Chapter 311: Eager to Return
The Angel of the Emperor, surrounded by an entire hive's worth of breathless attention, was loaded onto a shuttle and flown directly to General Zeppelin's estate.
Every noble present wanted to follow, to remain in the presence of greatness for as long as possible. Kian held the door personally.
"This Angel is mine. I'm the one who dragged him out of the scrap heap. He and I are about to go on a honeymoon, so all of you can get the hell out."
He slammed the door. Locked out an entire hive's worth of aristocracy, standing on Zeppelin's doorstep.
Deep in the estate's banquet hall, Kian had laid out an elaborate spread and seated the Astartes, Nor'n, at the head of the table.
Nor'n sat on a chair sized for him — forged steel, custom-built on the spot — and stared down at the lavish meal in front of him with precisely zero appetite.
He would have traded the entire feast for ten more minutes back on the front line with his brothers.
"Count. I appreciate the hospitality, genuinely, but my battle-brothers need me. Could you take me to meet this Captain you mentioned?"
"No rush, no rush at all. You've been asleep for years, sir, one meal isn't going to change the timeline."
Kian stood up, grabbed a bottle of wine, walked over, and filled Nor'n's glass to the brim.
Nor'n opened his mouth to decline.
Kian shoved the full glass into his hand, then turned, held the bottle up facing an empty section of wall, and launched into a full pitch-man's cadence.
"Sister-brand foot-pressed wine! Hand-selected estate grapes, traditionally crushed by the tender feet of consecrated sisters! Astartes-approved, every single time!"
Nor'n stared at him.
"Count. Who are you talking to."
Kian gave him a patience, patience gesture, grabbed a tin, and turned to face the wall again like a man addressing an invisible camera crew.
"Old Soldier brand Braised Guana-Meat, premium cut! Tender, juicy, packed with protein, personally endorsed by an Angel of the Emperor!
Eat Old Soldier brand, grow up big and strong, just like an Angel!"
He cracked the tin open and dumped it directly onto the empty plate in front of Nor'n.
Glorp.
A misshapen mass of partially-thawed meat product hit the white ceramic plate with a sound that didn't inspire confidence.
Nor'n looked down at the meat. Then back up at Kian.
Kian mimed an enthusiastic nom nom gesture.
Nor'n took a long breath. He saved my life. He saved my life. Remember that he saved my life.
He speared a piece on a fork and put it in his mouth with the grim determination of a man undergoing a minor surgical procedure.
Kian narrated immediately, voice raised:
"Old Soldier brand Braised Guana-Meat — endorsed by the centuries-old hero Angel Nor'n himself! Eat Old Soldier, fight alongside an old soldier!"
Cut. Kian darted to the wall, popped open a hidden panel, and pulled out a small camera that had apparently been filming this entire production. He flung open the hall doors and tossed the camera to a servant waiting outside.
"Go! Get this to the broadcast network, now! I want it running before, during, and after every single program on every channel!"
Mission accomplished, Kian came back, sat down, and started eating with both hands while talking around a full mouth.
"I know you're in a hurry, sir, but trust me, hurrying doesn't help here.
This is a poor agricultural backwater. We've got exactly one ship in low orbit — a transport from the Forge World next door, here on a supply run. That tin you just ate is part of the same premium cargo it's going to be hauling back.
Word is the troops on the Forge World eat this stuff and turn into absolute berserkers — most aggressive, most fearless assault you've ever seen.
I'm the one supplying it. The current order needs at least four more months before it's complete."
Four months. Nor'n's brow furrowed hard.
"Is there no way to accelerate this? Four months is more than enough time for a great deal to go wrong."
Kian spread his hands.
"Sorry, sir. We've got a rebellion going on planetside as it is. Every available resource is already going into meat production. There's no more speed to squeeze out of this."
Nor'n's frown deepened, but he didn't push it any further — didn't demand the ship skip the cargo run and prioritise him instead.
Astartes were extraordinary, but not omnipotent. Set a full cargo hold of combat-grade rations against a single Space Marine — which one actually moves the needle on a planetary siege?
Ask any commander fighting off a Green Tide which they'd rather have, and they'd take the cargo without hesitation, every time. A single tin of that ration turned a regular trooper, raised on industrial synth-paste, into someone willing to charge a Warboss bare-handed at 200% combat output. A full hold of it delivered to the front could put fresh fight into billions of soldiers simultaneously.
One Astartes, however formidable, was still one man. A mortal army, however weak individually, came with numbers that mattered.
Nor'n understood the math. That's exactly why he didn't bother making the argument.
Kian, meanwhile, was eating like a man making up for a month and a half of recycled shuttle rations — because he was. He went through roughly five normal portions without slowing down.
"Don't bother fighting it, sir. The Emperor Himself couldn't speed this up. You're stuck here for four months regardless, so you might as well start thinking about what you want to do with the time."
Nor'n accepted the reality of the situation and looked down at his own cracked, ruined breastplate.
"I suppose I should start by repairing my equipment. Does this world have a Forge Temple? I'll need access to their facilities."
Different Chapters carried different cultures, different specialised skills. The sons of Vulkan shared one trait above all others: they were extraordinary smiths.
Vulkan himself had trained as a blacksmith before his ascension, and that legacy ran through every Chapter descended from him. His sons learned to forge their own gear from the ground up — custom power armour, hand-built bolters, master-crafted power weapons, even hand-loaded ammunition with better range and yield than standard pattern.
Because of that self-sufficiency, no Chapter in Vulkan's gene-line ever struggled for equipment. They produced what they needed in-house. Compared to the poorer Chapters that survived on plunder and battlefield salvage, it wasn't even close.
"Of course we've got one. I know a guy at the Forge Temple, actually — getting you access to a forge is basically a phone call.
But eat first, sir. You've been drifting in a shuttle for two weeks straight without a proper meal — you must be starving. Fill your stomach, then we'll go beat some metal."
Kian, for his part, was genuinely starving, and ate with single-minded focus, clearing nearly five portions solo.
Nor'n had been about to suggest skipping straight to the forge. But watching Kian eat with that much enthusiasm did something to his own long-empty stomach.
He gave in.
Picked up a fork. Joined in. Between the two of them, the entire spread on the table disappeared.
Sharing that meal — unexpectedly — did more to close the distance between them than anything either had said all evening.
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