Interlude 59: Wolf, Lion, God (II)

To be frank, Russ had always loved listening to stories. That habit largely stemmed from Fenrisian tradition—in such a brutal world, things like history, spirit, and courage could only be passed down by word of mouth, from generation to generation.

Countless days and nights, the tribesfolk of Fenris would gather in circles beside campfires or hearths, listening to some elder recount a tale he had witnessed or heard himself.

Russ was no exception. One could even say he had grown up nourished by such tales.

After he became the Wolf King recognized by all the Space Wolves, he naturally brought this tradition into the Legion as well. Even after his death, he had never forgotten it.

Of course, by this point, he could no longer act entirely according to his own wishes—if Lion El'Jonson did not agree, or simply happened to be in a foul mood, things would most likely not go smoothly.

As for now...

Russ gripped the Dionysian Spear and sat cross-legged. He gently lifted his old brother's withered, lifeless face, propping it up with the artifact's rounded butt.

Before him, two more men were arguing. The one on the left radiated murderous intent, fists clenched tight, the muscles in his bare arms taut as though he might launch an attack at any moment.

Russ had already heard his story and learned that he came from an unfortunate, shattered world—a world where the Great Crusade initiated by The Emperor had never truly come close to succeeding.

While the various Legions were still scattered across the galaxy, busy reclaiming lost territory and fighting on their own, a sudden Warp storm had completely cut them off from one another.

The daemons attacked immediately afterward. The unprepared Astartes and Auxilia suffered grievous losses in the very first wave.

From then on,