Interlude: The Wolves Return to the Nest (45k)

Russ walked across his deck. ☜✌ ♠♔

No one nodded to him, nor did anyone beat their chest, clench their teeth, or utter shouts of submission and respect. There were no invitations to drink or fights, nothing at all.

The Space Wolves were preoccupied with their own affairs and did not notice his arrival. The Fenrisian chuckled at this—they couldn't let them know he possessed such abilities, or the consequences would be dire.

The Space Wolves will swarm and overwhelm him until he passes on this skill to them. But he won't teach it; it's Konrad Curze Curze's patent, a wondrous ability he gleaned from his adoptive father's skills and his own nature.

Unlike what Kolus Corax possessed, although both were techniques for walking in the shadows, Corax's had transcended the realm of mere learning.

Russ was always eager to learn, but he also knew how to respect his teachers. Therefore, unless his brother gave him a clear nod, he would not teach this skill to anyone, not even his own wolf pack.

Holding the insignia in one hand and the black book in the other, he stepped into the darkness of the Hrafnkel.

His mind was racing, something he rarely did. His Allfather —his own father—had demanded that he become an executioner. Russ had agreed; he had no choice but to agree, nor did he want to.

If you want to become an executioner, the first thing you must do is always think less and do more.

Staring into the eyes of the dead for too long would plunge the living into a terrible state. He never liked to think about why those people died or why they were allowed to live. He did what the Emperor told him to do—but this was by no means blind obedience.

Leman Russ Russ knew what his father could see; when snow fell in Fenris, people would seek the advice of the elders to try and get through the winter. Russ learned this well; the Emperor was an elder who could see farther than anyone else, so he listened to him, and that was it.

But not now. Now, the executioner's thoughts are in turmoil.

First, he thought of Hauser.

Kasper Ansbach Hauser, or Ahmed Ibn Russ, the 3rd Company bard. As a poet, he was absolutely qualified, exceptionally talented.

Being a bard is a tough job. Yes, you can travel with a pack of wolves, but that usually means extreme danger. Wolves don't venture out rashly; they only break through the blizzard and bare their fangs when the Allfather necessary.

Hauser survived the wars and then began to do his job—telling stories to the Space Wolves. He did it very well.

For example, at the farewell ceremony for the Rune Priest Heolos's Long Fang, he prepared 423 stories, all from the mouth of wolves.

He told the story very well, recounting the life of the Long Fang in tales that were either dramatic or calm, though the ceremony was interrupted and he still had sixty tusks to tell.

Then he died.

Just after Russ promised they would set foot on Prospero to find the blurred truth in his memory—he died, died the moment he set foot on Prospero. ✿.｡.:* ☆::..::.☆*.:｡.✿

Russ stood beside him, watching helplessly as blue light emanated from the poet's body, as his skin melted, his flesh twisted, and as he screamed.

He still remembered his last words.

"My story—" he said.

"Your story? "Russ smiled.

Yes, we will tell your story, Hauser, at your farewell ceremony.

The Wild Bear you shot down from the sky will speak, everyone in the 3rd Company will speak, and I will speak too. I will use a harbinger of doom streaking across the sky of Fenris as the beginning of your story.

But how will it end?

The alpha wolf's smile gradually faded, and he stopped laughing. He returned to his the Nest, decorated with animal bones, ivory, and wood—a perfect place for gatherings.

Countless days and nights had passed, and the wolves had revelled with him here. Russ squinted at his Throne. He stared at it intently, as if seeing some kind of end.

"See you next winter, Kasper Ansbach Hauser."

He bid farewell softly and turned away, heading deep into his the Nest. A quiet room, a silent and undecorated room sealed with stone.

He sat cross-legged, his battle-hardened armor naturally exuding an aura of majesty as he moved. He lowered his head, placed the black leather book on the ground, and then placed the insignia on top of it.

His breathing was very calm, but his mind was not.

Russ stared intently at the book, and for a moment, he wasn't there. It was like a hologram; he appeared to be there, but he wasn't actually there.

The real Leman Russ Russ was in another place, a place of frigid climate where snow-covered pine trees pierced the sky. Beside him lay snow-covered fields, where a herd of howling bulls galloped by. In the distance, a cracked glacier roared in the wind.

Fenris, he was in Fenris.

Although it was only for a moment, he did go back and retrieve some of the things he needed.

Russ slowly opened his right hand, and a cold, damp patch began to spread across his palm. It had once been a clump of snow, but now it was just a few spreading water stains.

In addition, there was a small knife that did not belong to the size of Astartes or Primarch, lying in his palm.

It appears to be intended for mortal use, and is merely a small knife for skinning animals. Everyone in Fenris is skilled in skinning, a tradition that has continued for a very long time and still continues to this day.

Russ examined the knife, which had been buried deep in the snow—or rather, buried under the snow along with someone's helmet, as per someone's last wish—so the entire knife looked wet.

The blade was somewhat damaged, resembling broken serrations, with dark bloodstains clinging to it. ♪🐠 Claw 🏆😾 The handle, bound with rope, was meticulously painted with a straight, blood-dripping blade.

Imprinting a knife on a knife is completely unnecessary.

Russ grinned, revealing gleaming fangs in the air; he appeared to be smiling.

This sword once belonged to King Thengir, who was the sole ruler of the Russ Tribe before Leman Russ Russ ascended the Throne.

Long, long ago, before Leman Russ Russ even received this name, when he was merely a wild, untamed wolf child, this knife was once held to the throat by King Thengir.

Filled with deep hatred.

It was a bitterly cold winter when Russ's wolf pack attacked a village.

At first, they were just stealing food to survive the winter. But Russ didn't know when to stop. He didn't even know how to speak. When the villagers fought back for their food, he instinctively waved his arms and killed many people for the wolves.

It was King Thengir who led his warriors to drive away the wolves and capture Russ. At that time, he was bound by his limbs, gagged, and thrown beneath the royal throne covered with thick fur.

King Thengir pressed the knife against Russ's throat and uttered a phrase in an ancient language that no one could understand. Only on his deathbed did he reveal the meaning of those words to Russ.

"I will take my Vengeance with my blade."

But he ultimately didn't do that, and that was the only time Russ ever saw the knife, but he remembered it. After all, he was a Primarch, and now...

Leman Russ of the Russ Tribe sighed heavily, a surge of emotion welling up within him. As he perused the books, he came across many rituals, one of which particularly intrigued him—or rather, intrigued his intuition.

After pondering for a while, Russ finally picked up the emblem and held it in his left hand.

The next second, the black book suddenly opened by itself without any wind. Its hard cover hit the stone ground with a loud thud that was almost deafening.

The pages began to turn automatically, as if an unseen hand was carefully separating each ancient sheet of paper, searching for the truth within.

Russ's eyes remained unfocused; his gaze did not fall on the books—until the sound of turning pages ceased, until two dark red pages, as if stained with blood, were laid out before him.

The first sheet was blank, with only a blood-dripping blade drawn with light strokes. The second sheet was crammed with tiny characters, line after line, with no gaps between the characters, as if the writer had already fallen into a state of madness.

Russ stared at the book and slowly raised her left hand.

He began to exert force, gripping the emblem in his hand with all his might. The mortal metal should have instantly turned to dust under the full force of a Primarch, but it did not. In fact, it was astonishingly strong; it even pierced the Wolf King's hand, which was covered in Fenris snowmelt.

Seconds later, thick, fresh blood dripped from between Russ's fingers, mixed with snow from Fenris. It dripped onto the pages of the book, and the next second, a violent gust of wind suddenly swept through the windless room.

Russ smiled with satisfaction.

"I, Leman Russ of the Russ Tribe— " He glanced at the knife in his right hand. "—Towards this blade."

He suddenly stopped speaking, raised his eyebrows, and his smile began to widen.

"I swear to Karyl Lohars, I will Vengeance my brother Magnus with this blade," he said cheerfully. "I call to him here; will he answer?"

The pages danced wildly, the temperature plummeted, and the churning of the pages intensified. A dark light emerged from within, and flames spread out, quickly enveloping the quiet room.

Russ clicked his tongue and carefully began to avoid them. He stood up, walked around the book, and began to ponder whether his actions had been successful or a failure.

"Don't you value oaths highly?" the Fenrisian muttered, staring at the dark red flames of fury. "Now that I've sworn an oath, do you accept it, or not?"

A voice came from behind him.

"I accept, but He doesn't."

The Wolf King whirled around, and there stood Karyl Lohars behind him. Wearing a mask of bones, with eerie clouds emanating from between his ribs, his voice was like thunder.

"You're taking advantage of a loophole, Russ," Karyl began slowly. "He won't respond to any expectations, nor will He do anything superfluous. You have hatred, Magnus has hatred, and so do the Daemon."

"He will not bestow any extra power upon either side; if both wield swords, then let them fight to the death. The victor will continue to face other seekers of revenge; this is the spiral of hatred."

Russ listened attentively to his words but did not reply. Instead, she raised her hand and revealed the skinning knife and the emblem.

The flames of rage flickered in the skull's eye sockets, and he nodded. "Interesting. It seems this kind of belief in Him has been around for many years, belonging only to Vengeance god from a barbaric era."

He chuckled, lightning struck, and the floor of the meditation room began to crack. Beneath the stone were countless exorcising talismans, originating from ancient legends circulating in Fenris. They seemed absurd, but they were truly effective.

"Don't you know these things yourself?" Russ asked.

"You know, decades ago, I thought I was just an ordinary person who was about to die."

The skeleton lowered his voice and straightened his stance. He pointed to the cracked ground, which Russ glanced at and shook his head dismissively.

"Then you should probably take a look at that book," Russ said. "It records a lot about you."

"It wasn't me, Russ," the skeleton sighed. "That inscription describes a god, not me—so what do you want by summoning me? This is a dangerous matter, even if I am a biased god."

"I want to know what Magnus did."

The skeleton hesitated for a moment, then its eye sockets flashed with a terrifying light in the darkness. The temperature continued to drop, and patches of darkness spread from beneath his feet, with many pale faces flashing by within them.

They stared intently at Russ, their eyes like two black holes. A faint sound, whether it was the wind or a wail, began to echo in the quiet room. Russ instinctively bared his teeth, feeling an urge to roar back.

He did a great thing.

Finally, the skeleton spoke.

"You can probably guess how dangerous Terra is right now without me having to explain. The filth from the Warp is relentlessly being forced by its masters to cross the boundary between the real and the unreal, reaching Terra and draining our manpower. Terra is home to many civilians, soldiers, and Astartes. If this continues, they will surely wear us down."

"Etc--"

Russ suddenly frowned; his intuition pointed to a suspicion that was almost impossible to detect. This suspicion didn't lie in Karyl's words, but rather in the grotesque skull mask.

It fit perfectly on Karyl Lohars' face, yet it appeared unreal, as if it weren't worn on, but rather existed naturally, as if it were his face itself.

It seems to have always been this way.

"--Your face?"

The skeleton remained silent.

Russ gritted his teeth with a horrifying expression before continuing to ask questions after a moment.

Does Konrad Curze know?

"He'll find out soon enough," Karyl replied to Russ in a murmured tone. "But I can prolong it."

"What will continue?" Russ asked sharply.

Karyl tilted his head and raised his left hand. A flash of brilliant golden light appeared briefly at the tip of the sharp, pale bone claw.

Russ's eyes widened.

"Humans should support each other in battle."

Karyl calmly withdrew his left hand, seemingly having anticipated Russ's surprise.

"But he can't help me for long. The situation is too dire. I have altars all over the galaxy, Terra is the largest one, oh, and Magnus, I remember, you called me because of his whereabouts."

What's wrong with him?

"You're rushing back to Terra, aren't you?" Karyl asked.

"Yes."

"Then you'll see him in the Warp," Karyl said. "The Lord of Prospero is leading countless undead in the Warp to hold back the Daemon for the people of Terra. I must go, Russ."

As soon as he finished speaking, a fierce wind immediately howled, so strong that even the Wolf King couldn't open his eyes. He clenched his fists and roared in the wind, shouting out a single sentence.

"Goodbye Terra! Karyl Lohars! I hope I can always call you that!"

He received no answer.

Update complete. Only one update today. Time for a short break.