Raging Flame (I)

"Nuceria," Roboute Guilliman said.

He pronounced the name in High Gothic, glancing down at the Dataslate on the table, its laurel wreath gleaming in the light of the room.

After a while, he looked up. "A barbaric civilization."

A subtle, barely perceptible anger flashed across his face, Gage caught. He knew why, but he didn't deny it.

How would you refute the facts?

"Indeed barbaric, Primarch, but they're not without their merits," Gage explained to his Primarch. "At least they possess a significant amount of technology clearly from a lost era."

"Technological advancements only highlight their inherent ugliness, and this does nothing to change the facts," Roboute Guilliman said with a furrowed brow.

His hand slid up and down on the Dataslate, which obediently responded to his control and presented him with more information about the world.

The Ultramarines obtained this information through a series of complex methods, and now it is in the hands of Roboute Guilliman.

"Actually," Gage seemed somewhat hesitant.

He paused, seemingly unsure how to continue the explanation, but his Primarch resolved the issue for him a few seconds later.

"In reality, their technology isn't very advanced either." Roboute Guilliman looked up at his First Chapter Master, his expression very serious.

"In most parts of the world, people still live a very primitive life. I can hardly believe that such a planet exists in the Ultima Segmentum. The rulers are dressed in fine silks and live in magnificent and advanced palaces, while their people live like savages, fighting against nature in tribal forms."

Roboute Guilliman shook his head incredulously.

"Am I dreaming, Marius? They'll even capture slave trains and throw them into arenas to fight each other for the amusement of those so-called 'High Riders'?"

The First Chapter Master remained silent for a moment before answering the question.

"This is nothing new, my lord," Gage said gravely. "At least for us veterans. We've dealt with many similar cases before your return. People are either oppressed by their own people or by Xenos, sometimes both."

He shook his head and said no more, because Roboute Guilliman's eyes were already filled with determination.

He turned his head and looked at a seated giant who was calmly reading a long parchment scroll. The Primarch- sized sofa seemed just right for him.

"What do you think of this planet, Karyl?"

"You already have the answer, Roboute." The giant looked up and smiled slightly. "So why ask me again?"

My answer may not suit your taste.

"Why should it suit my tastes?" Karyl raised an eyebrow. "Nuceria is not an Agri World."

"It could be," Roboute Guilliman said seriously. "Based on orbital scans and messages from scouts, the planet's soil is quite suitable for large-scale agriculture, and these long-oppressed people clearly need legitimate work to live normal lives."

Karyl didn't answer, but slowly rolled up the parchment in his hand, bit by bit.

After finishing this, he glanced at Marius Gage, who was trying hard to keep his eyes straight ahead. The First Chapter Master's Power Armour was gleaming and smelled strongly of engine oil, clearly having been well-maintained before coming to see their Primarch.

"I think it's best to leave this matter to Chapter Master Gage to decide," Karyl said softly. "After all, if you intend to conquer this planet by force, the First Chapter will definitely be the first to go, won't it?"

Roboute Guilliman turned his head seriously and looked at his First Chapter Master.

The latter's expressionless face at this moment added even more intrigue to his subsequent minute and a half of silence. Roboute Guilliman, of course, did not overlook this, and he quickly realized what Gage's silence meant.

"Just say what you have to say, Marius," Roboute Guilliman said helplessly. "Haven't we always been like this? Just say what you mean."

Gage still did not answer his Primarch's question. He remained silent for another forty seconds before offering a cautious short sentence.

"Wheat grows more abundantly on land ravaged by war," Gage said. "I have no intention of hiding anything from you, Primarch. The First Chapter certainly craves glory—but the people of Nuceria also need us to remove the tumor that is harming them, don't they?"

Roboute Guilliman smiled.

"Then let the war begin," he said softly but firmly. "Begin now."

Eighteen minutes and forty-one seconds later, scattered showers of fire fell from above Nuceria's orbit.

--

Krest awoke with a start, her bones, muscles, and skin trembling all at once. She lay there with her eyes open on the stinking animal hide, and after a while, she realized it wasn't her imagination, because the rock walls were also shaking, and sand and gravel were falling, splashing her face.

She sat up abruptly, feeling a surge of anger. The torches burned, and the smell of animal fat was still strong. Karelian remained on the rock face, leaning against it as if it were his feet.

They were all awake.

"What's going on?" someone asked in a low voice. "Are the slave owners planning some rare nighttime gladiatorial combats?"

"They have a dance tonight, they don't have time for us," another man laughed crudely. "These bastards should be gutted and thrown into the mud."

A sudden, piercing laugh erupted from the cave. Gladiators always did this; their words were their only weapon against their slave owners. So every one of them learned to use and master it, regardless of where they came from.

Children of gladiators, children from the forest, children from the sand, volcanoes, oases, and plains—regardless of age or gender, they turned words into armor and weapons, then stood tall and faced death one by one under the watchful eyes of their slave owners.

No one can escape.

At least not in Krest's memory. She had been in this arena for three years, and in those three years, not a single gladiator had ever walked out alive. They were either buried in the sand pits or devoured by wild beasts.

The discussion continued for a while, along with vulgar jokes and sarcastic remarks, creating a commotion in the cave, but no guards came to stop it.

This is strange, because in the past, those lackeys of the High Riders would never miss any opportunity to show off their power; they would seek every chance to torment them, including making noise at night.

The cave gradually quieted down, and they all realized something was wrong.

Krest looked at the man leaning against the rock wall with his eyes closed, and asked softly, "Karelian, do you know what's going on?"

"I don't know," Karelian replied with his eyes closed. "But I suggest you all quiet down and conserve your energy."

His suggestion worked, and everyone quieted down. There were originally eight people living in the cave; six died in the battle three days ago, and now eight more have joined.

Except for Karelian, whose eyes were closed, everyone else had their eyes open, looking at each other in the darkness and talking silently, even Krest.

But she wasn't thinking about the tremors of the rock face; she was thinking about the roars that occasionally came from underground. The owner of that scarlet face had told her his name a few hours earlier, and she considered it an honor.

Angron.

She murmured his name, a chill running down her spine. The spectators in the stands excitedly called him Angronius, or the Undefeated, but how many of them really cared what his real name was?

She lay on the animal skin, gazing at the rock wall, pondering all of this, feeling a terrible sense of bewilderment. However, this feeling did not last long.

A low, sharp sound suddenly rang out, creating an unbearable, terrifying noise in everyone's ears. But before they could react, they suddenly felt a huge tremor from the ground, which, though only for a moment, was felt by everyone.

"What is that?" someone asked in the darkness.

No one answered him, because no one had the answer.

The rock face was sealed off, and there was no other way to see the outside world unless the door was opened. If it weren't for the vent at the top of the rock face that let in light, the gladiators might not even be able to distinguish between day and night.

They held their breath for a moment, wondering how the arena guards would react, but they didn't hear the signature shouts—in fact, they heard human screams and a series of heavy thuds.

The discussion resumed, with people offering their own opinions.

Some say it was a coup, after all, this is Desh'ea, the capital of Nuceria. Others say it was the dead gladiators coming to claim their lives, speaking with great conviction, and at the end, they even shouted the word "Vengeance" in their broken, hoarse voices.

Short and powerful, it struck the rock face like an ancient echo.

They were excited, Krest thought.

The child from the forest jumped off her bed, which was now covered in sand and gravel, and came to the heavy iron gate. She pressed her ear to it and listened carefully.

At that moment, a number of hidden sounds strangely reached her ears, the most obvious being the guards' screams and alarms, followed by the low hum of their weapons firing.

But what else?

She also heard the heavy thud, and many synchronized, heavy footsteps. Their uniformity astonished her—were they many armored figures moving, or a person with many legs?

She received no answer, because just two seconds later, an explosion blew her away.

One more chapter