Blackstone Fortress

Thanks to the physique of a Primarch, Lorgar easily recalled the Roleplaying Game sourcebook he had read in his previous life, along with the Imperial Star Chart he had found online.

The labels beginning with C marked Colchis; those beginning with P marked the protagonist's destination.

But if Lorgar remembered correctly, finding that place would still be difficult.

For one thing, the game was set in the 40k era, while this was 30k. He knew absolutely nothing about that region as it existed now.

For another, according to the sourcebook, reaching the Blackstone Fortress meant enduring a harrowing journey.

Setting aside the Chaos forces and daemons along the way, the final leg was the most dangerous.

The Silent Zone, where the Blackstone Fortress lay, had no Warp charts, and the light of the Astronomican shining into that dead expanse was distorted beyond recognition.

That was why so few knew the Blackstone Fortress's exact location. Few travelers managed to find it, and fewer still returned in one piece.

To follow the signal emitted by the Blackstone Fortress, a traveler first had to find a way through previously charted Warp routes or the vast void, which lay between the fortress and the nearest star.

At the end of that journey lay a chaotic field of wreckage stretching millions of miles in every direction.

It was a dense cloud of ancient warship wrecks and fragments of Armed Space Stations.

Where this stellar debris had come from, and how it had come to surround the Blackstone Fortress, remained a mystery.

Some wrecks bore insignia from the Imperium's early days thousands of years ago. Others carried Marks of Chaos, Aeldari runes, or Necron carvings.

Most markings, however, had never been recorded in the Imperium's archives. They pointed to many ancient xenos species that had vanished long before humanity took to the stars.

Though the wrecks were beyond counting, every one showed signs of destruction by some immensely powerful force. Vast holes had been burned through their hulls, while their frames looked as though mighty claws had crushed them.

Entering the Nebula Belt required a small, agile ship capable of dodging the enormous drifting hulks and swirling debris.

No map existed to guide a pilot or Navigator along a relatively clear passage. Even if one did, its owner would guard it closely.

Ships that survived eventually emerged into an empty, spherical region of space, with the Blackstone Fortress at its very center.

That was everything Lorgar remembered about the Blackstone Fortress. The trouble was, he had never played that Roleplaying Game. How was he supposed to know what awaited him aboard it?

By all accounts, it was packed with all sorts—from abominable AI to Chaos Cultists.

Still, if he could seize the Blackstone Fortress, he would have a much stronger hand. It was a coveted prize, and while few knew it existed, he had to move quickly to claim it.

What came next was simple. He certainly couldn't charge in with his Fleet. It would be fast, but the losses would be devastating.

Who in the Imperium valued money more than life?

The Imperium's lawfully sanctioned pirate-plunderers, of course: the Rogue Traders!

They were the sort who would risk their lives for profit, which made them ideal van(ish)guards for the Fleet.

Once they had scouted a route, he could bring in his Fleet, dig through the ruins, and haul away everything of value. Finding ancient technology would be best; at worst, he would gain a Blackstone Fortress.

Lorgar stood before a magnificent viewing window. Beyond its thick Adamantium glass stretched a boundless sea of stars, points of light scattered like shattered diamonds across an eternal black velvet curtain.

Even in that vast chamber, his towering figure radiated an impossible-to-ignore pressure.

The air carried the mingled scents of burning sacred oils and cold metal, a smell unique to his flagship, the Law of Faith.

Footsteps approached, their echoes faint in the cavernous hall. The pace was steady, though it held a barely perceptible urgency.

"Honored Primarch, I heard you wished to see me."

Lorgar turned slowly. The man approaching wore an elegant, old-fashioned captain's uniform. Gold embroidery and a family crest marked him as someone of standing.

He was Charles Fettman, a Rogue Trader of the Imperium, head of House Charles, and captain of the armed merchant ship Pathfinder.

He stopped at a respectful distance, placed his right hand over his chest, and bowed deeply, his form textbook-perfect.

When he raised his head, Lorgar saw excitement shining in his eyes—a blend of awe, honor, and burning desire for an unknown reward.

Fettman's face was slightly flushed. He even softened and slowed his breathing, as if the slightest disrespect might spoil this audience.

The corner of Lorgar's mouth moved almost imperceptibly in a gentle acknowledgment.

"That's right, Captain Charles." The Primarch's voice was deep and resonant, each syllable carrying unquestionable authority through the silent hall.

"I need you and your ship to help us carry out an important mission."

As he spoke, he raised a hand with graceful precision. His fingertip touched a control panel, and soft green light sprang up beside them, swiftly tracing a complex, intricate three-dimensional star chart.

At its center, the image of a distant star system expanded. Within the halo of a dim star, a coordinate appeared faintly marked. The surrounding spatial readings showed the region was anomalous and unstable.

"Here." Lorgar tapped the coordinate, green light dancing across his knuckles.

"According to intelligence obtained at great cost, an Ancient Ruins site of immense value lies hidden here. It may predate every record the Imperium possesses. The technology or knowledge within could change the balance of many things."

He paused and shifted his gaze from the star chart to Charles Fettman, as though looking through his eyes and into his soul.

"I need you and your flotilla to go ahead of us into that unknown region and determine what lies there."

"You must assess the risks and record your findings. Most importantly, confirm the ruins' exact condition and whether they can be reached. Do you understand how important this mission is?"

By the time Lorgar finished, Charles Fettman was breathing noticeably harder.

He stared at the alluring green-lit region, as though he could already see boundless wealth, supreme honor, and a glorious future for House Charles under his leadership.

To serve a Primarch—especially one as renowned for devotion and wisdom as Lorgar—was an opportunity countless Rogue Traders dreamed of!

He bowed deeply again, lower this time, his voice filled with almost oath-like devotion and fervor.

"As you command, my lord! House Charles and every member of the Pathfinder's crew will give everything we have to fulfill your charge! Even if death awaits us, we will not turn back!"

Lorgar gave a slight nod as he listened, his face still solemn and compassionate.

"May the Emperor's light guide your voyage, Captain Charles. The detailed information and travel authorization will be transmitted to your ship. Make your preparations and depart as soon as possible."

"Yes, my lord!" Charles Fettman suppressed his elation, saluted once more, and turned to leave with a spring in his step.

Watching Charles depart, Lorgar sighed. He could hardly tell him the name Blackstone Fortress outright, mainly for fear of arousing suspicion—even if an ordinary Rogue Trader would neither dare nor think to question a Primarch.

Still, it paid to be careful.

Lorgar reopened the star chart. He was not foolish enough to pin his hopes on a single Rogue Trader family.

He had contacted no fewer than twenty Rogue Trader families. All of them would serve as the Fleet's vanguard, scouting the Blackstone Fortress for him.

How many would make it through that deadly veil and reach the target?

And how many, after glimpsing even a corner of that ancient structure, would live long enough to send word back?

Lorgar walked slowly back to the viewing platform and looked out over the boundless sea of stars.

The stars glittered. Any one of them might hold a trap—or an opportunity.

The more than twenty flotillas he had sent out were stones cast into a deep pool. He waited quietly for the ripples to spread, for some stones to sink and vanish, and for one ripple to bring back the crucial information he truly needed.

And even one piece of that information would be enough.