When Tyberos turned his gaze toward the tiny squad of only four Fallen behind Farahel, his brow furrowed involuntarily. He hesitated slightly, then spoke bluntly:
"However... your numbers are far too few. Even if you are fortunate enough to receive the Lord of the Stars' blessing, such a weak force will likely find it difficult to independently carry out important missions or take part in fierce battles.
Do you truly accept giving up the honor you once had as warriors and becoming obscure ordinary people from now on?"
Facing Tyberos' doubts, a trace of resolve flashed through Farahel's eyes. He clenched his fists and answered firmly:
"No! I will never accept becoming some ordinary, unremarkable person! I long to continue throwing myself into battle.
I want to use my own hands to avenge those battle-brothers who died miserably beneath the Dark Angels' claws! Even if the road ahead is lined with thorns and fraught with danger, I will never retreat a single step!
I also want to ask the Dark Angels why they take such delight in hunting us down. What exactly did we do wrong?"
Tyberos silently stared into Farahel's eyes, filled with hatred and fury, and an unexpected trace of pity rose within him. The hardships these people had endured were truly lamentable.
As his gaze swept over Farahel and his companions, memories of the past surged into his mind like a tide, especially those of the once-familiar Carcharodons Chapter.
Back then, the Carcharodons Chapter's faith in the Emperor had been as unshakable as bedrock, unwavering unto death. Yet fate had always seemed unfair to them. For thousands of years, that valiant Chapter had remained trapped in desperate poverty, unable to escape.
Having long been denied sufficient supplies of weapons and equipment from within the vast Imperium, the