163 Terra (31)

You'll have to pay a huge price to save him. 🎅😾 Claw 🐉♧

Yes, I know. That's what Alessio Cortez of the Crimson Fists thought.

Of course he knew—every Astartes who successfully reached the Legion Fortress and then set foot on Terra knew what they would face, and that was precisely why they had come.

Eleven years ago, they set off from their home planet Rynn's World. There were six hundred of them, carrying the maximum support and supplies that Chapter Master Pedro Cantor could provide.

With a bit of luck and the sacrifice of navigator Aile Cope, they reached the edge of the Sol System, fighting a total of forty-two wars along the way and liberating five worlds that were being invaded by Chaos.

They successfully reached the fortress established by the Mother Chapter and met Vaughn Hagen, the then Chapter Master. After receiving supplies, they, along with six hundred Black Templars, four hundred Celestial Lions, five hundred Executioners, and five hundred elite members of the Mother Chapter, ascended Terra.

For each Chapter, providing such support is tantamount to crippling them. After all, according to the definition given by the Sigillites Malcador, anyone who lands on Terra and remains there for more than twenty-five Terra is considered a sacrifice.

The truth of this matter has been repeatedly proven over the past ten thousand years, but this tradition has been maintained in the dim Milky Way for ten thousand years without interruption.

Sometimes, some Chapter may be tied down by the wars they are currently waging, but they will always send double the number of troops to Terra when the next twenty-five years arrive. They have always answered the call.

But why? Why must we do something where the effort and reward are disproportionate?

The answer is simple.

Because the war that took place on Terra was never truly over.

To win it, the Imperium of Man would spare no expense, even building countless fortresses along the sixty-five fragments of Shattered Terra until they had turned every planet in the Sol System into a fortress, and then filling the gaps with countless manpower and resources.

If you gaze towards Terra from the edge of the Sol System, you can see floating walls built by human hands. They are the ultimate miracle of the world, the ultimate dream of every pilgrim.

Terra was shattered, but she was never truly destroyed. The Astronomican dimmed, but it was never truly extinguished.

Over the course of ten thousand years, countless people have ascended Terra and calmly faced their deaths. Countless others have also rushed to evacuate before the arrival of the twenty-fifth Terra era, only to rest briefly before returning to a few fragments to continue their work.

Continue to light the Astronomican, continue to rescue cultural relics, and continue to excavate the remains of heroes.

From the fragments of their home planet, humanity rose once again, never yielding, never surrendering.

That's why Alessio Cortés is standing here.

He will fight alongside the heroes of ten thousand years ago, he will confront the demons and monsters that have roamed the darkness of the galaxy for ten thousand years, and he will save Rogal Dorn, just as Rogal Dorn saved them from the darkest future.

He will--

"Get out of the way."

A cold voice spoke, followed by a flash of golden light, and the Daemon who had been fighting him for so long was forced to retreat in defeat.

A golden spear rained down on the Daemon's body like a storm, piercing its head, torso, and eyes. It severed its horns, jaw, and arms, then pierced its chest, pinning it firmly to the ground.

The crimson cloak billowed and flashed by. A tall figure, steaming and covered in blood on the armor, strode past him and casually drew a spear, the tip of which was spotless.

"Are you the company commander?" the man asked.

Alessio replied in a broken voice, "I will temporarily assume command of the Fourth Company."

"New recruits?"

"Third year of service."

"Issue the order, Company Commander, gather your brothers," the man said, striding forward to meet the ferocious guards of the filthy Khorne.

Alessio switched to using his Boltgun for cover while simultaneously using the psionic communication device built into his helmet to contact the still-alive Crimson Fists.

Once on Terra, it becomes absolutely impossible to use any ordinary communication devices. Only this modified system can maintain stable communication between military forces, but the distance cannot be too great.

After Alessio finished doing this, he hung his gun back on the magnetic hook of his belt and strode forward.

In his right hand he gripped a finely crafted Power Sword named Never Forgive. It was Crimson Fists Legacy through generations of the Crimson Fist's fourth captains, originating from Shen, the first Chapter Master of the Shadow Knights of the Midnight Blade, and serving as a testament to the friendship between the two Chapter in their early days.

For the next ten thousand years, they maintained a friendly relationship, and it remains so to this day. This sword has slain countless Daemons and traitors, yet it remains as sharp as ever.

Alessio approached the golden-armored warrior, sword in hand. He had already guessed the man's identity, but he wouldn't ask unless the latter spoke first.

The man had clearly noticed his arrival, and after a simple, direct strike, he immediately turned around amidst the splashing blood, spinning his feet to approach Alessio, and in the blink of an eye, they were back to back.

"You've been a bit reckless, Company Commander," he said, his voice carrying a hint of warning. "I am Constantine Valdor."

"Alessio Cortez." The Crimson Fists uttered his name and began hacking away at his enemies.

→

He didn't employ many techniques when wielding the Power Sword; he simply swung it. But "Never Forgive" had its own terrifying aspects. Its extreme sharpness slayed any Daemon who tried to break through the sword's path.

"I understand," Constantine Valdor said. "But which legion are you from?"

Alessio didn't answer, somewhat annoyed—because the question was unanswerable, and he didn't want to lose face in front of an Adeptus Custodes. However, this was only part of the reason; another part stemmed from Constantine Valdor's superior skill.

In his perception, the Adeptus Custodes's breath did not tremble at all when he spoke, as if this battle, which was deep in enemy territory, was nothing to him at all.

Could it really be as the rumors say, that one of the Adeptus Custodes is worth ten of us? Alessio was unwilling to accept this thought.

No. Never.

He began to swing the sword with double the force, and the sword itself seemed to sense his emotions, responding without hesitation. The buzzing suddenly intensified, and an eerie murmur began to echo in the nearby air.

Alessio was startled—he realized what was happening, but he didn't have time to worry about it for the moment, focusing only on swinging his sword.

Limbs and severed arms flew high into the air, but Alessio's hands grew increasingly cold. The murmurs intensified, and "Never Forgive" responded, sensing his resolve.

It is a sacred weapon, but there is a price to pay for its use. Every generation of recognized fourth company commanders who wields the sword will one day fight to the death, and at this thought, Alessio couldn't help but picture the figure of his former company commander.

"And what about mine?" he wondered. "Will it be today?"

The answer was revealed twenty-five minutes later—no.

Alessio was very sorry about this, but his death was certainly not today.

After confirming that the last Daemon was dead, he shut down the disintegration field and sheathed his sword.

The golden- Adeptus Custodes strode towards him, their unwavering calm and matter-of-fact demeanor making Alessio uneasy, but then a surge of honor welled up within him—wasn't this precisely why he had come?

Fight alongside heroes from ten thousand years ago

Then, the hero from ten thousand years ago, who had earned his respect, spoke, almost causing him to fall flat on his face.

"Are you the offspring of Dorn?"

"We--!" Alessio shouted in response, but his voice was strange. "--Yes, but also no!"

"I believe there is no other option for this answer," Constantine Valdor said. "So, are you two really?"

Alessio maintained a difficult silence for half a minute before answering his question, "I can't say."

Valdor nodded, then pointed to a blood-stained flag; the red fist was covered in blood, making it appear as if blood was dripping down.

"And your names?" he asked again. "Is that also confidential?"

"We can't say either," Alessio replied bitterly. "Please understand, it's an ironclad rule."

Valdor nodded. "I understand."

Alessio was taken aback by the ease with which the Imperial Guard was forgiven; he had expected to hear some discontent. Clearly, he had never met the Adeptus Custodes before, otherwise he would never have held such an overly human view of them.

Valdor observed his reaction, made the above summary, and informed his lord via the link. Only after receiving permission did he continue asking questions.

"So, who sent you to support us?"

"."

"Okay, so, where are you from?"

"."

Is the Sigillites Malcador, still alive?

Alessio took a deep breath—finally, a question he could answer—and replied, "Alive."

"I understand." Valdor nodded. "So, you are a support force without a distinctive war cry, without a name, and without a clear origin."

"During the battle just now, I didn't hear you utter a single battle cry other than 'For the Emperor' or 'For Terra.' Your banners bear no identifiable names, and your armor is plain except for the Aquila and this red fist."

"In other words, you are an army that seeks neither honor nor reward. Considering your location, may I interpret this as your tactical or strategic objective being to find Primarch Rogal Dorn?"

"I--"

"Think it over before you answer me, Company Commander Alessio."

Valdor interrupted him, then solemnly raised his spear.

A ray of golden light shone from his hand, expanding into a sun that vanished in an instant within half a second. Its existence lasted only a moment, but everyone saw it and heard the echo that seemed to come from nowhere.

Go ahead and say it; I allow it.

Alessio Cortés suppressed his trembling and used all his strength to remain calm.

He answered smoothly, fluently, and without hesitation, "Yes, we need to find Rogal Dorn."

"Very good, come with me."

Three more chapters to go. If I don't finish writing them before midnight, I'll go straight to sleep. Goodnight.