This Is What You Call Oppression, Baby
The Huron Blackheart instantly shut his mouth; all the unspoken explanations, humility, and descriptions of the difficulties he was facing were stuck in his throat.
He stared at the face of the Gene-Father, hidden in the shadow of his helmet yet seemingly able to see through everything, and suddenly, he didn't want to say anything, nor did he need to say anything.
A mixture of utter absurdity, shock, sudden realization, and ultimately, overwhelming ecstasy and admiration.
It shattered all his psychological defenses like volcanic lava.
When it comes to playing politics, being ruthless, and using rhetoric... it has to be you, my Gene-Father!
I, Huron Blackheart, have been a pirate for over a thousand years, exploiting countless worlds and manipulating countless conspiracies. I thought I was black and dirty enough...
Compared to you, a "cunning old fox" who has lived for ten thousand years, walked all the way from the peak of the Imperium of Man, and witnessed the true pinnacle of the game of power, I am as pure as Servo-Skulls fresh out of the foundry!
"Basic success"... Hahahaha!
These four words are exquisite!
That's fucking brilliant!
It acknowledged and affirmed the "achievements" of the Huron Blackheart in the Maelstrom, but it didn't completely rule out the possibility of wrongdoing, leaving endless room for maneuver and interpretation.
It can be a reason for pardon, a basis for reinstatement, or a bargaining chip for future negotiations.
It downplayed the serious crime of "betraying the Imperium," partially transforming it into "problems with the methods and approaches used during the mission" and "failure to communicate and coordinate with superiors."
It lifts itself high, yet falls gently, effortlessly transforming the mundane into the miraculous!
At this moment, the Huron Blackheart swore to the Emperor: to follow this Gene-Father, to become his weapon, and to do the dirtiest and darkest work for him.
It will be the luckiest, wisest, and most exciting thing that Ruft Huron has ever done in his life, and in countless centuries to come!
When it comes to being Blackheart, you really are the one!
A thousand years of space pirates were ultimately far too naive in the face of five thousand years of vast feudal landowners.
Feudal landlord: This is called oppression, baby~
Why are you resisting? Is it because your little heart was ripped out?
But! But!
This man is actually the Gene-Father!
That's absolutely amazing!
He slapped his face hard, trying to hide the barely suppressed, ear-wide grin that stretched across his face, his entire shoulder twitching as he struggled to hold back his laughter.
That posture was both like the weakness of someone finally freed from a thousand-year burden and the ecstatic joy of discovering an amazing treasure.
A moment later, the Huron Blackheart —no, he should now be called Ruft Huron— was revealed.
The once proud Astral Claws slowly lowered his hand.
The humility, sorrow, excitement, and ecstasy on his face—all his outward emotions—receded like the tide.
Instead, it possesses a calm and sharp quality that has been tempered by a thousand years of history, washed away by the ferocity of pirates, and reborn with a certain firm core.
He took a deep breath, his chest heaving.
It was as if he wanted to inhale all the blood and gore that had been sucked into the Maelstrom over the past thousand years, as well as the complex emotions of sudden enlightenment at this moment, into his lungs!
Go deep into your lungs!
Then, he moved.
No longer kneeling and hugging legs, no longer standing and delivering speeches.
Instead, they adopted the most standard, solemn, and traditional posture of the Imperial Army—
Kneel on one knee!
The heavy metal knee components of the Power Armour collided with the Adamantium floor, producing a deep, resounding clang that echoed across the silent bridge.
He slammed the butt of his Bolter into the floor beside him with a soft thud, like the ceremonial rifles of a guard of honor striking the ground.
His helmet had already been removed and placed aside, revealing his scarred face with fiery eyes.
He raised his head, his gaze no longer flickering or wandering.
Instead, like a tempered sword, it looked straight at the blue giant towering before it, its Gene-Father, the Imperial Regent, Roboute Guilliman.
His voice, no longer choked with sobs, agitated, or evasive, had become booming and resonant:
"I am Ruft Huron-- "
"--A warrior of the Imperium Adeptus Astartes, former Astral Claws Chapter Master of the Starclaws Chapter."
On behalf of the loyal and courageous warriors who have stood firm in the Maelstrom Sector for millennia, never forgetting the human spirit and the Emperor faith, I address the Imperial Regent, Robert Guilliman— "
His gaze swept over the banners behind Guilliman, which represented the Ultramarines and the authority of the Imperium.
"--Proclaim our return to the Holy Imperium of Man!"
He paused deliberately, letting the word "return" echo in the silence.
"Through a thousand years of trials and tribulations, the faith in the Emperor has not been extinguished!"
"A thousand years of solitude have not shaken my loyalty to the Imperium!"
"The Astronomican of the Maelstrom may be dim, but the flame in our hearts, fueled by flesh and soul, has never been extinguished; it is the hope we hold fast for humanity!"
"We fight alone, facing Xenos and heretics, facing the roar of the Warp and the scarcity of resources, all because what beats in our chests is the heart of an Imperium warrior!"
"Today, the Regent arrives, the Imperium banners once more fly over the Maelstrom, darkness recedes, and dawn breaks!"
"We are willing to wield explosives and chainsaws, and with our will and bodies forged from a thousand years of iron and blood, we will cut through all thorns and clear away all obstacles for the revival of the Imperium and the future of humanity!"
"By the Emperor!"
"The Imperium is Immortal!"
"Loyalty—forever!"
He practically roared out the last three words, his voice hoarse yet incredibly penetrating, carrying a sacrificial fervor and an undeniable determination.
A solemn atmosphere prevailed on the bridge.
The Ultramarines still gripped their weapons tightly, but the hostility and wariness in their eyes had been replaced by a complex sense of awe.
Calgar and Sicarius a glance, both seeing seriousness in each other's eyes.
They knew that the matter had gone far beyond simply "dealing with traitors."
The words of the Gene-Father," the assessment of "basic success," and the meticulously prepared declaration of return by the Huron Blackheart have placed this leader of the Red Corsairs in a delicate and crucial position.
He was both a traitor and a "hero."
He was a pirate, and also a "loyal heir".
He is trouble, or perhaps... an incredibly sharp, clearly targeted double-edged sword.
The one wielding the sword was none other than their Gene-Father, the Imperial Regent, Roboute Guilliman.
Guilliman watched silently as Ruft Huron knelt on one knee, head held high, proclaiming his authority; his face beneath the Helm of Dominion remained hidden in shadow.
But deep within those icy blue eyes, there seemed to be a very subtle, satisfied ripple.
He slowly raised his hand, not to help, but to make a simple gesture that represented "acceptance" and "approval".
"Get up, Huron."
"Your loyalty has been received by the Imperium."
"Your value... the Imperium needs it too."