying a hint of displeasure at being disturbed, but still maintaining his characteristic composure:
"Robert, why such an urgent summons? Your Victrix Guard almost broke down my castle gates." His gaze swept over Guilliman's slightly unusual expression, then followed Guilliman's line of sight to the other end of the communication screen.
When Lion King's gaze fell upon the two figures on the screen, even for the Lion King, known for his strong will and unreadable emotions, a clear crack instantly appeared on his unperturbed face! His pupils contracted slightly, and his body stiffened for a moment, clearly greatly shaken.
"Leman? Corvus?" Lion King's voice was filled with incredulous astonishment, "You... actually..."
Seeing Lion King in this state, Leman Russ's earlier displeasure from his conversation with Guilliman seemed to instantly vanish, replaced by a mischievous delight at seeing an "old acquaintance" in an awkward situation. He crossed his arms, a characteristic, mocking and provocative smile spreading across his face, and his booming voice broke the brief silence:
"Ho! Look who it is! Isn't this our old Lion King, who always locks himself in his stone castle and likes to tinker with secrets? What, ten thousand years later, a few more wrinkles, but your temper doesn't seem as bad? Time, it seems, can really smooth out some edges, hahahaha!"
Facing Russ's blunt teasing, Lion King's reaction was unexpected by everyone. He did not get angry; instead, the corner of his resolute mouth twitched upwards slightly, revealing an extremely rare smile, tinged with a sense of relief and gentleness.
"Leman, you wild wolf, nothing good ever comes out of your mouth, you're still the same after ten thousand years." Lion King shook his head, his tone devoid of genuine reproach, but rather carrying a tolerance born of enduring vast ages. "What are our old grievances compared to these ten millennia of separation and the suffering endured by the Emperor and humanity? They are merely harmless minor squabbles between brothers."
He paused, looking at Russ with an honest gaze, and continued: "I admit, in pure martial prowess and leading charges, you are indeed stronger than me, Leman. I have never truly denied this. Your return is an indispensable wild force for the Imperium. I acknowledge you, and I welcome you back."
Lion King's honest and magnanimous words left Russ, who had been ready to continue "firing," stunned. The mocking smile on his face gradually faded, and a complex light flickered in his wolf-like eyes. He scrutinized Lion King, as if reacquainting himself with his former "opponent." Ten thousand years seemed to have truly changed many things, even this most stubborn Lion King had become... a bit more agreeable.
"Hmph," Russ finally just grunted, but his tone was noticeably softer, no longer aggressive. "At least you can still say a few sensible things. My main reason for returning this time is to kill that bastard Lorgar, and to stretch my muscles a bit. It's not to listen to your sentimental musings here."
Although there were no direct words of reconciliation, the tense atmosphere between the two had clearly eased. Ten thousand years of time and a common enemy seemed sufficient to dilute some of the past unpleasantness.
At this moment, Corvus Corax also stepped forward, nodding slightly in greeting to Lion King in the holographic projection: "Lion." It was a form of greeting.
Lion King returned the solemn greeting: "Corvus, it is good to see you safe and sound."
Corax then turned to Guilliman, stating his intentions: "Robert, Lion, I will temporarily stay on the Macragge's Honour for a period. I need to contact my sons, the Raven Guard. It has been a long time, and I... need to understand their current situation." In his pure black eyes, a subtle flicker of a "father's" concern seemed to pass.
"After this," he continued, his tone returning to its usual coldness and firmness, "I will decide my next course of action based on the circumstances. Perhaps it will be to continue hunting down the traitors scattered throughout the galaxy, or perhaps... to pursue certain brothers who have completely fallen and are beyond redemption. But you can rest assured, when the Imperium faces another major crisis like today's, I will return again."
This was the Raven Lord's promise, the promise of a guardian in the shadows.
While the Primarchs were having their crucial conversation about the future on the bridge, in the medical bay and lower decks of the Macragge's Honour, another kind of "battle" without gunpowder was unfolding.
Sergeant Vik's heroic deed of single-handedly infiltrating the enemy ship and beheading the Dark Apostle Erebus amidst countless foes, spread like wildfire throughout the entire Chapter! This almost miraculous achievement astonished and impressed all Ultramarines who heard of it.
Currently, the severely wounded and nearly dying Vik was receiving the most urgent and comprehensive treatment from the Apothecaries. His bravery not only saved the Eighth Company's boarding action but also greatly boosted the morale of the entire Chapter.
And such a valiant warrior naturally became the target of recruitment by various companies. The Company Commanders of the 2nd Company and Third Company almost simultaneously approached Captain Sibilus of the Eighth Company, who had just returned to the warship, also scarred from battle.
Company Commander Cato Sicarius of the 2nd Company spoke first, his tone direct and full of admiration: "Sibilus, Sergeant Vik is a true warrior! His bravery and fearlessness are precisely the qualities our 2nd Company needs most! Assign him to my company, and he will become our sharpest spearhead!"
Company Commander Hek Hansen of the Third Company was not to be outdone: "Brother Sibilus, Vik's combat will and ability to survive against adversity are astonishing. Our Third Company often carries out diverse and complex missions, and we precisely need a warrior like him who can create miracles! Please consider transferring him to the Third Company!"
Both Company Commanders looked intently at Sibilus, clearly determined to secure Vik.
Captain Sibilus looked at his two colleagues, then thought of Vik's terrible injuries and the incredible feat he had achieved, and his heart was filled with emotion. He knew that Vik's value had surpassed the Eighth Company; his future stage would be even broader. As for where he would ultimately go, it would likely have to wait until Vik recovered, for the Chapter Master and the Primarchs to decide. But no matter what, Vik's name was already destined to be etched into the honor roll of the Ultramarines.
Leman Russ's arrival was like a wild, all-consuming storm, and his departure was just as swift. After confirming that the Macragge's Honour's crisis had been resolved and the remnant Chaos fleet was scattered and fleeing under the pursuit of the Space Wolves, the Wolf Lord did not linger.
He, accompanied by his dozen or so Wolf Guards, loyal and fierce as shadows, strode back to the docked Fang of the Wolf under the complex and reverent gazes of the Ultramarines. There was no lengthy farewell ceremony, no superfluous pleasantries, only a gruff instruction left for Chapter Master Calgar before his departure:
"Chapter Master Calgar, I'm leaving the rest of this mess for you to clean up! My lads and I are heading back to Fenris! Tell Robert, if anything comes up... use the old method to contact me!"
The "old method" was likely some secret means of communication understood only by Primarchs. With that, Russ stepped into the airlock without looking back, the heavy hatch slowly closing behind him, sealing off his wild and untamed aura.
Soon, the massive Fang of the Wolf and its escort fleet disengaged from the Ultramarines' fleet, their engines spewing dazzling blue afterburners. They adjusted their course and sailed resolutely towards the distant Fenris system. They were like hunters who had completed a thrilling hunt, returning to their icy and fiery homeland with honor and spoils.
Corvus Corax, however, chose to stay, just as he had promised.
He did not occupy the bridge's command center but instead asked Chapter Master Calgar to arrange a relatively secluded cabin for him, equipped with independent, high-privilege communication devices. This cabin was originally a backup communication node, and now it became the place for the Raven Lord's first contact with his descendants after ten millennia.
The cabin was dimly lit, with only a few faint blue indicator lights providing basic illumination. Corax stood silently before the main communication screen. He had removed his helmet, his pale, raven-like face appearing even more austere in the dim light. His pure black eyes were like deep pools, reflecting the flickering encrypted protocol codes on the screen.
Chapter Master Calgar personally adjusted the equipment for him, connecting to the encrypted channel leading to Deliverance, the homeworld of the Raven Guard Chapter. The signal was somewhat unstable due to Warp disturbances, emitting a faint crackling sound.
A moment later, the communication connected.
The screen flickered a few times, then displayed a simple, even austere command center scene. A figure in deep black, intricately armored power armor adorned with raven feathers, stood with his back to the screen, seemingly reviewing a data-slate in his hand. His armor was predominantly black, accented with dark red, and the Raven Guard insignia on his shoulder pads gleamed with a cold, hard luster under the lights.
He did not turn around immediately, merely asking in a calm voice, processed by his helmet's vox-caster and carrying a hint of metallic resonance: "Brother Calgar, this is Esho'Jaan. Is there a new development in the Ultramar war, or is this regarding the follow-up coordination for Lorgar's invasion?"
Esho'Jaan, the Chapter Master of the Raven Guard, was a commander known for his calmness, prudence, and efficiency. He clearly thought this was a routine communication from the Ultramarines Chapter.
Corax did not answer immediately, merely standing there silently, his pure black eyes fixed on the figure of his descendant on the screen, his back turned to him. Ten millennia, in his perception, might have been just a long hunt and a wandering in shadows, but for these descendants who remained in the real universe, it was the inheritance and steadfastness of dozens of generations.
Esho'Jaan waited a few seconds, not hearing Chapter Master Calgar's familiar reply, and felt a little strange. He put down his data-slate and slowly turned around, his gaze falling upon the communication screen.
The next second, this Raven Guard Chapter Master, always known for his calm and self-control, who could keep a clear head even on the most brutal battlefields, suddenly froze!
His head, adorned with a raven-shaped helmet, instinctively tilted slightly, as if he suspected his visual sensors were malfunctioning. His gaze was fixed on the pale, gaunt figure with inhumanly pure black eyes on the screen.
Who... was this person?
That face... that aura... although distinctly different from the oldest and most sacred paintings and sculptures in the Chapter's reliquary—paler, more... inhuman—yet that resonance from deep within his geneseed, that cold, silent, almost light-devouring presence... a name that existed almost only in legends and the deepest levels of genetic memory, exploded in his mind like thunder!
His throat felt dry, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly with extreme shock and disbelief. He even forgot the honorific for the Ultramarines Chapter Master, instinctively using the title of utmost reverence found only in ancient traditions:
"You... You are... Your Highness, the Raven Lord?!"
Esho'Jaan's voice came through the comms, and although he tried to control it, the shock and bewilderment within were still clearly discernible. He couldn't believe that the gene-Primarch, who had been missing for ten millennia, believed to have long since fallen or to be eternally hunting traitors deep within the Eye of Terror, would appear before him in such a sudden manner!
Corax watched his descendant's discomfited reaction on the screen, his pure black eyes seemingly without any ripple. But his usually cold and calm voice seemed to have slowed by an almost imperceptible degree:
"Esho'Jaan." He accurately spoke the Chapter Master's name, as if ten millennia had not hindered his recognition. "It is I, Corvus Corax."
A simple confirmation, yet it was like a bombshell dropped into Esho'Jaan's heart! Confirmed! It really was him! The creator of the Raven Guard, their genefather, the Raven Lord!
Esho'Jaan almost instinctively snapped to attention, his right hand striking his left chest with a heavy thud, performing the most solemn Aquila salute of the Astartes. His voice was choked with emotion but he still tried his best to maintain the utmost solemnity:
"Chapter Master Esho'Jaan of the Raven Guard, and all sons of the Raven... welcome your return, Lord Primarch! Ten millennia of waiting... we never gave up hope!"
Behind him in the command center, several other Raven Guard officers who had been working also saw Corax's figure on the screen. They instantly froze in place, then, like Esho'Jaan, stood at attention and saluted, their faces beneath their helmets filled with unspeakable excitement and reverence.
Corax silently accepted the salute, then slowly began: "I have not truly 'returned,' Esol. At least, not in the way you might expect."
His words slightly cooled Esho'Jaan's excited mood, but he still maintained absolute respect: "Whatever your intentions, the Raven Guard will always be your sharpest claws, your most loyal shadows. Please command us!"
"I need to understand," Corax said, his gaze seemingly piercing the screen, seeing Deliverance, seeing all the Raven Guard descendants scattered everywhere, "to understand your journey over these ten millennia, your current state, your... changes."
"Yes, Lord Primarch! I will immediately compile all the data and prepare to report to you!" Esho'Jaan responded without hesitation.
"There is no need to rush," Corax said. "I am currently aboard the Ultramarines' flagship, the Macragge's Honour. Once matters here have settled, I will personally visit Deliverance."
Personally visit Deliverance! This news made Esho'Jaan's heart pound violently once more.
"We will greet your arrival with the most solemn ceremony, Your Highness!" Esho'Jaan's voice was filled with a sense of honor.
Corax gave a slight nod, said no more, and ended the communication. The screen went dark, and silence returned to the cabin.
Meanwhile, on distant Deliverance, within the Raven Guard's Chapter fortress, Esho'Jaan remained in his saluting posture, unmoving for a long time. The shock in his heart surged like a tsunami. The news of the Raven Lord's return would undoubtedly sweep through the entire Raven Guard Chapter, and even all its successor Chapters, like the fiercest storm, causing immeasurable upheaval.
This was not merely the return of a Primarch, but a symbol, a symbol of the Lord of Shadows once again watching over his descendants. The future of the Raven Guard seemed poised to unveil a brand new, perhaps even more secretive and deadly, Chapter.
After ending the communication with the Raven Guard Chapter, Corvus Corax stood silently for a moment in the secluded communication cabin, as if digesting the complex emotions of his first formal contact with his descendants after ten millennia. Then, his figure faded quietly as if merging with the shadows, and the next moment, he appeared before a large observation window on the upper deck of the Macragge's Honour.
The view here was expansive, clearly showing the vast starry sky outside the battleship, and in the distance, auxiliary vessels, busy like fireflies, engaged in battlefield cleanup and repair work. Corax stood there silently, his tall and slender figure silhouetted against the starlight, like a statue of a dark deity from ancient times. He wore no helmet, his pale face and pure black pupils, which seemed to absorb all light, gazed into the depths of the boundless universe. No one could fathom the turmoil in his heart at that moment.
Passing warriors—whether Ultramarines, Space Wolves support personnel, or ship's crew—would instinctively lighten their steps when passing this area, their gazes respectfully falling upon the solitary and majestic figure, then rendering the most solemn military salute. The tale of Raven Lord Corax personally severing the head of the Daemon Primarch Lorgar had already spread like a legend throughout the fleet. Everyone held the highest respect and gratitude for this gene-Primarch who had arrived like a shadow and turned the tide of battle.
Lorgar's enormous, still radiating ominous Warp energy, demonic head had been properly sealed in a specially made stasis field container. A squad of elite Honour Guard, personally assigned by Chapter Master Calgar, was rapidly transporting it aboard a high-speed frigate to Terra, to be presented to Lord Regent Guilliman. This trophy, born of ten millennia of enmity, would undoubtedly greatly deter the Imperium's enemies, while also symbolizing a major victory against the forces of Chaos.
Corax stood before the observation window for a long time, his thoughts seemingly drifting to the distant past, to his brothers who had fallen or been scattered during the Horus Heresy, and to the ten millennia of changes within the Raven Guard Legion. His gaze occasionally swept outside the viewport, falling upon the Word Bearers' secondary flagship, the torment of the word, which was being jointly inspected by Ultramarines Tech-Sergeants and Adeptus Mechanicus priests. This massive battleship was heavily scarred, but as a significant trophy from this defensive battle, its symbolic meaning and potential technological value were immense.
As he was lost in his thoughts, his superhumanly keen senses detected an extremely faint, almost negligible "threat" approaching from behind. The footsteps were light, carrying a cautious probing, without any malice or killing intent, more like a... curious peek.
Corax did not turn around, nor did he react in any way, still gazing silently at the starry sky, as if he hadn't noticed.
That tiny "source of threat"—was Eilaas.
After receiving simple psychological comfort and a physical examination, the little one's innate, fearless curiosity began to stir again. From afar, she saw the unique and captivating black figure standing before the observation window, and her little heart, which adored "handsome" things, began to pound again.
She first hid behind a pillar, peeking out her little head to observe, confirming that the "handsome Raven Lord" didn't seem to notice her. Then, mimicking scouts, she stealthily, little by little, crouched low, using the shadows of various equipment as cover, slowly approaching Corax, believing herself to be completely unnoticed.
She finally crept to a spot not far from Corax, tilting her small face up, admiring the Raven Lord's pale and handsome profile at close range and without inhibition. She couldn't help but whisper, in a voice only she could hear: "Wow... he's even more handsome than Lord Guilliman..."
Her experience of being pampered and almost "running wild" on the Ultramarines' battleship gave Eilaas the illusion that all big guys in power armor were as easygoing as Calgar and Dorian, and would even tolerate her small transgressions.
So, her courage grew. She began to slowly circle Corax's tall figure, her bright black eyes full of inquisitive light. She first reached out her small hand, carefully touching the seemingly soft but actually cold and hard metallic raven feather decorations on Corax's cape, letting out a questioning "Huh?" as if wondering why they weren't soft.
Next, the little Tech-Sergeant's occupational habit kicked in. She pulled out a precision wrench for tightening screws from her small toolkit and lightly tapped a plate on Corax's leg armor with its rubber-coated handle, tilting her ear as if trying to hear the echo to determine the material.
After doing all this, she seemed to feel that she had established some kind of "connection" with this "handsome Raven Lord." She stood a little in front of Corax's side, looking up, and began to chatter away to herself, as if talking to a familiar elder:
"Lord Raven Lord, I'm telling you, in our First Company's hangar, there's a really, really big Dreadnought named 'wrath of corax'! I heard it's super powerful!"
"Lord Raven Lord, you're really handsome! More handsome than all the warriors I've ever seen!"
"Lord Raven Lord, why do you have so many feathers on you? Are they real raven feathers? Will they fall off?"
Her little mouth was like a machine gun, asking all sorts of innocent, even nonsensical questions, completely immersed in her own world.
Corax showed no reaction to the little Aeldari's various "transgressions" throughout, still gazing out the window like a statue, as if she didn't exist. Until—
Eilaas asked the last question: "...And, and, Lord Raven Lord, is the Raven Guard Legion your descendants? Are they as handsome and as powerful as you?"
When the word "descendants" reached his ears, Corax's ten-millennia-frozen expression seemed to soften ever so slightly. His pure black eyes finally shifted, and out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the little one beside him, who was not even as tall as his leg and was looking up at him with wide, expectant, and curious eyes.
Then, a cold, brief, yet perfectly clear word, escaped his lips, answering the only question among her barrage that touched his core:
"Yes."
After speaking that word, he once again turned his gaze to the vast starry sky, returning to his previous silence, as if the brief interaction had never happened.
But just that single word of response made Eilaas overjoyed, a brilliant and satisfied smile spreading across her little face. She felt that this seemingly cold Raven Lord, actually... wasn't so hard to get along with after all!