Every Legion yearned for the return of their Primarch.
But as time passed, such Legions grew fewer.
Not because the Legions no longer hoped, but because over half had already been reunited with their Primarchs. Only nine Legions still awaited theirs.
The Seventh Legion was one of them.
The warriors of the Seventh were mostly taciturn, an influence of their gene-seed.
They participated in the Great Crusade by default, fulfilling the Emperor's mandate, dedicating their lives to the Crusade.
Much like the name of their flagship, the Eternal Crusader.
The Seventh Legion was an honorable force.
They had fought extensively in the Unification Wars, paying a heavy price.
To defeat the Windcaller tribes of the Himalayas, they lost three full battalions, earning their first battle honor, Rome.
In their first decade of existence, the Seventh Legion built six hundred fortresses on Terra.
Their deeds were so illustrious that the Emperor Himself named them the Imperial Fists!
Yet, sometime later, this Legion, known for its stoicism, began to show uncharacteristic impatience.
They craved honor with increasing urgency, actively responding to distress calls from every warzone.
Perhaps their Primarch's delay was due to a lack of sufficient honor!
This wasn't just the Seventh Legion's belief; all Legions still awaiting their Primarch shared the same obsession.
"Master."
Sigismund stopped and saluted the approaching Smith Appius with due reverence.
Though he was already a renowned swordsman within the Legion, he still maintained proper respect for this veteran of the Unification Wars.
Appius acknowledged him with a slight nod. "Come with me, Sigismund."
In his twelfth year with the Seventh Legion, Sigismund, thanks to his exceptional combat and tactical skills, was promoted to the First Company, becoming its youngest warrior in the Legion's history.
This achievement was particularly notable because, aside from him, the First Company's members were all Unification War veterans, their service records generally exceeding a century. These battle-hardened veterans wore the honor markings of the Unification Wars on their armor, testaments to the Legion's glorious past. Sigismund's promotion was the sole exception.
His swordsmanship was nearly unmatched within the Legion, second only to Appius.
Appius asked, "Sigismund, how many Primarchs have returned so far?"
Sigismund answered, "Eleven."
Appius murmured, "Yes, eleven. It's been two years since the last return. By the usual pattern, another should be due soon."
"One in nine, or maybe one in four. What do you think the Imperial Fists' chances are?"
"They'll have their chance."
Sigismund couldn't guarantee it, nor did he care much.
Not that he didn't want their gene-father to return; he was just an ordinary Legion warrior. The order of the Primarchs' return didn't depend on his wishes. Rather than oscillate between hope and disappointment like other Legionaries, Sigismund preferred to spend his time honing his sword skills.
Appius, sensing the evasion in his tone, frowned deeply. "Did you have a father?"
"Master, we share the same gene-father."
"I meant your human father."
"I was an orphan."
Appius argued, "I don't believe there was no one in your life who played a similar role."
Sigismund fell silent as a dead memory suddenly surfaced.
"I was born during the Unification Wars. The war destroyed my city and took my parents."
"I was the only one who escaped the city, surviving in a refugee camp with a group of orphans, struggling amid gang conflicts."
"A girl protected us. Her name was Shera."
"She was my sister. Perhaps I should call her mother; she deserved that title."
Appius asked, "And then?"
"Later, a gang leader named Corpse King attacked our hideout. He forced Shera to fight him. I killed him."
Sigismund was unwilling to dwell on his past. His gaze dropped slightly.
"We're here."
Appius's footsteps stopped abruptly, and Sigismund realized they were outside the council chamber.
As they passed through the doors, Sigismund saw the Legion Master and the Legion's high command arrayed in a sector, waiting. They had clearly been waiting for some time.
"For me? Why?"
Sigismund frowned. He didn't think he warranted such a reception. He was just a warrior, unqualified to attend the Legion's most classified operational meetings.
"Sigismund." The Legion Master got straight to the point. "By unanimous vote of the Legion Council, effective immediately, you are granted a seat on the Council, responsible for strategic decisions in the Crusade."
A flicker of surprise crossed Sigismund's stoic face. "Legion Master, may I ask why? My seniority and rank do not yet qualify me for a seat. Why me?"
The Legion Master, "We consulted the Master of the Eighth Legion. The Primarch told us that the key to finding our gene-father lies with you."
Sigismund finally understood.
With their Primarch absent so long, the Imperial Fists were resorting to desperate measures.
But this wasn't without precedent. The Twelfth Legion, the World Eaters, had stumbled upon their Primarch. Since the Twelfth could do it, the Imperial Fists naturally believed they could too.
Sigismund said, "Legion Master, the Emperor's decree explicitly forbids Legions from launching Crusades for the purpose of finding their Primarch."
"If we defy this order, will we incur the Emperor's punishment?"
The Legion Master, "The Emperor's ban targets indiscriminate Crusades. The Master of the Eighth Legion has prophesied that the next to return will be our Primarch."
"We don't know where the Primarch is, nor will we launch a Crusade with that sole purpose. We only need you to make a choice."
Sigismund asked, "What choice?"
The Legion Master gave Appius a silent nod.
Instantly, a holographic projection descended from the ceiling, spreading a star chart across the center of the chamber. Most details were obscured, leaving only dozens of worlds gleaming in the void. These were newly contacted worlds, unexplored territories.
Appius said, "These are our next destinations. Choose."
Sigismund was silent for a long time. "Master, isn't this rather... arbitrary?"
Appius asked, "Do you have a better idea?"
Sigismund shook his head. If he did, he wouldn't be standing here.
The Legion Master answered, "This isn't arbitrary. We didn't just consult the Eighth Legion's Master. The Master of the Fourteenth also told us he had used numerology to calculate that the next Primarch to return will be ours."
"Primarch Mortarion also claimed that you, Sigismund, are the warrior within the Seventh Legion with the best compatibility for the Primarch!"
Sigismund's eye twitched. Prophecy he could understand; the Eighth Legion Master's gift was well-known. But what in the name of Terra was numerology? He couldn't believe the Legion's high command was putting faith in such superstition!
What had happened to the Imperial Fists?
Even if the Primarch hadn't returned, it was only a matter of time. The Master of Mankind would find them all eventually. Wasn't that obvious? Why the rush?
Sigismund looked at the dozens of worlds. "I have no idea."
Appius reassured him, "Then trust your instincts. If you're wrong, don't worry about it."
Sigismund remained silent. He knew the Legion command was gambling. The dozens of worlds were scattered across the galaxy. Choosing one would make it difficult to reach the others quickly. They might miss their Primarch.
Even if the Primarch returned eventually, the symbolic weight of finding him oneself versus being called by the Emperor was immense! So far, only the Twelfth Legion had that honor. When every other Primarch had been found, the Legions were summoned to their homeworlds by the Emperor.
That's why they needed Sigismund.
No one knew where the Primarch was. It was like finding a needle in a haystack. They had no leads either and feared their own misjudgment.
If the next returning Primarch wasn't theirs, they might not be so torn. But because they believed their Primarch's return was imminent, they hesitated.
So they decided to let Sigismund, designated by two Primarchs, make the call.
If he chose right, everyone celebrated. If he chose wrong, things couldn't get much worse. And Sigismund wouldn't be blamed; they would, for trusting in nonsense like numerology. The other two Primarchs had only offered suggestions, not guarantees.
"I need detailed intelligence on these worlds."
Appius shook his head. "No. Intelligence would bias your judgment."
If they were going to rely on intelligence, why have Sigismund decide? They needed his intuition, untainted by knowledge. The fact that he knew nothing about these worlds was the point.
"That one." Sigismund pointed randomly.
He could only vaguely identify the world as being in the Pacificus Segment. If he was wrong, no matter; he wasn't responsible.
Appius checked his cogitator terminal. "An agri-world, in the Inwit Cluster of the Segmentum Pacificus."
The Legion Master frowned. "Just an agri-world? The 7741st Expeditionary Fleet couldn't handle it?"
Appius answered, "The 7741st discovered it a month ago. It belongs to a larger pocket empire. However, due to a recent full-scale Ork invasion, it's been abandoned by its parent empire."
"The 7741st's distress calls are frequent. They suspect this Ork force belongs to a larger Ork empire."
A pocket empire has its limitations; its military can't compare to the Imperium. An agri-world produces very little value. Fighting Orks over such a world was too costly. Abandoning it, though callous, was wise.
Legion Master asked, "How are they holding up?"
"The 7741st is currently aiding local forces in holding defensive lines and evacuating civilians. Given their fleet's size, they can last at most another month."
The Imperium had tens of thousands of Expeditionary Fleets, varying greatly in size. Primary fleets could muster hundreds of capital ships. Secondary fleets often had only a handful. These numbered in the tens of thousands, outnumbering primary fleets ten to one. They were the vanguard of the Great Crusade, their primary mission exploration.
If they encountered weak resistance, they could occupy or colonize. If faced with a formidable enemy, they would send an encrypted astropathic request for aid to nearby fleets, while maintaining minimal blockade and reconnaissance until a primary fleet arrived. Otherwise, relying solely on Astartes primary fleets would make the Crusade too slow.
The 7741st was a standard small fleet, five light cruisers and twelve thousand mortal auxiliary ground troops. Enough to pacify primitive worlds or reunite isolated human colonies.
But against Orks capable of interstellar invasion, they were stretched thin.
The Seventh Legion, however, had extensive experience fighting Orks, the Imperium's most common enemy, outnumbering all other xenos combined.
From the 7741st's records, the Seventh could assess the Ork threat. Orks capable of interstellar travel implied a Warboss. But since mortal auxiliaries had held for over a month, the Ork force wasn't overwhelming; a small Waaagh! Perhaps.
But even a small Waaagh! needed eliminating quickly. If left unchecked, Orks would multiply, posing a deadly threat to surrounding human worlds. And if this was part of a larger Ork empire, extermination was even more critical!
The Legion Master stood, his voice solemn. "Issue the order. Assemble the Third Fleet at the Mandeville Point at full speed. Inform the Astropathic Choir to respond to the 7741st. The Third Fleet is answering their call. We will arrive in twenty-three standard Terran days."
He struck his chest plate with his right fist. "For the Primarch!"
"For the Primarch!"
The Legion's high command echoed in unison. Only Sigismund, returning the salute, felt a pang of unease. What if he had chosen wrong?
...
"Has the Imperium answered our astropathic plea?"
Lord Commander Eugen Love stood at the bridge's viewport, gazing at the war-torn planet in the void.
The Expeditionary Fleet was too small, dwarfed by the Ork fleet. To avoid unnecessary casualties, he had ordered a guerrilla strategy.
Only when ground forces sent emergency calls would the fleet briefly enter planetary orbit for precision orbital strikes on massed Ork hordes, slowing their advance.
Aide, "Three small expeditionary fleets have responded. The fastest estimates suggest they can reach Reach within fifteen standard Terran days."
Love didn't look away from the viewport. "Keep hailing."
The aide hesitated. "My Lord, the Astropathic Choir is taking casualties. Should we pause?"
"These are small-scale Orks. The current reinforcements should be enough to handle the Ork fleet in orbit."
Love shook his head. "It's not that simple. Reach is a border outpost world of the Inwit Empire. If the Orks are this easy to handle, why would Inwit abandon it so readily?"
"Perhaps Inwit is actually weak?"
"A civilization capable of building a pocket empire might be foolish, archaic, or brutal, but it will not be weak!"
"My experience suggests maybe Inwit is dealing with a rebellion, forcing them to contract their defenses and abandon Reach."
"But a more plausible explanation is that Inwit foresees a greater threat."
"Auxiliary intelligence supports my judgment. This Ork force is far better equipped than its estimated size warrants. This suggests it may be a branch of a larger Ork empire."
The aide's face paled. "You mean there might be a major Ork empire nearby?"
"Very likely." Love's voice dropped. "Inwit probably fears that reinforcing Reach would lead the Orks back to their core worlds."
"An agri-world isn't worth that risk. Cutting their losses was the wise move."
The aide swallowed. "If there is a nearby Ork empire, our situation is dire. These Orks may have already called for reinforcements. The xenos reinforcements might arrive before the Imperium's."
Love sighed. "Which is precisely why we need to request a primary fleet's support as soon as possible."
Astropathic communication is extremely limited; the content depends entirely on the Astropath's skill. Small fleets have weak choirs, capable of transmitting very little. Love relied on repeated calls to convey the danger.
Tactically, withdrawing the fleet would be safest, avoiding potential risks. But the Imperium's Great Crusade was founded on saving lost human colonies, wasn't it?
Having set foot on this world, they couldn't abandon it easily! Besides, they'd called for aid and received responses. To leave now would betray the millions on Reach and endanger the unsuspecting relief forces.
Love ordered, "Tell the ground commander to hold the line."
"As I've said before, hold fast, and there will be a way!"
"Meanwhile, order the patrol fleet to maintain maximum alert. At the first sign of Ork reinforcements, activate the contingency plan."
...
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