Zahariel stood on the battlements, gazing toward the distant forest.
The crawlers the giants spoke of were felling the forest and leveling the land with astonishing efficiency.
Where once only a few hundred meters had separated Aldurukh from the forest, now there was almost no forest within view.
When they had still been near the city walls, the residents had often been unable to sleep due to the noise of the crawlers.
The pilots of these machines were servitors of the Mechanicum, capable of working 24 hours a day without even needing to change shifts.
Though incapable of thought, the servitors' efficiency far surpassed that of mortals.
Although these servitors appeared dull and simple-minded, their physical capabilities were actually above the average mortal level, it was just that they were rarely programmed for combat functions.
Nemiel murmured under his breath, "It's a miracle."
Work that had once required thousands of people could now be accomplished by the Terrans with just a few steel behemoths.
"I fear it won't be long before Caliban's forests become history."
There was a hint of wistfulness in Zahariel's voice. Though progress and advancement were inevitable, this development was happening far too quickly.
"They won't. The Primarch himself personally issued orders to preserve Caliban's forests for the trials of the Legion and the Knightly Orders."
"The Mechanicum will only clear the areas surrounding existing cities to make room for the hive cities that will be built in the future."
Zahariel turned around, and a black-armored giant came into view.
His gaze fell on the approaching Baldr, a barely concealed envy in his eyes. "I really envy you, Baldr."
Ever since the First Legion had arrived, the status of Baldr and his companions had risen accordingly.
They were students of the Primarch's father, proficient in logistics and administration, and had now become the bridge connecting the Terrans and Calibanites.
It had to be admitted that Caliban was inferior to Terra in every way.
Even in the areas where they were most similar, there was an enormous gap between them.
The weapons and armor of Caliban's knights shared a stylistic lineage with those of the Astartes, suggesting a common origin, yet the technological disparity between them was an insurmountable chasm.
Even setting aside the size difference between knights and Astartes, the chainswords, bolters, and power armor wielded by the Terrans outperformed Caliban's equivalents in every respect.
Zahariel's armor could withstand the claws of predators and the blades of men, and could even filter out smoke and the lethal pollen of Caliban's sweet-root flowers by sealing its helm.
Yet before the power armor of the Astartes, these protections still paled in comparison.
A Astarte's armor not only provided a higher level of protection; the wearer could see in absolute darkness as if it were day, move freely in extreme heat or cold, and even possessed an independent oxygen recycling supply.
With this power armor, an Astartes could survive and fight in almost any circumstance, no matter how hostile the environment.
These technologies might be commonplace to the Terrans, but to the people of Caliban, they were utterly miraculous.
Not to mention the medical wonders the Imperium had brought.
Old knights who had been forced to retire from their orders due to age and infirmity could regain their youth merely by drinking the elixirs of the Imperium's rejuvenat adepts.
And those knights who had been grievously wounded in the Northern Crusade and forced to amputate limbs to save their lives, under the treatment of Astartes Apothecaries, they could miraculously regenerate their lost limbs!
All of this completely exceeded the understanding of Caliban's people and made them flock to the Terrans.
The common folk safely welcomed the Terrans' arrival, and many knightly orders also expressed their welcome. In particular, those knights who had personally witnessed these miracles were full of praise for the Terrans, and relations between them were quite harmonious.
But when it came to relationships with the Terrans, aside from a few individuals like Sir Luther, no one could compare to Baldr.
They were children who had failed their trials, yet by a twist of fate had been taken in by Sir Caelan.
Now they had all been assigned as assistants and guides to the Astartes, helping these giants understand Caliban's customs and culture. For instance, a Astarte was currently accompanying Baldr.
Wherever these giants went, they attracted attention.
Baldr leaned in close to Zahariel and Nemiel, lowering his voice. "I have good news for you."
The two brothers perked up their ears in unison, leaning forward slightly.
Baldr's voice was barely able to contain his excitement. "We're going to join the First Legion!"
Zahariel's envy only grew, while Nemiel's expression looked more like jealousy.
They did not regret joining the knightly order, but the vagaries of fate between people always felt unfair.
Baldr grinned. "No need to envy me. I said we. Who do you think that includes?"
Zahariel's eyes lit up with surprise. "You mean me and Nemiel too?"
Baldr nodded. "All knights and apprentices under 18 have a chance, but preferably under 16, the younger you are, the lower the risk of the surgery."
"What surgery?" Zahariel asked, confused.
"The surgery to become an Astarte, of course."
Nemiel gasped in disbelief. "You mean we can become like them? I thought they were born that way!"
"There are no born Astartes. Every superhuman warrior was once a scrawny boy just like you." The black-armored giant's voice carried an affability that belied his stern features.
His armor was different from that of the other black-armored warriors, adorned with various symbols that Caliban's people had never seen before. Zahariel guessed these symbols might represent honors.
In his hand, he carried not a chainsword, but a golden staff inlaid with horned skull ornaments.
All of this marked him as someone of unusual status.
Baldr introduced, "This is Brother Israfael."
Zahariel looked the giant up and down. "Honestly, this is astonishing. I can't see it at all."
Israfael explained, "The surgery will transform us completely. You will experience it too."
Nemiel ventured boldly, "How old were you when you joined the Legion?"
"I was twelve when I joined the Legion. Back then, I was scavenging on wastelands just to barely get by."
"Were Terrans living that badly?"
"Worse than the lowest serfs in your land."
Zahariel asked confused, "Terra's technology is so advanced, why would anyone live so miserably?"
"Would the nobles here share their grain with their slaves?"
Zahariel fell silent. He seemed to understand.
It was the same everywhere. It was the same across the entire galaxy.
Israfael answered, "The warlords of Terra never cared about the lives of commoners. It was the Emperor who ended that age of strife, unified Terra, and allowed mortals to regain peace and dignity."
"He liberated me from a fate worse than slavery. We fight for him willingly, and everything we have belongs to him, whether honor or life."
"Our blood and sacrifice across the galaxy are for the liberation of more people."
Nemiel murmured to himself, "The great Emperor."
The Astartes were just like the Order of the Knights of Order.
The Order of the Knights of Order had also broken the nobility's monopoly, selecting knights through trials regardless of birth.
Though not entirely fair, it at least gave everyone the same opportunity.
Israfael asked, "What are your names?"
"Zahariel."
"Nemiel."
Israfael nodded, a gleam of encouragement and expectation in his eyes.
"Brother Zahariel, Brother Nemiel, I look forward to the day when we shall fight side by side."
"We will, Brother Israfael!" Nemiel thumped his fist against his chest, his expression brimming with confidence.
They had once made becoming knights their lifelong goal, until they saw Astartes descend from the sky.
Now they had found a new goal: they would become Astartes!
Just as when they had joined the Order of Knights of Order, whatever the trials might be, they feared no challenge!
Israfael remained consistently amiable throughout, showing no trace of impatience nor any urge to hurry Baldr away.
After all, it was he who had suggested that Baldr could take him anywhere and do anything.
Caliban's cultural customs were diverse and varied, and Israfael had already studied them at a basic level and committed them to memory, a talent possessed by every Astarte.
He had chosen Baldr as his guide for his own private reasons as well.
Because Baldr was a student of the Mentor.
To date, on the homeworlds of other Primarchs, the children nurtured by the Mentor had almost all, the boys, successfully become Astartes, while the girls had shown remarkable talent in administrative roles.
Israfael believed Baldr had the potential to become a Astarte; the Mentor's judgment had never been wrong.
But this was not his true motive for approaching Baldr. The one he truly wished to establish a connection with was that Mentor.
The Mentor was the Primarch's foster father.
A rash visit would be too presumptuous and might displease his gene-father.
So he had chosen to start indirectly, through the Mentor's students.
As for what purpose he had, in truth, he had no particular purpose; he just wanted to get his face known first.
The Mentor was the Primarch's father, and the Primarch was his gene-father, so the Mentor was his grandfather.
What was wrong with a grandson wanting to get along well with his grandfather?
Even if the Primarch found out, he would surely praise him for his devotion.
Zahariel asked, "Brother Israfael, how many of us can become warriors like you?"
"The bloodline of Caliban's people is pure. Your genes have not undergone too much modification, meeting the Legion's recruitment standards."
"But if you cannot pass the trials, you will still be eliminated."
There were only tens of thousands of knights on Caliban, and the combined apprentices of all the knightly orders totaled about three thousand.
Even by the recruitment standards of a Astarte Legion, the selection criteria of the Order of Knights of Order were quite harsh.
Though the other knightly orders operated under noble monopolies, it was undeniable that their apprentices also received good education and training.
The recruitment scope would not be limited solely to knightly apprentices but would expand to all boys of suitable age across all of Caliban. Rough estimates put the number of potential recruits at at least ten thousand or more.
Should the qualification rate be too low, in order to quickly induct more Calibanite recruits into the Legion, as long as their willpower passed muster, the physical requirements could be relaxed somewhat.
Astarte selection had always seen more supply than demand; the harsh trials served to filter out the best.
As for casualties during the trials, those were merely necessary sacrifices.
What the galaxy had in greatest abundance was people; what was cheapest was human life.
The galaxy contained millions of worlds, some with populations of only a few thousand, others with hundreds of billions.
On ancient Terra, with its billions, two people died every second.
Calculating on the basis of ten billion people per world, hundreds of millions died across the galaxy every second from various causes. The mortality rate of Astarte recruitment barely counted as a fraction of that staggering number.
If other forms of unnatural death were also counted, the figure would be even larger.
A rigorous selection mechanism guaranteed the fundamental quality of Astartes, ensuring that their lower bound would not be too low.
However, this screening method might also cause them to miss children with inherently superior genes who had failed to reveal their potential due to harsh growing environments.
When weighing costs and benefits, securing the lower bound was often the best choice.
No Astarte, no matter how powerful, could be stronger than a Primarch. And among those who did pass the trials, there were certainly some who would go on to become exceptionally powerful warriors, later becoming the elite of their respective Legions.
But Israfael would not tell Zahariel any of this. They merely had the qualification to join the Legion; they were not yet warriors of the Legion.
If they were told ahead of time that they were certain to become Astartes, they might harbor complacency and slacken off, which would not benefit their development.
Nemiel looked conflicted. "If we pass the trials, will we be Astartes or knights?"
"You will be both the Primarch's Astartes and the Primarch's knights, but you will not be knights of the Order of Knights of Order."
Israfael knew what he was agonizing over. The boy's feelings were written all over his face; he didn't need telepathy to see it.
Nemiel said, "But the Primarch promised that the knightly orders would be preserved."
Israfael nodded, "The knightly orders may be preserved, and your traditions will continue, but not within the First Legion itself."
"The First Legion must maintain absolute unity: unified thought, unified goals, unified will, unified loyalty."
"The Legion can have only one voice, and we swear allegiance to only one master."
"Any form of division, at any time, is impermissible."
"The knightly orders may maintain their establishments within the mortal Auxilia. They can serve the Imperium and win honor across the galaxy, but within the Legion, no independent factions will be permitted."
Zahariel asked, "And what of Terra and Caliban?"
Israfael looked down, his gaze approvingly upon the clever child.
"Whether Terra-born or Caliban-born, we are all Sons of the Lion."
Though that was not actually the case, there were many factions within the Legion.
But that was due to the Primarch's prolonged absence; the First Legion had no true master and lacked a unified voice.
They were loyal to the Emperor, but the Emperor's will did not constantly overshadow and govern the First Legion, and the Legion Master could not command universal obedience.
But now, the Primarch had returned.
Israfael believed that even those stubborn holdouts who had claimed the First Legion did not need a Primarch would kneel without hesitation upon meeting him.
Israfael believed that the First Legion, under the Primarch's leadership, would sweep away all foes of humanity across the galaxy!
They were the First Legion. No matter when the Primarch returned, they were the First Legion!
No matter when the Primarch returned, he was the First Primarch!