manynovel Page 185
Page 185
But now, to be honest, he regrets his choice.
Hagen!
Lysander turned the last orc who had accidentally invaded the Mountain Array into a corpse. The lightning crackled on the Thunderhammer, filling the air with a burning atmosphere.
"When I meet Lord Dorne, I will stand on your right."
In the command room of the Mountain Formation, Imperial Fist Commander Von Hagen heard the request from his company commander. For this respectable old soldier, who was essentially being groomed as the successor by the previous commander, a hint of helplessness appeared on Hagen's almost expressionless face. He sighed before speaking.
"You're not the first person to make this request."
"Ok?"
Lysander was taken aback. In the upcoming meeting with Roger Dorn, as the current Chapter Master of the Imperial Fist and the one who activated the final wall, von Hagen was undoubtedly entitled to stand in the center of the audience. No one was competing with him for this position, and the only one left to compete for was the position next to Hagen.
Lysander believed that as a company commander, he held at least a position on the left or right flank, and within the Imperial Fist, as long as those old daredevils remained unawakened, no one could compete with him...
"Who?!"
"The Executioner's Chapter Leader, the Crimson Fist Chapter Leader... many people, including the two marshals of the Black Templar Expeditionary Force."
"Why should the people of the Black Templar compete?!"
Lysander snorted coldly, his words filled with dissatisfaction with the Black Temple, and a hint of... jealousy?
"They were just lucky to have met Lord Roger Dorn earlier, and now they're vying for the honor of an audience, Lord of Terra."
Lysander's words were laced with sarcasm as he walked down the corridor of the Mountain Array. Because of his Terminator Armor, each step he took made a tremendous sound, like the sound of war drums used by ancient humans to boost morale before a battle.
Behind him followed a squad of Imperial Fist Terminators, all equipped with Unyielding Terminators and wielding ferocious melee powered weapons. These veterans, the most elite of the Imperial Fist, were covered in blood, clearly having just survived a fierce battle. However, their achievements were remarkable, as evidenced by the dense mass of orc corpses beneath their feet.
"But they are qualified."
Hagen understood Lysander's unspoken meaning, which deepened his sense of helplessness. Although they were all sons of Dorne, the other chapters harbored varying degrees of resentment towards the Black Templars. On one hand, these blood relatives behaved in ways that clashed with the other Astartes chapters; on the other hand, their being the first to secure a meeting with Lord Roger Dorne had stirred feelings of jealousy in others, even Hagen himself.
It was just good luck; the Black Temple happened to be in Amegiddon, and Lord Dorne just happened to appear in Amegiddon again.
Hagen thought to himself, then suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh.
I was still somewhat affected by my emotions.
He thought to himself, and began to consider the upcoming audience.
"Lessande".
"Have you made up your mind?"
"Okay, let's go to the operations room. I need to discuss the next steps with you."
－－－－－－－－
Even standing inside the hive, Grimaldus knew what was happening in the void.
"The orcs have been defeated."
The priest spoke in a low voice, while the mortal colonel standing beside him seemed still immersed in shock until he was patted on the shoulder, at which point he came to his senses, stood on the city wall, and raised his hands.
"The greens have been defeated! We have won!"
"Victory!"
The sound traveled through the servo skull, and once it finished, the entire nest fell into an eerie silence for a moment. The wounded stopped groaning in pain, the civilians stopped exhaling anxious air, and the soldiers stopped swallowing their saliva in fear.
There was no sound at all; the entire nest became quiet, as if it were in the void. Because there was no oxygen, there was no sound to travel.
But this is the surface of a planet, not some void outside the atmosphere.
Therefore, quietness generally only occurs in these two situations.
The first type is a place that is sparsely populated and almost devoid of any life.
The second type... is naturally the calm before the storm.
"Long live the Emperor! Long live Lord Roger Dorn!"
A soldier raised his gun and shouted with fanaticism and excitement.
"Long live the Emperor! Long live Lord Roger Dorn!"
Another person shouted, followed by a third, a fourth... In the end, everyone shouted together, not just the mortal soldiers, but the Astartes as well, from the Astartes of the Black Sanctuary to the Space Wolves, the Flesh-Tearers... all those who fought and survived on this land shouted fervently, letting the names of the god who saved Amegiddton and his son resound throughout the heavens.
Despite the scene, Grimados appeared remarkably calm.
Is this something to be excited about?
Perhaps so. After all, for the people of Amegidodton, the green-skinned orcs and their ruler, Bonebreaker Salaka, had been a dark cloud hanging over them since the Second Amegidodton War. Now that the cloud had successfully dissipated, how could they not be excited?
However, as a priest, Grimathos had read countless books in the library of the Eternal Expedition and had also experienced countless wars, so he deeply understood a principle.
If he were merely a Bonecrusher, then Roger Dorn wouldn't have appeared so easily in Amigidon.
His appearance must signify an even greater crisis.
However, as his son and a proud imperial warrior, no matter what he faced, all he could do was to go through fire and water without hesitation.
As Grimaldos thought this, he suddenly remembered something else and sighed helplessly.
But before he could go through fire and water, he still needed to act as a priest and mediate between the Black Templars and other chapters.
After all, the other members of the band are not so easy to talk to.
Chapter 218 The Sons of Dorne
"This is an immense honor."
Forty-eighth Terra after the complete annihilation of the Orc fleet, in a secret room of the Eternal Expedition in the Black Sanctuary.
Gremadus, who should have been stationed in the hive city on the ground, stood in a corner of the room, watching the others arguing in this small space, and felt a strange headache.
Perhaps I shouldn't have agreed to join this association in the first place.
Grimadus thought helplessly, then let out a long sigh.
"We cannot give up the honor of protecting our father."
Almaric lowered his head, his voice carrying an unquestionable tone.
"Admittedly, the Imperial Fist, as our parent organization, does possess sufficient authority and honor. However, as fellow sons of Dorne, they have no right to force us to relinquish the honor of the Guardians."
Almaric's words resonated with most of the people in the room, especially Liad—a warrior who, like Almaric, held the rank of marshal. He was filled with righteous indignation, making no attempt to conceal his malice towards the Imperial Fist from those around him.
"They're just robbing us because they're affiliated with our parent organization! We, the Black Temple, have also been through thick and thin, and our glory and achievements over the past ten thousand years are no less than theirs! Why should we give up our positions? We're already being generous by offering them a few spots!"
His words were harsh, and although they did indeed strike a chord with some of the people present, Almaric, as the host, gestured to Leyard to take back what he had said.
Leyard snorted, but reluctantly took back his words.
"Gremadus." A voice appeared, and Gremadus raised an eyebrow slightly, looking to his side.
A slightly young face came into his view. However, although the face was young, it did not have any immaturity. Instead, it was full of the experience of a warrior.
"Mordred".
Gremard immediately thought of the warrior's name; as a hermit, remembering the name of every member of the chapter was one of his duties. However, among the many names he had recorded, Mordred was one that left a particularly deep impression on him.
The other party was one of the new recruits who joined the war group thirty years ago. After completing surgery and training, he joined Almaric's command and distinguished himself in the expeditions that followed the latter, earning high praise. If nothing unexpected happens, as long as he doesn't make any major mistakes and makes enough contributions, it's not impossible for him to lead an expedition in the future.
"what happened?"
Gremadus spoke, wanting to see what this rising star of the chapter wanted to say to him.
“Ahem…” Mordred coughed lightly twice, then leaned closer to Grimadus and asked the Hidden Elder his question using a complex set of tactical hand signals used within the chapter. “My lord, do you already know who will be guarding Lord Dorn during the chapters’ meeting?”
Gremadus narrowed his eyes, making no response gesture or speaking, but simply staring at Mordred.
Looking into the eyes of his warband's hidden cultivator, Mordred suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, causing him to subconsciously swallow and ponder what kind of answer Gremard's words could possibly be.
"Don't ask so many questions."
After a long while, Gremadus finally looked away and spoke lightly.
"In any case, we only need to remember one thing, that is, whether it is the Imperial Fist, the Black Templar, or the Executioners, etc., the reason we can come together is simply this one."
Mordred's expression turned serious as he listened to Gremadus's words. He spoke in a low voice, his tone filled with respect and reverence.
"We are both sons of Dorne."
Gremadus nodded.
"Yes, we are both sons of Dorne."
"so what?"
In the largely emptied bottom hive slum of Halesridge, two enormous figures huddled in a small pipe, sharing a meager emergency ration and a drop of clean water.
"We have already been identified as traitors by the Empire."
"But we're not traitors either, you know that, brother."
"Yes."
Griffin Raven, a former sergeant of the Soul Drinkers Chapter, looked at his comrade, Evans Fenrir, who was probably one of only two Soul Drinkers in the world, and forced an ugly smile onto his scarred and ugly face.
"Our warband has been doomed for a long time."
Griffin spoke softly, his voice as low as a drop of water falling into a pool, yet the ripples it created could spread very, very far outward.
“I still remember the glory of the chapter back then, and you probably do too. But we all know that once we are labeled as traitors, all those past glories will be nullified, and we will even be accused of a series of fabricated crimes, making us look like real traitors and sinners.”
Evans closed his eyes. He didn't refute his companion, but silently began to reminisce. He started to recall the past, the time before that warband was destroyed, or rather, the scene before its destruction.
It was a beautiful memory. Back then, although the Soul Drinkers were few in number, there were still several hundred of them. They sailed through the starry sea in their own battlecruisers, bringing protection to the planets protected by the Emperor and destruction to the planets where traitors lived.
But everything started to change one day.
Evans remembers that day clearly.
Those damned Mechanics.
It was a tragic day, a day of shame destined to be remembered by all Soul Drinkers. When the Mechanicus plundered their chapter's vital relic because of their greed, and when their self-defense in reclaiming the relic and upholding their dignity was vilified by the Inquisition as a damned betrayal, the entire Soul Drinker was destined to descend into an irreversible depravity.
Evans let out a long breath. He knew he couldn't persuade his brothers anymore. They had answered the call, but now they dared not and were unwilling to see the person who had summoned them.
Suppressing his inner desires, Evans looked at Griffin and asked his last question.
"What about the intelligence we gather on the road?"