As the boarding action settled, the Necron flagship—resembling a giant tomb—began to disintegrate under a series of violent internal explosions. The warriors of the Astral Claws were methodically withdrawing to their Strike Cruiser. Standing on the scarred deck, Huron's gaze never left the group of Ogryns currently scavenging the aftermath.
During the recent battle, the cost-effectiveness displayed by these brutes had stirred the Chapter Master's heart.
They were thick-skinned and hardy, capable in a fight, possessed of functional intelligence, and most importantly—they did not fear death.
If he could incorporate these fellows into the Astral Claws as an auxiliary force to tank xenos firepower, his precious Astartes could deal damage from a safe distance or move into tactical positions with ease.
Training a single Astartes required decades and a mountain of resources, but these Ogryns—
—they could be used for the price of some rations.
The math was simply too good.
With this in mind, Huron did not go to rest upon returning to the Imperial fleet's flagship. Instead, he went straight to the current supreme commander of the fleet: Marneus Calgar, Chapter Master of the Ultramarines.
Inside the strategic briefing room, Calgar was staring at a star map in deep thought.
"Brother Calgar," Huron began directly, his tone carrying a hint of testing, "About those Ogryns from the Helldivers—I was thinking, since the upcoming campaign will only get more brutal, could their command be temporarily transferred to me? As you've seen, my Astral Claws excel at siege and assault. With them as cover, I can minimize casualties and crush those xenos more efficiently."
Huron felt his reasoning was sound. It was for the victory of the Imperium and the preservation of Astartes lives.
However, Calgar's reaction was entirely unexpected.
The Ultramarines Chapter Master turned around, his rugged face unreadable, and calmly shook his head. "Chapter Master Huron, I cannot approve your request. Furthermore—if you truly want those Ogryns to continue following you, you will have to ask the commander of this Helldiver Legion: Ghostface."
Huron frowned. "Him? That shouldn't matter. Command is in your hands; you only need to issue the order—wait, did you say 'continue'?"
"Yes," Calgar said flatly. "Because for the main Imperial Navy and the Astartes coalition, this war is already over."
"What?!"
Huron's voice spiked, his hawk-like eyes wide with disbelief. "How can the war be over? It's only just begun! The Necron main fleet is still prowling the sector, countless worlds are still under threat, and we've only just repelled their first wave—"
Mid-sentence, Huron stopped abruptly.
His sharp political instincts and deep understanding of the Imperial bureaucracy allowed him to instantly grasp the meaning behind Calgar's words. Looking into Calgar's calm, almost cold eyes, a realization flashed through his mind.
"I see..." Huron let out a cold laugh, his previous fervor chilling instantly. "It's because of... 'face'?"
"It seems you understand," Calgar nodded, offering no denial. His voice was low, and his explanation mirrored Huron's thoughts. "The cause of this war was not a struggle for territory, but rather the open provocation from that xenos Overlord. It was a naked insult to the dignity of the Holy Emperor."
"And now," Calgar pointed to the icon on the star map representing the destroyed Necron flagship, "we have destroyed their landmark structures on the ground, defeated their flagship in space, and slain their Overlord. The Imperial Guard won, the Navy won, and the Astartes won. We have struck back at these xenos before the eyes of the entire galaxy and secured a victory. Our honor is satisfied; that is enough."
Huron fell silent. Indeed, this was a game of "honor." Now that face had been restored, it was time to look at the ledger.
"As for the Orpheus Sector itself—" Calgar's finger swept across the star zone, "there are no strategic resources here worth protecting. No rare minerals, no vital Forge Worlds. The cost of the war during this period has already reached astronomical figures."
"The Imperium cannot afford to continue pouring billions of resources into defending a barren wasteland. This 'war of face' has reached its limit of cost-effectiveness."
Huron took a deep breath. As an ambitious man, he understood that this was the logic by which the Imperium operated.
"So, we are withdrawing?" Huron asked.
"Yes. Aside from a small contingent of Ultramarines staying behind to assist with defense, most of the warships and Chapters will depart for their respective sectors."
Calgar looked at a solitary marker on the edge of the star map and added, "Of course, the Imperium won't abandon it entirely. The Revenant Angels Chapter will remain as the only organized Astartes force stationed in the Orpheus Sector."
"So, Huron," Calgar looked at him, "if you still want those Ogryns, go talk to Ghostface yourself. From this moment on, the war is over, and I no longer hold that level of command over them."
Hearing this explanation, which reeked of bureaucratic decay, a flicker of irrepressible rage flashed in Huron's eyes. He turned and pointed at the blinking red dots on the tactical screen, his voice low: "You've seen how terrifying these xenos are, Brother Calgar. That self-repairing metal, those weapons that can disintegrate anything instantly—if we don't eradicate them now, they will become a catastrophic threat in the future!"
Calgar replied with a calm tinged with helplessness: "That is a matter for the future—Huron, you know as well as I do that most people cannot see that far. To them, a beautiful battle report and the current budget are far more important than a crisis that might erupt a century from now."
Upon hearing this, Huron's expression froze for a moment before melting into a deeply cynical sneer.
"Of course—how can mortals with lifespans of only a century or two see five hundred years ahead?" He made no effort to hide the contempt in his voice. "They live and die in a day like mayflies, yet they presume to chart the course of a great vessel. And yet—the great Imperium is controlled by exactly such a group of short-sighted fools."
These words were crossing a line. Under the Imperium's strict hierarchy and dogmas of absolute loyalty to Terra, such a statement—if overheard by the Inquisition—would be enough to brand Huron with the label of "dangerous thoughts."
The air seemed to freeze for several seconds.
Calgar did not evaluate Huron's words, nor did he rebuke his disrespect. The Master of Macragge, famous for his adherence to rules, sat as silent as a marble statue, showing neither agreement nor dissent. In that moment, perhaps even he felt a wordless resonance with Huron regarding the state of the Imperium, but he would never give voice to it.
Silence itself was the answer.
Huron glanced at Calgar's expressionless face and knew further talk was useless.
"In that case, I won't disturb you further," Huron masked his emotions and gave Calgar a slight nod of departure. "Since the official war is over, I'll handle things my own way. I'm going to find Ghostface myself."