Ultramarines Successor Chapters

Patricius Calvo of the Silver Skulls.

His fingers unconsciously traced a patch on his power armor, repaired with plating stripped from an enemy tank.

As though checking whether any parts might fall off in front of his father later.

It was his Chapter's culture. The star system his Chapter was responsible for had always been quite poor, and supplies never arrived in adequate quantities.

Thus, they had gradually developed a Chapter tradition of stripping parts from enemy spoils to repair their own equipment.

On the battlefield, of course, it was immensely practical.

But now that he had arrived in such a magnificent place, this Chapter Master suddenly felt like a country bumpkin entering a grand estate.

Everyone else had matching, complete, brightly painted equipment, while he was covered in mismatched pieces, looking as if he had crawled out of a junk heap.

(Will my gene-father dislike my armor later?)

Calvo worried inwardly. He did not want to leave a bad impression on his father.

Celerus Voron of the White Consuls sat straighter than a rangefinder, staring at the steak on the plate before him.

He seemed to be conducting a tactical analysis with his gaze: from which angle should he cut it to best conform to the Codex dining regulations?

Marcus Andreas of the Angels of Fury had his eyes fixed on the door as if they had been welded there.

His entire body radiated an aura that said, "Whoever dares interrupt us while we wait for Father gets chopped apart," even though he had not touched the dinner knife at his side.

It was not that they did not want to eat.

Normally, they were either heading to a battlefield or on the way to one.

They spent most of their lives aboard warships, eating Adeptus Mechanicus-made nutrient paste specially formulated for Space Marines.

That nutrient paste kept them from going hungry, but it could hardly be called flavorful.

The feast spread before them had already made this group of towering men over two meters tall continuously secrete corrosive saliva.

But... Father had not arrived yet. Who would dare touch anything?

It was like a chain of "Space Marine-style" thoughts: This meat smells excellent, but will Father think we are indulging in pleasure?

This wine is supposedly aged for three hundred years, but will drinking it now affect my condition when I report later?

My Chapter's traditions are somewhat... unusual. Will Father disapprove?

Just as the air was about to congeal into the texture of nutrient paste, the door opened.

Roboute Guilliman strolled in.

He was not wearing that terrifying Armor of Destiny, only a simple dark tunic and trousers.

The style was ancient but comfortable, as though he had just finished a government meeting and casually changed clothes afterward.

He even held a data-slate in one hand, scrolling through it as he walked and muttering under his breath.

"...The tax rate still needs adjusting. The agricultural ecosystem sample analysis is out? Oh, leave it on my desk."

Then he looked up and saw a roomful of "good children" sitting ramrod straight.

He paused, then burst into a hearty laugh and casually stuffed the data-slate into the arms of an attendant beside him.

"Aha! It seems the host is the one who arrived late!

"By Old Terra custom, I ought to punish myself with three cups first, but what father punishes himself with three cups in front of his sons?

"Have some consideration for this old father of yours. I have not slept for more than ten days."

He strode to the head of the table. Rather than sitting immediately, he braced both hands against its edge and leaned forward, his blue eyes sweeping over every son with a smile.

"What are you all staring at me for?

"Do you really want your own father to punish himself with three cups?

"Eat already!

"What is in front of you is the annual labor of love from Macragge's Department of Agriculture and head chef. It makes them more nervous than negotiating an interstellar trade agreement."

"I'll taste it first."

He casually plucked a sugar-coated nut from the plate of Calvo, the Silver Skulls Chapter Master beside him, and tossed it into his mouth, crunching loudly.

"Mmm! Not bad.

"Get moving, get moving! If you are not eager to eat, there is something wrong with your attitude.

"This is Macragge's... no, this is our family's rule!"

His easy familiarity was like a stone thrown into a tranquil lake.

The Chapter Masters' tightly wound nerves clicked loose by a notch.

The brothers of the First Founding Chapter had not lied. Their father really did seem... quite easygoing?

Guilliman sat down comfortably, cut himself a large piece of steak, and ate with evident relish. He spoke as he ate, his voice slightly muffled but brimming with energy.

"Calvo, stop touching that armor of yours. The repairs are quite ingenious. Anyone can tell they were done by someone who has fought through real battles.

"Compile a report on your Silver Skulls' battlefield salvage and reuse procedures later and send it to me.

"Perhaps we can promote it in the logistics departments, so those Adeptus Mechanicus fellows stop complaining about resource shortages all the time."

Calvo's eyes lit up. He hurriedly placed the hand he had been trying to hide back on the table and gave a heavy nod.

"But do not shortchange yourselves too much in ordinary times.

"The lack of resources before was the Imperium's fault. From now on, I guarantee such a thing will never happen again!"

Guilliman smiled as he made that promise to Calvo, then angrily slapped the table and said,

"Those damned High Lords let my sons go to war without even issuing them a gun. Once I get to Terra, I'll tear off their heads and use them as balls!"

Calvo's face flushed with excitement. It would have been a lie to say his Chapter held no resentment.

What kind of decent person joined the military and did not even get ammunition?

At their worst, they had used shards of enemy bone as daggers.

In private, they had all cursed those High Lords.

For thousands of years, they had endured only through unwavering faith in the Emperor.

But who dared curse them openly?

Naturally, he had assumed his father was speaking in anger.

But his father had said it openly! He was clearly standing up for them!

Was this what it felt like to have an elder in the family?

This was absolutely incredible!

"It has truly been hard on you all these years..."

"Better days will come."

Guilliman patted Calvo on the shoulder.

Calvo's entire body shuddered.

Sometimes it was not that one felt no grievance, but that there was no one to voice it to, so it could only be buried in the heart.

Tears held back in the heart for too long might harden into ice.

It looked as though everything was fine, but a little warm comfort could melt that ice, turning it into tears that flowed out.

They were as unstoppable as a rising sea level.

This burly man, who had not shed a tear in centuries, now had tears glimmering in his eyes. Too choked up to speak, he could only nod forcefully.

Guilliman then looked at Voron and teased, "Celerus, relax a little. Your knife and fork will not rebel just because the angle of your grip deviates from Codex standard by half a degree.

"The sense of order among you White Consuls is precious, but when it comes to dining, enjoying the food is the greatest order.

"Try this sauce. It is a recipe from my mother from ten thousand years ago. It can brighten one's mood.

"I loved it when I was young."

The "keep strangers away" aura around Andreas, Chapter Master of the Angels of Fury, unconsciously receded when Guilliman looked his way.

Then his gaze fell upon the steak before him.

Something the primarch had loved as a child, a recipe improved by the primarch's foster mother.

In his Chapter, that would have been treated as a holy relic.

And now, this sacred steak was sitting right before him. He was so excited that even his fingertips trembled without cease.

"Marcus, ease up with that stare. The door is not going to be smashed open by the Chaos Gods.

"I read your battle report. You fought with real spirit.

"When dealing with those traitors, you have to smash them back with even greater force.

"But the next time you board an enemy vessel, remember to leave me a few intact engine cores. The Macragge shipyards are waiting for them."

The corner of Andreas's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. He seemed to want to smile, but held it back. In the end, it became a firm nod.

Talos received a knowing smile between administrators instead. "Osiris, the star-chart correction data from your Trident was a great help last time.

"From now on, you must offer more suggestions for Ultramar's interstellar highway planning.

"When you are home, stop thinking about shipping lanes and currents for the moment. Try this. They say a trace amount of pure stardust was added during brewing. Does it taste like the stars?

"You navigators of the void should enjoy wine too, right?"

"As you say.

"To your greatness, Father!"

Talos elegantly raised his glass in salute, finally revealing his first relaxed smile of the evening.

This father of theirs was really not bad!

At last, Guilliman's gaze fell upon Rex Thorne.

This Chapter Master of the Sons of Guilliman had seemed to carry an invisible planet on his back from the moment he entered.

His head was slightly bowed, and he did not even dare meet his father's eyes.

Members of the Sons of Guilliman had once fallen to the temptations of Chaos. In M41, Sergeant Constantine Nuss had sparked a rebellion and colluded with Chaos.

These transgressions had burdened the Chapter with infamy.

In the Imperium, betrayal was shameful.

Not only would your comrades despise you, but even in the depths of your own heart, you would despise your Chapter and the gene-seed within your body.

Yet the later members of the Sons of Guilliman remained beyond question in their loyalty.

They still upheld their oaths to the Emperor and purged the enemies of the Imperium.

But they also bore the sins of their predecessors, constantly seeking atonement through death in battle.