"The Space Wolves did well."
Guilliman's words made Dorn nod. "Indeed. They cleared the entire Saint's Command in only fifteen minutes. But the captain of the Frost Wolf deserves a considerable share of the credit as well. To dare fire boarding torpedoes directly—astonishing judgment."
Only the two of them were in the conference room. These days, Dorn had mostly been going back and forth between the Imperial Fists' station and the conference room. He had run a tremendous number of data simulations, and the densely packed contingency battle plans were so numerous that even Guilliman found them somewhat overwhelming.
"Alyona Anastasia is a very capable commander, though her combat style takes rather unorthodox risks. In addition, she has a good relationship with the Space Wolves."
Dorn narrowed his eyes. Guilliman's pointed words caused a slight shift in his expression. "...Don't tell me this was Russ's handiwork."
"It had nothing to do with him, brother. He did not return much earlier than you did—this was something his Scions decided on their own. Let us skip over it. It is not the main point. Hub, please project the scan results of the Saint's Command."
After a faint hum, the scan results that appeared on the pale-blue light screen made both men's expressions turn extremely grave.
"Their cognition was distorted," Roboute Guilliman said in a low voice. "And in an instant. Though the Saint's Command did not have time to install a complete mental-protection magic array due to the urgency, its effects were still present. I do not believe an ordinary demon would have the ability to do this."
"That frivolous sense of playing with people's minds..."
Rogal Dorn turned his solemn face and stared straight at Guilliman. "Was it It?"
"It was It." Guilliman pressed his lips together. "In other words, It