Chapter 440: Make the Lion Warmaster!
At last, the cannons began to roar.
Massive war engines erupted, their heavy breeches slamming back into recoil sleeves. The air screamed, recoil buffers clanged, and the sporadic sparks that had dotted the surface of Caliban transformed into a relentless curtain of fire, embedding grievous wounds into the noble stonework of the Angelicasta.
When Arthur stepped into the forward strategium, many heads turned simultaneously.
Corswain leaned against the wall, his hooded robe casting a sharp line of shadow across his face. He was watching the pale holographic projection of Caliban rotating slowly in the center of the room.
His gaze flicked to Arthur and the Lion following behind him. He let out a breath. Beside him stood a woman in the robes of the Inquisition—Aglaia Hesiod—busily recording data into a slate.
Even after a hundred years and an unimaginable increase in authority, the Inquisitor still possessed an obsessive love for recording history.
There was no helping it. She genuinely loved it.
"..."
The Lion stared at the dataslate, reviewing the records concerning Caliban. Most of them focused on upper-level administration and development logs. With his superhuman intellect, the Primarch identified the core issues almost instantly.
Back when Caliban was brought into Imperial Compliance, the Lion had allowed Terra to transfer a massive population to the planet to assist in its development.
Terran technocrats established numerous military manufactorums on Caliban to produce weapons and equipment for the Great Crusade. To avoid the harsh forest environment of the surface, they built arcologies for habitation. Many played a clever trick: Terrans mostly lived in the upper spires, while native Calibanites were relegated to the lower levels.
This deliberate stratification undoubtedly sowed the seeds for the future conflict between Calibanites and Terrans.
Furthermore, Administratum bureaucrats, driven to meet the Dark Angels' ever-growing logistical demands for the Great Crusade, continuously increased their production quotas for Caliban.
After his exile, Luther had been buried under these heavy administrative duties. He oversaw the expansion of city sectors, the razing of forests, and the forced relocation of the populace. The Chaos corruption, shifting from the Great Beasts to humans as the beasts were hunted to extinction, was masked by the escalating conflict between Luther and the Terran faction.
Then came the Horus Heresy.
Warp storms grew fiercer, severing Caliban's contact with the outside world. Yet the Terran faction's unreasonable production demands persisted. Naturally, storms of unrest began to brew on Caliban.
At first, it was scattered strikes and protests. Then came acts of sabotage and organized riots. Security forces were infiltrated by insurgents. Caliban's police force could no longer quell the unrest. Luther's internal investigations pointed to the involvement of Caliban's former nobility and knights.
Factory output dropped due to the chaos. Administratum bureaucrats repeatedly urged Luther to suppress the unrest and restore production.
Luther was forced to deploy Caliban's auxiliary forces, the Caliban Jaegers, to crush the rampant rebellion.
Here lay the fatal flaw: the leader of the Jaegers was a Terran general who didn't view Calibanites as human beings!
Luther agonized over the suffering of his people. Condemnation from his peers and oppression from Terra wore him down day by day. Yet Luther did not know the Lion's mind. He didn't know if the Lion had authorized this. Loyalty to the Lion and loyalty to the people of Caliban began to diverge.
And so, under pressure from both sides, Luther broke.
He chose betrayal.
This conclusion formed in the Lion's mind.
The Lion was capable—or rather, no Primarch was incapable.
Just from the policy shifts and details within the documents, he reconstructed the entire event.
He really did betray me!
The Lion almost jumped up subconsciously.
I endured it all, so why couldn't you?
Arthur glanced back.
"This is your fault."
He said it bluntly.
If this man had possessed even a second of empathy for mortals—no, even for his own Astartes—they wouldn't be here dealing with Luther's rebellion.
"..."
The Lion's face went cold. He walked into a corner, staring at the ceiling without a word.
Like a man who had lost his soul.
Corswain sighed silently, then submitted his report on the settlement of the surface Astartes.
As a Calibanite, although Azrael's actions had given the attacked Dark Angels a sense of security, the appearance of Corswain—a familiar and respected face—truly put them at ease.
With the ceasefire meeting concluded, most members wishing to disengage began converging on the evacuation zones. These areas, mixing refugees, soldiers, and Astartes, also served as logistical hubs for the Dawnbreakers in this timeline, preventing fears that Azrael was gathering them just to vaporize them all at once.
Arthur glanced at the report and patted Corswain on the shoulder, thanking him for his help.
"Connect."
As the doors closed behind him, Arthur spoke immediately.
A tactical officer began operating a cogitator.
"Connected."
The officer confirmed. Distant explosions and continuous tremors rumbled through the room.
"Azrael," Arthur said. "Supreme Grand Master."
"We hear you, Your Highness."
Azrael's voice came through clearly. With the assistance of the fleet they now controlled in orbit, there was no distortion; even the sound of shell casings hitting the floor was exceptionally clear.
"Lord Arthur," Merian's voice chimed in. The loyal Terran veteran was one of the few local commanders to join the frontal assault.
Arthur responded in turn.
"The Warmaster-class Ordinatus is deployed," Ramesses interjected. Even over the vox, one could sense his grin stretching to the high heavens.
The Ordinatus was an excellent siege engine for planetary warfare. For the side with superiority, it greatly reduced casualties during an assault. Relic-class weapons, especially an Ordinatus capable of bypassing void shields, had been deployed to all main force units.
Specifically, the Ordinatus captured from the Iron Warriors years ago had been classified as 'Warmaster-class'.
It was a bit of dark humor from the transmigrators. They didn't like pressuring the already suffering mortals, so they could only pressure the Primarchs.
Besides, it wasn't a big deal. In the future, the sword the Emperor gave the Lion was named Loyalty, wasn't it?
The Lion's head turned slightly, as if realizing something, his face flushing red.
Arthur's gaze remained on the holographic projection, but Ramesses showed no sign of noticing or stopping.
"Finished bombing the Loyalists, finished bombing the walls of the Imperial Palace, and now finally, we can properly bomb some Traitors."
For a moment, the Lion felt it might have been better to die by Arthur's hand.
Most of the Dark Angels didn't care about Ramesses' temper anymore. No matter how vicious his tongue, he never fabricated things that didn't happen.
Let him talk. If it's true, why can't people say it?
It's not like they were going to bomb Loyalists now.
"Remaining resistance is being worn down at maximum speed. All predicted effective friendly forces have intersected with the most optimistic estimates of enemy strength. The fortress will be taken within three hours," Azrael reported calmly, finally asking for authorization.
"Requesting permission to fire the Ordinatus."
His voice contained a suppressed fury.
If there was anything the current Dark Angels looked forward to most, it was crushing the enemy utterly.
"Fire."
Arthur nodded in approval. He cast one last glance at the sulking Lion, then strode out, heading for the battlefield.
Some mistakes can be corrected. Some cannot.
Self-discipline and introspection. Guarding the heart and clarifying the nature.
Even in the most critical and difficult dangers, one should maintain such awareness.
Because there are too many things in this universe that can make a person lose themselves.
For ten thousand years, from High Lords like Goge Vandire to Primarchs like Magnus, down to sorcerers and clowns of all stripes, they were driven mad by desire. Addicted to power or the ethereal gifts of the Empyrean, such actions might gain temporary strength, but the future always demands a price.
And right now, the interior of the Angelicasta was filled with the payment of that price.
Deafening roars echoed through the fortress. Violent shockwaves from the firing vehicles. Sun-like flashes.
Shockwaves kicked up massive rings of dust around the fortress walls. Buildings swayed, one side deforming inward before bursting open like a hatching egg. Precise bombardment killed ninety percent of the monsters instantly.
Then came the severing of the fortress's energy supply. Smoke billowed through the main thoroughfares. Upper-level floors swelled, collapsed, and crushed the daemons below.
Many died before they knew what hit them, or lay dying where they stood, wounded by high pressure, burning gas, or shrapnel tearing through walls. Fire instantly engulfed entire upper sectors, and conscious survivors screamed as they were consumed.
The flames surged like rolling waves through collapsed floors into the lower levels.
More daemons died before they could even rise.
Some daemons that climbed up blocked the passages, becoming charred barricades cutting off the escape routes for others.
Only those daemons deep within the fortress still had a chance.
Away from the corpses of their kin, they fled in panic, scattered across open grounds, many with flames already licking at their bodies.
Squelch!
An iron boot crushed a Nurgling, splashing fluids across the ground.
Rumbling tracks rolled over, flattening flames and daemon bones alike.
As the Ordinatus blasted open the walls of the Angelicasta, Arthur walked across the tainted ground, looking at enemies twisted beyond recognition by Chaos corruption. On his flanks, the Dark Angels charged fearlessly into the enemy ranks.
Except for the areas erased by the Ordinatus, almost every inch of the breach ahead was packed with rotting enemies. They filled everything that once symbolized the history and honor of Caliban.
Most were walking corpses, daemons squeezed into dense formations by sheer density, glowing with a pulsing, ghostly light. Among them were a few Space Marines, shouting the name of Caliban, seemingly unaware of what they had become.
Their opponents were the tightly united Dark Angels.
In front of Arthur, and all around him.
His Legion threw themselves at the enemy, wielding blades, shouting war cries.
And the Lord of Knights, as always, led from the front. Under his peerless skill, no enemy could stand for a single round.
Splash!
Driven by annoyance, the ladle stirring the cauldron was set down, creating ripples. The stars mixed within fluctuated and vanished into the soup.
Nurgle watched the scene on Caliban, took a heavy breath, and picked up the ladle again.
The thick soup, emitting a 'mellow' aroma, began to churn once more, showing Nurgle the scenes of the material universe.
He watched Azrael and Arthur walking side by side, watched the Dark Angels watching each other's backs, watched the psychological staff busy comforting people in the crowd, watched those who had made grave mistakes still being welcomed with a chance for correction...
Look, how united.
The soup flowed a little faster.
After a brief flicker of approval in Nurgle's eyes, they were covered by anger again.
But why is it my opponent? My enemy?
Previously, he found this unity and trust incredibly charming, but facing such an opponent, Nurgle couldn't be happy at all.
Nurgle's current attitude was conflicted.
On one hand, he hoped to use the chaos on Caliban, along with his pollution of Wyrmwood, to synchronize the spread of corruption on Caliban. By deliberately intensifying conflicts and eroding trust between humans through Chaos taint, he aimed to turn the whole planet into a mess, supplemented by daemonic armies, to stall the Dawnbreakers.
On the other hand, after witnessing the series of operations by Arthur and the others, the above was obviously a bit delusional.
Corruption didn't work. The conflict was completely shifted to this common enemy because of the existence of Chaos. Nurgle felt that his operations were likely going to be in vain again—the effort was not proportional to the return.
Nurgle looked at the Plague Fleet wrapped in plague clouds. This ten-thousand-year-old fleet had not yet reached Caliban.
Should I end it here?
"No, it can't end like this."
Glancing at the progress of Mortarion and the others, Nurgle shook his head quickly.
The current situation on Caliban was already making him frantic. Arthur and the others had incorporated tens of thousands of fighting Dark Angels within hours. If this group successfully reached Macragge, he dared not imagine the gathered strength.
One must know, Guilliman was not as difficult to deal with as the Lion, and the Ultramarines were not as neurotic as the Dark Angels.
Moreover, in the 40k era, the authority of the Dawnbreakers was only higher than those Primarchs who had long become myths.
At that time, the pressure Mortarion faced would only be greater.
"Invest a little more."
Nurgle grumbled, finally guiding Typhus's path toward Caliban, while throwing a few plants into the cauldron.
Luther looked out at the scene of the battle.
Even here, with the annoying abominations like the Administratum governors and Terran generals expelled, Luther still felt an inexplicable pain, a sickening feeling of rot.
Their armor had unknowingly become so decayed, so filthy.
Yet, they were the resistance, the loyalists.
Loyal to Caliban, resisting the tyranny that harmed the children of Caliban.
"I had to do this."
Even facing the breach of the Angelicasta and the entry of a strange Primarch, Luther stubbornly insisted.
"We must survive."
"Yes, you had to do this."
Zahariel blinked again, and the scene changed.
Once again, it was just them, surrounded by complete darkness and silence, as if completely detached from the shackles of realspace and time. The surrounding scenes were paused.
"So, imagine if you understood these two truths. If you understood that the only way to ensure Caliban's survival was to immerse yourself in the tides of the Warp, thereby receiving its most powerful gifts, so that no power in the galaxy could control it again."
"Think again. All your past fears are real. As the Emperor said at Nikaea, any involvement with the Empyrean leads to damnation and suffering beyond mortal imagination. Now that you know all this, know all these things, what would you choose? What would you do?"
"Do the right thing," Luther replied.
"But they are both right. Reject the Empyrean, and you will never become the strong ones you were destined to be. Embrace it, and you will bear eternal pain. You can remain pure but weak, or become fallen and powerful. Just like when you tried to understand the Lion—cautious, caught in a dilemma."
"How unnatural it is to ask a man used to brute force to think!"
Luther retorted loudly, not understanding what Zahariel was saying. Since he became Lord Cypher, Zahariel had changed completely; even Luther couldn't see through him.
"So this is why the Lion chose to waver between the two back then. He could not be certain of his path, as obvious as the indecision of a mortal. He didn't know that every path ends in tragedy, and he couldn't even pretend not to care, though in fact, he cared the most. But he chose a completely different path from you."
At this moment, Luther remembered his knightly vows.
I love Caliban deeply. If I have a fault, it is that the power I obtained was not enough to resist the tyranny that followed.
'This is the only mistake I am willing to admit.'
Luther muttered in a low voice.
"The decision has been made."
He said, with a trace of hesitation in his words: "Do we still have a chance? A chance to restore Caliban to its original state?"
"Of course, but not in the way you think."
Zahariel said: "This involves the final part."
A strange smile flashed across his grey face.
"Let's talk about Typhus, and then talk about you."
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