Shark: Hee, can we make peace?

Inside the room, one twisted and deformed creation after another appeared, things as distorted and fragmented as the Warp itself.

They resembled savage beasts yet remained draped in the skin of the material world; some were mechanical, their flesh beginning to proliferate once the suppression was lifted, while others were simply humanoid, mutating at a speed visible to the naked eye the moment they were freed from their restraints.

"Ramesses is truly worthy of his medical background."

Even though he knew that creating soulless husks through materialization abilities for experimentation was theoretically as mundane as the people in his past life's medical school dissecting lab mice, the absurdly dark and twisted aesthetic of the Warhammer 40k setting made it feel otherwise.

Yet, Arthur still felt a sense of physiological discomfort.

Those husks created by materialization, now occupied by Demon entities, truly triggered a sense of the uncanny valley.

And this was clearly a sacred act where they were pouring in their own souls to hand-craft Cadaver Teacher specimens, all for the sake of humanity's future.

Yet, Chaos had turned it into the evil laboratory of a perverted scientist.

Indeed, anything touched by Chaos becomes twisted.

Research into Warp psychic energy constructs, research into the Stormcast Eternals' castrated version of Possessed Marines, research into the construction of the Weasel Chat Channel, research into Demon personality correction, research into the utilization rate of Safe House concealment functions, and so on...

Narrowing his eyes, a series of experimental projects flashed through his mind.

That Ramesses could actually conduct research in this environment without changing his expression, churning out so much work in less than fifteen days—medical students are truly not ordinary people.

Screech—

The Black Sword ignited with a deep blue force field, annihilating the nearest Chaos creation.

Arthur searched his memory, beginning to methodically clear away the traces within this domain.

Researching Chaos and making contact with Demons were unforgivable felonies in any era of the Imperium.

This was the secret they had to keep.

On the Nicor, Tyberos and the various Captains of the Chapter gathered around a massive holographic sand table.

At this moment, everyone's gaze was fixed on a warrior at the edge of the table, wearing a skull mask and cradling a slender Adamantium staff.

Te Kahurangi, the Chief Librarian of the Carcharodons, an ancient warrior who had served the Chapter for over a thousand years.

After hanging up this unusual communication, the doubt-filled group had no choice but to once again seek necessary guidance from this Chief Librarian who had led them through countless threats.

The other party's knowledge of them seemed terrifying; not only did he know the Chapter Master's name, but he even knew a title that had never been made public.

He also seemed quite familiar with their operational style.

"While drifting through the Warp, I glimpsed the scene ahead. It was a void of blank mist; no figures remained in the void, only fragments of shattered death lingering in the periphery. Intense fear gathered within, filled with disbelief and the despair of impending death."

"That sounds ominous."

Akia, the Third Company Captain, looked at the two ships interlocked on the sand table.

Due to the influence of the source-less rage within his bloodline, he was not adept at thinking, but even so, he could sense the danger.

This was not a good omen.

"But I also glimpsed a light of hope. Intense emotions converged—a soaring, upward spirit. An invisible bond dragged souls that should have perished back from the abyss of death. The gaze of the Father of the Void has rested here."

"How could you see such contradictory visions?"

As a Chapter Master who had worked with Te Kahurangi for a long time, there was a hint of surprise in Tyberos's cold tone.

For Te Kahurangi, who was proficient in prophecy, he rarely needed to use the obscure and difficult language of other psykers, being able to speak directly of fragments of the past and future—unlike now.

"Because of that unseen thing?"

"Hmm, it seems the opposing Librarian's skills are exquisite; they blocked my probing."

Te Kahurangi replied honestly; after all, besides that, he truly couldn't imagine how the vast blank spaces in the prophecy had come to be.

It wasn't as if those people lacked Warp projections, right?

"Then, what is our answer?"

Through the porthole, Tyberos could see the lights beginning to flicker on the side of the heavily damaged Strike Cruiser.

This was an invitation.

"The answer remains the same."

Te Kahurangi opened his eyes.

"We will return with a full load."

"That is enough."

Ignoring the others, the Hunger and Slaughter on his arms flared with light, and Tyberos issued his command directly.

"Prepare the shuttle. The First Company will remain to guard the flagship; the Third Company will come with me."

Tyberos had not abandoned the idea of scavenging; at most, if the other party was truly in difficulty, he would collect a little less.

He knew very well that every choice carried its risks, but such was the fate of the Carcharodons—even if they clashed, they had to step forward and tear off a piece of flesh.

Because they themselves did not know if they could hold out until the next piece of flesh arrived.

The Sharks knew that this world was never kind; Heretics, Xenos, and even the Imperium they protected never gave them a pleasant look.

Thus, they had no choice but to fight and scramble, casting aside honor and reputation to become the scavengers most despised by other humans.

Inside the shuttle, every Carcharodons remained in startling silence, gripping the jagged blades of their Chainaxe and pressing Bolter rounds into chambers worn nearly smooth.

If what was to follow was a challenge, then let it come.

Yet, when the shuttle's Melta beam tore through the not-yet-fully-opened bulkhead and a band of silent warriors charged out, they were dumbfounded by the sight before them.

Before them, fully armed Cataphractii Terminator stood in neat formation, the walls ahead illuminated by the lights of several massive vehicles, reflecting one ancient and powerful war machine after another.

In the scent wafting toward him, Tyberos did not detect the smell of danger, only the fragrance representing food.

Was this the "remnant of defeated soldiers" in need of rescue mentioned in the transmission?

This wasn't right, was it?

"..."

Watching the mortals who had lost their balance due to the bulkhead breach, now shielded behind a dozen Cataphractii Terminator, Tyberos retracted his Lightning Claw with an expressionless face.

"Kahurangi!"

The voice carried a hint of complaint.

"I only said that we would return with a full load."

Shifting the blame quite naturally, the accompanying Kahurangi gazed at the dazzling array of vehicles in the chamber, raised his staff to stabilize the following shuttles intending to charge, and slowly moved them inside, incidentally using his psychic powers to seal the bulkhead that was still leaking air.

Awe emerged in his gaze as he looked at the Deathwatch Librarian, born from the man's exquisite skill.

Even now, he could not see a single shred of the future regarding these warriors.

"?"

Ramesses, still recalling his research project, noticed the awe-filled gaze directed at him and tilted his head in confusion.

"Welcome, brothers of the Carcharodons. I am the Kill Team leader of the Deathwatch, Romulus."

Releasing his hand from assisting Kovek in maintaining his balance, Romulus introduced himself simply in fluent High Gothic, seemingly indifferent to the aggressive aura of the Carcharodons.

The Carcharodons, who had just moments ago looked like bandits, instantly became reserved.

"...Greetings."

Looking at Romulus, who stood at a height as extraordinary as his own, Tyberos's current state of mind was as complex as someone who had intended to rob a down-and-out wretch, only to find they had targeted an armored transport truck in disguise.

This was a disaster.