The Sky is Falling

"Victory."

Clashing blades erupted in a shower of sparks.

"Victory!"

The crowd responded with a thunderous roar, their piercing gazes possessing a momentum so fierce it seemed capable of forcing back the very blades locked in confrontation.

Arthur loosened his wrist and withdrew his sword.

He knew this was enough.

The black-clad knight flicked his cloak, tucking his majesty and splendor back behind a veil of silence.

Everyone sheathed their weapons, their eyes fixed upon the sacred light left by the Emperor, filled with an unwavering resolve to triumph.

"One day to prepare."

Romulus caught Arthur in the corner of his eye and let out a soft sigh.

From now on, whenever there's a morale-boosting event, just leave it to his good brother.

"Inquisitor Aglaia may adjust her personnel as needed; our ships also require time to receive them."

"Understood!"

Aglaia puffed out her chest and held her head high, looking every bit the soldier undergoing inspection.

"My Lord!"

Approaching Arthur, she respectfully held out an 'I' shaped insignia.

"I am grateful for your magnanimity and mercy. This is a soul-anchoring mark, capable of locking onto my soul at any time."

This was an insignia she had obtained while working as a chronicler in the Archive of Origins before becoming an Inquisitor.

The Roman letter 'I' signified that she was the first among her cohort of agents.

Under normal circumstances, this would have been passed down to her future apprentice.

But now, Aglaia felt an instinctive urge to present this token to him.

"Should I ever fall into corruption in the future, you may take my life at any moment."

Aglaia spoke concisely, as if wasting even a fraction of the knight's time were a sacrilege.

Arthur's previous actions had granted her a chance to survive.

One had to understand that a psyker prone to emotional instability was incredibly dangerous, especially as an Inquisitor—her own mentor was a prime example of the chaos such a person could unleash.

Of course, under normal circumstances, an ordinary person could not execute an Inquisitor, but the problem was that those around her were far from ordinary.

The Adeptus Mechanicus Magos cared only for threat levels, and the Black Templars were already at odds with the Inquisition, harboring an extreme hatred for psykers—save for Navigators—and would have loved an excuse to cut down this 'witch.'

In the eyes of the others, Arthur's gesture served as a guarantee for her, and she could not allow herself to tarnish the honor of such an ancient warrior.

"Very well."

Arthur reached out and took the insignia.

Golden light surged.

"Here we go again."

Ramesses muttered, silently manipulating the safehouse to shroud Aglaia's Warp projection.

"Thank you, my Lord!"

Aglaia stepped back, trembling with excitement, feeling a sense of unprecedented peace wash over her.

"Hiss~"

Karna suddenly felt the grape in his mouth lose its sweetness.

It tasted sour.

How was this kid Arthur so lucky?

Having a signature weapon was one thing, but now he had a signature accessory too. These "locals" might not know what that 'I' represented, but they certainly did—it was clearly the Emperor playing favorites. He was the only Dark Angels on this ship, after all.

And as for them? If it weren't for Arthur, the three of them wouldn't even have been able to requisition gear from the Cadians.

The Emperor was biased!

Arthur had all these cool, edgy lines down to a science; why couldn't the three of them be that smooth?

Besides, why was the Emperor so fond of this style? He was over forty thousand years old—was his chuunibyou still not cured?

"My Lord, I wish to lead the Inquisition Retinue to your ships afterward."

Aglaia solemnly submitted her request to Romulus.

"Of course."

"The cruiser has finished docking between the Nicor and the Ark. I will also convert the xenos spoils you have acquired into consumables."

Cawl watched Aglaia retreat and added.

"Thank you."

Romulus nodded in acknowledgement, intending to lead his squad away immediately.

Clang!

Just as the squad began to move, the warrior who had been struck in the face by the Poison Crystal shifted his feet, but failed to take a step; instead, after stumbling a few paces, he braced his knees and collapsed to the ground.

Right there, in full view of everyone.

"Elder!"

The three Sharks cried out in alarm, rushing forward in a flurry of activity.

They scrambled to support the Elder, feeling as if the sky had collapsed upon them in that very moment.

"..."

Tyberos, still holding the drooling Archon, stopped without a sound.

For a fleeting moment, Romulus felt that the gaze he turned upon the three Sharks was the same as looking at the dead.

"His life is not in danger."

Romulus spoke, his composure matching the aura he projected when commanding.

He had paid no mind precisely because the data monitoring the status of the Imperial Fists on his end had not triggered any warnings.

It seems I shall have to add a module for displaying abnormal status effects in the future, he thought.

"...I understand."

Tyberos nodded.

The suffocating pressure dissipated instantly.

Plop—

The Son of Dorn removed his helmet, revealing a face that appeared somewhat aged to everyone present.

His sturdy buzz cut and eyebrows had already turned completely white.

On a face that looked as if it were carved from stone, the penetrating wound remaining on the lower part of his cheek appeared exceptionally gruesome.

The transcendent perspective provided by his cybernetics allowed Cawl to lock onto the traces of corrosion on the fragments of the cheek.

"Do you possess sufficient medical facilities?"

Cawl was intrigued.

Romulus pondered for a moment.

He was weighing the pros and cons.

The bodies they had created were Imperial Fists, there was no doubt about that; even the rate of cellular aging could be edited at will.

But to accept an examination meant that the physical structure of this warrior would be completely exposed to Cawl's scrutiny.

One had to know that when Romulus used the templates, although he had avoided choosing the Primaris Space Marine designs that Archmagos Cawl would introduce to the Imperium in the future due to the constraints of the era, he had still utilized perfect Gene-seed to ensure peak combat performance.

In this current age, after the Imperial Fists had gone through the rapid conscription period of the Siege of Terra, the total annihilation during the War of the Beast, and the subsequent reconstruction using personnel from the Exemplars of Dorn chapter, they had lost the Sus-an Membrane and the Betcher's Gland from the nineteen stages of Space Marine implantation.

Furthermore, including all the successor chapters of the Imperial Fists, some of their organs had mutated over time, leading to genetic diseases where organs would, more or less, fail to function properly.

Therefore, a complete Imperial Fists warrior, aside from the stock held by the Archmagos before him and the collections of certain thieves who preferred to remain anonymous, only existed during the Great Crusade era.

And would the exposure of this characteristic be a good thing?

Naturally, it would.

The mere existence of those intact genes from the 30k era would be enough to prove the authenticity of their identity.

"We do not have an Apothecary; recovery is usually handled by Arthur."

Romulus spoke.

Because they were all flesh-and-blood beings, if something broke, it was replaced; Romulus had never intended to perform maintenance, planning instead to establish that position for mass production once they had conquered a chapter homeworld.

But now, this was an accident, and it would serve as a very good reason.