A "Friend" Came from Afar

"Boss, please take me as your apprentice." Ferin's sudden gesture startled Omani.

Plenty of people had tasted his food and begged him to teach them, but he had never expected a hulking man with arms that thick to drop to his knees and call him master.

If I refuse him, will he send me flying with one punch?

Ferin explained why he had come. As the Chapter's cook, his greatest honor was to make the Emperor's angels happy with their meals, and here, at Omani's stall, he had truly experienced the joy that good food could bring.

Omani slowly relaxed. As expected of someone serving a Space Marine Chapter-even their cook was this muscular.

There was no way Omani would board a ship and cook for the Astartes like Ferin did. His livelihood and family were on Puchi, and a life of warfare among the stars was not what he wanted. But taking an apprentice...

"How long will your Chapter be staying here?"

Ferin gave a bitter smile. Was that something he could decide? Who knew when Chaos would invade somewhere nearby and send everyone rushing to war?

The one thing he could be reasonably sure of was that, once recruitment ended, they would be ready to leave at any moment.

After some discussion, Omani told him where he usually bought his delicious ingredients. Stocking up on ingredients had to come first.

Following his instructions, Ferin reached a little shop near the Hive City's entrance. Calling it a shop was generous-it was little more than a shelter made from a few metal poles and scraps of cloth.

Several customers squatting in front of the fresh fish stall saw a hulking man standing behind them, hurriedly grabbed their purchases, and left.

The stallholder was rather annoyed. None of the nearby customers dared come over to buy his fish anymore.

"What do you want?"

"Fish. Every kind of fish you have. I'll take all of it."

Is this bastard here to wreck my business? The vendor picked up his fish-gutting knife and pointed it at Ferin. "You looking for trouble? I've got all the fish you could want. If you can't pay, you're leaving an arm here."

Ferin produced the Chapter's procurement funds and credentials.

The vendors who supplied ingredients to the barbecue stall were stunned by this windfall. Just how big would an order for an Astartes warship be?

They hurried to contact the seafood farms. With this single order, the seafood vendor instantly became the king of the entire food market street.

Money. Ridiculous amounts of money.

As transport ships carried the vast quantities of ingredients aboard the Battle Barges, the crew, having completed their basic resupply duties, entered a state of partial leave. They took turns heading down to sightsee and relax.

After arranging storage for the ingredients aboard ship, Ferin dug several treasured bottles of fine liquor out from under his bed. He had saved them before moving from the Ultima Segmentum to fight in the Segmentum Obscurus. Now they would be his apprenticeship gifts to the barbecue stall owner named Omani.

Omani's request was actually quite simple. He wanted no tuition fees. He only hoped that, if an Astartes found the dish delicious and asked its name, Ferin would answer, "Omani Grilled Fish."

If he could leave a good impression in an Astartes's mind, Omani could die without regrets.

Ferin brought the fine liquor to Omani, and the two hit it off immediately. Omani kept stressing that they were learning from each other and exchanging ideas. Thus began Ferin's journey into seafood barbecue.

While Ferin was busy learning to grill meat, the Astartes recruitment trials opened with great fanfare.

After several nobles waged a prolonged, round-the-clock campaign of fine wine and lavish food against Evan, they successfully persuaded him, at the cost of enormous quantities of supplies, to open the Astartes trials to the public. Special stages were excluded, of course. Watching tests such as the warp resistance trial could easily cause trouble for ordinary people.

What was this? The greatest tourism promotion in history! Vast numbers of tourists would travel between cities as the Astartes trials moved from venue to venue. Especially the nobles whose children were participating-they certainly had money to spare!

Vendors' cries rang through every street and alley. Innkeepers hurried to clean rarely used rooms, and some, after failing to rent the neighboring apartments, even offered their own homes as "premium accommodation." This unprecedented celebration brought prosperity to businesses across the planet.

The first trial was the simplest and most direct: a grand arena melee. A full hundred contestants stood in each ring, but only the last ten standing would advance. This round would reduce nearly a hundred thousand contestants to just over nine thousand.

It was clearly a very traditional competition. The largest stadium on Puchi had been temporarily converted into ten enormous fighting rings, with five rounds held each day. This twenty-day selection process brought enormous profits to the planet's businesses.

Chief Apothecary Situval hid in a mezzanine at the very top of the stadium, watching the children's trials.

Evan, meanwhile, left everything to others. He chatted with nobles, attended banquets, then played superhero in the Underhive when he had nothing else to do, or took a basic Auspex into the mountains on "grand treasure hunts."

The nobles had never met such an easygoing Astartes Chapter Master. Those they had encountered before were either lofty and aloof or utterly cold, and securing an audience was impossible. This one, however, would happily drink and eat with them as long as they provided supplies.

What was this? Family prestige that could be bought with nothing but money.

Although many nobles on the planet had dined with him, they could still boast about it when visiting other planets on business. A certain Chapter Master had once visited their home, shared a family banquet, and enjoyed a delightful conversation with them. Just imagine the prestige!

A strange new aristocratic circle also began to emerge. Nobles who had dined with Evan seemed to be automatically ranked above the rest. This drove even those who had originally been indifferent to invite him immediately. They themselves might not matter, but if their descendants were excluded from noble circles over this, their families would decline in the next generation.

Evan was seriously considering whether he ought to show a little more restraint. Why were the invitations multiplying, and why were the gifts getting increasingly absurd? What had started as one shipload of seafood had now become three shiploads of military uniforms.

Who cares? I'm not losing money.

Besides, on paper I only have two Battle Barges and one cruiser. Don't you all have some idea how many troops I actually have to feed behind the scenes?

I'm even keeping this cruiser hidden so the Forge World Stolov doesn't discover it.

As the first round of recruitment approached its end, the second promised to be even more spectacular. Arenas, bars, and dance halls everywhere erected large screens to broadcast the forest selection trial.

The antlers of a thousand Puchi forest deer had been painted gold. The nine thousand-odd brave contestants had to enter the forest and capture them.

Every part of the forest was covered with surveillance cameras. To ensure that different commercial districts could compete, everyone agreed that each major arena would show only a specific dozen or so camera feeds, giving every venue different footage.

To see every feed, many families split up between different arenas, then linked their screens through video calls. This brought still more economic benefits. If you saw your uncle munching fried fish and drinking soda, wouldn't you start craving some yourself? You would probably buy something to eat too. And just like that, business flourished again.

The struggle in the forest was in full swing. Techmarine Annos's research had also reached a critical stage. He had spent a long time studying a fairly large STC Fragment, only recently discovering that it contained complete manufacturing instructions for an assault tank, along with half the construction plans for a very strange large warship.

He was overjoyed. This might become the foundation of the Chapter's survival.

Very few people knew what Annos was doing. Only the Astartes who had once worked as his assistants might have guessed something. Now Annos felt it was time to summon them back.

Nian Cijin was the first to report to Annos. After he had dealt with the Space Mantas, another Astartes had rotated in to replace him. At first, he had thought he had made some terrible mistake and would be sent to the Thirteenth Penitent Company, which he had heard of but never seen.

While those above were run off their feet, the trials below also reached a crucial stage. The remaining contestants would undergo warp testing. Almost only their families and relatives came to cheer them on, since all anyone could see was contestants lining up to enter, then being carried out one by one.

This time, however, there were several absolute monsters. Three contestants actually walked out under their own power after the warp test. Could the recent thinning of the barrier between the warp and reality have increased the warp resistance of newborn children?

The families of those three children cheered and shouted, grabbing spectators beside them and pointing wildly at their children. "Look! That's my son! He walked out! Aaaaaah!"

The people next to them were nearly deafened.

The authorities recorded the children's backgrounds in detail. If nothing else, their bloodlines might well earn the designation of "superior humans."

The final 191 contestants would take part in a war simulation.

No boy could enter the Astartes recruit roster without a trial of blood. Even the boys everyone had "abducted on a whim" had been chosen by the Astartes after a battle.

During his earlier recruit training, Evan had reached the Clustered Planet and encountered the strange Clustered Armored Beasts there. Their tough armor and heavy, pendulum-like tails made them difficult for mortals to handle.

Now a hundred Clustered Armored Beasts had been released into the arena. This was a simulation of humanity fighting xenos. No ranged weapons had been issued, since that would have made things too easy.

Armed with melee weapons alone, could these children kill the xenos, claim their heads, and successfully withdraw?

The entire planet entered its final celebration. Promotional banners filled the streets and alleys. Even the place where Ferin was practicing his barbecue had hung up a banner.

Several Mid Hive families erected a temporary large screen in front of Omani's barbecue stall. Before the azure sea, at what was rumored to be the finest barbecue stall around, everyone sat on the soft sand and watched the all-important final Astartes recruitment trial.

It was a day for unrestrained celebration. Even the fine liquor Ferin had brought as his apprenticeship gift was opened, and everyone drank and ate meat together.

Ferin opened a barbecue stall beside Omani's, naturally charging less than his master. He learned through practice and continually improved with his customers' suggestions.

His food could hardly be terrible. After all, he was an experienced "imperial chef."

Yet he always remained a little behind his master, Omani. Years of practice had given Omani an uncanny feel for heat, a marvelous state in which he seemed able to sense the "breathing" of the fish sizzling on the grill.

Ferin also learned the art of preparing raw food. Simply slicing fresh fish along particular grain patterns into pieces of different thicknesses, then dipping them in different sauces, could produce entirely different textures.

As the trials neared their end, Ferin's studies could also end at any moment. Master and apprentice quietly prepared their dishes, as though competing against one another.

Just as the final hundred recruits began their grand boarding ceremony, Omani suddenly snatched the grilled meat Ferin had just finished.

"Mm. Your skills are good enough now. I hope you won't disgrace me out there."

At that moment, Omani truly looked like a master, watching his prized apprentice complete his training and step onto roads he had never traveled, toward sights he had never seen.

In the bizarre, kaleidoscopic world of the warp, all manner of daemons wandered about, cackling wildly in a realm without any concept of time or space. Sometimes their laughter reached ten thousand years into the future; sometimes it sounded right beside them.

Within this deep, strange universe, two warships pursued and attacked one another. The relentless pursuers were Chaos Astartes, but, unusually, the ship "withdrawing" ahead of them did not belong to the Imperium.

Gunfire battered the shattered Strike Cruiser, occasionally blasting entire compartments into the warp. Almost every one of the twenty warriors from an Iron Warriors successor Warband was wounded. Their battered armor bore no Warband insignia, only a patch of black ground smooth.

They were "Blackshield" warriors: Astartes who had come to their senses after turning traitor. Knowing the gravity of their sins, they had begun fighting traitorous Chaos Astartes without respite. They did not seek readmission into the Imperium, only to ease the Emperor's disappointment in them a little.

Their battles were exceptionally difficult. They fought Chaos warriors blessed by the Dark Gods within the warp, in an overwhelmingly hostile environment. Even the Imperium's Penitent Crusade fleets entering the Eye of Terror would not help them, and might attack them without mercy.

Now they had suffered a crushing defeat, forcing twenty-eight warriors to retreat. Behind them, over forty pursuers from an Iron Warriors successor Warband, the Crimson Slaughter Warband, rode aboard a Strike Cruiser-if it could still be called that.

The enemy warship's engines howled horribly. It was impossible to tell whether the sound came from a reactor that still functioned or from a Daemon Engine, already synonymous with terror. The warp grotesquely altered the ship's structure, making metal grow flesh and allowing daemons to inhabit it. Bearing all manner of strange blessings from the Dark Gods, it roared toward the Blackshields' crippled vessel.

The enemy's half-daemonic warship had no Gellar Field. That made sense: a Gellar Field created a small bubble of realspace around a ship within the warp, but what use did a Daemon Engine have for realspace?

The enemy moved through the warp far faster than the Blackshields.

"There's no other way, Captain Arnos. We can't escape. Let's fight to the death and wash away our sins with our lives."

"Brother Klais, you're right. But we must fight somewhere more favorable. All hands, prepare to jump into realspace."

The others were about to question him, but instantly understood their captain's plan. If they emerged within a black hole's gravitational field, their pursuers would follow them in. Twenty-odd lives for over forty-a tremendous bargain.

The two warships emerged from the warp, one after the other.

Warp alarms suddenly sounded on the outskirts of the Puqi System. The defensive arrays on its outermost terrestrial planet began emergency charging as two Strike Cruisers emerged in succession, both bearing obvious signs of Chaos corruption.

Evan swiftly returned to his Battle Barge. In fact, only he and the Chief Apothecary had been on the planet.

The system's outer defensive arrays opened fire in succession, but with little effect. These were tough Strike Cruisers, after all.

The Astartes were stationed aboard the Battle Barges, including thirty-six warriors of the Second Company and ten studying under the Chief Apothecary.

Their cruiser opened fire first. Although it lacked a Nova Cannon with its absurdly long range, its weapons still outranged those aboard the Battle Barges.

"Chapter Master, how do we engage?"

"That Strike Cruiser at the back is practically turning into a greater daemon. One look tells you it's bad news. Blast it first."

At that moment, the Crimson Slaughter Warband's Chaos warriors were boarding the enemy vessel. The Blackshields' ship had lost all ability to maneuver after emerging from the warp.

Evan took one look. Hah. A civil war between Chaos Warbands? And you've brought it onto my turf?

"All-out attack!"

The fierce bombardment immediately left the Crimson Slaughter Warband's Void Shields teetering on the brink of collapse. Only then did they turn their attention from the Blackshields to the star system around them.

Evan was not remotely afraid of these enemies. Two Strike Cruisers picking a fight with my two Battle Barges and a Lunar-class Cruiser?

I don't even need to board you. I can just blast you to pieces.

The Righteous Vigil rapidly closed on the heavily corrupted warship. They intended to destroy it with their bombardment cannons before the enemy could board them.

Terrifying shells carrying world-shattering power struck both sides' Void Shields. A shot from the Light of Dawn's bombardment cannon overloaded the enemy shields, and then the Righteous Vigil's bombardment cannon fired as well. The half-daemonic warship was utterly destroyed, reduced to drifting debris along with the followers of Khorne and Tzeentch aboard it.

"Chapter Master Evan, should we destroy the other warship too?"

The bombardment cannons needed time to recharge, but the enemy had no Void Shields left. The two Battle Barges' Macro-cannon arrays alone could completely destroy it.

Scanning the enemy vessel, they discovered that all its assault pod launch platforms had been destroyed. Multiple holes punctured by melta assault pods scarred its hull, and several pods were still attached to the ship.

"Wait. All Second Company personnel, prepare to board."

Evan had just observed that at least three assault pods had entered this ship, meaning around thirty Chaos Astartes had boarded it.

Could there be something important aboard? With the ship's Void Shields already unusable, the enemy could easily have destroyed it with gunfire.

Could three assault pods capture this warship? That suggested it did not have many defenders aboard.

Two warriors were also selected from those studying under the Chief Apothecary. They had already learned how to extract gene-seed. Although their medical skills were somewhat lacking, they still added considerable combat strength.

Thirty-nine Astartes boarded the four Caestus assault rams the Dawn Angels had left them. Evan's massive frame, combined with his enlarged Terminator armor, occupied two places.

Techmarine Annos had treated these assault craft as priceless treasures upon finding them. Today, they would unleash their power once again.

The four assault rams' melta weapons tore through the enemy warship's battered outer armor, successfully penetrating the vessel. Everyone quickly assembled, encountering almost no resistance.

The crew here were very strange. When they saw the Crimson Tide Chapter's wholly uncorrupted warriors, they joyfully knelt and prayed for forgiveness. Even when the warriors opened fire on them, they remained motionless.

Evan was baffled. Have these Tzeentch worshippers mistaken us for the Thousand Sons? No, that can't explain all of them. Grab one and ask.

They found a crewman who still had a mouth and ears-the other body parts would go undescribed, lest anyone lose their appetite-and from his account roughly established that these were warriors who had come to their senses and were seeking atonement.

They had fought in the warp for two hundred years. Of the original two hundred-plus Blackshields, only twenty-eight remained, and they were probably making their last stand now.

"Gweat Emperah, pwease fawgib our shins." That was roughly how he actually said it.

"Blackshield" warriors? Evan was uncertain for a moment. Who knew whether the Dark God Tzeentch was playing tricks?

A brutal battle was unfolding on the bridge. The Crimson Slaughter Warband's warriors worshipped Khorne, and their attacks were so ferocious that even the Blackshields' defensive advantage could barely hold them back.

Like the World Eaters, these warriors enjoyed killing in close combat. The finely crafted Chainswords and Power Armour they forged gave them an advantage in melee.

The Iron Warriors had originally been the IV Legion, and their Primarch was Perturabo. Cold and ruthless, they excelled at siege warfare and extermination campaigns. Their greatest strengths were powerful, precise firepower and massed charges heedless of death. They were formidable warriors second only to the World Eaters. Their gene-seed had an extremely low rejection rate, and recruit augmentation success rates were high. Yet they despised weakness, a trait that became even more pronounced after they embraced Chaos. Sometimes their veterans even killed their own recruits, for one reason alone: there was no place here for the weak.

A few loyalists still fought for the Imperium, such as the Silver Skulls Chapter.

The Warband's commander roared and charged the Blackshields' captain, Arnos. Arnos met him with his sword. If he did not, more of his brothers might be cut down.

The enemy's first heavy blow dislocated his sword arm. The second shattered his Chainsword completely.

Arnos raised his Power Fist to meet the third strike and was sent flying.

His blood traced an elegant arc through the air. At its end lay Captain Arnos, a horrifying gash carved into his left hand.

"The weak do not deserve to live."