The next day, within the bridge hall of the Eternal Crusader, the Sons of Dorn gathered together.
Beneath the towering Gothic Dome, the cold metal walls reflected the dim lighting, creating a solemn and majestic atmosphere. Supreme High Marshal Ledodes stood at one end of the long table, the sword scar on his face still clearly visible, as if silently recounting the fierce clash of the previous day.
His gaze swept over Pedro Kantor and the Executioners' Chaplain Thulsa Kane, noticing that they each bore a faint sword scar on their faces as well. The corners of Ledodes's mouth turned up slightly, revealing a meaningful smile.
"Lord Arthur sought you out as well?"
he asked in a low tone, carrying a hint of teasing.
The group nodded in tacit understanding. They all knew exactly what Arthur's visit meant: matters concerning the Chapter's future gene-seed, along with some extra gifts.
Because the Crimson Fists strictly adhered to the Codex Astartes, their future gene-seed conversion rate might be slightly lower, but this did not diminish the anticipation in their hearts.
Pedro rubbed his face. His wound had not yet fully healed, clearly indicating he was the last to be visited by Arthur. Not only had Arthur brought a Prophecy about the future, but he had also delivered a batch of gene-seed left behind by their battle-brothers who had joined the Deathwatch, along with combat logs, and the shoulder pads and ashes meticulously preserved by the Sisters.
These precious relics were undoubtedly the highest reward for their loyalty and sacrifice.
Of course, the price was also obvious—every Company Champion and Captain in the Chapter, including the Librarians, had been dragged out to spar with Arthur.
Taking so many freebies was rather embarrassing.
At this thought, Pedro could not help but smile. Arthur's image—clad in black armor and wielding a black sword—along with his masterful dueling skills and utterly emotionless combat style, left a truly profound impression.
The representatives of the Executioners and the Crimson Fists exchanged a meaningful look, a trace of inquiry in their eyes.
By pure coincidence, their thoughts simultaneously drifted to that legendary figure in the history of the Black Templars, Sigismund. However, upon meeting the Supreme High Marshal's gaze, Ledodes decisively shook his head, abruptly shattering their speculations.
The biggest difference between the four active Elders and others was that while the disconnect caused by the passage of time was visible on them, the seasoned maturity usually forged by the years was utterly absent.
These four Elders were all exceptionally outstanding, and the light of humanity shining from them was remarkably dazzling, but they could not be very old.
"The details do not align."
His tone was firm, clearly having anticipated everyone's thoughts. Although Arthur was mysterious, his persona simply did not match Sigismund's.
Furthermore, Sigismund's portrait still hung high on the bridge; anyone could tell the difference between the two at a glance. As for Arthur's airtight and flawless demeanor, it actually leaned much closer to the style of the Dark Angels.
However, Ledodes knew when to hold his tongue. Those Dark Angels were notoriously secretive, and many baffling disappearances were linked to them. Even the Black Templars did their best to avoid prying into the secrets of that Chapter. This topic was clearly not suitable for deep discussion here.
"Then, High Marshal..."
Pedro pointed to the wound on his own face, a hint of probing in his tone.
"Yes, I lost."
Ledodes nodded without shying away from it. There was not a shred of shame on his face; instead, he wore a candid sense of pride. His answer made everyone present smile knowingly, silently resolving that they would never erase these scars from their faces for the rest of their lives.
"Let us set that aside for now."
Ledodes waved his hand, steering the conversation back on track. His expression turned serious once more as his gaze swept across every warrior in the room.
"Are the maintenance and preparations complete?"
His voice was deep and powerful, as if reminding everyone that the horn of battle was about to sound once more.
"Yes, the fleet suffered no losses. We can set off after a brief refit."
Pedro listed his arrangements in exhaustive detail, like a waiter reciting a menu.
"During this time, we also screened the warriors of Pierde, recruiting a batch of Mortals for the auxiliary army as well as potential Adeptus Astartes candidates. Furthermore, we have securely stored the agricultural technology left behind by the Elders, and..."
The remaining two parties listened intently. It took three full minutes before Pedro finally finished detailing his arrangements.
'You Crimson Fists truly live up to your blue armor.'
Ledodes shifted his gaze to the Executioners' Chaplain.
"Preparations are complete. We can depart in three days."
Thulsa replied concisely.
'Now that is more like it. Why should the Sons of Dorn spout so much nonsense? If there is an issue, just toss it to a Chaplain or Marshal to handle.'
Ledodes patted Pedro's shoulder with his gauntlet, which had been painted red.
"Come, let us head to the Dawn."
'It is rare to find someone capable of such a good fight. After losing yesterday, I need to come up with some new moves and go practice again today.'
He was the Supreme High Marshal, after all—why should he personally handle every little detail? Properly honing his blade to serve The Emperor in crucial moments was what truly mattered.
"Understood!"
Pedro quickly stood up. They had been wanting to go for a while now, but with the Supreme High Marshal present, and sharing the same lineage, they needed to align their thoughts first.
He lifted his power fist, which had been painted black.
It was rather amusing when one thought about it. During the Second Founding, the Crimson Fists' first Chapter Master, Alexis Polux, publicly supported the Ultramarines' Primarch, Roboute Guilliman. This move caused the Crimson Fists to be shunned among the Imperial Fists' successor chapters, but in turn, they developed a close relationship with the Ultramarines.
As for the Black Templars, following the War of the Beast where the Imperial Fists were entirely wiped out, the various successor chapters used the Last Wall Protocol to rebuild their progenitor Chapter. However, due to cultural clashes and certain secret reasons that led to the death of a Marshal, they fell out with the Exemplars—and the newly rebuilt Imperial Fists, which were largely composed of Exemplars—ultimately withdrawing from the protocol altogether.
Yet, the Black Templars maintained exceptionally harmonious relationships with the other Imperial Fists successors. In the future, when the Celestial Lions were targeted by the Inquisition, the Black Templars publicly stood with them, shielding their surviving members.
And here was the most interesting part: the Black Templars, the social butterflies of the lineage, and the Crimson Fists, the social outcasts—two absolute extremes within the Sons of Dorn—enjoyed a bond so tight they were practically brothers in arms who shared everything.
Whenever they fought side by side, the Crimson Fists would paint one hand black, and the Black Templars would paint one hand red, to commemorate their profound friendship.
Pedro looked down at his black power fist, the corners of his mouth curling upward as an eager light flashed in his eyes. He looked up at Ledodes and nodded, indicating that he was ready.
The surrounding warriors rose to their feet as well. The clanking of metal armor echoed through the cavernous hall, as if playing an overture for the impending battles.
"Lord Romulus!"
Pedro, bearing a few fresh wounds on his face, called out a greeting from afar to the two Elders who were conversing. His voice was loud and full of respect. Even though his facial scars had yet to completely heal, his expression remained resolute and vibrant.
"Lord Dantioch."
Upon approaching, he spoke softly to the other Elder, a hint of reverence in his tone.
"Pedro."
Dantioch offered a faint smile and nodded. There was a look of approval in his eyes, seemingly quite appreciative of this young warrior.
Compared to the other Sons of Dorn, the Crimson Fists had indeed inherited a unique brand of passion and impatience belonging to Polux, a trait that was particularly evident in Pedro.
"Finished your match?"
Romulus asked with a smile, a teasing glint in his eye.
"Yes. The time I managed to last was quite a bit shorter than the previous bout."
Pedro replied with some frustration, a hint of helplessness in his voice.
"Lord Arthur is still improving."
He now truly believed that Arthur was not Sigismund.
If Sigismund's combat skills had already reached the pinnacle of perfection, then Arthur was still scaling an impossibly high mountain with no visible peak. With every clash, Pedro could feel Arthur's strength surging, as if his limits could never be touched.
Oh, right, there was also an invisible sensation—a feeling that he was gradually being completely analyzed. After defeating his opponents, Arthur would systematically explain their flaws and oversights.
This allowed them to benefit immensely during the duels. Although they kept losing, it was an agonizing yet joyful experience.
However, Lord Arthur seemed to have other matters to attend to recently, so the time available for duels had decreased. This directly resulted in the various Chapters having to fight amongst themselves first just to earn the right to challenge him.
"My lords, I will return to the bridge now."
Acutely sensing that the two seemed to be discussing something confidential, Pedro dropped any thought of further small talk and tactfully prepared to leave.
"Remember to go to the armory and collect your supplies."
Romulus offered a reminder, his tone laced with concern, afraid that these warriors might refuse out of pride.
"Yes, my lord."
Pedro did not act coy. According to the Sharks, the Elders were always finding creative ways to stuff items into their hands. As for where this Relic-tier equipment came from, it was better not to ask. Taking it and focusing on the battles ahead was the best possible way to repay the Elders.
"Arthur really is popular."
Romulus watched Pedro's retreating back as he left alongside his comrades, then let out a soft sigh.
"I truly hope these warriors can have a better ending."
Who knew how many familiar faces would disappear during this upcoming crusade.
He knew that every crusade meant partings; it meant that those familiar faces might vanish forever on the battlefield. Even though the Transmigrators could now guide these warriors to The Golden Throne with absolute certainty, he still could not shake off his worries about the future.
How they wished these warriors could witness with their own eyes the world they protected becoming better and better, to become a part of building the human realm, to blend into the crowds, and ultimately, to live out their lives in peace.
Yet reality was always cruel. The fate of these warriors was bound to swords and blades, living ever as neighbors with death.
Dantioch did not reply. Even he sometimes found it difficult to understand the thought processes of the four lords.
Because they were far too normal.
Although they often kept idealistic words on their lips, what they actually did was grounded in what was practically achievable. In them, Dantioch saw the idealistic inclusivity of the Lord of Angels, the pragmatism of the Lord of the Ultramarines, the resolute decisiveness of the Lion, and the Lord of Prospero's curiosity for exploring the unknown.
And yet, they were not extreme. They were neither radical nor fanatical, but rather existed in this world in a nearly perfectly balanced, moderate state.
What surprised Dantioch even more was the bond shared between the four lords—a friendship where they could entrust their very lives to one another. They trusted and supported each other, as if no matter what predicament they faced, they could overcome it together.
To Dantioch, such camaraderie was nothing short of a miracle.
He could not help but recall the era of the Great Heresy ten thousand years ago, the scenes of chaos and betrayal still vivid in his mind.
If only there had been a few more Primarchs like the four lords back then, perhaps everything would have turned out differently.
As an onlooker, whether it was the machinations of the traitorous factions like Lord Perturabo and his ilk, or the dramatic saga between Lord Guilliman and Lord Lion, it all just left him feeling mentally exhausted.
He hadn't really noticed it before, but now he had something to compare it to.
Take the moment Lord Arthur jumped into the Warp Rift, for instance. Which Primarch would have leaped in without a second thought, completely entrusting his life to his comrades?
Those genius Primarchs always believed that their own decisions were the absolute best; they rarely chose to seek common ground or accommodate differing views.
Dantioch sighed inwardly and shook his head, tossing those distant memories to the back of his mind.
"Where were we?"
Having finished analyzing the opponent data for Arthur and sending the results back to him to continue his practical combat training, Romulus looked up and asked thoughtfully.
His gaze refocused on Dantioch, as if his brief distraction hadn't interrupted their discussion at all.
"We were discussing the design of the production line for the embedded micro-motors."
Dantioch replied calmly, a trace of focus returning to his tone. His mechanical fingers gently tapped the data-slate, its screen flashing with complex blueprints and data.
"We are still optimizing the material composition. Precision and structural integrity are outside our current scope of consideration."
Romulus nodded and continued.
"Just send me a finalized report once you have perfected it. After that, we need to focus on the design for the miniaturized jump pack."
They had recently been designing completely new combat armor to suit the increasingly formidable combat capabilities of the Transmigrators.
They were currently referencing the modular design of the Mark X power armor, planning to replace the traditional Power Pack with micro-motors and dedicate the Backpack entirely to aerial mobility. This design would not only improve the armor's flexibility but also drastically enhance the warriors' battlefield survivability by transforming their movement directly from two-dimensional to three-dimensional.
As for whether these technologies would be classified as heretical tech, Romulus was not concerned.
As long as it looked fine on the outside and wasn't publicly distributed, it wouldn't cause too much trouble.
After all, there were still plenty of colonies within the Imperium secretly trading with Xenos. Imperial Thrones were even considered hard currency in Commorragh; it went without saying what that truly meant.
As long as they weren't caught by the Inquisition or the Adeptus Arbites, these little tricks were practically nothing under the tacit approval of a Sector Governor.
"Understood."
Dantioch responded briefly, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. He had adapted to his duties exceptionally well. Being able to share his past experiences and engage in work that utilized his talents was something he could not have even dared to imagine in the past.
"Then I shall take my leave."
Romulus chose not to disturb Dantioch any further.
"I will continue to share the technologies we have mastered, and I hope you can provide the necessary technical modifications. As for how this technological data was acquired and how these creations will be produced, those remain a secret."
Romulus added, his tone carrying a trace of apology.
"I personally do not have the authority to share that with you."
"I understand."
Dantioch nodded, showing his respect for the decision.
He had no intention of prying. After all, he had been brought back from the dead to return to this Galaxy that he loved. What other miracle could possibly defy explanation?