116 Dark Crusade (Thirty-Six, Calistarius

(A Strange Encounter in the Cemetery)

The incense burns steadily, and Baal sand candles, made using a special technique, add another layer of aroma.

Through the mixing of the two substances, young Calistarius was able to truly calm down and enter a deep sleep.

He didn't want to always rely on external things to achieve this, but in recent years, as he went further and further down the path of psychic powers, deep sleep became something he could no longer experience.

Firstly, he instinctively resisted it—deep down, he didn't want to dream.

Although Calistarius was young, he had started as an editor and had read through all the books in the Librarian's collections. He knew all too well what Psyker might do when he was in a deep sleep.

Second, his spiritual power is preventing him.

It was as if even his psychic abilities knew that something extremely terrible would happen once he dreamed.

But there's no time to worry about that now. With the army at hand and no word from our allies, the only clue is a mysterious psionic signal.

Out of a sense of responsibility, Calistarius could no longer refuse, but he wasn't the kind of fool to act rashly. He had the help of three other Chief Librarian: the Knights of Blood, the Lamenters, and the Flesh Tearers.

With his powerful spiritual energy, coupled with the stable magic array, Calistarius was confident that he could block some of the influence that might come from Chaos.

As for the remaining part, he managed to hold on.

"We will do our utmost, Callistarius," Luciferos, the think tank of the Flesh Ripper, stated in a calm voice completely out of character for his chapter.

He was shrouded in a complex, deep blue world, his face equally blurred, hidden beneath a black hood. From Calistarius's perspective, he could only make out a mysterious chin.

Realizing this stirred a smile within the young Blood Angels, he didn't conceal it but released it. Through the connection of psychic energy, the Librarian communicated with incredible speed.

As expected, the Flesh Tearers let out a soft snort and gave a stern warning.

"I admire your character, your optimism under such a heavy burden, young man. But you must understand that this matter may be hiding a great horror that we will never see in our lifetime."

"Don't frighten him, Lucifer," said Mephastas, the Lamenters, with a smile. "Quickly prepare the ceremony."

He gripped the prayer beads in his hand, and a burst of light emanated from them.

Seconds later, it was handed to Lucifer, and then to Russ Thural, the Knights of Blood. The taciturn and ferocious giant grasped the rosary and roared in a low voice.

"Kid!"

He infused the rosary with psychic energy and then tossed it out. Calistarius caught it safely and let out a long breath.

He could already sense the immense power contained within this ancient artifact. The infusion of power from the three Librarian had temporarily elevated it into a tool capable of providing him with sufficient support.

The young Librarian gripped it tightly, then nodded to his relatives and solemnly lay down in a stone coffin.

The heavy coffin lid followed closely behind, closing slowly with an extremely sharp and piercing scraping sound, something that shouldn't have happened between stones.

The Chief Librarian's expressions suddenly turned serious. They exchanged glances, all taking this as a warning and wanting to postpone their actions.

However, the young man inside the stone coffin firmly expressed his opinion.

We cannot waste any more precious time, my lords. The Emperor must have sent us here for a reason; we cannot let him down.

"If you persist, then we will support you," the Lamenters replied solemnly. "I believe the brave will be rewarded."

The next second, the sweet scent of fresh blood began to fill the room. It was a drop of blood from Sanguinius, ritually treated, and dripped into Calistarius's forehead.

Immediately afterwards, the stone coffin lid suddenly closed, the ground lit up, and a huge amount of blood suddenly gushed out from the deep trenches that had been left in advance, completely surrounding the entire stone coffin. At first glance, it looked as if it was floating in a sea of blood.

Inside the sarcophagus, Calistarius's consciousness gradually sank into his own mind. He hadn't felt this calm in a very long time; there was no longer the cold restlessness brought by psionic energy, nor the faint anticipation of an upcoming mission, only a deathly stillness of peace.

He breathed, breathed, breathed. From long breaths to a complete stop, until no more warm air escaped from his nostrils, a burst of light suddenly emanated from the rosary in his hand.

Outside the stone coffin, all three Chief Librarian saw a phantom Shadow rush out of the coffin, holding a heavy string of prayer beads in its hand.

It soared into the sky, and with the help of the Chief Librarian, sank into the Warp to begin searching for the source of the psionic signal.

What they didn't know was that Calistarius hadn't left; he was simply sleeping.

He hadn't had such a peaceful sleep in many years. There was nothing left to worry about; it was pure, calm, serene, and pleasant. A gentle breeze caressed his face, making him reluctant to open his eyes.

So, what is that soul that rushed out?

No one had the answer, at least not Calistarius. In a world where time was blurred, the young Blood Angels had just ended his slumber. His mind was blank; he could only vaguely remember having something to do.

But what exactly happened?

He was somewhat bewildered, but he simply sat up. However, apart from the stone coffin beneath him, the world before his eyes had completely changed.

The Chief Librarian vanished along with the flickering light of the candles in the yellow sand, replaced by a somber yet tranquil cemetery. Coffins were everywhere, unburied and without tombstones.

What? Are nameless, deceased souls buried here?

Calistarius frowned, immediately realizing the problem. He had forgotten something very important to him, and besides, he was now in a clearly illogical place.

So, the answer to where this place is is obvious.

I was in the Warp, and Calistarius a furrowed brow, silently left the sarcophagus.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he felt an unbelievable chill. He felt as if his soul had frozen—if the concept of a frozen soul even existed.

The Blood Angels took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and began to observe the cemetery.

He soon discovered that a wind, seemingly from nowhere, was swirling around him, exactly as he had felt in his dream. This wind carried no malice, only pure tranquility. It blew without a sound, its stillness astonishing.

Calistarius remembered this, and intuitively chose a direction, striding towards it.

He didn't know how long he had walked, but the scene before him remained unchanged: a gloomy cemetery, a frigid temperature, and one tightly closed stone coffin after another.

Calistarius reluctantly turned his gaze to a sarcophagus, the closest one to him.

"Do we really have to do this?" the Blood Angels asked himself.

He hesitated for the following reasons: he did not sense the Chaos, evil stench here, and as he stayed longer, his keen senses returned.

At this moment, Calistarius could truly feel the souls sleeping in the sarcophagi; he could even vaguely sense their dreams. Peaceful and serene, without exception, though perhaps the details differed, but overall, they were all good dreams.

He remained silent for a few seconds, then suddenly took a deep breath.

I'm sorry.

He walked toward the stone coffin, his fists clenched, still pondering whether this was a Deceit illusion or if he had truly arrived at a resting place for the dead within a Warp.

His reason urged him to accept the former, for how could such a place exist in the Warp? Yet his intuition said: No, it truly exists. Do not disturb those peaceful souls, Calistarius, do not do so.

Calistarius walked to the sarcophagus, hesitated, and then placed his right hand on the top.

Then, a pale hand quietly emerged from the darkness, took his hand, and pressed it against the surface of the stone coffin.

"Hi." A pale Ghost smiled at him in the moonlight. "Believe me, this won't end well."

The Blood Angels abruptly pulled his right hand back, his face turning almost as pale as the Ghost's. But he failed, for the hand had caught up and firmly gripped his right hand, bringing a chill hundreds of times more terrifying than the previous cold.

Calistarius could have continued struggling, but he didn't have time for that now. He stared at the Ghost, his face filled with shock.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the Ghost asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I... I..." the young Librarian member stammered in response. "I've seen your portrait."

"Hmm?" The Ghost gave a mysterious smile. "Where did you see it?"

"My father's --"

"--Shh, shh." The Ghost shook its head at him, its expression suddenly turning stern.

"Please be a little more cautious, young man. I am a being that exists in the Warp, and by all accounts, what I am is still up for debate. Yet you've already identified me as the person you imagine? And what's the deal with that portrait?"

The Blood Angels, after holding it in for a long time, finally blurted out, "Didn't you tell me not to say it?"

The Ghost grinned, released his hand, and then naturally hooked its arm around his shoulder.

"I want to hear it now."

"."

"Um?"

"My father—my Primarch— painted portraits of you all," Calistarius replied softly. "The Departed," he named the paintings. They hung in his room on the Red Tear, where I met him once, and thus I saw your likeness."

"I?"

Calistarius nodded, his gaze drifting to the crown atop his head.

The Ghost turned its head in surprise. "Oh, you mean, the one in the portrait is wearing this?"

"Yes. In fact, the way you are depicted in the portraits is different from how I saw you in the records. I can't understand the difference because it's just too great. The Primarch sensed my doubt but didn't explain. He simply told me to write down the details of the portraits, saying I would need them someday."

The Blood Angels stepped back, knelt on one knee, and bowed his head. "Calistarius homage to you, Night Haunter."

A chorus of praises erupted from the darkness.

Konrad Curze Curze stared at him expressionlessly, then suddenly glanced back into the darkness, and the praise abruptly ceased.

He sighed and reached out to pull the young Librarian up from the ground.

"Listen, Calistarius, about that title, and the others, and my name. You'd better not mention them here; it involves things I can't tell you. Anyway, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mephiston."

The Blood Angels looked at him with a bewildered expression.

"Mephiston? My lord, I am—"

"--I know," Konrad Curze Curze replied softly.

At that moment, his gaze was so sorrowful that Calistarius could not comprehend it.

Was he mourning for someone? The Blood Angels pondered this silently, but could not find the answer.

--

"Not bad," Gabriel Seth praised listlessly.

He clutched his broken nose, slowly straightening his body. Blood gushed from between his fingers, stopping after a few seconds. Opposite him, Dante, who was leisurely removing his training clothes Dante shook his head.

Are you satisfied now?

"A little," the Flesh Tearers grinned savagely. "At least you've proven you're not all show and no substance."

Dante shook his head, turned, opened the dueling cage, and walked out. Apart from this place, there was no light anywhere else, and no one was there; even the Servitor had been completely dismissed. Clearly, the two Chapter Masters did not want their battle to be seen.

Dante knew that this whole thing was a joke from the very beginning.

He knelt down on one knee.

"Primarch." Dante's voice echoed in the darkness, causing Gabriel Seth's expression to change for the first time ever. "I'm sorry."

The Flesh Tearers bursts out of the duel cage.

"Why apologize?" a voice came from the darkness. "It was indeed a wonderful battle; you were evenly matched, with the outcome decided only at the very last moment. Hand-to-hand combat is truly fascinating, but I'd like to know, which of you suggested it? I mean, not resorting to swords."

"It is I, Primarch," Gabriel Seth answered with difficulty, then prepared to kneel, but was stopped by a gust of wind. Sanguinius flapped his wings and stepped out of the darkness, his handsome face full of smiles.

Why are you behaving as if you've done something wrong, Gabriel?

"I"

"We shouldn't be at odds at this time, Primarch," Dante explained, bowing his head. "If you are disappointed, we are willing to accept the punishment."

The angel chuckled softly and turned to leave. Seth looked in the direction he had gone, puzzled and uneasy. Suddenly, he looked down and glared at Dante. However, just seconds later, Sanguinius' voice rang out from the darkness once more.

"I'm not disappointed. Rather than excluding each other, I'd rather see things clarified in the dueling cage. However, there's something I need to tell you: there's a separate dueling arena on the Red Tear that hasn't been open to anyone for nearly ten thousand years."

"During the Legion era, we had close ties with the War Hounds, and that dueling arena was built for that purpose. Or rather, a sandpit, from an ancient tradition of Nuceria."

"Next time, if you're so dissatisfied with each other that you're ready to fight, I suggest you take your swords and roll around in the sand."

The two Chapter Masters, one tall and one short, looked at each other, unsure how to respond.