Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (VII, 5k)

"That's absolutely impossible, do you understand?" Valentius Dollow said sternly. "The anti-psy force will never leave Macragge, especially with the Warp Storm becoming increasingly severe."

"But--"

"--No buts! By Terra, Wotton, who exactly made this suggestion to you?"

"Does this even need to be 'raised'? Invictarii Hero! Andermung needs an anti-psychic force! The capital of the Southern District is under siege by those damned Word Bearers!"

"I can only assign you five more Chapter at most," Valentius said. "Five, plus ten Battle Barge, that's all. Wotton Macragge's defenses are already severely weakened."

"You'd better get them here quickly, sir," the person on the other end of the communicator replied grimly. "We'll need a lot of people to wipe out those Aurelian bastards."

Tarasha Euten, leaning on her cane, shook her head helplessly.

She had heard far too many similar arguments in recent days. And Valentius Dollo, one of the Four Invictarii of Ultramar, was present every single time.

He was a brave Dreadnought man, like all Ultramarines, but he was also a stubborn one.

On this point, Euten particularly disliked it. Just as she disliked Roboute Guilliman's occasional displays of stubbornness, but what could she do to change it?

The steward could only offer suggestions, and she remained steadfast in her post, never daring to cross that line for so many years. A few minutes later, Valentius and Wotton on the other end of the communication line finally finished arguing.

Invictarii stormed out of the Cogitator's array in the study, his gauntlets clenched tightly. His meticulously crafted MK3s, with their reversed colors, now appeared dull gray in the setting sun.

"How is the situation around Macragge, Lord Valentius?" she asked, her right hand still resting on her cane.

She hasn't aged noticeably in recent years, but she remains thin, though her head of white hair is neatly styled and tied back.

Her youthful beauty was not diminished by time; on the contrary, it became more impressive with the passage of time. For example, her bright blue eyes, which seemed to shine with her willpower, sometimes looked almost exactly like Roboute Guilliman's.

"We've almost completely cut off from most of the world," Invictarii said seriously and slowly, and walked over to help her to a comfortable armchair.

The head steward raised no objection, and even made herself more comfortable. She placed her cane flat on her knees, stroked its patterns with both hands, and waited.

She understood that Valentius had an even worse part to say.

"Conno, Veridian, Masari," the Invictarii of Okruda said, shaking his head. "This is a nightmare, ma'am. We're left with only half of the Southern Division and the Macragge system, damned Warp Storm."

He looked worriedly at the setting sun outside the window and fell silent. Euten followed suit, gazing at the same window. It and the view outside had once belonged only to King Conno, but now belonged to Roboute Guilliman and many others who could enter his study.

Tarasha Euten is one of the few people who has seen two different landscapes at the same time. During the reign of King Conno, there weren't so many skyscrapers here, nor were there any Ultramarines.

Back then, Macragge was more primitive; people were fascinated by the things in the sky and unaware of the dangers that existed in the universe.

Thinking of this, Euten couldn't help but smile.

"What makes you smile, madam? You haven't smiled for many days," Valentius asked.

"Don't pry into my thoughts, sir, that's impolite," Euten suddenly said, feigning seriousness. Her joke made Invictarii laugh helplessly—though helplessly, he did laugh.

Euten picked up her cane and stood up from her chair. Valentius stared at her intently, his smile fading as worry regained its grip.

"I'm practically going crazy from boredom these days," the head steward said half-jokingly. "Our mutual master isn't here, and I don't even have any schedules to report. Although I can handle those things myself, it does feel strange without him."

She looked up at Valentius and suddenly said, "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"I've heard that some people within the Imperium don't like our lord staying in Macragge all the time?"

"That's certainly true, madam," Valentius replied hesitantly. "Most of them are officials from Terra's Administratum, or some from the Departmento Munitorum. They feel the Primarch has devoted too much time and effort to the Five Hundred Worlds."

The housekeeper was silent for a moment, then nodded knowingly. "I understand."

"Madam?" Valentius looked at her in astonishment. "What have you understood?"

"They're wary of Roboute Guilliman, clearly, Lord Valentius," Euten said. "In other words, they consider it unusual for a politically astute Primarch far removed from Terra."

As she was speaking, she suddenly chuckled, "Well, that does sound a bit off. He sounds like an ambitious schemer in this description."

The corners of the Four Invictarii's mouths twitched, and their expressions became quite strange.

Euten looked up at him, his brow furrowing. "Wait, sir, there can't really be someone—"

"--Let's talk about something else, ma'am," Valentius said curtly.

Euten stared at him in shock.

"Really?" The aged steward immediately became serious. "What are they thinking? Can't they see how much the Five Hundred Worlds have contributed to the Imperium?"

"Actually, ma'am, they can see," Valentius subtly reminded her. "But our contribution may seem a bit too much, I mean, our numbers."

He coughed and made a gesture.

Euten tapped his cane, annoyed yet helpless. "Their enthusiasm for recruitment has become our fault! They can see our hundreds of Chapter, but why can't they see those young people who disappeared into the sea of stars, never to return? And their weeping parents?"

"Most people only see the most superficial parts, and that's not their fault, madam. In fact, many Primarch have expressed their disgust with this notion," Valentius quickly interjected, changing the subject.

In Macragge, few people want to face an angry Mrs. Euten, even if that anger isn't directed at them.

Roboute Guilliman's housekeeper was widely respected for his exceptional abilities. There were even rumors that Roboute Guilliman was worth fifteen Cogitator in handling government affairs, while Ms. Euten was worth at least six.

This is certainly an exaggeration, but it does reflect people's perception of her to some extent. However, the Macragge people's respect for her didn't stem entirely from her abilities; it was probably more because of her fairness.

"Is that so?" As Valentius expected, the housekeeper's attention was indeed diverted after he brought up the topic.

"Would you mind talking to me about this?" Euten asked, his expression surprisingly eager.

Valentius chuckled inwardly—it seems all mothers are like this, always wanting to know how their children are doing, who their children are close to, and who they are distant from.

But his smile quickly faded as he remembered that the mother's son was still missing.

"Of course, madam." Invictarii suppressed his emotions and nodded calmly. "For example, Lord Angron, the esteemed Son of the Mountains and Angron, has publicly opposed this argument many times."

"However, this seems to have gotten him into trouble. Some idiots in the Departmento Munitorum actually tried to use this as an excuse to transfer the War Hounds' Auxilia elsewhere. The Angron personally went to Terra for this, reportedly only taking two high-ranking officers from the Gladiator Force with him. After that, the people in the Departmento Munitorum changed their minds."

"What were they thinking?" Euten asked incredulously. "If I remember correctly, the gladiator force is full of Lord Angron's brothers and sisters? Or at least young Nuceria men who failed the War Hounds selection?"

"You're not mistaken," Valentius said with a strange, enigmatic smile. "Some people in this world are just that stupid."

"Then, the second person to publicly support the Primarch was Lord Konrad Curze Curze, the Lord of the Blades. However, compared to the Angron, his opposition was closer to a threat."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Then, those people also opposed him."

"What?"

"Yes, madam, they later not only believed that our Primarch was ambitious, but also that the Lord of the Blades had a share in it. They even called him a corrupt judge."

"Are they... insane?" the head steward asked, leaning on her cane, her expression one of utter bewilderment mixed with an inappropriate hint of sympathy—she knew the ways of Konrad Curze Curze and the Night Lords.

This necessary evil, though unpleasant, is absolutely a necessary means. With Night Lords around, all ambitious people in the galaxy need to think twice before having their hearts pierced by a sharp blade in their midnight dreams.

"Konrad Curze Curze is probably the least likely person in the entire galaxy to do such a thing. In fact, if Roboute really had that idea, he would be the first to stop him," Euten said, shaking his head. "They're officials; would they be so stupid as to do that?"

"I'm not entirely sure about their intelligence, ma'am. Perhaps they just think differently from us, or perhaps they don't understand the Lord of the Blades." Valentius shrugged. "That's understandable, given how elusive the Night Lords are, rarely showing themselves. And Nostramo is far too remote."

"Why are you even taking their side?"

"I'm just analyzing things rationally, ma'am," Valentius said. "I have to do this to temporarily understand their logic, otherwise I'll just break down like a malfunctioning Cogitator."

"You're exaggerating," Euten shook his head. "But, personally speaking—"

She suddenly stopped speaking, and a piercing alarm began to blare in the room. Valentius's expression immediately changed, and he reached for the sword at his waist, his entire demeanor turning menacing.

The study door opened, and two Victrix Guard looked over silently. Their eagle-masked helmets gleamed with gold, and their weapons hummed and crackled with electricity. The Invictarii of Okruda gestured to them and then nodded to Tarasha Euten.

Please seek refuge immediately.

"Be very careful, Lord Valentius." Amid the piercing air raid siren, the Chief Steward did not resist, allowing the Victrix Guard to protect her, but her expression was very worried.

"I will," Invictarii said seriously.

Half an hour later, he had rushed to the outskirts of the city.

This place, which was originally farmland, has now become an accident scene filled with thick smoke. The local defense forces are busy fighting the fire, while the farmer stands helplessly on the ridge of the field not far away, looking at his land with a completely bewildered expression.

Valentius turned his gaze to his adjutant, Casimir, and immediately posed a question.

Why didn't the railway sentry post issue an early warning?

"I don't know, sir," Casimir said, handing over a Dataslate containing detailed records of the Macragge orbital outpost, from this morning until the crash.

Through this data, Valentius astutely detected a brief fluctuation. To be more precise, he discovered a sudden, explosive reading, so abrupt it was almost like Orks suddenly appearing in the Imperial Palace.

"This can't be," Valentius said slowly, setting down the Dataslate and looking up into the thick smoke ahead. "If the data readings are normal..."

"Absolutely normal," Casimir interjected. "I checked it twelve times before you arrived; even the servo operators at the orbital outpost protested. This data is fine. If it were faulty, it would mean our system has been hacked."

Valentius looked at him, then at the Dataslate.

"So, this meteorite—or something like that," he said, attaching the Dataslate to his belt, "Appeared out of nowhere in Macragge's atmosphere?"

"Yes, my lord."

"In the name of Ultramar, this is truly bizarre." Invictarii suddenly smiled and drew his sword. The disintegrating force field hummed, followed by the sound of the sword being drawn. The farmer on the ridge immediately widened his eyes.

Valentius had no time to dwell on his surprise; he simply took the lead, sword in hand, and stepped into the thick smoke.

It was harvest season, and the crops in this field were growing exceptionally well, but now it was all ashes. The fire was still spreading, but the flames could not harm the armored Ultramarines, who followed behind the Invictarii and cautiously entered the wheat field.

After advancing 622 meters, Valentius was the first to stop. In front of him appeared a deep pit and a half-destroyed shuttle.

The bright paint is now covered in dirt, the left wing is broken off, and the rear half is completely missing. The cut is perfectly smooth, as if it had been severed by a blade. But then something even stranger happens: what is exposed at the break is not the interior of the cabin, but a whole sheet of smooth silver metal.

Invictarii withdrew his gaze and began to examine the fuselage. He keenly noticed an insignia. To be precise, half an insignia. He recognized the black dragon head, which had become very abstract due to the crash, but that did not prevent Valentius from finding the answer with his imagination.

He lowered his sword, his expression grim, and summoned his lieutenant and five Ultramarines before leaping into the pit. He used his Power Sword to cleave open the hatch, and a corpse immediately slid out. It was a Salamanders, without a doubt, but it had been dead for some time.

He had a huge gash in his chest, as if he had been wounded by a sword, so deep that the bone was visible.

Valentius took a deep breath, grabbed him with both hands, and tried to pull him away from the pit—but before he could finish, a large, dark hand suddenly reached out from behind the hatch and grabbed the corpse's left hand.

Casimir and the group of Ultramarines immediately raised their guns.

"No." Inside the cabin, a low, hoarse voice struggled to utter a single syllable. His voice sounded terrible, rough as if he had swallowed a dozen razor blades, and extremely weak.

Valentius listened intently for a moment, then his hand holding the sword suddenly trembled. He had a guess, not very likely, but...

"My lord?!" After a few seconds, he made his decision and called out anxiously, "Lord Vulkan? Is that you?!"

"It's me."

"Damn it, get him out of here!" Valentius immediately put down his sword and roared. Half a minute later, the Lord of Drakes, who was almost unrecognizable, was carried out of the cabin by them.

He had lost an eye, and his armor was shattered, riddled with cracks from weapon wounds. Invictarii stared in horror at this giant among giants, unable to comprehend who could have wounded Vulkan so badly.

"Send a medical team over, and notify the hospitals in the city to prepare, the highest level of preparedness," Valentius solemnly told his adjutant. Casimir saluted and left the pit.

He bent down, trying to continue communicating with Vulkan, but the heavily wounded Primarch was faster than him.

"Ready, Ultramarines."

"What preparations, sir?"

"The sky," Vulkan said with difficulty. "Fall—we will fall. Steel, fire dragons, Death Guard."

Valentius looked at him, puzzled. He shouldn't have been trying to understand Vulkan's meaning through such abstract words. However, when he met the gaze of the one-eyed man, everything became clear.

A thought flashed through his mind like lightning, briefly rebooting his brain.

"Fall." The Lord of Drakes raised his hand, grabbed his shoulder, and uttered the word.

He was clearly a dying man, yet his strength was incomprehensible. The only thing about him that connected him to death was his voice, that murmur that Valentius had heard countless times.

He knelt on one knee, took a deep breath, and activated the legion's broadcast system.

"Level One Warning, Global Martial Law. I need every city to prepare; we may be experiencing a large-scale crash. All orbital watchtowers are to cease attack and switch to observation mode. Rapid reaction forces and medical teams are to prepare, and all hospitals are to be placed on wartime alert."

"Fall." Vulkan was still whispering beside him, tears slowly streaming from his single eye. A few seconds later, his hand fell heavily to the ground, and a name he wanted to say but didn't have time to utter vanished into thin air.

"My lord? Lord Vulkan?! By the Throne! How much longer until the medical team arrives?! He's dying!"

Mortarion

Only one update today, I'll make up for it with a 10,000-word update tomorrow.