[Ding!
Host has successfully witnessed “The Betrayal of the Volscani Cataphracts”] [Quest Issued: Alter the Tragedy of the Betrayal, End the Treason Early] [Reward Points: 10,000] The system notification ringing in his mind struck Kaelen as downright ridiculous.
*How in the hell does this count as “witnessing”?* But now was not the time to overthink it.
Kaelen grabbed the stunned commissar by his collar, lifting him slightly, his tone dead serious.
“The betrayal has begun!
Commissar, organize and contact nearby friendly units immediately to stage a counterattack!
My ‘Ogryn’ retainers and I will buy you time to rally your forces!” “What are you going to do, Sergeant?” The commissar, still reeling from the betrayal, asked back dazedly.
“Kill the enemy!” Kaelen let go of the commissar and sprinted out of the tent with his two “Ogryns,” Horus and Cullen.
Watching the three bolt out, the commissar snapped out of his daze and roared out orders.
“Contact all surviving nearby units immediately!
Organize a counterattack!” Outside, acrid gunsmoke stung the air.
Landing Pad Three had turned into a meat grinder.
Cadian Astra Militarum troops, who half an hour ago were cheering for the Volscani Cataphracts, were now collapsing in rows under heavy traitor fire.
The traitors had cast aside their disguises.
Profane eight-pointed stars were painted across their black carapace armor, and blasphemous names of Dark Gods echoed from their throats.
Weapons raised, they stepped over the bodies of former comrades, fanning out in tactical formations.
Crouching behind an overturned Chimera armored vehicle, Kaelen pulled out the volkite gun he had redeemed from the system earlier and poked half his head out to observe the battlefield.
“Thirty thousand elites turning traitor…
it caught the Imperium completely off guard.” His eyes fell upon the bodies dressed in ornate parade uniforms.
“They killed the Lord Castellan, the Sub-Castellan, and all the senior commanders in one blow.” “It is a decapitation strike against the Imperial high command on Cadia, exploiting their trust,” Horus said.
“Furthermore, they severed communications with the other infantry regiments, preventing the Imperium from mounting an effective counteroffensive.” “I suggest we flank them, decapitate their senior officers, disrupt their cohesion, and buy time for friendly forces.” Kaelen turned to Horus, frowning.
“But neither of you is wearing power armor.
Will that be alright?
What if you get hurt?” “Seizing the battle opportunity is paramount, Kaelen.
Do not forget that standing before you is a Primarch,” Cullen spoke up.
“Taking the time to don power armor might cause us to lose this window.
By the time we methodically gear up, these heretics will have punched right through the line.
Lord Lupercal’s safety…
will be my responsibility.” Horus chuckled.
Such laughter sounded strikingly out of place amidst the storm of gunfire.
He tilted his head, teasingly asking, “Are you sure it isn’t me protecting you, Knight Cullen?” The remark cut a bit close to the bone, prodding at the pride of the veteran Knight of the First Legion.
But facts were facts.
When a Primarch fought in earnest, perhaps only the Custodes could barely keep pace, let alone the Astartes who were weaker than the Custodes—even though these transhuman warriors possessed unmatched speed and strength.
Yet before a Primarch, they fell far short; the gulf between them was immense.
Cullen fell silent for a moment.
Lowering his head, he replied: “Even so, I will do my utmost to follow you on the battlefield, my Lord.
I will defend you with my life.” Such was the stubbornness of an old-school Dark Angel, a sense of honor belonging to a Knight of Caliban.
“I am honored, Knight Cullen.
In you, I see the noble chivalric virtues of my brother, Lion.” Horus bestowed high praise, his broad palm clapping against Cullen’s canvas-wrapped shoulder.
Watching the two, Kaelen couldn’t help speaking up.
“If you two push forward, what do I do?” As soon as he spoke, Horus reached out his left hand, unclipping a standard-issue lasgun from the corpse of a fallen Astra Militarum soldier nearby, along with a few frag grenades attached to the tactical vest.
He shoved the gear into the mortal’s hands.
“Stay in the rear, Kaelen.
In truth, I care more about your safety, and I need you providing fire support for Cullen and me from behind,” Horus said softly.
Even in the mundane pre-battle instructions, the Primarch radiated an irresistible aura of leadership.
He understood human hearts, knew how to ignite the fighting blood in a warrior, and knew even better how to make those around him feel valued and needed.
Like a beacon in a frigid night, he dispelled the anxiety and fear in Kaelen’s heart.
“Alright then.” Kaelen gripped the still-warm lasgun and nodded in agreement.
“I’ll pick them off from behind to provide support and buy time until reinforcements arrive.” No lengthy rallying speeches were needed.
Cullen activated the disruption field of his master-crafted power sword.
Horus straightened up from behind the Chimera’s cover.
His towering stature blocked out the distant firelight, casting a heavy shadow over Kaelen.
Flexing his unarmored arm joints, he drew the ceremonial power dagger he used as a sidearm from its leather sheath at his waist.
The moment the energy field flared to life, the blade hummed.
“For the Emperor!” Horus unleashed a roar, making no attempt to stifle his voice.
That battle cry crossed ten thousand years of time to resound once more across the hopeless warzone of the 41st Millennium.
Pure and triumphant, it drowned out the roar of armored vehicle engines and the thunderous blasts of the battlefield.
Cullen tightened his grip on his sword.
Kaelen raised his rifle.
Both shouted in unison: “For the Emperor!” ——— Panning out across the field— High upon the ridge defense line.
The supreme commander of the Cadian 8th, Ursakar E.
Creed, held up his magnoculars, staring coldly down at the inferno below.
The Imperial Aquila flag, symbol of the Imperium’s glory, had been shredded and trampled into the mud.
In its place fluttered the profane Chaos Star, a sight sickening to the entire universe.
The frigid wind howled backward over the ridge.
Color drained from Color Sergeant Kell’s knuckles as he gripped his chainsword in a death lock: “Sir…
the Volscani have gone mad.
Their entire line turned traitor.” The slightly portly commander, a cigar clamped between his teeth, showed not a trace of panic on his face.
His blood was ice, his spine forged pig iron.
“If they’ve stripped off their skin as men, slaughter them like beasts.” Creed spat out a thick plume of smoke, his rough finger slicing violently forward.
“Cadian Eighth, hear my command!
Advance all lines!” “In the Emperor’s name, crush these bastards—” The instant Creed delivered the order to charge, his peripheral vision caught sight of the landing pad’s flank below.
There, two massive “Ogryns” were slamming through the traitor flank at a terrifying speed.
Like a red-hot blade, they drove deep into the enemy’s main artery.