After leaving Calgar's command room, Huron did not pause for a moment, heading straight for the Deathseekers Legion's quarters on the ship.
He found Ghostface in a temporarily requisitioned maintenance bay. The mortal Governor was sitting on a pile of ammo crates, holding a tactical slate, seemingly tabulating data.
Huron gathered his thoughts and strode forward. Though the man before him was a mere mortal, Huron granted him sufficient respect as the leader of such a powerful legion.
"Commander Ghostface," Huron said, getting straight to the point with a low, forceful voice. "I have matters to discuss regarding the arrangements moving forward."
Ghostface looked up, saw the Chapter Master of the Astral Claws, and set down his slate. "Lord Huron? Please, speak."
"As you know, the official phase of the war has been declared over, and the Imperial fleet is preparing to withdraw," Huron said, fixing his gaze on Ghostface's eyes as he slowly revealed his true intent. "But I do not intend to stop here. The Maelstrom Zone is currently in turmoil; heretics and xenos stir frequently. My Chapter is in dire need of powerful support."
He paused. "I hope you can transfer that Ogryn unit to my command. Whether as a temporary attachment or a permanent transfer, I will provide them with the finest treatment and honor. With them, the Astral Claws' defensive lines in the Maelstrom will be impregnable."
Having finished his piece, Huron didn't wait for an immediate answer. Instead, his mind raced, simulating the negotiations to follow.
It didn't take a genius to realize that no commander would willingly hand over their ace troops. These Ogryns were not only terrifying in combat but even knew how to crack Necron technology—they were priceless treasures. If it were Huron, and someone dared to ask for his First Company Terminators, he would have shoved a lightning claw down their throat.
The man would surely refuse at first.
Huron had already listed several arguments in his head:
Should he play the emotional card, claiming the Ogryns showed great admiration for him and wanted to serve under him?
Should he take the diplomatic route, emphasizing the unbreakable bond forged between the Astral Claws and the Deathseekers in the recent battle?
Or should he take the moral high ground, stressing the precarious state of the Maelstrom—that if it fell, the entire Empire's interests would suffer?
Huron was even prepared to offer master-crafted equipment or even warships as compensation if the man proved stubborn.
However, something happened that he never could have predicted.
Upon hearing the request, Ghostface's face showed no anger, reluctance, or intent to bargain. He simply gave Huron a strange look, as if looking at someone asking for directions.
"That's it?" Ghostface scratched his head, his tone as relaxed as if they were discussing what to eat for dinner. "Then there's no need to come to me. If you want to take them, go ask them yourself. If they want to go with you, then they go with you."
"Wha—What?"
A flicker of confusion crossed Huron's face—a face usually defined by calculated control. He briefly wondered if his hearing had failed.
No negotiations? No exchange of interests? No need to pressure this mortal?
"Just like that?" Huron asked, incredulous. "These are your elite assault forces, and you're just letting them... choose for themselves?"
In the Imperial military system, soldiers were consumables, extensions of their commander's will. The idea of soldiers deciding their own deployment was unheard of.
Looking at the shocked Space Marine Chapter Master, Ghostface shrugged and said as if it were common sense, "They're all adults; they should make their own decisions. I'm not their parent. Their legs belong to them—where they want to fight and who they want to follow is their freedom."
To Ghostface, this was indeed common sense. While these "players" were nominally under his command, they were actually a bunch of "dudes" there to play a game. If they wanted to switch locations or follow a more famous NPC to grind merit points, was he supposed to ban their accounts?
Huron stood frozen, looking at Ghostface's nonchalant expression, a strong sense of the absurd welling up inside him.
He felt as though there was a massive cognitive divide between them—no, it was as if two different dimensions were attempting to converse.
But Huron was Huron. As the Tyrant of the Maelstrom, his pragmatism instantly overruled his confusion.
Whatever the reason, as long as the result favored him, it was fine. Since Ghostface was generous enough to let these excellent soldiers go, Huron would gladly accept.
He didn't dwell on the topic further, quickly schooling his expression back into a majestic posture.
"In that case, I shall go and seek their opinion," Huron said deeply, a glint of determination in his eyes.
Ghostface nodded and picked up his slate again. "As you should. Good luck, Lord Huron. With your reputation, I'm sure it'll be easy."
Huron turned and left with supreme confidence, fully agreeing with Ghostface's assessment.
Carrying his ambition to "recruit the elites," Huron rushed to the Ogryns' temporary camp. These big fellows, fresh from a fierce battle, were gathered in small groups.
Huron's arrival immediately drew everyone's attention. The Astral Claws' leader didn't put on airs; he walked straight to the Ogryn who had opened the Necron gate earlier.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Huron pulled a heavy book from his waist pouch—a copy of the Codex Astartes with gold-rimmed covers. On the flyleaf was Huron's own flamboyant signature.
"This is an honor you have earned, warrior." Huron solemnly placed the book in the Ogryn's hands, his voice carrying the approval of a superior to a subordinate. "Your bravery and wisdom have left a deep impression on me."
The Ogryn player held the book, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Even if this thing had no stat bonuses, posting this on the forums would be a massive flex.
Huron glanced around out of the corner of his eye. Just as he expected, the other Ogryns were looking at the book with unconcealed envy.
The fish had bitten. Huron's lips curled up slightly as he began to wait patiently.
Sure enough, after a moment, a bold Ogryn player squeezed forward, rubbing his massive hands with anticipation. "Brother Huron, I want an autograph too! I'm really tough too!"
Huron turned to face the warriors hungering for glory and spoke loudly, "You want one too? Certainly! But my signature is granted only to the bravest of warriors."
He paused, his burning gaze sweeping over the crowd. "If you follow me to the Maelstrom and join the Astral Claws' auxiliary legions—if you achieve great feats in the coming battles—a mere signature is something I will not withhold! I might even personally award you the Astral Claws' Medals of Honor!"
The Ogryns' eyes lit up instantly.
Someone quickly asked, "Are there a lot of fights in the Maelstrom? If we go there and there are no mobs to grind—uh, no battles to fight—wouldn't that be a wasted trip?"
Huron didn't even have to explain. A "lore-buff" player who had done their homework stood up in the crowd and shouted, "Is that even a question? Bro, that's the Maelstrom! The most famous chaos zone in the Empire! Xenos and heretics are everywhere. There's a pirate every five steps and a cult every ten. You can run into two rebel groups just going out for groceries!"
"Exactly!" Huron picked up the thread immediately, not only confirming the man's words but upping the ante. "The situation in the Maelstrom is far more severe than you imagine. It is full of challenges, but also full of opportunity. If you go, I will use you as the primary force for purging enemies. I will never let you waste your time in the rear!"
Hearing the words "primary force," the players erupted. It was as if they saw infinite merit points waving at them. They scrambled to sign up, and the scene briefly spiraled out of control.
"I'm in! Chapter Master Huron, count me in!"
"Me too! I have a shield, I can tank!"
"Brother Huron is truly loyal—not only does he give out books, he gives us fights!"
"He knew I was short on merit points and came right over to deliver a war. He truly is the Empire's Timely Rain!"
Seeing the crowd of Ogryns competing to serve him, Huron felt a great sense of peace. Though he didn't understand why they called him "Timely Rain," it didn't hinder his control over this fresh force.
With these fearless lunatics, the pirates and heretics of the Maelstrom were about to see their good days come to an end.