Chapter 388: The Ravaging Plague
Romulus sat behind a massive floor-to-ceiling window, his view largely obscured by thick piles of documents.
A magnificent chandelier illuminated the hall as brightly as day, making the dust motes squeezed from the stacked files particularly visible in the once spotless room.
He looked at the increasingly frequent attack reports since the beginning of the year. Outside the window, Imperial Guard regiments marched in formation, while broadcasts announced the quarantine policies formally enacted back in July. Medical personnel in white coats hurried through the orbital ring's corridors, going door to door.
Romulus frowned, digesting the information.
Even though he had anticipated the galaxy becoming lively in the 800s.M41, such unexpected changes still caught him off guard.
In just a few years, the sudden intensification of Ork activity coincided almost perfectly with the arrival of the Tyranid Hive Fleets. Coupled with the gradual unfolding of Chaos activities, almost the entire Imperium was dragged into war.
Every moment, besieged human worlds prayed for hope, needing a miracle where a god once again walked among the stars with head held high.
However, the state of the Dawnstar System was not optimistic.
"My lord..."
Drakus looked grave.
Beyond the void behind him, bright lights flashed occasionally. When the starlight shone on the metal hulls, the massive silhouettes of heavy transport ships were revealed.
As they docked at pre-established ports, countless humans riddled with various diseases were transported out, then transferred to quarantine zones by medical personnel.
At every checkpoint, fully armed Imperial Guards stood ready.
"Macragge cannot move," Romulus shook his head immediately. "Neither can Baal."
These two areas were the most critical; they could not fall, even if their current state was relatively intact and they could respond to surrounding requests for support.
"What Calgar and Dante need to do is recall the parent Chapter members and successor Chapters still active outside, then organize the Imperial Navy to defend various fortress worlds. Any act attempting to weaken the sector's defensive strength is forbidden. This is an order."
"But—"
Drakus subconsciously tried to admonish him.
If they didn't rely on these two systems that rose with reunification and control of the faith, given that the Maelstrom was almost encircled by the Chaos Leagues of Votann, Tyranid Hive Fleets, and Orks, the burden of supporting other sectors would fall entirely on the Dawnstar Sector.
But could they make it in time?
Drakus looked at the Regent trapped in the throne room.
No one had expected this.
The Dawnstar Sector, which had been preparing for war long before the flames ignited, suffered an unprecedented blow before even setting out, forcing them to busy themselves with a series of internal problems.
"Baal and Macragge cannot be lost. The current situation is obviously forcing them to split their forces for support."
Romulus calmly cut him off: "Wait a little longer, Drakus. Trust our compatriots, and trust us."
"We can solve these troubles."
He stared at the shocking report on the file—
It was everything revealed in this report that firmly imprisoned the four Primarchs, thirteen battleships, twenty-six capital ship formations, and three Legions of the Dawnstar Sector within the sector.
His crimson eyes narrowed dangerously.
Plague.
A plague ravaging almost all worlds within the Dawnstar Sector.
"We can."
Dawnstar Sector North, Capital of the Leithania System, Wolumonde
A terrifying plague ravaged this place.
This plague, specifically targeting the Imperial Guard and technical personnel, covered the planet known for producing precision industrial components with quarantine zones.
Every factory had to lower its quotas due to a severe shortage of maintenance personnel to reduce mechanical failure rates, struggling to maintain production. The orbital fleet also had to dock at the edge of the starfort, enduring the sluggishness brought by the sharp reduction in personnel.
Inside the quarantine zone, countless infected people were transported here by vehicle after vehicle.
They were placed on small beds separated by layers of sterile materials, with medical personnel busy shuttling between them.
Death was everywhere, along with the groans of patients and the fear of death.
Every patient was tormented by sudden burning and pain.
Some people's skin was cracking, letting clumps of microorganisms breeding inside them fall gently to the ground; some people's bellies swelled, fingers twisted, backs hunched; some people's eyes softened and leaked water like soft-boiled eggs.
Some people's bodies melted like wax in fire, their appearance reshaped, and were then shot dead on the spot by the Battle Sisters or Astartes supervising the place.
At the other end of the quarantine zone, a steady stream of corpses was dragged out, identified, and then put into special incinerators. Everything about them would be sealed in Blackstone deposits, then launched into the sun, relying on these great existences of the material universe to completely annihilate their corruption.
Swish~
The quarantine curtain was lifted, disinfectant spraying out.
Several more people were piled onto the hospital beds just laid out not long ago.
"Emperor above!"
Seeing another wave of patients sent into the room by gold and red Astartes, a medic from the Ecclesiarchy subconsciously exclaimed at the symptoms on the patients.
Suppressing the fear in his heart, he signaled the Astartes to drag the first unconscious man back, then pulled the woman out and put her on the bed.
Then he began to press with his hands. A stream of dirty water gushed out of the woman's mouth. When the speed of the woman spitting water slowed down, the medic turned her onto her back and quickly pressed the intubation tube into her mouth, performing assisted breathing.
Then he quickly trotted to the next bed.
An old man's eyes were gone, turned into a pool of extremely viscous pus hanging on his face, the front half of which, wriggling constantly with breathing, buried in his eye sockets.
His forehead was largely deformed. Based on his experience as a trained caregiver, it was obviously abnormally swollen due to fluid accumulation, endless tears flowing down his cheeks.
"Why can't I see anything?" the old man said.
"I itch all over. I need help."
On the bed, the old man's hands waved wildly. His grey-green palm grabbed the plastic sheet beside him, tearing it with a sharp sound.
The busy caregivers around him hurried forward but still couldn't stop the commotion he started.
People follow the crowd. Under extreme pain, the infected who heard the noise could no longer bear the pain and began to wail one after another.
For a moment, even the Sororitas among the medical staff, known for their firm faith, felt at a loss.
For a moment, they even wanted to burn these insufficiently pious believers to prevent the further spread of the plague's side effects.
However, the Primarch's teachings still echoed in their ears.
Do not give up.
They endured, doing their best to extend the lives of these compatriots.
But how long could these flickering candles last?
Rot, decay.
This disease tainted with warp power could not be cured by ordinary means. Countless academies researched day and night without a clue. Except for a very few systems, only pious faith could fight against it.
Some people looked at the painful appearance of the patients and couldn't help but look away subconsciously.
"I am here."
A gentle voice like the sun came.
The old man pricked up his ears. He seemed to hear the last batch of insects of the year rustling in his ears. Apart from that, he heard nothing.
He decided to treat the voice just now as an illusion.
"I am here."
A pair of warm hands reached out.
Karna held his hand. This thin hand trembled constantly due to cold and disease.
"Lord Karna, is it Lord Karna?"
The old man shouted in disbelief: "You came again. Thank you for coming, I..."
He seemed incoherent.
He, and the wounds on them, miraculously healed at this moment.
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