The Emperor's Angels

He loosened his fist, his gaze sharpening like a knife.

A Servitor silently glided over, carrying a set of neatly folded, clean, and slightly Psionic Energy- blessed standard Ultramarines uniform.

Simple dark blue clothes, trimmed with silver and featuring the Ultramar emblem.

Calgar took it and put it on smoothly.

The fabric clung to every curve of his newborn body, comfortable and fitting perfectly.

"Hmph, I woke up earlier than you."

A cold voice, filled with undisguised arrogance yet subtly tinged with a sense of relief, came from the doorway of the restoration room.

Calgar fastened his coat buttons and turned around.

Cato Sicarius was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

He was also wearing the same casual clothes, and his face was still somewhat pale from blood loss, but his eyes were surprisingly bright, burning with a familiar pride.

His left arm was missing, and the sleeve hung empty.

However, the shoulder contours seemed somewhat unusual, with a faint glow of new tissue repaired by Smart Atoms visible beneath the fabric.

Although the severed arm can regenerate, the process is not yet complete.

"Oh? Is that so?"

Calgar looked at him, a mischievous yet sincere smile slowly spreading across his face:

"But how come I remember that the way a certain proud swordsman fled was far more 'heroic' than the way you are now... my dear brother?"

Cato Sicarius's face flushed red instantly, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

He straightened up abruptly as if burned, forcefully turning his head to the other side, almost snorting through his nose:

"Run away?! I don't know what you're talking about!"

I, Cato Sicarius, the Blademaster of the Ultramarines, don't even have those two words in my dictionary!

That's called... that's called a strategic retreat! It's to preserve more valuable combat capabilities!

It is to carry out my father's teachings!

His voice grew softer and softer until it was almost a mutter, and his ears turned bright red.

Clearly, abandoning his pride and fleeing for his life with his brothers was both a necessary and correct choice for him, and an awkward wound deep in his heart that needed time to heal.

Calgar looked at his blustering yet cowardly and pretentious demeanor, and couldn't help but smile and shake his head.

In his eyes, this exceptionally talented and proud swordsman was sometimes just like a younger brother who hadn't grown up and was extremely concerned about saving face.

This awkward concern and sacrifice is more precious than any grand words.

Okay, I'm just teasing you.

Calgar stepped forward and patted Sicarius's intact right shoulder forcefully, making the latter sway slightly. "Let's go."

Where to?

Sicarius turned his head, still a little sullen, but his eyes had regained their clarity.

Calgar looked out the porthole; there was no longer a burning battlefield, but the Terra surface filled with cleanup machinery and engineers.

As the smoke clears, the wounds are revealed.

"Terra needs to be rebuilt." Calgar's voice was calm but firm. "Father has a mountain of things to deal with."

We can't offer strategic assistance, but at least... we can help in some way, even just a little.

He looked at Sicarius, his gaze clear:

"Even if it's just sweeping away dust or moving rubble, using our strength to lighten Father's burden even by the slightest bit... isn't that what we should do?"

Sicarius silent for a moment, and the last trace of unease on his face disappeared.

He straightened his remaining spine, nodded, and his simple response carried the same determination:

"Walk."

Terra, a cleared area outside the Royal Palace.

Huge piles of wreckage, shattered palace domes, twisted metal beams, molten armor plates... all mixed together, forming a complex obstacle.

Specialized construction machinery is carefully cutting and hoisting the equipment, but progress is slow.

An Imperium engineer, dressed in dusty overalls and wearing protective goggles, is agonizing over a large, irregularly shaped, mixed-metal the Rock over five meters in diameter, covered with sharp protrusions.

His small cutter was like a toothpick in front of this thing, and he was afraid that calling in heavy machinery would cause a secondary collapse of the unstable structure above.

"This damn thing... if only I could just move it..." He wiped his sweat and muttered to himself.

Just then, the Rock in front of him... moved.

It didn't roll or slide; instead, it floated up smoothly and silently, half a meter off the ground, and came to a steady stop.

The engineers looked up in astonishment.

The sunlight outlined a dazzling silhouette behind a tall figure.

The man had blond hair as bright as the sun and eyes as blue as a clear sky.

His face was resolute and handsome, and he wore a simple dark blue uniform, yet he exuded an aura of reassurance and awe.

With a single, effortless movement of his hand, he lifted the Rock that had baffled the engineers as easily as a child's toy, using his Psionic Energy power.

"Hello, mortal brother."

Calgar gave the dumbfounded engineers a gentle and sincere smile, his voice as calm as a sea breeze:

"Leave this kind of heavy physical work to us."

Your skills and expertise should be used for more precise and judgment-based work.

Having said that, he said no more, lifting the Rock as if it were a light feather, turned around, and walked steadily toward the distant centralized storage area.

His movements were unhurried, each step firm and steady, as if he were carrying not a heavy weight, but a natural responsibility.

The engineers stood there, only snapping back to reality when the tall blue figure disappeared around the corner of the ruins.

He took off his protective goggles, rubbed his eyes hard, and then looked at the shallow pit left where the Rock had originally been.

"... The Emperor's angels..."

He murmured softly, his voice filled with the purest reverence and gratitude.

In his simple understanding, the only beings capable of helping mortals so kindly, so powerfully, and so naturally could be the legendary divine messengers beneath the throne of Emperor.

He faced the direction Calgar had gone, straightened his weary body, placed his stained right hand on his left chest, and performed a standard and respectful Imperial Aquila salute.

This is not a formality to superiors, but a heartfelt and profound tribute to the "guardians" and "sacrificers."