Time slipped away, and over a dozen days later, the delegation from Argent D'Nur finally arrived!
Blazkowicz had waited for them for a long time, his patience wearing thin.
Time was of the essence for the Imperium of Man. The Emperor Himself was urging the Legions to launch a full-scale offensive, pressing the pace of conquest at all costs. Had Blazkowicz not been waiting for the Argent D'Nur delegation—eager to see his brother and niece—he would have set out on his campaign long ago.
The same was true for Russ; the Space Wolves had finished their preparations and were merely waiting to say their farewells before returning to the Great Crusade.
At noon on the thirteenth day of waiting, the Argent fleet cleared the Hades Gate and entered the Solar System, arriving at the very heart of the Imperium of Man.
This visit marked the first official diplomatic exchange between the two realms.
"She's finally here," Russ said, his tone laden with impatience as he stood atop the high dais of the Palace Square. He raised a hand and pointed toward the Lion's Gate Spaceport, where a sleek, silver-white warship was berthing, bringing with it an air of refined elegance.
'The Radiance Queen'. It was the flagship of the Queen of Argent D'Nur, the embodiment of a sovereign state's prestige.
Exquisite and graceful, its slender silver-white hull curved like an elegant longsword. The ship gleamed with crystalline luminescence, its bridge enshrined within a pure, crown-like structure—the brightest jewel set upon the vessel.
The royal family did not ride an orbital elevator down; instead, they descended aboard a drop-shuttle, settling smoothly onto the ceremonial red carpet.
At Blazkowicz's request, the welcoming ceremony was kept small, lending the scene a somewhat quiet air. Yet despite the muted atmosphere, there was no lack of solemnity: every one of the ten thousand gathered on the square was a high-ranking official of the Imperium or an elite noble of merit.
The doors of the drop-shuttle parted slowly, and the first contingent stepped onto the red carpet.
Tall, slender ceremonial handmaidens stepped out dressed in blue court robes. They were descendants of Argent D'Nur, standing tall at an average height of well over 2.3 meters. The court attendants moved with steps as light as a dance, their faces wearing smiles of composed perfection. White, graceful arms held silver baskets, scattering gladiolus petals to adorn the red carpet in shades of soft purple, creating a striking and vibrant contrast.
Then came the heavy thud of marching boots. The Royal Guard stepped out bearing halberds and banners, clad in pristine white power armor traced with gold filigree. Heads held high, they lined both sides of the red carpet.
"Hoo-ha!"
Joining with the Custodes guard of honor, they turned on command, lining up face-to-face across the carpet.
Banners struck the ground with a heavy thud, and a cool breeze swept across the square, setting the blue gladiolus flags fluttering side by side with the Imperial Aquila.
"Let's go," Blazkowicz urged, his voice trembling with an emotion he failed to hide. Straightening his blue ceremonial robes slightly, he strode toward the royal shuttle.
He made no effort to conceal his excitement. Twenty years had passed since he left the stars of Argent D'Nur; to be reunited with his family today brought a surge of yearning that was impossible to suppress.
---
The welcoming procession moved as one. The Emperor walked alongside Blazkowicz, bathed in a halo of golden light as they traversed the red carpet in silence.
Russ stepped slightly out of line, striding almost shoulder-to-shoulder with the Emperor and Blazkowicz, exceeding his designated rank in the ceremonial protocol. He belonged in the second line behind them, abreast of Dorn and Perturabo.
In a ceremony as grave as this, even Malcador the Sigillite, First Lord of the Imperium, had to walk a half-step behind the Emperor and Blazkowicz to reflect their proper hierarchy. The Emperor was the host and belonged at the fore; Blazkowicz hailed from Argent D'Nur and had earned his place at the front.
Sure enough, a psychic wave flickered and vanished in an instant. Russ's face tightened, and he quietly fell back into the second line.
The Imperial procession surged forward as a vast body to greet the delegation from Argent D'Nur.
Once the honor guard was arrayed, the delegation and their retinue began to emerge from the shuttle.
At the very front of the line walked Marie Novick. The innocence of her youth had long faded, replaced by an aura of majestic grace and dignified poise—she had become Queen Novick.
Her golden hair radiated a soft mist of light, her emerald eyes calm and captivating, her lips set in a lovely smile.
A blue court gown underscored her regal stature, intricately embroidered with golden thread and suspended with thousands of fine gemstones that swayed gently with her step, as though she wore the starry night itself.
Queen Novick wore a crystal crown. Her head was tilted slightly, and around her fair, beautifully arched neck hung a wolf-fang necklace. Her right hand held a crystal scepter, her left held the 'Code of Warriors', and a royal longsword rested at her waist. The scepter represented eternal authority, the 'Code of Warriors' symbolized honor, and the longsword swore military might.
Behind the Queen, attendants carried her ten-meter train as they slowly emerged from the shuttle.
"Queen Novick! King Novick!"
The Royal Guard roared in unison, dropping to one knee to greet the co-rulers of House Novick.
"Queen Novick!"
The Custodes likewise dropped to one knee, offering the highest level of ceremonial honor to the visiting monarch.
They owed no kneel to the Primarchs, yet before Queen Novick, respect demanded it. The stars of Argent D'Nur were not subject to the Imperium of Man; the two states stood as equals, granting Queen Novick a political status parallel to the Emperor Himself.
Furthermore, attendants beside the Queen carried a sandalwood box holding a silver laurel wreath—a gift of the future bestowed by the Emperor.
---
'Rustle—'
The Imperial officials dropped to their knees as one. Malcador and Valdor—the First Lord of the Imperium and the Chief Custodian—bowed low in welcome.
"Emperor," Queen Novick spoke softy, her voice carrying the gentle warmth of a mature woman alongside the authority of royalty.
Attendants rushed forward to take the scepter and the code from her hands, freeing them.
The Queen gracefully presented the back of her hand to the Emperor.
"Queen Novick," the Emperor said, gently lifting her hand. Though His features remained hidden behind the golden glare, a note of pleasure was clear in His greeting. Bending low, He kissed the back of her hand, His authoritative voice softening slightly: "Welcome to the Imperium of Man."
The Emperor's gentle greeting caused Dorn and Perturabo to glance at Him, astonishment and bewilderment flickering in their eyes. They had never heard their Father utter a greeting filled with such tender consideration. At times, they had even believed His emotional spectrum held nothing beyond solemn majesty.
Yet today, they witnessed gentleness extended to an outsider.
"I have brought gifts," Marie said, withdrawing her hand with flawless etiquette before motioning for the court attendants carrying trays to step forward.
The Custodes moved solemnly up the line, taking the inventory ledger from the attendants' hands before reading it aloud in a ringing voice:
"Atmospheric terraforming equipment, multi-layered planetary void shields... twenty thousand suits of Imperial-standard Terminator armor, two hundred thousand suits of Space Marine power armor..."
The list was far too extensive to read in full; the Custodian highlighted only a few key items and passed over the rest.
'Gasp—'
A collective intake of breath echoed across the square. The generosity of Argent D'Nur was overwhelming; setting everything else aside, twenty thousand suits of Terminator armor and two hundred thousand sets of power armor addressed a desperate, immediate need for the Imperium.
In the wake of the Rangdan Xenocides, the Imperium was in dire need of military resupply. Argent D'Nur's gift was help delivered in the hour of greatest need.
"There are also these," Marie added, the warm smile remaining on her face as she gestured gracefully for the attendants to continue.
The Royal Guard pulled forward two large containers holding gold-hued biological life-extension serums, alongside miniaturized weapons integrated into rings and necklaces. These precious gifts filled two massive cargo containers, set plainly under the bright sun.
"This is far too valuable," Malcador said, stepping forward with a sigh. A warm, grandfatherly smile creased his wrinkled face as he bowed slightly to the Queen. "We can never truly repay the assistance Argent D'Nur has offered the Imperium of Man."
He glanced down at the inventory ledger, which also listed various power weapons and Space Marine transport vehicles.
It was abundantly clear that the delegation from Argent D'Nur had not come merely for political diplomacy; they had come specifically to replenish the Imperium's war losses.
"Please accept them, elder," Marie said, folding her hands over her waist as she offered a gentle bow to the First Lord, a flawless smile gracing her porcelain face. "For Humanity."
"The relationship between the stars of Argent D'Nur and the Imperium of Man is intertwined beyond separation. The Rangdan were a great enemy to all human life; though we won a hard-fought victory against them, we suffered unimaginable losses."
"Argent D'Nur's population is sparse, so we offer what we can in material supply to the Imperium."
The response was diplomatically sound, yet carried genuine sincerity.
Compared to the Imperium, Argent D'Nur's population was indeed sparse. However, Argent D'Nur possessed artificial intelligence, and the production capacity of its automated factories exceeded its actual requirements tenfold over. Since they could not dispatch troops directly to the front, providing war materiel required little more than flipping a switch on Argent D'Nur's part.
"The Imperium will remember Argent D'Nur's aid."
Offering another word of thanks, Malcador signaled for the Custodes to step forward and take custody of the golden life-extension serums. "I shall take these first to preserve the lives of a few upright individuals of great merit."
"As you wish," Marie nodded, answering with impeccable poise. "From the moment they departed Argent D'Nur, they belonged to the Imperium of Man."
"Saving those who have made monumental contributions to mankind fulfills the core purpose of these serums."
Malcador nodded in satisfaction and stepped aside; his duty was done.
Blazkowicz took a step forward, his eyes filled with warm concern as he looked Marie up and down after her long journey.
"You've grown taller."
In his memory, when he left Argent D'Nur, Marie was still an adolescent standing around 1.9 meters tall. Now, she stood straight and proud at 2.4 meters, inheriting both the regal authority of Novick and the gentle grace of Daisy—and she had fully completed her coronation.
She was Queen Novick, the brightest jewel of Argent D'Nur.
"You've grown taller."
Blazkowicz knelt down, doing his best to meet the eyes of the majestic child before him. He reached out to cup her porcelain-white face, running the back of his fingers gently over the exhaustion etched at the corners of her eyes.
Marie was in the prime of her youth, her superhuman physique bursting with vitality, yet a subtle fatigue lingered about her.
The reason was simple.
Much like the Imperium of Man, the stars of Argent D'Nur had launched an expedition into the Segmentum Obscurus, their sphere of control expanding continuously as the tendrils of their power reached deep into the void.
Even with artificial intelligence to manage logistics and quantum networks to ensure real-time communication, the sheer scale of an ever-expanding territory brought with it a crushing burden of governance.
Upon the throne, every decision carried the weight of life and death for tens of billions of human souls.
With Blazkowicz absent from Argent D'Nur for years on end, this heavy responsibility had fallen entirely upon the shoulders of Queen Novick.
"And even more beautiful," he said, curling his fingers back to brush away the trace of weariness from her eyes. His voice sounded dry, thick with unspoken guilt.
---
Blazkowicz could only shake his head in quiet sorrow. Had he not left Argent D'Nur, Marie's life would never have been bound to the confines of a throne.
She had once been a lively, spirited child, yet she had been forced to become the most solemn of queens.
A tickling warmth brushed her skin, bringing a sting of emotion to the back of Marie's eyes. She rested both hands on her uncle's massive forearm, her emerald eyes filled with serene acceptance: "This is the duty of House Novick."
The Queen's voice was melodious—bright as a skylark's call—yet it carried a mature gravity that lacked the airy lightness of youth. Her current expression and tone bore only the formal composure and quiet authority expected of royalty.
Instinctively, Blazkowicz sought to offer comfort, reaching out to pat her golden hair, only for his hand to freeze mid-air.
The crystal crown gleamed dazzingly, its sharp presence placing a boundary even against familial affection.
In the end, Blazkowicz slowly lowered his arm, gently patting his niece's shoulder—a shoulder that seemed fragile and delicate compared to his own.
He suddenly realized with a stark shock that after his departure from Argent D'Nur, those soft shoulders had quietly taken up an immense weight.
The crusade for the resurgence of the human race had silently changed so many people.
In an instant, the red carpet was tinged with sorrow and pity, casting a bittersweet shadow over the welcoming ceremony.
Marie was far too sensible; Blazkowicz found himself at a total loss for words. The comforting words caught in his throat were fully understood by her, yet she accepted her heavy responsibilities with a calm maturity that left him feeling strangely powerless.
"Marie!" Seeing the shift in atmosphere, Russ pushed his way forward, grinning broadly with uninhibited cheer as he boisterously interrupted the family reunion. "Did you miss me?"
Marie lowered her hands from Blazkowicz's arm, but rather than folding them over her waist in a traditional lady's posture, she stepped back with fluid grace. Sinking low, she layered her hands over her left knee, hooked her right foot back, and offered a soft, shallow curtsy.
In terms of etiquette, she was first a niece and a junior before she was Queen Novick; a curtsy was entirely fitting.
"Uncle Russ," Marie said, her smile warm and sparkling. Free of the distance and reverence she showed the Emperor, her expression held a genuine, familiar warmth. Placing a smooth hand over her chest, her slender fingers lifted the wolf-fang necklace hanging at her neck. "I keep your love close to my heart at all times."
"Good!" Russ masked the flicker of sympathy in his eyes, rushing forward to help her up.
Time moved without a sound, and people were no longer who they once were.
Over thirty years had passed since they last met. The child who used to trail behind him, listening with wide-eyed curiosity to tales of Fenrisian ice, had grown into a calm, dignified Queen.
Holding Marie gently by the arm, he turned and gave a nod of his chin toward the giant clad in a simple yellow robe, introducing him: "This is Rogal Dorn, Blazkowicz's blood-brother."
"And the one in the gray cloak is Perturabo, also your uncle's blood-brother."
Dorn stepped forward in two heavy strides, his long-fingered hand holding a gift box. His fingertips trembled imperceptibly, a rare look of flustered tension surfacing on his brow.
For as long as he could remember, he had never felt his heart race like this.
As a Primarch, Dorn had known his grandfather's love in his youth—a love that was merciful, forgiving, and bathed in a gentle warmth when recalled. That love flowed downward, a elder's affection for a child.
Beyond receiving love from his elders, Dorn had never truly engaged in personal affection, surrounded only by an ever-growing legion of followers.
Now, it fell upon him to give love—to shower care downward, just as his grandfather had once done for him.
Dorn felt entirely out of his element. His usually stoic face strained into an awkward, rigid smile—looking like cracked stone—as he tried his best to appear gentle.
"This..." Perhaps unaccustomed to expressing himself, the Primarch's voice sounded somewhat stiff: "This is a gift for our first meeting."
As his words fell, Dorn carefully opened the box. An automated mechanism smoothly raised a miniature model from within.
"A miniature replica of the 'Phalanx'," he said, kneeling down to look gently at his brother's niece. A trace of careful reverence flickered in his eyes as he presented the box: "I have personally walked every corridor of the 'Phalanx', crafting this to scale with atomic-level precision."
Dorn kept his voice as soft as possible, filled with absolute sincerity.
Upon learning from Russ the true nature of Blazkowicz's relationship with the royal house of Novick, he had made his calculations. Offering a miniature model of the 'Phalanx' represented the absolute peak of sincerity from the Imperial Fists.
Beyond sincerity, it was a gesture of profound trust.
It was equivalent to handing over a complete layout and military deployment scheme of the 'Phalanx'. Without absolute trust, this miniature model alone possessed enough structural detail to compromise the defense of the Imperial Fists' ultimate fortress.
This gift was Dorn's unreserved, vulnerable trust.
Marie's fine brows raised slightly. Taking the gift box securely in both hands, she felt the heavy weight of trust within it. She offered another curtsy: "Thank you for your generosity and trust, Uncle Rogal Dorn."
The soft word "Uncle" caused Dorn's frame to tremble slightly. His expression grew even more rigid, and his voice rushed out a bit faster: "I am glad you like it."
He stepped back in haste, so flustered that he forgot to offer the customary arm to assist her up. By the time he realized his lapse, Marie had already stood up and handed the box to an attendant with a warm smile.
As Dorn retreated, Perturabo stepped forward with an awkward gait. Observing Marie with sharp intensity, he sank into a half-squat and presented a tray: "Choose a material."
His voice was heavy, and he averted his gaze after raising the tray.
Set upon the exquisite silver platter were yellow amber, black obsidian, blue luminite, a white beast tusk, and red chicken-blood stone—all demonstrably premium materials for sculpting.
Marie offered another polite bow, gathered her skirt, and stepped forward smoothly. From the tray, she selected the warm-white tusk with its smooth, lustrous texture.
"I like this very much," Marie said, her smile polished to perfection. Holding the tusk, a trace of gentle anticipation glinted in her eyes: "Thank you, Uncle Perturabo."
She knew the material was meant for a sculpture, and she looked forward to receiving a handcrafted gift from her elder.
A subtle twitch passed over Perturabo's face, his iron-hard muscles straining into a smile that was surprisingly un-terrifying. Passing the tray to a nearby Custodian, he carefully tucked the beast tusk into his coat, offering a grave, resolute nod.
Marie lifted her skirt slightly and bowed, offering a flawless lady's etiquette to both uncles out of respect for her elders. She knew that these extraordinary Primarchs, much like ordinary mortals, possessed intense emotional depths—their upbringing, personalities, and naturally exalted status simply made it difficult for them to express it.
"Have you all met now?"
Russ spoke up once more, rubbing his stomach as his boisterous voice shattered the brief silence. "Can we start the feast now?"
The moment he spoke, the surrounding Imperial officials frowned, turning their heads away from the Space Wolf King's uncouth behavior.
A palace attendant stepped forward at the opportune moment, dropping to one knee to transition the ceremony to its next phase: "This way, please."
The crowd of ten thousand was guided into the grand banquet hall by attendants according to their respective ranks and titles.
During the feast, Marie sat in the guest of honor's seat beside the Emperor, maintaining a posture of elegant grace for several hours as attendants introduced the Imperial officials one by one.
Aside from Russ devouring his food like a wild beast to display his rustic vigor, the welcoming banquet proceeded strictly according to schedule.
Once the feast concluded, the delegation from Argent D'Nur was accommodated in the side halls of the Imperial Palace to initiate standard diplomatic exchanges. Marie and her close retinue, however, took up residence in Blazkowicz's Gothic manor, allowing the family to spend quality time together.
---
Having washed away the exhaustion of the tedious formal ceremonies, Marie put on a casual blue-and-white dress and walked to her uncle's study alongside a few trusted attendants.
Spotting her approach, the Doom Marine guards—drawn from the ranks of the Night Wardens—raised their fists to their chests, executing a warrior's salute: "Queen Novick!"
Marie nodded, gesturing for the guards to open the doors.
The heavy adamantium doors slid open to both sides, and the Queen stepped inside accompanied by her court attendants.
Her eyes met neatly arranged bookshelves lined with ancient codices, where servo-skulls flew low and slow, scanning book serial numbers. Deeper inside the study stood display racks bearing porcelain vases and bronze artifacts, lending an air of quiet sophistication to the minimalist room.
It was a quintessential male living space, devoid of any superfluous decoration.
Her uncle tapped the holographic projection on his desk, a warm smile breaking across his valiant face.
"You're here."
His resonant voice sounded just as it had in the past. Walking over to the small refrigerator, his hand paused over a fruit beverage before shifting to pull out a bottle of potent Fenrisian liquor.
"You can drink alcohol now," Blazkowicz remarked with a sigh, gesturing for Marie to take a seat at the small side table. "Try this—it's strong enough to run a tank."
Marie nodded quietly, taking a small glass of Fenrisian mead from her uncle's hand with serene grace.
"'Cough, cough—'"
A suppressed, light cough echoed inside the study.
As the Fenrisian mead hit her throat, the scalding alcohol sent blood rushing through the veins in Marie's neck, flushing her porcelain-white face a vivid, unnatural crimson.
She gasped rapidly, one hand pressing against her chest while the other covered the lower half of her face.
A single small cup of Fenrisian mead had nearly scorched away the dignity of royalty in an instant.
It took a long time before Marie, staring at the residual liquid left in the glass on the table, felt the lingering agony amplify in her eyes. Her slender brows knitted tightly together: "I will never touch that again!"
"Heh... heh... heh..."
Unable to suppress his amusement, Blazkowicz slipped a bottle of low-proof fruit wine out from his sleeve and poured his niece a full glass.
Fenrisian mead was exceptionally potent—a small cup was toxic enough to kill an ordinary mortal outright. Even if a Space Marine drank it, their oolitic kidney would trigger immediately, activating super-organ emergency detoxification to purify their bloodstream. Ingestion in vast quantities was one of the few things capable of leaving an Astartes thoroughly intoxicated.
Fierce as poison, the mead was used by the Fenrisians to test courage and endurance, serving as a unique pillar of their cultural heritage.
Marie possessed no Space Marine super-organs, but she was a descendant of the Gold Men. Within her complex genetic sequence lay countless biological counter-adaptations for toxins; within a few seconds, her complexion returned to normal as she fanned away the fumes around her nose and mouth.
"How is everything back home?"
Before Marie could voice a complaint, Blazkowicz preempted her, cutting off her grievances at the pass.
"All is well." Marie smoothed the front of her dress, rolled her eyes with zero royal decorum, and said with a touch of indignation, "Father, Mother, and my brother miss you dearly."
"They originally wanted to join the embassy to Terra, but the stars of Argent D'Nur require a royal presence to anchor the realm. After my departure, Alex assumed the Regent's mantle, but Father was uneasy and stayed behind on Argent D'Nur Prime to assist him."
A trace of resentment glinted in the Queen's eyes as she shook her head helplessly. "With Father refusing to come, Mother lost interest in coming as well."
"They withdrew from the delegation roster and remained on Argent D'Nur Prime to manage the increasingly heavy affairs of state, leaving me to visit Terra all on my own..."
She spilled it out in one breath, concluding with a resigned sigh as she took a deep gulp of the emerald-green fruit wine to vent her annoyance.
"Alex." Blazkowicz's brows furrowed. Compared to his sister's brilliance, the younger brother fell quite short.
He simply hadn't expected that even for a brief stint as Regent, Alex would still require his brother and sister-in-law to hold his hand.
"It has been hard on you," Blazkowicz sighed softly. Leaning forward, he reached out to pat her hair, now free of her crown. "He offers little aid to your rule, serving more as a drag on your momentum."
The gentle warmth resting atop her head caused Marie's eyes to narrow slightly, a smile returning to her face. "Alex was meant to be a warrior. He has a steadfast heart, but he is dense when it comes to politics."
"His valor belongs on the battlefield; holding royal authority only shackles his warrior instincts."
Blazkowicz shook his head, gazing at Marie with deep pity in his eyes.
The Night Wardens had unified Argent D'Nur; the wars of Argent D'Nur Prime were long over. As they stepped into the vast galaxy, the martial might of House Novick called for a different expression—such as a sharp, visionary Fleet Governor.
Regrettably, in an era of shifting tides, Alex had failed to grasp the duty on his shoulders, his steps bogged down by the past.
As Queen Novick, Marie naturally understood what her uncle was lamenting.
The battlefield had expanded from a single world to a galaxy spanning over a hundred thousand light-years and holding hundreds of billions of stars. The Night Wardens, led by House Novick, needed far greater strength to continue upholding their oath to protect Argent D'Nur and humanity.
The fleets traversing the galaxy had to be held firmly within the hands of House Novick!
"I will keep this in mind when selecting a consort," she said, sipping her wine with a calm, expressionless gaze, as if discussing something entirely unrelated to herself. "I will make multiple attempts to ensure more bloodlines are born to House Novick."
Her voice was soft, yet it landed in the quiet study with heavy resonance.
Blazkowicz leaned back against his chair, closing his eyes as his breathing grew heavy.
He felt no real aversion toward political marriage; House Novick had suffered tragic upheavals, leaving Frano as the sole surviving direct bloodline. To preserve the family's oath and lineage, political unions were an absolute necessity.
Indeed, since the dawn of recorded history, House Novick had never known the luxury of romantic freedom in marriage.
Seeing her uncle with his eyes closed, Marie set her glass down carefully. After deliberating for a long moment, she spoke in a soft voice: "Ennio Novick—"
At the sound of that name, Blazkowicz's eyes snapped open! The study seemed to whip with a violent tempest, an appalling aura crushing down upon every inch of air!
Though prepared, Marie still felt her face drain of color under the thunderous pressure, her pale lips trembling: "In the twelfth year after you left Argent D'Nur, a patrol on a set route picked up an infant boy."
"Genetic sequencing confirmed that Ennio's DNA sequence matched that of the eldest daughter of a minor family."
The terrifying aura vanished as quickly as it had come. Marie's voice continued to quiver: "Eldest Brother... is still fulfilling his duties as royalty. He sent a child back to House Novick."
Hearing the news, Blazkowicz sat stunned for a long time. He refilled his niece's glass with fruit wine, a soft murmur carrying a bittersweet joy: "It's good that he returned... it's good that he returned."
If asked who in this vast universe he worried about most, the answer was beyond doubt: Ennio Novick, the eldest son of House Novick—the lost king who had driven himself into exile.
Following the victory at the City of Truth, the eldest son had cast off his armor and exiled himself, vanishing without a trace ever since. Hearing his name again today, Blazkowicz could not help but lose his composure.
"Have you tracked his whereabouts?"
"No," Marie replied firmly. "Once his bloodline was verified, Sophia conducted an exhaustive search, but found only dead ends."
"He has never utilized a single piece of electronic gear. He leaves no trace, wandering like an ancient phantom outside the modern world."
Blazkowicz nodded in silence, a fraction of the dark gloom that had hovered over his heart for decades finally dissipating. His eldest brother was still alive and had even left behind a bloodline; it brought profound relief to his soul.
"What is his name?"
Marie didn't answer directly. Instead, she retrieved a slip of paper tucked inside her belt clasp and presented it to her uncle.
Taking the aged, faded slip, Blazkowicz read a newborn's name through the familiar handwriting: 'Arthas Novick'.
In High Gothic, a variation of "Child of Shadows," which could also be translated as "Child of Sin."
Blazkowicz exhaled a heavy breath. From the child's name, it was clear that even if everyone else had forgiven him, Ennio had never forgiven himself.
"Settle him well," Blazkowicz said, handing the paper back. "I will find time to return and see him."
Marie took it solemnly. "He is currently under the tutelage of royal mentors, inheriting Eldest Brother's natural talent."
"There is also this." Reaching into the dimensional spatial pouch attached to her belt clasp, she produced an alien emblem and rested it on her open palm. "They implored me to hand this to you."
Blazkowicz lowered his gaze. The moment he recognized the design, the warmth in his eyes vanished completely, replaced by a layer of harsh, icy chill.
The bone-white mark was mysterious and elegant, its material neither metal nor stone, resembling smooth bone and delicate ivory—exceptionally warm and lustrous to the touch. Its design was simple and oval, bordered by a ring of blue gemstones surrounding a faintly glowing, unique wedge symbol.
Blazkowicz recognized both the material and the mark: it was wraithbone and a Craftworld emblem commonly used by the Aeldari.
A projection lit up over Marie's bracelet. "Three years, four months, and eight days ago, a band of Aeldari utilized the Webway to breach the core sector of the stars of Argent D'Nur, triggering our monitoring array alarms."
The color projection recreated the Aeldari figures.
They possessed slender builds, wearing motley-patterned garments, ridiculous tall hats, and harlequin masks displaying various expressions on their faces.
Upon tripping the perimeter alerts, the Aeldari had not fled immediately; instead, they had waited in place. They refrained from further presumption, leaving behind the emblem before melting back into the shadows just as the Night Wardens arrived at the scene.
"Please look at this," Marie noted as the holographic display reconfigured itself, revealing a stone tablet inscribed with a message in High Gothic:
['Please deliver this mark to the Doom Marine. A plea from a declining race — Envoys of Cegorach.']
The message was exceptionally humble, reflecting profound deference even between the written words.
Blazkowicz took the Aeldari emblem from Marie's hand, turning it over in his grip as a cold glint flashed deep within his eyes.
'Cegorach, the Laughing God'—one of the few surviving deities of the Aeldari. He was the god of trickery, stealth, creation, art, and guile.
During the War in Heaven fought between the Old Ones and the Necrontyr, he had deceived the C'tan known as the Outsider, goading him into consuming his fellow star gods. After devouring his brethren, the Outsider had vanished into the void, while Cegorach emerged unscathed, even evading the great Fall of the Aeldari pantheon.
Legend had it that he knew every secret passage and branch within the Webway, hiding in its most obscured recesses to escape the talons of She Who Thirsts.
"Cegorach," Blazkowicz whispered the deity's name, closing his hand around the Aeldari emblem as his brow furrowed, noncommittal.
From the summoning array in the Immaterium to this convoluted series of messages delivered through intermediaries, the Aeldari were going to extraordinary lengths to approach him.
Knowing better than to act openly, the Aeldari could only rely on such roundabout methods.
Blazkowicz rubbed the Aeldari emblem with his thumb. The wraithbone felt cool to the touch, carrying a unique, smooth warmth.
'Why were the Aeldari looking for him?'
The moment the thought crossed his mind, his brain had already deduced the answer.
The Oath of God-Slaying echoed eternally throughout the Immaterium; the fact that Blazkowicz was an enemy to the Dark Gods was no secret, a truth the Aeldari Seers naturally understood.
The Aeldari held a singular goal: to slay Slaanesh and free their race from the clutches of the Dark Prince. From their perspective, a powerful demigod who bore the will to slay gods and possessed the audacity to challenge them was a natural ally.
An obscure, dark glint flickered in Blazkowicz's eyes. The Aeldari had repeatedly extended gestures of goodwill, even enlisting the Laughing God Cegorach to deliver this emblem, simply to signal their friendship to him.
Unfortunately!
His hand tightened abruptly, crushing the Aeldari emblem within his fist as a veil of chill settled over his brow.
That ancient race was never known for benevolence or saintly virtues.
The only reason he could compel the haughty Aeldari to lower their heads and offer goodwill was that he possessed immense value to be exploited. Though their immediate objectives aligned for a brief moment, Blazkowicz had no desire to entangle himself with them.
In his eyes, the Aeldari were a long-term strategic threat to humanity!
---
The Emperor was urgently pursuing the Webway Project. Should it succeed, the human race would inevitably migrate into the Webway, coming into direct conflict with the Dark City's inhabitants and the Craftworlders dwelling within its corridors.
The Webway existed in a mysterious dimension—a separate starry realm with finite living space that could never accommodate two dominant species. Large-scale conflict between humanity and the Aeldari was an absolute inevitability.
In the material universe, the co-existence between the Imperium of Man and the Craftworld Aeldari was similarly far from a peaceful neighborly affair.
Whenever the Aeldari steered their colossal Craftworlds, every change in course brought catastrophe to human worlds. To conceal the flight paths of their Craftworlds, lost fleets launched brutal raids—plundering populations and precious resources before erasing entire worlds from the material realm. They used absolute, leave-no-survivors purges to hide the tracks of their void-cities across the galaxy.
If those were considered necessary survival tactics, then the Aeldari corsairs were the ancient race's unabashed malice directed toward humanity.
Appearing and disappearing like phantoms, their high-speed warships struck unexpectedly, ruthlessly plundering human shipping lanes and inflicting untold losses in war materiel.
Case in point: along the trade routes connecting the stars of Argent D'Nur and the Imperium of Man alone, there were dozens of Aeldari corsair bands, large and small!
The House of Victoria, chartered by the stars of Argent D'Nur, had reported the Aeldari threat countless times and repelled just as many attacks. That prosperous shipping lane had long remained under the shadow of Aeldari corsairs.
From beginning to end, humanity and the Aeldari—two powerful species—could maintain a brief, temporary alignment of interests, but could never achieve long-term coexistence.
Thus, Blazkowicz refused to engage with the Aeldari to avoid unnecessary entanglements.
Rather than setting aside enmity to pursue short-term cooperation and seek leverage, it was far better to maintain absolute hostility—reinforcing the dam of enmity so that when the day came to exterminate the xenos, his blade would not hesitate for a second.
---
Observing her uncle lost in deep thought, Marie parted her lips to report top-secret intelligence from Argent D'Nur: "When I departed from the stars of Argent D'Nur, the Doom Marine Expeditionary Fleet was nearing the completion of its battle preparations. It is expected to arrive in the Solar System in approximately one Terran week."
"Father reassigned a contingent of Doom Marines to assist the Night Wardens in launching an expedition against the psyker species occupying the fringe regions of our sphere of influence..."
"Furthermore, per your dispatch, Doom Marine companies are rotating through duties on Requiem, with the Imperium of Man deploying Sisters of Silence to garrison the world alongside them. A hundred Doom Marines and a Convent of Sisters of Silence are jointly suppressing the soul-tides of Requiem."
Her slender fingers tapped gracefully on the desk. With a flash from her bracelet, the data-link completed synchronization.
A top-secret projection materialized over the desk, detailing line by line the development and recent major events of the stars of Argent D'Nur.
Blazkowicz scanned the data rapidly, his gaze locking onto the projection of Requiem.
Following the Rangdan Xenocides, Requiem was now bathed in brilliant golden light. The Emperor had guided the heroic souls of the pure and devoted to fall like a shower of golden rain, merging into the World-Soul to form a unique ecosystem.
Looking at the physical manifestations formed by the golden light, Blazkowicz saw the reflection of pure, unyielding virtues: humility, honesty, compassion, valor, justice, sacrifice, honor, and spirituality.
Requiem was not merely a resting place for heroic spirits; it was a sanctuary where virtues settled and crystallized.
"There is also this," Marie said, turning her fair wrist to project a miniaturized star chart.
The star chart zoomed in continuously, ultimately locking onto a hideous, grotesque tear in the fabric of realspace located at the boundary between the Segmentum Obscurus and the Segmentum Ultima.
The void was ripped open by a long, narrow fissure, its Warp projection stretching across a thousand light-years.
Blazkowicz recognized that astronomical phenomenon.
It had once been the core territory of the Aeldari Empire, swallowed by the birth-cry of Slaanesh—an event that brought about the fall of the Aeldari Empire and left behind a permanent wound in the universe.
Marie reported truthfully: "At Cygnus X-1, a squad of Doom Marines constructed a secret outpost, transforming into silent watchers tasked with monitoring the Immaterium's anomalies."
"It is called the Eye of Terror," Blazkowicz said, raising his hand to adjust the holographic display, renaming Cygnus X-1.
During a casual chat, Perturabo had intentionally or unintentionally mentioned the anomaly, noting that in his youth, he had named it the "Eye of Terror."
Blazkowicz found the name fitting.
That long, narrow Warp rift spewed endless malice—much like the eye of an evil god, its greedy gaze glaring hungrily at the material universe.
"An apt name," Marie nodded, recording the elegant designation into the official archives.
---
The low murmurs in the study continued. Though framed as a discussion, it was closer to a one-sided report from Marie. Blazkowicz listened intently, nodding occasionally to offer strategic advice, shaping the growth of the stars of Argent D'Nur and laying out moves across the vast galaxy.
"Someone has come for you," Blazkowicz said as the hour turned to three in the morning. With the conversation winding down, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked toward the heavy drapes of the Gothic vertical window, as if peering right through them.
In his Primarch senses, a block of steel—cold and sharp on the surface, yet brimming with molten heat within—stood precisely where his eyes rested.
Marie knew it was time to take her leave. She rose and bowed, her movements fluid and graceful.
"Your niece will take her leave," she said, a flicker in her eyes masking her reluctance. Lifting her dress like a feather in the wind, she floated gracefully toward the doors.
Blazkowicz offered no solemn words of farewell, closing his eyes in silence.
The quiet duty of royalty taught them to suppress their emotions—building a fortress of strength around their hearts to protect the fragile warmth within. Parting was simply a common occurrence in the tapestry of life.
"Wait," Blazkowicz called out, rising to his feet after all.
He walked over to his niece. Standing at five meters tall, he had to sink to one knee just to meet her gaze, opening his arms to the young Queen before him.
Red rimmed Marie's eyes as she briefly abandoned her rigid composure, stepping into her uncle's embrace to quietly savor a moment of serene peace.
The warm, silent embrace was brief. Marie stepped back two paces with polite grace, brushing away the moisture at the corners of her eyes. By the time she turned around, the majestic composure of a Queen had returned to her features.
"Be careful in all things, and never fail justice and courage."
A soft, low blessing echoed behind her, causing Queen Novick's spine to straighten instinctively.
The heavy doors of the study slid shut. With heads lowered and eyes cast down, her court attendants followed behind the Queen with unflappable calm.
---
Blazkowicz stood before the massive vertical window, leaning slightly as his fingers parted a slit in the curtains, looking down at the cobblestone path outside the manor.
Under the bright floodlights, a giant clad in a gray cloak stood with his hands behind his back.
"Lord of Iron," Marie said, lifting her dress to bow before the giant under the light.
Her etiquette was flawless; even the meticulous Perturabo could find no flaw in it. He offered a gentle nod in response, though a subtle trace of regret flickered deep within his eyes.
He pressed his lips together imperceptibly; compared to formal titles like "Lord of Iron," he far preferred the simple address of "Uncle Perturabo."
"This is a gift," Perturabo said, his voice deep, wrapped in a thread of awkward embarrassment as he presented the object he had been holding tightly in his palm.
The ivory sculpture radiated a soft, lustrous white glow. Carved by his hands, Queen Novick held her scepter in her arms and the code in her hand, her majestic visage rendered vivid and lifelike.
Surprise flashed in Marie's eyes. Cultivated by a long heritage of artistic tradition, she recognized at a single glance a level of miraculous craftsmanship she had never witnessed before.
"Thank you!"
Her eyes widened slightly as she took the gift from the Primarch's hands, cradling it carefully against her chest to show her deep appreciation. She spoke in breathless awe: "Your sculpting technique is beyond divine. Whether in historical records or the present day, I have never seen anyone who can rival your art."
Marie's praise came straight from the heart; Perturabo's artistic mastery genuinely astounded the well-traveled Queen.
Every detail on the small ivory figure was rendered with absolute perfection, its inner essence captured with natural grace. The delicate blade strokes moved with effortless precision, bringing even the subtle texture of skin to life, freezing an exquisite, timeless elegance within a tiny space—a true work of divine craftsmanship.
Even an ordinary mortal could tell that this sculpture was forged through the pouring out of heart and soul paired with peerless skill.
Gently running her fingers over the exquisite brow of the ivory figurine, the awe in Marie's eyes lingered. Feeling its warmth, she looked up at the giant once more: "I treasure this masterpiece from the bottom of my heart."
The heartfelt praise softened Perturabo's gaze, breaking his features into a warm smile.
Perhaps because he had smiled more frequently of late, the expression on his stern face carried far less rigidity and far more genuine warmth.
"I am glad you like it." The smile quickly vanished from Perturabo's face. Without another word, he turned and strode back toward the Fourth Manor.
"May your journey be unhindered," Marie offered her blessing. Watching his broad, retreating back, her expression relaxed into a bright, radiant smile.
The Primarchs possessed superhuman power, yet within the depths of their souls lay human nature; their emotional minds were no different from those of ordinary mortals.
As the giant disappeared around the street corner, an awkward reply floated back from the shadows: "...May all things go smoothly for you."
"Should the need arise, you may seek aid from the Sons of Perturabo out among the stars."
Holding the sculpture reverently, Marie bowed deeply toward the corner: "My deepest gratitude for your kindness and generosity."
No reply came this time, but the sound of heavy, steady footsteps receding into the distance revealed that the master of iron was in a remarkably good mood.
Marie took a long look at the empty street before turning away. Fatigue surfaced at the corners of her eyes as her steps carried her over the cobblestones.
She was exhausted. Before departing the stars of Argent D'Nur, she had processed a mountain of urgent state affairs. Upon arriving at Terra, she had been swept into a non-stop barrage of welcoming ceremonies and banquets. Finally, she could enjoy a brief moment of rest.
Tomorrow would bring even more matters to negotiate.
The Argent D'Nur delegation's visit to the Imperium of Man was far from a simple family call; the issues involved were too vast and complex to be settled in a few casual words.
---
Time slipped away rapidly amidst the flurry of activity.
The Space Wolves Legion was the first to weigh anchor. After bidding their farewells, Russ departed Terra in high spirits, carrying with him a private gift bestowed by Marie: an additional three thousand suits of Terminator armor and twenty thousand suits of specialized power armor.
The power armor optimized by Argent D'Nur saw its weight reduced by thirty percent while its power output increased by twenty percent, all without sacrificing defensive capability. The suits accepted by the Space Wolves had undergone master-class tuning, tailored specifically to match the savage and lethal combat style of the Wolves, rendering the pack far more aggressive. With the aid of such formidable war materiel, the Wolves gained even greater confidence for their path of conquest.
No sooner had the pack stepped into the void than Guilliman arrived on Terra.
He brought with him a vast array of administrative plans, requiring countlessly many documents and authorizations to receive official certification from the Imperium of Man.
The Segmentum Ultima was simply too immense. Among the five Segmentums of the Imperium, it possessed the largest territory, lay furthest from the Segmentum Solar, and harbored the greatest concentration of xenos threats and rogue factions. Guilliman had come to Terra intending to resolve a multitude of legacy issues in one fell swoop.
The Emperor had once granted Guilliman an unprecedented authority on Macragge: permitting the Primarch to govern the worlds he conquered—a heavy and unique honor.
Now, the Ultramarines Legion had completed its restructuring, and extensive reforms had been implemented across Greater Ultramar. With the Rangdan Xenocides concluded, the King of Macragge made the journey to Terra specifically to officially codify the special authority granted by the Emperor.
Greater Ultramar would serve as an Imperial exclave in the Far East, taking root in the xenos-infested Segmentum Ultima to project the might of the Imperium of Man toward distant stars!
To honor this glory and heavy responsibility, First Lord Malcador granted special authorization for an official decree across human space: the Segmentum Ultima was formally renamed the ''Segmentum Ultima'' (Ultima Segmentum).
---
Upon learning that the Argent D'Nur delegation had arrived on Terra, Guilliman hosted a grand reception at his manor, extending an invitation to Queen Novick of the stars of Argent D'Nur.
Though he felt a faint, uncomfortable awkwardness, Guilliman handled himself with far greater ease than Dorn or Perturabo when navigating relationships with younger kin. He was a man who knew love, and thus naturally understood how to express it.
Lacking a physical gift prepared in advance, Guilliman instead bestowed upon Marie an honorary title: 'Honorary Queen of Ultramar'.
As a brilliant statesman, the King of Macragge left no flaw in his choice of words or political considerations.
The term "bestowed a title" did not imply a top-down grant of authority, but rather a respectful offering extended to an equal. Since the stars of Argent D'Nur stood as political equals with the Imperium of Man, Ultramar—regardless of its level of autonomy—remained under the Imperial banner as a realm subject to the Imperium's governance.
Carried by a subtle haze of wine, Guilliman offered a sincere apology, explaining that he harbored a significant self-interest that somewhat tainted the purity of family affection.
The Rangdan Xenocides had left the Ultima Segmentum in dire need of reconstruction, and he hoped to trade for select technologies from the stars of Argent D'Nur to revitalize the war-torn wastes.
Guilliman always spoke and acted with an excess of strategic calculation, yet before his blood kin and niece, he chose absolute transparency regarding his personal motives and calculated interests.
Dorn and Perturabo shared a look of disdain, yet after careful consideration, they found themselves unable to truly dislike him for it.
They were different from Guilliman; they needed only to manage their homeworlds or home systems. Guilliman was responsible for an entire Segmentum—he had to move with extreme caution, as every plan and deployment directly impacted untold trillions of human lives.
Asking themselves honestly, had they been placed in the same position, the methods they employed would only have been far more ruthless than their brother's.
Marie accepted the title, cheerfully declaring that she would dispatch a delegation to Macragge to negotiate a friendly technology exchange.
---
As the banquet came to a close, the Doom Marine fleet arrived at Terra, and Blazkowicz prepared to set sail once more.
"Once I settle matters there, I will head straight to the Ork threat zone to rendezvous with the Iron Warriors," Blazkowicz said, taking his leave of Perturabo at the Lion's Gate Spaceport boarding area.
Both Legions were departing simultaneously, though their destinations lay far apart.
Following the Emperor's directives, Blazkowicz was heading to Prospero to present honors to the Thousand Sons Legion, while taking the opportunity to see what Magnus was up to.
When the Rangdan Xenocides concluded, the communication arrays were dismantled. The Crimson King had not waited for the Emperor's triumphant return, departing Terra in haste to return to Prospero. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding the Emperor, rousing the suspicions of the Master of Mankind.
The Emperor harbored deep concerns, fearing that Magnus might stray into dark paths; after all, the latter frequently projected his soul into the Immaterium, leaving him acutely vulnerable to the gaze of Chaos. During the ritual on Requiem, Magnus had already committed a grave error, compelling the Emperor to assign a portion of his focus toward monitoring the Thousand Sons.
Thus, Blazkowicz set out, ostensibly under the guise of rewarding the Legion.
"For the Iron Warriors' debut battle, I also need to inspect the results of our reforms," Perturabo nodded. As he prepared to leave Terra for the front, a look of sarcastic relief flickered across his face.
Normally too reserved to deal smoothly with Terra's political nobility, stepping onto the battlefield promised to unleash his unyielding, relentless nature.
"Before locating the main Ork host, the Legion will assemble in the Segmentum Tempestus to integrate our new organization."
With that, Perturabo boarded his vessel alongside his honor guard, leaving Blazkowicz with a sharp, decisive silhouette.
The Iron Warriors' debut battle as a fully restructured Legion would take them into the Segmentum Tempestus to track down and crush a massive Ork Waaaaaagh! expedition.
Blazkowicz turned to leave as well, striding along the gantries to board his flagship. He watched as the Iron Warriors' battlecruisers ignited their engines, slowly clearing the Lion's Gate berth and setting course for the Hades Gate.
By the time he stepped onto the bridge of the 'Royal Majesty', the mechanical arms had already released their locks. Obeying the commands of the spaceport traffic control, the heavy warship dragged its massive hull out of Argent D'Nur's dedicated berth.
'Ding~'
A crisp chime sounded as Blazkowicz strode onto the bridge.
"Lord Novick has entered the bridge. Calibrating Warp route."
The voice of Navigator Francisca remained soft and gentle. Blazkowicz realized it had been a long time since he had seen the Navigator in person. Resting within her life-support sarcophagus, her physical body remained ageless while her consciousness sank into the navigational compass, guiding the fleet through the void time and time again.
"My Lord," Flag Captain Sophia's elegant form materialized. She summoned the star chart with a gesture, awaiting confirmation of the vector: "Please issue the order specifying the fleet's destination."
Blazkowicz sat upon the Command Throne, pointing toward the brilliant star chart, his voice heavy and resonant: "Segmentum Ultima, Prospero Sector, Phazarez System—homeworld of the Thousand Sons Legion, ''Prospero''!"
"Orders received."
Sophia's voice was crisp as she locked onto the border between the Segmentum Solar and the Segmentum Ultima: "Destination locked: Prospero. The fleet is preparing to depart."
"With Lord Novick commanding, there is no need to evade Warp storms. A clear path lies before us."
The fleet plunged into the Hades Gate, breaking free from the stable material universe and entering the treacherous, shifting depths of the Immaterium.
Accompanied by five hundred Legionaries, Blazkowicz embarked upon a new crusade.
In the inner reaches of the Ultima Segmentum, bordering the fringe of the Solar System within a rift of the galactic arm, lay the Prometheus Sector, the Phazarez System, and the planet ''Prospero''.
In the Age of Strife, this world had served as a haven for psykers. Now, it was the homeworld of the Emperor's son, Magnus, as well as the home world of the Thousand Sons Legion.
Ever since the Emperor brought Magnus back into the fold, Prospero had transformed from a secret realm whispered about in legend into a new center of pilgrimage.
Psyker refugees wandering the galaxy flocked from all directions, praying to gain the protection of the Crimson King.
Through the combined application of psychic power and technological terraforming, this once-harsh death world had been injected with vibrant new life. As psykers poured in continuously, bringing with them countless secret arts and esoteric lore, scriptoriums and libraries sprang up across Prospero, giving rise to an alternative, hyper-mystical prospering of transcendentalism.
Tizca, the planetary capital, had expanded into a colossal megalopolis.
Pyramid scriptoriums towered everywhere, reflecting iridescent halos under the sunlight, shining like the light of wisdom without being overly ostentatious.
Numerous scholars clad in the hoods of their respective Cults navigated the avenues with careful steps, conversing on intellectual matters in hushed whispers. Wise savants sat across from one another on raised platforms in the plazas, their voices ringing loud and clear as they passionately debated philosophy, drawing crowds of listening apprentices.
---
Three pyramids stood in a triangular formation, keeping watch over one another and safeguarding the expansive Tizca Plaza.
The central plaza was bustling with activity. Along the first row of marble pillars hung banners displaying the solar emblem of the Thousand Sons, followed by the heraldic flags of the various Cults. The banners floated solemnly and mysteriously in the dry winds of Tizca, their order of precedence clearly defined.
Serfs worked in meticulous order, utilizing psychic power to decorate the plaza with various ceremonial instruments of high esteem.
The Thousand Sons Legion was preparing to welcome the arrival of the King of Warriors.
Warriors clad in crimson armor stood with heads held high in eager anticipation, channeling warp-energy into their eyes to monitor the direction of the Mandeville point.
'They have arrived!'
A surge of emotion rippled through the warriors' hearts as they watched the warships tear through the warp, returning to the material universe wrapped in uncanny luminescence. Their psychic energies flickered and ebbed, unstable with excitement.
The King of Warriors was coming, bearing the honors granted to the Legion by the Emperor himself.
During the Rangdan Xenocides, though the Thousand Sons had not directly joined the frontline battles, they had maintained the communications between Terra and the front, contributing a notable service. Yet when the war concluded, their gene-father had summoned the Legion to return to their homeworld in haste, skipping the victory celebrations and the conferring of honors.
While their brother Legions marched through the Plaza of Honor on Terra, the Thousand Sons had left in a hurried, almost miserable retreat.
The legionaries had never questioned their Primarch's decision, yet quiet dissatisfaction harbored within their hearts.
Now, with the King of Warriors arriving in person to bestow supreme honors upon the Legion, the Thousand Sons could hardly contain their excitement.
---
As the flagship tore into realspace, Blazkowicz stepped slowly down from the throne on the bridge, his face as dark and cold as iron.
A blinding purple light illuminated the bridge's holographic display. A red hazard-level circle outlined Prospero, topped by a massive, pulsing purple exclamation mark:
''[Planet: Prospero]''
''[Classification: Archive World / Primarch Homeworld / Legion Recruitment World]''
''[Tithe Grade: Special Exemption]''
Beneath the series of normal parameters, a blood-red warning tag was highlighted: ''[Massive Psychic Signatures Detected]''
On the planetary projection, the auspex markers registered vast clusters of psychic signatures. Small hazard symbols littered the continents, merging into continuous oceans of empyric energy.
Blazkowicz stared at the holographic projection, his expression instantly darkening into a frost.
Those unmasked psychic signals crawling across the entire world felt like a direct provocation—a ruthless mockery of the material realm.
'Magnus!'
The name surfaced in the depths of his mind. His crimson brother had thrown the Emperor's warnings to the wind, wielding psychic power with complete abandon.
"Receiving incoming communication signal from Prospero," Sophia announced. Raising a glowing sphere of digital data, she brought up the incoming transmission from the surface.
With a wave of his hand, Blazkowicz dismissed the psychic hazard warnings. His countenance smoothed back to normal, though a dangerous, frigid glint flickered deep within his eyes.
'"Prepare for combat,"' he commanded through the mental link, his face remaining entirely composure-bound.
Where psychic power manifested on a sustained, massive scale, the corruptions of the Immaterium inevitably followed—the two were inextricably entwined.
---
"Great King of Warriors!"
The holographic projection lit up as Ahzek Ahriman, leaning on his heka staff, knelt on one knee. He made no attempt to conceal the pride on his face: "Prospero welcomes your arrival!"
Ahriman had every reason to feel proud.
He had once fought alongside the King of Warriors, and it was precisely because of this bond that his gene-father had dispatched him ahead of time to oversee the welcoming ceremony. Yet beneath that proud demeanor, Ahriman was desperately suppressing a lingering fear within his heart.
Blazkowicz nodded, making a slight lifting gesture toward the projection, his voice deep and stern: "Where is my brother?"
'Magnus the Red.'
The faint trace of excitement Blazkowicz had felt about reuniting with his brother vanished completely, replaced by a cold, probing scrutiny as he demanded his whereabouts.
The astropathic dispatch announcing the Doom Marines' visit to Prospero had been sent a full month prior, giving the Thousand Sons ample time to prepare. Now that the visiting delegation had arrived, the master of the house was nowhere to be seen.
Compounded by the massive psychic signatures reading across Prospero, Blazkowicz could not help but suspect that Magnus had been up to something behind closed doors.
---
Ahriman rose respectfully, a brief stillness coming over his handsome face as he detected the underlying emotion in the Primarch's inquiry.
As for what kind of emotion it was, he did not even dare to contemplate it.
The dynamic between Primarchs was not something a simple Captain or Scholar could meddle in—it concerned the standing of two entire Legions.
Quickly gathering his thoughts, he offered an explanation in as neutral a tone as possible: "My Lord, two hundred light-years ago, your great brother destroyed a xenos civilization."
Ahriman bowed his head as he finished speaking. Even across a holographic display, he did not dare meet the gene-primarch's gaze directly.
"Oh?" Blazkowicz's eyes were cold as he looked down upon the refined warrior, calling up the relevant data logs: "Regular logs show that your Legion's crusade in that sector concluded long ago."
"A full month... and a Space Marine Legion led personally by its Primarch cannot subdue a single star system of xenos?"
"A xenos civilization that had barely mastered atomic energy, was just attempting to step beyond its home system, and whose armaments consisted of autoguns and simple firearms."
"For a threat level so pathetic, let alone a Space Marine Legion, even a drop-landing by the Imperial Auxilia could have purged the entire world within a week."
Blazkowicz lowered his gaze, his eyes entirely devoid of emotion as he asked: "Or is it... that you are hiding something from me?"
Hearing the Primarch's sharp interrogation, Ahriman's handsome face turned instantly pale. He fell back onto his knees, crying out in a strain: "By the King of Warriors above!"
'It's over!'
Ahriman cried out inwardly, both of his hearts constricting violently. Even through the optoelectronic signal, the Primarch's indifferent gaze rendered him physically unable to remain standing.
The fear he had tried so hard to conceal in his heart had been completely sliced open by a single cold look from the King of Warriors.
Why hadn't his gene-father come to receive the guest?
Ahriman knew the reason, yet he had held onto a thread of wishful thinking. He had hoped to frame it tactfully using gentle means to avoid angering the Primarch—rather than being forced to air embarrassing secrets that would sour the Primarch's mood.
"The Legion purged the xenos homeworld long ago," Ahriman confessed, no longer daring to withhold a single detail, his voice trembling slightly as he explained: "Under the leadership of our gene-father, the Legion remained behind in the ruins... to recover knowledge."