192. Sacrifice (3)

Helbrecht knew one thing well: being granted authority was, in truth, a cruel treatment. He had been crowned with the name of High Marshal, and so he had to take responsibility for the life of every Black Templars battle-brother.

Now, the Glyph Array showed that nine battle-brothers had already left them forever, their souls returned to the Golden Throne.

He lowered his head in brief mourning. His lips were pressed tightly together, but there was not much sorrow in his expression. Death was commonplace. No Astartes could guarantee he would never meet with an accident.

They relied on courage, discipline, and faith to fight terrifying enemies, but sometimes, those things all dimmed and lost their effect.

When that time came, you had to burn your life instead.

And everything was worth it—as long as the mission was completed.

His lips moved slightly, and Angard recited an Emperor's Prayer with practiced ease. He did not do it out of his own faith. After all, he knew his faith was no longer pure. By the standards of the Black Templars, Helbrecht could, in fact, now be considered a heretic.

He recited it for them.

How wonderful a thing pure faith was. The High Marshal sighed aloud at the thought, drawing Sicarius's attention beside him.

The lone Second Captain of the Ultramarines asked sternly, "High Marshal Helbrecht, what is wrong?"

"Nothing, Second Captain Sicarius. Wait—the data displayed by the Glyph Array seems to have changed."

Helbrecht's expression also turned grave. He walked to the command table, raised his hand, and tapped lightly at the vast projections. The mass of redundant data was swiftly removed, leaving only several long strings of numbers that were shifting without pause. They were being compiled rapidly, and after just over ten seconds, a line of text appeared.

```Teleportation