In the mess hall aboard the enormous Battle Barge Edict of Truth, ever-burning lamps shaped like sacred candles illuminated the entire space.
The hall was open almost twenty-four hours a day, ensuring that Legion warriors returning from intense training or the battlefield could replenish their enormous energy expenditure at any time.
The air perpetually carried the distinctive smell of heated compound nutrient paste, mingled with a faint trace of disinfectant.
To Hercules, however, the place felt rather unfamiliar.
During the past dozen or so days of training that could only be described as "hell week," his stomach had subsisted almost entirely on the high-efficiency nutrient solution specially formulated by Apothecary Norskar. Bland though it was, the fluid delivered an enormous burst of energy, enough to sustain him while Company Captain Menoetius put him through an endless variety of drills every day until he was practically falling apart.
His daily routine was simple—very simple: get beaten in the training room, get patched up in the infirmary, sleep briefly in his quarters, then repeat.
As for the mess hall?
Hercules: "Huh? There's a mess hall aboard the Warship?"
Today, at Frank's strong recommendation, Hercules had been forced to come here straight from the archives.
The mess hall was exceptionally spacious, large enough to accommodate hundreds of Adeptus Astartes eating at once. At present, however, only a few dozen sat scattered along the enormous stone tables, most silently and swiftly finishing their food. For the Space Marines present, eating was merely another task to complete efficiently.
If necessary, they could fight for dozens of days without eating anything.
Two serving Servitors glided up to their table, their mechanical arms steadily setting down two enormous ceramic bowls so dark they were almost black.
The bowls were filled with a thick, gently bubbling stew, its