Dark Crusade (V: Horns of War)

Deep purple, indigo, and a faint white light streamed through the portholes, casting an eerie glow over some of the empty tables in the Adeptus Administratum. Their tiered design gave them an imposing presence even when unattended. 🐚🐠 ☞🐧

They were redundant tables, since there were only ten Ultramarines. But Roboute Guilliman's designs always possessed a strange foresight, as has been proven time and again, and the Primarch's wisdom always seemed to help everyone in the smallest details.

If we were to give a recent example, it would be his improvements to the Aquila.

When he announced this, the Tech-Priest at Conno in the Forge World thought it was completely unnecessary, until Roboute Guilliman went there in person and slammed a design on their chief's desk.

In fact, the improved model is not much different from the ordinary model. It simply adds some energy pipelines, strengthens the armor plates, optimizes exhaust, and changes the arrangement of artificial muscles to increase output.

However, these few small changes increased the survival rate of the Astartes in the face of insect swarms by six percentage points.

The elders within the Chapter often say that even the Primarch's guards probably couldn't understand what he was thinking. It's a sad thing, but it's the truth.

The truth is, Roboute Guilliman's thinking was incomprehensible even to his descendants.

If you try to understand, you will only be poisoned.

What was trapped in the Primarch's eyes, which shone with white Radiance, was a heavy pressure that was capable of eroding him. Even he would age, tire, and even roar in his dreams under this pressure.

So, on what basis can they accept it?

"We need to dock for maintenance," the Invincible Sun slowly announced.

Surrounded by piles of files and a dozen Dataslate, he uttered these words to his brothers and the Primarch.

His expression was serious, a seriousness stemming from a combination of factors. For example, the ship was damaged, and the reduced crew meant that many jobs were unavailable.

For a warship of the Gloriana-class, the former could be temporarily ignored, but the latter was the most unbearable thing. From engine maintenance to shield inspection functions, and even the hungry Machine Spirit on the gun deck that were always eager to fire.

Every place needs people, and preferably trained workers who know what they should and shouldn't do.

"Andermung could be an option," Idaeus said thoughtfully.

He was thinking about something else, but that didn't stop him from answering the company commander. They— the Astartes —were born with the blood of the Primarch, so it was not surprising that they possessed Roboute Guilliman's talent.

Some within the Imperium even felt that they were not living, breathing people, but rather clones, corrupted versions of the Primarch, manipulated by him personally.

This notion is blasphemous, yet it is very popular in worlds where the Primarch have never been seen. People prefer to believe that these giants wearing similar armor are not actually human, rather than to see them as separate individuals.

"Andermung, I'd rather choose Conno," another voice said.

That was Sixth Company Commander Maximus Ephraim, whose company hadn't played a significant role in the uprising, a fact that had recently left him very somber. For the Astartes, failing to shoulder responsibility in battle was a grave disgrace.

However, he remained calm, Idaeus was very fortunate about.

It's important to understand that the Sixth Company is an armored company, and as everyone knows, people who deal with powerful war machines year-round usually don't have very good tempers. And Maximus's temper is among the most volatile of Ultramarines.

His words were widely agreed upon. The Third Company Captain, Janus Adiyas, the eighth company commander, Ledo Asius, and the Ninth Company Xenon, all expressed their agreement immediately, and the matter was quickly brought to the table for discussion.

Almost every company commander expressed their opinion. The Second Company Ekis, believed that Conno was too far away and not suitable as a temporary stop in the current situation.

Company Commander Kazir objected, arguing that distance was not the priority and that the immediate priority was to fully restore the Macragge's Honour, and that Conno's resources would be very useful in the upcoming war.

Company Commander Antilochus agreed with him, though he seemed somewhat distracted. Idaeus observed him and quickly concluded that the company commander was grieving for the fallen recruits.

Throughout the entire Chapter, only the officers of the 10th Company were so familiar with these new recruits, and in war, new recruits always suffer heavy casualties. Even the Astartes could not escape this law of war.

The only advantage is that, like other companies, the 10th Company has reserves on various planets that can be called upon at any time.

These "new recruits," who have fully matured under the tutelage of local military academies and a few veteran soldiers, can formally join the Chapter and be thrown into the war at any time. However, they are a force that will only be used in emergencies, and the major companies will not call them up unless absolutely necessary.

Idaeus sat quietly, observing his brothers from a detached perspective, watching them bicker like the most vulgar Hive City gangsters, yet apologize to each other like the most elegant nobles in the court.

Their voices echoed endlessly within the Adeptus Administratum, as muffled as thunder hidden in the clouds during springtime in Andermung. This oppressive atmosphere sent a chill down Idaeus's spine.

He sensed that war was calling. The cold had assaulted him countless times these past few days, and Razlion sat silently in the corner, had once said it was a rare psychic talent, and he didn't sound like he was joking at the time.

Idaeus knew he didn't have any psychic talent. It was just an intuition, an intuition born from the wounds and healings of war.

His teeth were chattering, and his skin was so cold it felt as if he had been thrown naked under a glacier, the pale snow-capped mountains pressing down on him, suffocating him, depriving him of light, and even preventing him from thinking.

Idaeus thought angrily.

He did not participate in the discussion; he sat quietly, waiting for another aloof person to speak.

The man, named Roboute Guilliman, stood with his arms crossed at the very front of all the long tables, his back against a vast and detailed star map, his expression unusually calm. Beside him stood another person, who looked very insignificant next to the Primarch, as if he were a Chapter servant.

Roboute Guilliman waited until the commotion subsided before speaking.

"We're going to Andermung," the Primarch said in an unquestionable tone, a stark contrast to his former self.

All the approval he received, except from Idaeus, even though he was the one who proposed it. The fourth company commander stared at his Primarch with his eyes, his worries having transformed into a kind of ocean that dragged him into its deepest depths.

Karyl Lohars nodded to him noncommittally.

--

Dante, or rather, Louis Dante, removed his helmet.

His fair face was covered in sweat, and the night wind, carrying the smell of gunpowder and blood, blew, making the soldier's braid, which was tied up and wrapped around his neck, sway.

This scene reminded him of many years ago when he was still on Baal Secundus. Unfortunately, everything in that desolate world had long since left him, leaving only Dante, the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels.

The Primarch's attendant, Sanguinius' right hand, the Archangel's majesty and sword—another being seen as a symbol.

The people of the Sol System have forgotten that Dante was a warrior, and the people of other territories of the Imperium have never even heard of him. Perhaps some knew him before, but now he is gone, and time has buried everything.

He smiled, revealing sharp teeth protruding from his lips, making him look somewhat ferocious, but he showed no threatening intent, nor any desire to drink blood.

The Red Thirst had long since faded from his life during his years with Sanguinius. Dante remained rational at all times, and although killing still stirred his instincts, he was now able to control them, just as he controlled his sword.

He looked down at the weapon in his hand.

Dante saw an absolute weapon, which had flown from the other side of the galaxy many years ago with a reward, and had been delivered to him by the Salamanders.

Their Primarch, the Great Vulkan, heard of Dante's deeds during the Daemon invasion and rewarded him accordingly. The official explanation was that he had single-handedly protected the Nocturne blacksmiths in the fortress, but the truth was quite different.

The group of blacksmiths were nominally on a pilgrimage to Terra from the Nocturne Terra, but in reality, they were Vulkan's people—not his sons, but his people, a group of blacksmiths with extraordinary skills.

They delivered one of the Lord of Drakes's masterpieces to Terra at the cost of their own hands and blood.

Dante didn't know what it was; in fact, he wasn't even aware that there were other living people besides him inside the fortress during the battle. Therefore, when the giant axe was handed to him, his first reaction was to refuse.

It was Sanguinius who persuaded him to accept it.

In the shimmering blue light emanating from the blade of the giant axe, Dante looked up at the sky. He saw a brilliant shooting star streak across the night sky; it was truly as bright as a star, enough to illuminate half the night.

Dante knew that it wasn't a shooting star; it was his Gene-Father. Sanguinius hadn't flown for many years, even though people knew he could fly, knew he was the only one who could conquer the sky with his own body, but he no longer flew.

Dante once asked the reason after a dinner party.

"Oh, it's actually quite simple, my son," said Sanguinius. "People long to see me fly because it inspires them. But I can do the same thing simply by being there for them. Besides, I only flap my wings in two situations."

Dante remembers remaining silent for a long time before pressing for an answer.

"The first scenario is after the war is over. I often do this; I fly into the sky to get a panoramic view. The gale will tear blood off my armor, and the high vantage point will allow me to see everything on the battlefield."

"I want to know how many people died because of my orders, and I want to know what glory they obtained with their own hands before they died. I swore, Dante, I will remember it all."

"Living is an extremely precious gift, and I only need to say a few words to get countless people to give it up, so I must be careful. But, as you know, no matter how careful you are, death is inevitable in war."

"Therefore, I will fly, and the living will see me, and when they see me, they will know that Sanguinius is mourning the dead."

"The second scenario is quite simple—I fly for victory. If this war requires me to fly, then I take off. I'll take my sword to find the enemy, and then behead them. It's that simple."

So what about now, Father?

Dante watched the shooting star recede into the distance and silently asked, "Are you mourning for us now?"

If Sanguinius could hear him, he would answer. But he was now ten thousand meters in the air, and the howling wind was the only thing he could hear.

Several Thunderhawk swept past him and headed away to another part of the battlefield. The world above the clouds was dark and desolate, with stars hanging mottledly on the curtain.

A massive fleet, led by the Red Tear, was anchored in the outer orbit, not approaching to avoid triggering natural disasters such as tides. From Sanguinius' perspective, they looked almost like huge black shadows reflected in a mirror.

He glanced at his flagship, then plunged headlong into the clouds, diving downwards. Damp water droplets froze into ice fragments, creaking and crackling in the gaps of the golden armor.

Sanguinius' golden hair flowed freely, and his eyes shone like the midday sun. He saw everything clearly.

Shell craters left by artillery fire, shattered corpses, guards in simple armor holding light guns, Commissar receiving treatment not far away, an troop transport vehicle belching black smoke and nearing the end of its life, tanks undergoing repairs, and busy crew members.

Not far from them were the Astartes clad in Ceramite. They had just fought a bloody war, and the Apothecary were collecting Gene-seed from the remains of their fallen comrades.

Joy of victory and mourning for the dead coexisted within them; the corpses of the traitors were being purified by Phosphex flames in the excavated cremation pits. The flesh and blood of the Daemon had long since dissipated into Ethereal essence.

Yes, this is the truth of war. Honor is something that is added later; there is no honor in war, only the dead and those who are lucky enough to survive.

They knew why they were fighting, so they fought and died.

Sanguinius watched all of this with sorrow.

He flew again, but he felt no joy, for he knew this was only the beginning.

The war is over, but it was merely a clarion call.

Everything that happened in this Agri World was merely a harbinger, just like itself; to the fleet, it was insignificant, merely a minor episode along the way.

Without even needing the participation of other Chapter, the Blood Angels took the lead and achieved victory within ten hours. However, this victory was only the beginning.

Sanguinius' long-dormant war instincts are awakening, telling him that a bloody storm is approaching.

But where will it arrive?