Rebirth (III)

Sometimes, Bjorn missed the Ultramarines—sounds unbelievable, doesn't it? But he wasn't joking, and even by the standards of a joke, a son of Russ missing the Ultramarines simply wasn't funny.

So Ahzek Ahriman knew he was serious.

"They're accustomed to setting a single standard and using countless such standards to quantify everything. I didn't like that in the past, old blind man, but I have to admit now that their approach has its reasons."

Amid the biting wind and heavy stench of blood, the Lone Wolf delivered these words without expression. The blind man stood behind him, upright against his staff, equally impassive.

Sixty-five Rune Priests were drawing out the formation not far ahead of them, preparing the ritual. Even Aun Evilwinter had joined in, busy checking for omissions and filling gaps. He had never been particularly versed in rituals before, but time's power was simply too merciless.

"But the world of psychic power and sorcery does not value reason or standards," the blind man said cautiously.

"That's still better than watching this lot curse each other over different patterns!" Bjorn roared. "I'd rather spend an entire day haggling with the logistics department on behalf of the pack than stand here watching them scream at each other like market vendors, nearly coming to blows over where to put a single line!"

Ahriman shook his head and, for the first time in a long while, adopted the scholarly tone once favored by the Thousand Sons.

"The Rune Priests' method of inheritance is a rather unstructured apprenticeship system. Young people with talent study under elder priests according to the differing combat styles of each Great Company. Only those of exceptional talent can formally complete their training. In other words, they mostly cast by instinct in their daily lives, and everyone's instincts differ."