67. An Ill-Timed Joke

"That really does surprise me."

Smiling, Steve could not help nodding. "So Fulgrim's Legion has returned?"

"Not all of it. Only a small portion."

Frank answered with his head lowered as he replaced the monomolecular saw-teeth on his Chainsword. His saw-teeth had been enchanted with Glyph Arrays. Sharper, tougher. Frank liked things that were both tough and sharp.

The two of them were sitting aboard Steve's ship and talking. That Portal had already been completely shut down. The civilians had been taken away, and Steve had already contacted a garden world along their route, intending to settle those people there.

The Astra Militarum naturally went with them too—their original command structure had already fallen apart, and making a trip to the Departmento Munitorum to report in was not a bad idea.

As for the governor of this star sector, he had already been dismissed from office. He was now pitifully languishing in prison, and with his obese build, he would probably suffer plenty in there. In a few months, or a year, the new governor arranged by the Departmento Munitorum and Holy Terra would take office in his place. By then, everything here would be very different.

At the very least, this kind of situation would not happen again.

"A small portion? What does that mean?"

"Well, how do I put it, Cap."

Frank looked up, unusually at a loss as to where to begin.

"...Those people's souls were all bound to Isstvan III. The Chaos Evil Gods wanted to use that to torment them and look for a chance to corrupt them. But they didn't give in. Many souls shattered over the long years and became nourishment for the few survivors. Otherwise, their souls could never have lasted this long."

Steve was silent for a while, his expression grim