79 Never Compromise

Cold, heat, numbness.

This is Dantioch's specific description of his current condition; in reality, it might be even worse. Fortunately, this doesn't prevent him from fulfilling his duties, as does his immune system, which is causing him to sweat profusely.

He stood between the trembling deck and the crowded throng, listening to the conversation between their Primarch and two other Primarch.

"We can't mount an effective offensive to push back," he heard Perturabo say. "It takes time to free the ships, and even more time to establish communication with them. Horus won't give us that time, if he really does what you say."

"He will," Vulkan, Lord of Drakes, replied hoarsely. "He is not Horus, Perturabo, he is something else, a monster."

Dantioch heard their Primarch sigh softly.

"I don't have the energy to talk to you about this right now, Vulkan. I don't want to argue with you over a title at this point, but I am indeed very unhappy that you keep bringing this up. Whether he is or not, it doesn't matter anymore."

"I know," Vulkan said, the weariness in his voice obvious to everyone. "I guess I just can't accept it, brother, I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," Perturabo said.

He kept his head down, tapping away at a Dataslate, the beeping incessant. His back was to them, so Dantioch couldn't see his expression. And even if he did, it probably wouldn't have mattered.

The changes in the Lord of Iron were astonishing; they could detect them at a glance.

"The battle is over; we are about to be defeated. As the commander-in-chief, I am undoubtedly the most derelict in my duty. Therefore, you don't need to feel sorry for it. Just lead the fleet and retreat, Vulkan."

"I can delay them," the Lord of Drakes said after a moment of silence.

"And then make your legion just like ours?" another voice on the communications channel complained. "Don't do that, just retreat, Vulkan."

"Indeed," Perturabo agreed with Mortarion without a trace of emotion. "You can't stop Horus with your own legions alone. Fight and retreat, brother. Join us."

"Then what?"

"Then, we retreat to Roboute Guilliman's Five Hundred Worlds. We can fight the Word Bearers alongside them and return to Terra via Mandeville Point there. If we're lucky enough, we might even run into Angron and his men."

"I understand," Vulkan said.

His voice was very deep, Dantioch suddenly felt a sense of empathy. He certainly couldn't understand what a Primarch was thinking, but that didn't prevent him from feeling a kind of sympathy for Vulkan.

He understood that the Lord of Drakes was probably now very disgusted with his own powerlessness.

The communication was temporarily suspended, but the Lord of Iron's busyness did not cease. He put down the Dataslate in his hand, walked to the piloting platform of the specially designed shuttle, and began to manually control it using neural bundle connections to avoid the giant vines that swayed slightly in the vacuum.

Over the next ten minutes, they passed three warships trapped in this morbid jungle, but unfortunately, none of them responded to their calls.

No one spoke inside the shuttle; everyone remained silent. Dantioch stood before the wide, narrow porthole, observing the true appearance of the vines at extremely close range.

To be honest, they stung his eyes, making him feel as if he were going blind—could anything in the world really be that ugly?

The starlight shone through the porthole onto his face, cold and indifferent. Yes, the stars were completely unconcerned about their plight.

Dantioch knew he was being sentimental, and he couldn't shake it off for the time being. Fortunately, the fourth warship responded in time, giving him some help and bringing him back to his normal thoughts.

That was the Cold Iron, a Styx-class cruiser. It was lucky that it wasn't caught by the giant vines, and after both sides confirmed their identities, they quickly boarded the ship.

The person currently in charge of this warship is Sol W. Bron, the adjutant of the 45th Company, an expert in siege and defense warfare, known as the Stonemason.

"Primarch!" Sol rushed over from the bridge.

His Power Armour sustained multiple damages, the marks left by a group of Death Guard traitors who had defected to their side. Sol led the 45th Company to victory, but at a considerable cost.

His company commander was killed in action, and the rear third of the Cold Iron was completely sealed off. He dispatched numerous Servitor carrying Phosphex liquid canisters to enter, hoping to inactivate the virus with high temperatures.

Whether his strategy was effective is unknown, but it is true that no one on the first half of the Cold Iron was infected with the disease.

"Report on the battle situation, Sol." Perturabo nodded to him, immediately getting straight to the point, and stood on the command platform. While listening to the battle report, he issued orders to the crew of the Cold Iron, causing it to change course.

Just then, a blinding flash of light illuminated the entire iron-gray bridge. Sol couldn't help but stop talking and stare at it, the dazzling explosion shining brightly in his eyes.

A warship, caught in the vines, had just been destroyed, split in two, and was utterly helpless. The crew, tense yet organized, began to execute evasive maneuvers, guiding the ship away from the potential aftershocks of the explosion, and activated the artillery positions.

The debris from the exploding ship will approach them due to its enormous kinetic energy; therefore, it is best to destroy it in advance.

At the same time, a public broadcast signal swept across the Cold Iron's radar. The Lord of Iron calmly accepted it and heard a sound he least wanted to hear at that moment.

"I am Horus Lupercal, Imperium Warmaster, and I speak on behalf of those who remain loyal to humanity as a whole."

Perturabo immediately hung up; he understood what it meant—a surrender offer. Horus was already confident of victory in the war, but he was still not satisfied and wanted to use this tactic to break down their psychological defenses.

He knew perfectly well that the tactic of persuading surrender would not work on any Legiones Astartes, but he still used it. This was the classic Horus Lupercal style: once he was truly determined to wage war, he would seize any opportunity to push his opponent into a corner.

Unfortunately, this didn't work for them.

Perturabo squinted and began calling for Vulkan and Mortarion.

This chapter is 2k words, out of a total of 6k words. I originally wanted to write more, but I think I have a fever, my whole body is burning up.