Preparations--

"How much do you know about them?"

Archmagos Cawl spoke up.

Good. He was willing to inspect the goods.

Romulus pondered for a moment.

Compared to the Craftworld Aeldari, humanity actually knew very little about the Drukhari, often confusing those xenos with Aeldari Corsairs.

The Drukhari operated in extreme secrecy, and their control over the Webway far surpassed that of their other cousins. As a result, when faced with many heinous incidents of mass abduction, the Imperium often could not even identify the true culprits.

Furthermore, the Drukhari were not humanity's primary enemy. Commorragh might have been vast, but compared to the Imperium, it was truly insignificant. Their raids could not even put a decimal-point dent in humanity's population growth, so naturally the Administratum did not care much about these xenos.

Being able to distinguish the Drukhari already qualified one as a seasoned xenos scholar, let alone understanding Commorragh's current political ecology and military reserves. Other than the Sharks behind him, there really were not many who could enter that hellhole and emerge alive.

Of course, Romulus could not exactly say that he had gained x-ray vision through a Daemonhost. If he wanted fewer problems within the Imperium, he had to avoid associating himself with anything in the Warp other than the Emperor.

"A Salamanders strike cruiser was once abducted to Commorragh, prompting several Chapter fleets, including the Salamanders, to launch an expedition. They successfully withdrew after destroying nearly half the city's structures."

This had been the first and last direct conflict between the Imperium and the Drukhari during the Great Crusade of the 30k era, and it had directly altered Commorragh's political landscape.

Romulus spoke. The matter concerned Vulkan, the Salamanders' Primarch. Even if the Archmagos had cleared his memories, he should still have some impression of it. If not, Romulus would have no choice but to spend some time explaining the Drukhari's characteristics in detail.

Yet this cryptic response only left Marshal Orlando, who was listening in, even more confused. Since when had the Salamanders been taken to Commorragh? Which Chapters had sailed their fleets there and returned intact?

Why had the Black Templars' Expeditionary Fleets, spread across the galaxy, never heard of this?

And for an expedition this large, why had no one brought along the Black Templars?

"You've been there?"

"They can handle it."

Romulus did not answer the question. He pointed at the Imperial Fists behind him, silent as machines. After all, they would be helping the Carcharodons capture the Commorrite shortly.

"This Psyker?"

"A Psyker's very existence weakens the connection between reality and the Warp. The effect on the Drukhari is much like that of a Blank on a Psyker."

Ramesses explained.

Archmagos Cawl nodded in understanding, then carefully examined this group of "Deathwatch," whose numbers and equipment both exceeded all reason.

Their Terminator Armor was crafted to exquisite standards. Its decorations were refined, yet contained no religious elements.

The Imperial Fists wore lighter Corvus-pattern Power Armor. Their weapons were Las-muskets, less destructive but, as Cawl well knew, renowned for their precision.

They were scouts, relying on experience to pinpoint enemies lurking in the darkness and show their comrades the way.

And the price of a mistake was the death of those comrades.

If they could track the Drukhari through experience, then such a force could never have been trained in this era, when humanity no longer fought large-scale conflicts against the Drukhari.

And besides...

A glimmer appeared in Cawl's eyes. Countless streams of data surged through that enormous body, consolidating and calculating this information, verifying its authenticity. Even the air around him grew several degrees hotter.

Correct.

Was it a coincidence?

No.

Then—

There was only one answer.

After a brief silence.

The Sonic Array System emitted several muffled thuds, venting visible steam. The beast-like metal frame shifted, producing a chorus of metallic clanks.

"I accept your proposal."

Cawl smiled. Only Orlando had no idea what he was smiling about. He glanced back at the priest staring at the Black Sword, then at Inquisitor Aglaia, whose eyes shone as she recorded something on parchment. It felt as though he was the only one who had no idea what was going on.

Crack—

Cables scraped across the deck, throwing sparks.

The Archmagos moved aside.

A Servo-skull joined the group. He raised the right hand he had possessed while still human and pointed toward the mechanical elevator leading to the Ark's rear section.

"You have only five minutes."

"Why the Imperial Fists?"

As the elevator rose, Ramesses could not help asking in surprise.

The Black Templars had all fallen into a state of mentally gazing at the galaxy and were completely unable to make sense of the situation.

Naturally, no one had considered bringing them along. They were not familiar enough, and there would probably be friction in command.

"Because among the gene-traits I have on hand, only those of the Imperial Fists are better suited to combat in this kind of environment. They're easier to handle."

Romulus replied.

The Raven Guard were actually the most suitable, but there was no time to switch. Besides, he had never intended to focus on this exhausting, thankless high-speed combat style. Now, he could only pick the best of a bad lot—those whose base attributes were more suited to breaking through.

After all, there was a limit to the warriors he could control personally. Being able to manage coordinated advances alongside the Cadian Armored Regiment was already the absolute limit.

"Mm."

When the elevator reached the top, Ramesses carried the coffin forward and indicated that he had no objections.

There was no counting on the Blood Angels, while the Ultramarines had been trained as heavy infantry. Their five-dimensional stats all leaned in that direction, and adjusting them back would take time.

The Imperial Fists were indeed suitable. Before Dorn's return, they had excelled most at naval warfare and boarding actions. One only had to look at naval warfare master Pollux and the Executioners to see that.

Their innate attributes already leaned in that direction. At the genetic level, they possessed a talent for it, unlike the Ultramarines, who required later shaping.

Then he said to Tyberos:

"Split the Carcharodons' one hundred and thirty men into groups around our people at random. No group may have more than five men. I will place psychic protection over you, then suppress the entire Drukhari activity zone with sorcery."

"It must be exactly one hundred and thirty?"

Tyberos confirmed.

"That's right."

Ramesses looked solemnly at the Sharks. If the Carcharodons had not rejected the Ecclesiarchy's faith, he would have wanted Arabella to send thirteen Sisters to perform pre-battle prayers for everyone first.

Of course, what truly mattered was not the number itself, but the Emperor.

It was simply that this number had a certain connection to the Emperor on the Warp level, so Ramesses liked using it.

Pop—

A faint swell rose in the Warp and flowed toward the Golden Sun.

Ramesses casually made a psychic call.

Mm. The Emperor was still watching the stream. No problem.

Transmigrators were not that squeamish—pragmatists through and through. In 40k, praying to the Emperor really worked. If it could improve the team's odds of success in battle, then pray.

An objectively existing phenomenon was not feudal superstition.