Chapter 553 71.Dark Crusade (V, The Clarion Call of War)

Deep purple, indigo and a faint white light shined through the portholes, illuminating some of the unmanned long tables in the Executive Yuan very eerily, and the stepped structure made these tables look very majestic even when they were not occupied.

They are redundant tables, as the Ultramarines have only ten company commanders. But Robert Killiman's designs always have a strange sense of foresight, as has been proven time and time again, and the wisdom of the original will always help everyone in the details.

If you want to give a recent example, it is his improvement on the Skyhawk.

When he announced this, the mechanical priests on the Foundry World Connaught didn't think it was necessary, until Robert Killiman himself went and slapped a copy of the blueprints on their chief's table.

In fact, compared to the normal model, the improved model has not changed much in essence, except to add some energy pipelines, strengthen the armor plates, optimize the exhaust, and change the sequencing of artificial muscles to increase the output.

However, just a few small changes have increased the survival rate of the Astartes in the face of the insect influx by six percentage points.

The elders of the warband often said that even the guards of the original body might not be able to understand what he was thinking. It's sad, but that's exactly what happened.

The truth is that Robert Killeman's thinking is incomprehensible even to his children.

If you try to understand, you can only be poisoned.

Stuck in the primordial's white-glowing eyes, it was a heavy pressure that could in turn erode him. Even he would grow old under this weight, be tired, and even cry out in his dreams

How, then, can they accept it?

"We're going to stop for maintenance." The unconquerable sun slowly spoke.

Surrounded by piles of documents and a dozen data boards, he spoke to his brothers and the Primordials.

His expression was serious, and this seriousness was made up of a combination of factors. For example, the hull of the ship is damaged, and the crew is reduced, resulting in a large number of jobs that are unavailable.

For a Glorious Queen-class warship, the former can be ignored for a while, but the latter is the most unbearable thing. From engine maintenance, to shield checks, to the thirsty spirits on the gun deck that are always eager to fire

Every place needs people, and preferably trained workers who know what to do and what not to do.

"Anderman can be an option." Idaios said in deep thought.

He was thinking about something else, but this did not prevent him from answering the words of a company commander. They, the Astartes, already carried the blood of the Primordial, so it was no surprise that they had such a talent as Robert Killiman.

Some in the empire even felt that they were not all living people, but one copy after another, a degraded version of the original genotype, manipulated by him himself.

This is a blasphemous statement, but it is very popular in worlds where the original has not been seen. It is preferred to believe that these giants in similar armor are not actually human beings, rather than to be seen as individuals.

"Andman, I'd rather choose Connaught." Another voice said.

It was the commander of the sixth company, Massimus Epasses, whose company had not played much of a role in the riots, and which had made him very gloomy lately. For the Astartes, it was a great shame that they failed to take responsibility in battle.

Still, he was able to keep his composure, and Idaios was very glad about it.

You know, the sixth company is an armored company, and it is well known that people who deal with those powerful war machines all year round are usually not very good-tempered. And Massimus' temper can take his place among even the most irascible Ultramarines.

His words were widely approved, and the third company commander, Janus Adiyas, the eighth company commander, Ledo Atheus, and the ninth company commander, Xinong, all expressed their approval at the first time, so the matter began to be quickly brought to the table for discussion.

Almost every company commander had their opinion, and Second Company Commander Ekis decided that Connaught was too far away to be used as a temporary stop in the current situation.

Commander Kazil of the Fifth Company objected, arguing that distance was not the point, and that it was imperative that the glory of Makulag be fully restored, and that Connor's resources would be useful in the rest of the war.

Ten-Company Antilocus echoed his point of view, only a little absent-mindedly. Idaios watched him and quickly came to the conclusion that the commander of the tenth company was grieving for the lost recruits.

Throughout the entire battle group, only the officers of the 10th Company would be so familiar with these new blood, and in war, new recruits will always suffer heavy casualties. Even Astarte could not escape this law of war

The only good thing is that the 10th Company, like the other companies, has reserves on various planets that can be called upon at any time.

These 'recruits', who have been fully grown up in the local military academy and the teaching of a few veterans, can officially enter the war group at any time and devote themselves to the war. But they are forces that will only be activated in times of emergency, and the major teams will not summon them unless they have to.

Ideos sat silently in place, observing his brothers from a detached angle, watching them quarrel with each other like the most vulgar hive gangsters, and apologize to each other like the most elegant nobles in the court.

Their voices echoed through the Executive Yuan, as muffled as the thunder and lightning hidden in the clouds in the spring of Andermont. This feeling of oppression made Idaios's skin feel cold.

He sensed that war was calling. The cold had hit him countless times these days, and Lazlion, who was sitting in silence in the corner, had said it was a rare psionic gift, and his tone at the time didn't sound like a joke.

Idaios, on the other hand, knew that he had no psionic talent. It's just an intuition, an intuition that can only be born after humanity has been broken in war and healed in war.

His teeth were shaking, his skin was so cold that he felt like he had been thrown naked under a glacier, and the white snow-capped mountains held him down, making him unable to breathe, see light, or even think.

War is coming. Idaios thought angrily.

He did not participate in the discussion, and sat quietly in place, waiting for another alienated person to speak.

The man, Robert Killman, stood at the front of all the long tables with his hands on his chest, his back against a vast and detailed star map, and his expression was unusually calm. Beside him stood another person, who looked very inconspicuous next to the original body, like a warband servant.

Killiman waited until the noise died down before speaking.

"Let's go to Anderman." The original said in an unquestioning tone, very different from what he had ever been.

He received all the approvals, except for Idaios, even though he was the one who made it. The Fourth Company Commander stared at his original body with his eyes, and the worry in his heart had turned into some kind of ocean, dragging him into the deepest depths.

Karil Lohals bowed his head noncommittally.

——

Dante, or rather, Louis Dante, took off his helmet.

His white face was drenched in sweat, and the night breeze mixed with the smell of gunpowder and blood blew, and the warrior's braids that bound and wrapped around his neck shook incessantly.

This scene reminded him of many years ago when he was still on Pameda. It's a pity that everything in that barren world has long since left him, leaving only Dante, the leader of the Holy Blood Angels.

The Primordial Servant, the Right Hand of St. Giles, the Archangel's majesty and sword—a presence that is also seen as a symbol.

The people of the solar system have forgotten that Dante is a warrior, and the rest of the empire has not heard of his existence. Perhaps someone knew it before, but now that it's gone, time is enough to bury everything.

He smiled, his fangs poking out of his lips, a little hideous, but he didn't have that threatening intent or any desire to drink blood.

Blood thirst had been away from him for years with St. Giles, but Dante had always kept his senses, and although killing still touched his instincts, he was able to control them like he controlled his own sword.

He stared down at the weapon in his hand.

Dante saw an absolute murder weapon that had flown from the other side of the galaxy with a commendation many years ago and had been delivered to him from the salamanders.

Their primordial body, the great Vulcan, heard about what Dante had done in the demonic invasion and gave him a reward. Officially, this was because he had single-handedly protected the nocturne blacksmiths in the fortress, but this was not the case.

The blacksmiths were nominally from the Nocturne on a pilgrimage to Terra, but in reality, they were actually Vulcan's people—not his sons, but his people, a group of blacksmiths with otherworldly skills.

At the cost of their own hands and blood, they handed over a masterpiece of the Lord of the Fire Dragon to Terra.

Dante didn't know what it was, in fact, he didn't even know that there were living people other than him inside the fortress at the time of the battle, so when the great axe was handed to him, his first reaction was to refuse.

It was St. Giles who persuaded him to take it.

In the glowing blue light emitted by the face of the great axe, Dante looked up at the sky. He saw a bright meteor streaked across the night sky, it was as bright as a star, enough to light up half of the night sky.

And Dante knew that it wasn't a meteor, it was the father of his genes. St. Giles had not flown for many years, and although it was known that he could fly, that he was the only one who could conquer the skies with his flesh, he no longer flies.

Dante once asked the reason after a dinner party.

"Oh, it's actually quite simple, my son." St. Giles said. "People want to see me fly because it inspires them. But I can actually do the same thing just by being in front of them, and besides, I will only flap my wings in two situations. ”

Dante remembers that he had been silent for a long time before asking.

"The first situation was after the end of the war. I do this a lot, I take to the skies for a panoramic view, the wind rips blood off my armor, and the high field of vision allows me to see everything on the battlefield. ”

"I want to know how many people have died by my command, and I want to know how glorious these men were before they died by their own hands. I swore I, Dante, that I would remember it all. ”

"Being alive is an extremely precious gift, and I only need one word to make countless people give it, so I have to be careful. But you also know that no matter how careful you are, death is inevitable in war."

"Therefore I will fly, and the living will see me, and when they see me, they will know that it is St. Giles mourning the dead."

"The second scenario is simple – I fly for victory. If this war requires me to fly, then I take off. I'll take my sword to the enemy and decapitate it, it's as simple as that. ”

And now, father?

Dante watched the meteor gradually move away from him, and asked in silence: Now, are you mourning for us?

If St. Giles could hear, he would have answered. But now he was 10,000 meters in the air, and the whining wind was the only thing he could hear.

A few Thunder Eagles swept past him towards the other side of the battlefield, the world dark and lonely above the clouds, and the stars hung mottled above the curtain.

A large fleet led by the Red Tears is anchored in the outer orbit and is not approaching to avoid triggering natural disasters such as tides. Looking up from St. Giles' perspective, they almost resemble huge black shadows in a mirror.

He glanced at his flagship, then plunged headlong into the clouds and swooped down. Wet droplets of water crumbled into ice and creaked in the cracks of the golden armor.

St. Giles' blonde hair fluttered and his eyes were as bright as the sun at noon. He saw everything clearly.

Craters left by shells, broken corpses, guards in simple armor with light guns in their hands, political commissars being treated not far away, personnel carriers that are about to be scrapped in black smoke, tanks being repaired and busy crews.

Not far from them were the Astartes dressed in terracotta steel. They had just finished a bloody war, and the pharmacist was collecting genetic seeds from the remains of his dead brother.

The joy of victory and the mourning of the dead coexist in their midst, and the bodies of the traitors are being purified by the flames of promethium in the crematoriums that have been dug up. The flesh and blood of the demons have long since dissipated into the aetheric spirit

Yes, this is the truth of war. Honor is an acquired addition, and there is no honor in war, only the dead and those who survive.

They knew what they were fighting for, so they fought and died.

St. Giles watched it all sadly.

He flew again, and he was not happy about it, because he knew that this was only the beginning.

The war is over, but it's just a clarion call.

Everything that happened in this agricultural world was just some kind of harbinger, and like itself, it was insignificant to this fleet, just a small episode along the way.

Without even needing the participation of other warbands, the Holy Blood Angels took the lead and won in ten hours, but this victory was only the beginning.

The war instincts that had been dormant in St. Giles' body for a long time were awakening, and it told him that a bloody storm was approaching.

But where will it be?

(End of chapter)