"I look forward to meeting you among the stars, brother."
In the faint morning light, Caelan half-squinted his sleepy eyes, yawning so wide his jawbones crackled.
He had long lost count of how many times he'd been forced to act as an interstellar messenger. For years now, the two of them had messages to pass along nearly every single day.
These two brothers, despite never having met, had come to understand each other more deeply than the other Primarch.
Whenever night fell on Barbarus, and he finally shut his exhausted eyes, in the next breath, he would be bathed in the radiant morning light of Chogoris.
And when dusk descended over Chogoris, he would close his eyes once more, only to open them to the pale dawn of Barbarus.
Round and round, endlessly, he drifted between the day and night of two different worlds.
Every night faded quietly; every morning arrived without fail, never once out of place.
Caelan sometimes wondered, in those fleeting moments between closing and opening his eyes, did he actually get any sleep?
But in truth, it didn't matter. He always woke full of energy anyway.
"Father, tell Jaghatai for me," Mortarion's voice echoed low in the room, "that day will not be long now, brother."
After countless baptisms of blood and fire, after hundreds of battles from brutal meat-grinders to close-quarters engagements, the banner of freedom now stood proudly across the entire southern continent of Barbarus.
Yesterday, the final Overlord of this poison-wreathed land let out an unwilling howl beneath Mortarion's great scythe, signalling that this tormented world had finally tasted liberation.
For this day, the fearless sons and daughters of Barbarus had composed a tragic epic with their lives.
From the mist-veiled mountain peaks to the villages in the valleys, their hot blood had soaked every inch of soil, but they had also liberated millions. Never again would the southern lands suffer the tyranny of Overlords.
Now, only the northern mountains remained, the realm of the High Overlord.
Their momentum was unstoppable. They would liberate the northern mountains even faster than before, everyone except the High Overlord.
Even with gas masks, mortals could not climb those peaks. Even Mortarion could not endure the toxic miasma at that summit.
But Caelan could. He alone held the qualification to challenge the High Overlord.
And when that moment came…
"When that moment comes, the Emperor will descend," Mortarion murmured softly.
Caelan would leave him to find his other brothers. Not like with Jaghatai, leaving only at night, but for decades without seeing each other again.
Although he knew this was only temporary, in at most another thirty years, all his brothers would return, and by then Caelan would not leave, Mortarion still instinctively resisted.
But duty crushed that reluctance.
He would not intentionally delay the liberation. He would not wallow in self-pity.
He was the Primarch of resilience.
He was Mortarion.
"Father, where is my brother now?"
"Jaghatai Khan has already unified the steppe tribes and has also annihilated many Palatine hunting parties. I'd say it won't be much longer for him either."
"It seems we are keeping pace."
He had unified the south of Barbarus; Jaghatai Khan had unified the west of Chogoris.
In at most two years, he would liberate the entire world.
If his brother was talented enough, he too could unify Chogoris in two years.
Fair and square. No more, no less.
Typhon pushed the door open, his voice gentle. "Teacher, breakfast is ready. You'll love Debbie's cooking."
Mortarion's thoughts abruptly pulled away. He slowly lowered his gaze, his eyes like ice blades piercing Typhon, not a ripple of emotion on his face.
Typhon was a brave and skilled warrior, a reliable comrade who always extended a helping hand.
More importantly, he cared for mortals. He carried compassion.
Six months earlier, he'd even lost an arm protecting a mortal mother and her child. If not for Warp, he would've been half-crippled today.
Warp had trained him well, so well that he was nearly flawless. Nearly.
He had a tiny blemish… and a notable flaw.
When they arrived at the dining hall, Skorval, mid-bite into a fried egg, put down his fork and slapped the cushioned oak chair beside him. His eyes crinkled with fatherly affection.
"Callas, come sit here with daddy."
Typhon's face instantly flushed red. "Fuckk off, you idiot!"
Skorval barked, "What? You gonna pretend you didn't lose?"
"I only lost once! And I already called you that!"
"Once a father, always a father!"
"Skorval! I swear I'm not done with you! You just wait! I'll make you say it back one day!"
Veins bulged on Typhon's neck. Though the bet was his idea, though he lost the fight, if Skorval hadn't ambushed him, if he had been fully prepared, if he had used his psychic powers... how could he possibly have lost?
"Calm down, Callas. Sit and eat first." Cyril sighed helplessly, grabbing Typhon's arm and forcing him into a seat.
"Embarrassing."
Mortarion watched coldly. Typhon was the classic case of being all talk but not enough skill.
In psychic ability, aside from Caelan, no one in the resistance could surpass him.
But in terms of martial combat, while his performance among the Death Guard wasn't bottom-tier, it consistently hovered in the middle ranks, not top-tier. Even Cyril had a fifty-fifty chance against him.
Skorval, however, was the best fighter among the Death Guard aside from Mortarion himself. How could Typhon possibly beat him?
Thus, he lost battle after battle, and then the bet, where he ended up calling Skorval "dad."
Because the one who started this foul-mouthed culture was Warp.
This was Typhon's minor flaw: he admitted his losses, but his mouth never stopped.
This trend had gradually infected others in the Death Guard. After a sparring match, they'd have to exchange a few trash-talking insults to consider it complete.
Mortarion had some criticism about this, but he dared not voice it openly because the source of this trash-talking was Caelan.
Though Caelan's original intention was to have him curse the Grandfather, but Typhon clearly got carried away into the habit.
By now, Mortarion could only let it be.
Let them curse. Just don't curse him or Caelan. And no one in the Death Guard held grudges over it anyway. It even helped relieve tension.
They were brother who had fought shoulder-to-shoulder through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. To hold a grudge over a few coarse words would be truly foolish.
"Teacher."
Debbie flitted through the dining hall like an agile bird, placing a plate in front of Caelan the moment he sat down.
The little girl was now a young woman, the Death Guard's chief logistician.
With the entire South under their control, they had fertile plains for farming and grazing without fear of Overlord raids.
Due to the Overlords' meticulous 'cultivation' over the years, Barbarus's population had always been perilously low. Even with the Death Guard unifying the south, the population only numbered a few million.
So while supplies weren't luxurious, they were absolutely sufficient, and occasionally they could even slaughter a Grox or two for a feast.
"It's still far from enough." Mortarion slowly chewed the Grox meat. Even after eradicating all the tyrants, the poison fog shrouding Barbarus still tormented this world like an eternal curse.
He knew he lacked the power to disperse this deadly miasma, but the Imperium surely possessed the technology to purify this sky.
And would Barbarans become soft without the fog's tempering?
If they grew weak simply because hardship ended, then they were never worthy warriors to begin with.
In fact, it would help him filter out the weaker ones.
True resilience must come from within, not from torture.
And also... Father does not like a poisonous Barbarus.
...
Caelan lifted the tent flap. Two Keshig stood guard outside.
Both had a long, narrow scar on their faces. This was a custom among the steppe tribes. They would distinguish between different tribes and bloodlines based on the size, shape, and location of the scar.
But now, everyone was Talskars. So many had multiple scars, yet one always stood on the left cheek, symbolizing they were brothers of the same tribe.
"Qin Xia, where is Jaghatai?"
Qin Xia stood with bowed head, his voice low and respectful. "Mentor, the Great Khanhas gone up the mountain."
Qin Xia was the Lord of the Keshig, also one of the original Talskars warriors who followed Jaghatai Khan seeking vengeance. The other warrior had multiple scars, proving he formerly belonged to another tribe.
Jaghatai Khan appointed based on merit. Qin Xia becoming Lord of the Keshig had nothing to do with him being a Talskars warrior; he earned this honor through personal martial prowess.
He addressed Caelan as Mentor because Caelan was the Khan's teacher. If even the Khan addressed him as teacher, who dared disrespect him?
Only Caelan dared to call Jaghatai by his name directly. Anyone else doing so would be chopped to pieces by the Keshig.
Besides, Caelan didn't just teach Jaghatai Khan.
Although he would only reveal the full truth to the Khan alone, he also imparted knowledge to others.
Mainly because he was idle anyway during the day; might as well give the students lessons as he did on Barbarus.
Qin Xia, too, was his student.
Though he was Lord of the Keshig, he was only twenty this year. Converted to Terran years, he was only 15. Fifteen was the age for schooling.
"Qin Xia! Qin Xia!"
A Keshig galloped up at full speed, his horse rearing up and kicking up a shower of broken snow.
"Tamur, what's wrong?" Qin Xia grabbed his reins.
Tamur practically fell off his saddle. Beneath his faceplate came rapid panting. "The Tamuchis discovered a Palatine hunting party approaching the Ulaav Mountains from the northeast slope! The Great Khan is still on the mountain!"
"Qin Xia, prepare the horses. We're going up."
"Teacher, won't you have some breakfast first?"
Tamur's pupils shrank. 'The Great Khan is in danger, and you're concerned about eating breakfast?!'
"Did Jaghatai eat?"
"No."
"Then we go up the mountain. We'll eat when he returns."
Qin Xia was certainly concerned for the Great Khan's safety, but he was more worried for the because the Khan likely wouldn't leave survivors. That's how it had been the previous times.
Tamur had just joined the Keshig. He was young and didn't have a clear understanding of the Great Khan's might.
But Qin Xia, as Lord of the Keshig, had witnessed the entire rise of the Great Khan firsthand.
A single hunting party? Even ten? They were ants rushing a lion.
Moreover, the Great Khan wasn't alone; he had several dozen Keshig with him. How could they possibly pose a threat to the Khan?
On the contrary, if Caelan missed breakfast and the Khan blamed him later, Qin Xia would get an earful.
Over a hundred elite Keshig swiftly assembled, escorting Caelan as they galloped up the mountain. The thunder of hooves raised a trail of flying snow.
Though Jaghatai Khan had unified the steppe tribes, water and grass distribution across the vast steppe was uneven.
Forcing all tribes to congregate long-term would only lead to overgrazing and eventual famine.
Therefore, the tribes still maintained their traditional nomadic ways, but the old tribal structures had been completely broken. Tribes once bound by single bloodlines were now meticulously divided and reorganized.
Every camp saw warriors bearing scars from different tribes sitting side by side. Jaghatai Khan intended, through this deliberate intermixing, to let old tribal hatreds gradually dissolve in the daily smoke of campfires.
Jaghatai Khan himself led the Talskars tribe, stationed at the foot of the Ulaav Mountains.
This majestic mountain range served as a natural watchtower, its high points offering views east into the lands of the Palatine Empire.
Once any movement of Palatine armies was detected, signal fire from the summit would be lit instantly. Messenger riders from various tribes would race to distant others, mustering an army of tens of thousands within mere days.
If small hunting parties entered the steppe, Jaghatai wouldn't give them a chance to cross the Ulaav Mountains and harass the steppe tribes. He was utterly merciless towards hunting parties daring to intrude onto the steppe.
The Keshig followed the hoofprints left by the Khan's ascent, winding their way up. As they neared the pass close to the summit, the sound of hooves came from above. Jaghatai Khan led thirty light cavalry down like an avalanche, the frost and snow on their cloaks not yet fully shaken off.
Jaghatai Khan reined in his horse, its forehooves carving deep grooves in the snow. His voice carried clear displeasure. "Qin Xia, who told you to come up here?"
Qin Xia was about to explain when Caelan raised a hand to stop him. "I told them to bring me up. The scouts found traces of a hunting party. I was concerned for your safety."
Jaghatai Khan fell silent. He looked up towards the cloud-wreathed summit. "We need to get down the mountain quickly. The snowpack at the summit is too thick; it could trigger at any moment..."
BOOM!
Before he could finish, a deafening roar erupted from the mountaintop.
Jaghatai looked up. The snow-capped peak of the Ulaav Mountains seemed to tear apart.
The entire snowfield cascaded down like a collapsing sea of clouds.
Millions of tons of snow, carrying rock and ice, transformed into an unstoppable white torrent, sweeping down the mountainside with overwhelming force!
"Avalanche."
Jaghatai's voice finally spoke the word, but it was already too late.
"Is there still time to run?" Qin Xia said.
Though standing still and staring dumbly at an oncoming avalanche was foolish, everyone was momentarily frozen.
There was no outrunning it. Simply impossible.
Because in the blink of an eye, the avalanche was upon them.
"Don't run! Stand behind me!"
Even amidst the avalanche's roar, Caelan's voice was clearly audible.
His arms suddenly spread wide. Psychic light blossomed above his head like a rising sun, instantly constructing an arcing barrier spanning the gorge, just like when he saved Russ's tribesmen on Fenris's sea years ago.
Jaghatai Khan swung down from his horse, his boots slamming into the snow. "All dismount!"
The Khan's voice held undeniable authority.
Over a hundred Keshig landed in unison, their frost-flecked cloaks snapping in the psychic radiance.
They silently held their restless horses. Everyone understood: before this white beast devouring heaven and earth, the only path to survival was the light-curtain upheld by Caelan.
Booom
The wave of snow slammed against the barrier with mountain-sundering force, stirring psychic ripples like rain on a lake's surface.
For an instant, the blinding white light was swallowed by snow mist. The space beneath the barrier plunged into gloom.
The Keshig looked up. Tens of thousands of tons of snow had congealed into a heavy dome above their heads, refracting an eerie blue glow within the halo of psychic light.
Tamur stood dumbfounded, his pupils reflecting the majestic figure of Caelan holding up the psychic barrier.
The young Keshig felt his throat tighten. He had thought the Great Khan's teacher was merely a mortal who spoke pretty words. Only now did he realize how profoundly wrong he had been.
If the Great Khan was an angelic warrior descended to earth, then at this moment, Caelan was like a god himself!
After an indeterminate period of darkness, the world abruptly fell into a strange stillness.
As Caelan spread his arms, the psychic barrier enveloping them suddenly burst with dazzling light. Tens of thousands of tons of snow erupted with deafening blasts into white mist, crystalline snowflakes refracting halos in the sunlight.
When Caelan looked back, he met the trembling pupils of Tamur and the assembled Keshig.
"I am not a god." Caelan's voice carried weariness and helplessness. Once again, he deeply felt just how exhausting Neoth's usual life must be!
"Don't just stand there! Down the mountain, now!" Jaghatai Khan wiped the frost from his beard and swung back onto his horse with fluid grace.
The Keshig, escorting Caelan and Jaghatai Khan, galloped down the mountain. Midway down the slope, they unexpectedly encountered the Palatine hunting party.
They must have followed the hoofprints up as well, but now only a half-stiff foot protruding from the snow proved they were buried here.
The avalanche's momentum was spent here, a spent force. Had they run another hundred paces towards the foothills, they might have escaped the cataclysm.
Caelan looked up at the snowpack on the Ulaav peak. "It's similar. Very similar!"
Jaghatai Khan reined in his horse. "Similar to what?"
"Extremely similar to the scene when I buried a slaver party under an avalanche on Nuceria."
"You suspect this avalanche was deliberately triggered?"
"There are traces of psychic residue here. But perhaps it's just a coincidence."
"But you once taught me that any detail seeming like a coincidence could be a correction by fate." Jaghatai Khan's voice was biting cold. "Dig out these corpses!"
The Palatines might not be the masterminds; otherwise, they wouldn't have been buried under the snow. But digging them out might yield clues.
The Keshig dismounted one after another, using scimitars and hands to dig through the snow.
Caelan pointed in a direction. "Dig there!"
Tamur rushed forward in three quick steps, vigorously wielding his scimitar to dig.
Before long, his blade clanged against something hard.
"Found him!"
Caelan walked forward slowly, his feet crunching the snow.
A small, thin figure lay curled up quietly, surrounded by a faint blue psychic aura. An invisible barrier formed around the boy, holding back all the cascading snow.
His chest heaved violently, each breath condensing into white mist in the frigid air.
His thin frame trembled incessantly, like a withered leaf quivering in a cold wind.
Eyes illuminated by psychic glow were filled with the terror and bewilderment of one who had narrowly escaped death.
"Did you trigger the avalanche?"
A hoarse voice squeezed from the boy's cracked lips. "I just... wanted to shake them off."
Caelan bent down to pick the boy up from the snow pile, his voice softening. "What's your name?"
"Shinaz."