Interlude 65: Angels Spread Their Wings

"Yes, I will set off. 69ꜱʜᴜx.ᴄᴏᴍ," Sanguinius repeated. "Yes, the destination is—damn it, Abo, don't ask anymore, okay?"

"No," a holographic image said.

He stood with his arms crossed, looking cold and extremely impatient. In stark contrast was another holographic projection not far from him, whose expression was calm, as if he didn't care at all whether Sanguinius had left or not.

He wasn't even fully focused on the conversation; instead, he was looking down at a Dataslate, scrolling through it repeatedly.

"You've asked me twelve times already," the archangel said expressionlessly. "And I'm quite certain I won't repeat myself to you where I'm going and what I'm going to do."

The Lord of Iron stared at him coldly, saying nothing. He looked like a statue, the kind carved on a coffin. Somber yet majestic, solemn yet chilling.

He didn't need to show any expression; his mere gaze was enough to send chills down the spines of many within this Imperium. But not now. Now, he faced Baal's angels.

Centuries ago, Sanguinius had never paid attention to his brother's innate gloom, and now it goes without saying that, as can be seen from how he addresses Perturabo.

The archangel returned the icy gaze with equal intensity. The two Primarch, separated by the sea of stars, tormented the mechanical components and the Machine Spirit of their respective instruments on their holographic projection platforms.

Their eye contact continued until Rogal Dorn spoke, at which point it ended.

"You need support," Wanshi said with certainty.

Sanguinius looked at his brother—to be fair, at that moment, the angel did have an urge to retort, but he did not put it into practice.

His impulse to refute was merely an impulse; it was a collection of anger and resentment that was neither realistic nor should be regarded as reality. It was not directed at Dorn, but at himself.

Splitting the legion into Chapter was indeed in line with the call of the times, but it also put him in an unspeakable predicament: the Blood Angels now numbered only 1,500 at most, which exceeded the standard of the Codex Astartes.

Of course, he didn't actually have to strictly adhere to the Codex Astartes; it was just a reference book. However, it was precisely because of his "authority" that this reference book became useful.

Sanguinius sighed.

"Yes," he admitted. "I need support, a lot of support. I need to Auxilia— "

"--It's the Astra Militarum," Perturabo said. "Or the Imperial Guard. The Blood Angels aren't War Hounds, where are we going to find Auxilia?"

"Are those two terms different?" Sanguinius asked, staring at him.

"And you need more Astartes," Dorn said seriously.

He subtly steered the conversation back on track. In the past, Stubborn Stone wouldn't have minded seeing Steel and Angel bickering for a dozen or so minutes, but things were different now; every second was precious.

The Imperium has been out of touch with the Five Hundred Worlds for a long time, and now is an opportunity to re-establish a complete connection between this vast territory and the Imperium.

"I will issue orders for the Imperial Fists Legions along the way to provide you with support. You can organize an expeditionary force in Lord Regent capacity as Expeditionary Force, and all of Sanguinius, the entire Forge World, will be more than happy to provide anything you need."

Upon hearing this, the angel frowned slightly. He carefully chose his words before speaking, "I don't think it's a good thing to involve your sons, Rogal."

Why?

"Do you really want him to explain himself clearly?" Perturabo interrupted impatiently. "With an expedition every twenty-five years and continuous battles large and small, if they didn't happen to have some good recruitment worlds, they'd probably have a hard time even maintaining the Chapter's numbers."

"They are born to bear certain responsibilities." Dorn looked at him, his holographic image pulsating, his tone resolute.

"They understand the weight of their responsibilities, and—"

Perturabo sneered again, "--As if no one else understands."

"Listen carefully, Rogal Dorn, because I'm only going to say this once. You stubborn blockhead had better hear every single word I say, or I'll personally come to your fortress and humiliate you in front of your Chapter Master, do you understand?"

"A hundred centuries can change a lot. Your sons are not the Imperial Fists. They have their own traditions and culture, just like every other Chapter that broke away. Besides being your sons, they are also protectors of other worlds."

"This tradition has likely continued among them and the local people for thousands of years, and they didn't let it disappear even in the darkest times. You'd better not let their hard work go to waste."

"There is more than one responsibility in this world, and the people who need protection are far more than just civilians within the Five Hundred Worlds."

After Dorn silence, Dorn asked, "So, what are you planning to do?"

"Yes." Perturabo nodded slowly, looking back at Sanguinius.

He said to his brother in an unquestionable tone, "Go to my Galaxy Iron Guard; they will provide assistance."

The archangel nodded, looking at the Lord of Iron with a slightly regretful smile.

The latter frowned and asked, "What are you laughing at?"

"Actually, the Departmento Munitorum of Abo had already prepared a list and sent out a summons at Malcador's behest. Even as we're speaking, several Chapter that had received orders have already set off for the rendezvous point to wait for me."

"So, as Rogal said, this is an expedition, but you don't really need to argue; your sons are all on the list."

He received two expressionless faces.

"I've come to you simply to give you a heads-up," Sanguinius said, forcing himself to speak calmly.

"But I didn't expect you to be so proactive about this matter, even briefly forgetting the common sense that our administration has repeatedly emphasized—any large-scale joint military operation must be executed with orders from the Departmento Munitorum, do you remember, gentlemen?"

The holographic projection platform went dark, and both Perturabo and Rogal Dorn exited the platform at that moment.

The pale blue glow dissipated, and the archangel, unable to contain his joy, slowly rose, supporting himself on the armrests of the Throne.

Even after ten thousand years, the main bridge of the Red Tear still stands out from the crowd. Pillars made of deep red pebbles collected from the depths of the Baal Desert support a huge white dome, upon which the Radiance of the stars shines.

The dome alone is enough to make the main bridge a masterpiece of art, but this is merely an external disguise. Only the most foolish person would actually believe that Sanguinius had transformed the main bridge of his flagship into a work of art.

Beneath that dome lay a vast array of war equipment.

Dense, thick cables stretched from the energy center, connecting to every Cogitator in the surrounding area. Men and women in naval uniforms bustled about among the instruments, performing complex tasks to fully awaken this long-dormant war machine.

Once preparations are complete, all kinds of weapons, including the Nova Cannon, will be fully activated.

If someone could observe this beautiful ship in a vacuum, they would find that its secondary gun emplacements and even its various hangars are active, like an ancient beast awakening.

Sanguinius slowly inhaled, hearing the long-forgotten prelude to war. He knew it well; even mountains of official documents couldn't erase this terrible familiarity.

Every Primarch, regardless of their appearance, personality, or predetermined duties, faces one inescapable reality: war.

The Emperor had already chosen this path for them when they were still just embryos floating in nutrient tanks in a laboratory. Regardless of their nature, they were killing machines. Whether they liked it or not, violence would always flow in their blood.

Even Sanguinius is the same.

The Daemon's assessment of him was correct; if everything else were disregarded, he was indeed a bloodthirsty warrior. However, it was precisely because of all this that he was not crushed by his thirst for blood. He was able to be Sanguinius, rather than a ghoul from a barbaric planet.

Just like his descendants

"Primarch."

The angel smiled as he descended his Throne, the long staircase unable to conceal his current enthusiasm. He opened his arms and gave his Chapter Master a heavy embrace, leaving the latter momentarily bewildered.

"You seem a little different today," said Chapter Master Dante.

Even after the angel had ended the embrace, he still seemed very uncomfortable. This emotion was completely transparent to the Lord Regent.

Sanguinius looked at him with amusement.

He had never seen Dante like this before. Ever since he was promoted to Chapter Master in the war against the Daemon, Dante had always hidden his true emotions beneath his golden armor, and had never shown such emotional vulnerability.

"Aren't you the same, Dante?" Sanguinius asked with a smile. "Don't you feel that today is an unusual day?"

Dante glanced at him quickly, then lowered his head again and replied, "It's just war, sir."

"Yes, war—but not the kind of defensive war you're familiar with. We have no fortresses to defend, and although the enemy is probably still connected to Daemon, this time it's different, my son."

"This time, we're taking the initiative. If I hadn't bound you, and allowed you to fight across the galaxy like your other brothers, then you would understand just how different the difference is between being proactive and reactive in war."

As Sanguinius spoke, he couldn't help but sigh, "Ultimately, it is I who have bound you."

"Please, please don't say that, my lord!"

"I want it," said Sanguinius.

He raised his chin, looking at his Chapter Master with feigned provocation. The latter looked at him with astonishment and helplessness, at a loss for words.

Dante has been Chapter for five centuries and sixty years, and has served as Chapter Master for a full four hundred years. No one in the Chapter Primarch spent as long as his Primarch, and even in the Legion era, few can compare to him.

But he had to admit that this was the first time he had ever seen Sanguinius like this.

Perhaps this is the Primarch's original personality? Dante couldn't help but wonder.

He quickly suppressed the thought, but an inescapable urge to spy arose within him. So he looked at his Primarch again, and this time, Sanguinius welcomed his closest son's observation with a calm expression, which startled Dante.

The familiar Lord Regent, the giant who always wore a friendly smile, had vanished. In his place stood a warrior with his hand on a sword, even the crimson jewels adorning his magnificent armor looked as gruesome as blood splattered from battle.

Archangels are supposed to be majestic and regal, with wings on their backs making them seem like gods. But now, Dante didn't see any demigods, only a warrior filled with immense fighting spirit and passion.

A pure warrior who wants to fight for protection.

"I will reclaim my pride, my son," Sanguinius said calmly. "For the past ten thousand years, few have remembered that I once wielded sword and spear, slaying demons and evil on Terra."

"To them, this is just a story in my halo; what they really want to know is whether I will visit their world tomorrow—that's their primary pursuit. It's strange, everyone seems to regard meeting me as a lifelong goal."

"Things shouldn't be like this, just as people shouldn't see you as my Shadow, or as my outstretched right hand."

"They only know you as my Chapter Master Dante, but they don't know that you once faced Khorne's army alone, defended a crumbling fortress, and protected countless people."

"I have no intention of judging which of these two methods of protecting the Imperium is superior, but I do have a personal preference, for me."

He drew his sword sharply from his waist, its Blade Encarmine gleaming. It had been damaged long ago, but Vulkan had retrieved it himself and reforged it. The steel that rebuilt it came from Nostramo, while the technology that replaced the original disintegration field came from Mars.

It was supposed to be an invincible blade, but it had been dormant in Sanguinius' private armory for countless years, and only today has it truly been unsheathed.

The angel's voice began to echo across the bridge, and the broadcast system was activated, amplifying his words throughout the entire ship and even the surrounding space. The words were very simple, yet contained an immeasurable power.

"Loyal ones--"

"The time to fulfill our duty has come, the time to keep our promise has come. Draw your sword and slay the enemy, to live up to the Emperor's will!"