A true planet-killer warship was being built in the neighboring dock...
Forget it. That wasn't important.
None of this information could hold Gantula's attention anymore. The White Scars had no interest in such pure destruction, but the fact that a planetary warship would not need to slow down in battle had firmly captured his gaze.
No need to slow down—didn't that mean it could keep charging at full speed the entire time?
For the White Scars, who were accustomed to ripping out the brakes and flooring the accelerator, a warship like this was simply perfect for their tastes.
Fast was good. Fast was strong. Speed was everything.
This White Scars captain, who had escaped alive from a Warp storm, had thought nothing could ever shock him again. Yet today, he had no choice but to admit that he was deeply tempted.
He was no fool. Lox had spent so long talking to them, then brought them here to inspect the site. He could not possibly have displayed this magnificent treasure merely to show off.
This was an attempt to win over the White Scars, an almost explicit gesture of goodwill.
Gantula wanted to proudly say no, but his heart would not support such a dishonest answer.
Yes, he could not lie. He simply could not refuse the temptation of commanding this warship.
"My friend, but why did you choose us? We only just escaped from the Warp storm, and we have not even known each other for a week. Why not let the Ultramarines command this warship?"
Gantula's tone was sincere and calm, and the faint pride he usually concealed had completely vanished.
What right did they have to be proud? Lox held the advantage now, not them.
They were merely a battered remnant force that had survived by chance