The battle was finally over.
Raynor stood in the center of the dining hall, surveying the aftermath. The golden flames had died out, and the purple psychic energy had dissipated, leaving behind only a carpet of corpses, shattered furniture, and the wounded being carried away on stretchers.
The forces of the Ecclesiarchy had suffered devastating losses. Of the fanatics who had charged into the dining hall, less than one percent had survived. Those who had been screaming the Emperor's holy name while charging moments ago now lay in pools of blood or were being propped up by comrades, looking as frail as candles flickering in the wind.
Without exception, every survivor had aged by at least thirty years. Although Raynor had used his golden flames to disperse the blue temporal shockwave, the unshielded mortals had borne its full, brutal intensity. Some of the elder priests had simply withered away and died of old age on the spot.
A Battle Sister passed by him, supporting another. Raynor recognized the one being carried; during the height of the fighting, she had been at the very front, her power sword cleaving through countless daemons. Back then, she had appeared to be in her early thirties—capable and valiant. Now, her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, her hair was stark white, and she needed help just to walk.
Raynor offered her a silent, respectful salute.
Isod walked to his side and gently grasped his hand. Her palm carried the familiar, comforting chill of Sarah.
"Let's go," she said. "There are people waiting outside."
Raynor nodded and began walking toward the exit of the castle.
The moment they stepped out of the fortress, Raynor was momentarily stunned by the sheer scale of the force assembled before him. The exterior was swarming with people—at least ten thousand Ecclesiarchy troops plus tens of thousands of PDF soldiers had completely cordoned off Saint Gallus Castle.
Fanatics held aloft crude weapons, Battle Sisters stood in disciplined ranks, and priests hoisted holy icons, their voices joined in a thunderous chant of purification prayers. Most striking to Raynor were the towering silhouettes among them: Paragon Warsuits.
Though not as large as true Titans, these machines served as the Ecclesiarchy's equivalent to Dreadnoughts. They were piloted by the most faithful and loyal High Sisters of the Order. Against Chaos daemons, these machines were arguably even more potent than a standard Dreadnought.
At the very front of the crowd stood two familiar figures: Arch-Cardinal Goodwin and High Chancellor Carter. Goodwin wore his ornate ceremonial robes, gripping his staff of office. His face, usually adorned with a polite smile, was uncharacteristically solemn. The moment he saw Raynor emerge, his eyes lit up.
Carter was even more direct. The usually composed High Chancellor practically sprinted toward him.
"Lord Governor!" he cried, supporting Raynor and looking him over frantically. "Are you alright? Are you injured? Should I summon a medicae?"
Raynor patted his shoulder, signaling that he was fine. Goodwin approached as well.
"The Emperor protects. You are alive," he said, his voice laced with relief.
Raynor managed a wry smile. "Barely."
Goodwin didn't press for details. He simply nodded and turned to the priests behind him, issuing orders. "Begin the purification ritual. Not a single trace of corruption is to remain."
The priests responded in unison and began organizing teams to enter the castle. Carter dispatched men to assist the Battle Sisters in searching for any sign of King Caladog. However, Raynor knew in his heart that they likely wouldn't find him.
The search lasted for three grueling hours. The result was exactly as Raynor had predicted: Caladog was nowhere to be found. The castle was riddled with the scars of battle and the residue of corruption, but the High King had vanished into thin air. There was no body, nor any living trace.
After the purification was complete, the Ecclesiarchy held a mourning ceremony for the fallen faithful in the plaza outside the castle. Tens of thousands stood in the biting wind; no one spoke, and only the circling hymns of the priests broke the silence. A massive pyre was erected in the center of the plaza, topped with the recovered remains or the personal effects of the fallen—a broken sword, a helmet, or a bloodstained scripture.
Goodwin presided over the ceremony personally. Standing before the pyre, he recited the Prayers of the Martyrs in a voice that was both grand and solemn. Raynor stood in the front row with Isod. He wore his tattered Governor's uniform, with the Sword of Valenia strapped to his back. Goodwin had already formally acknowledged that the blade now belonged to Raynor.
Halfway through the ritual, an acolyte hurried over and whispered something into Carter's ear. Carter's expression shifted, and he moved to Raynor's side to relay the message in a low voice.
"Lord Governor, news has just come from the Saint Gallus family..."
Raynor leaned in to listen.
"Luna Saint Gallus—Leo's aunt and the family's Technical Director—has just made an announcement. High King Caladog is missing, Callum Saint Gallus and his inner circle have defected to Chaos, and Leo Saint Gallus is suspected of treason. Luna has assumed temporary control of the Saint Gallus family as Regent."
Raynor: "?"
A moment later, he let out a helpless chuckle. Grabbing power the second this happened? Talk about being impatient.
Isod leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. "This Luna... she must be that Tzeentchian sorcerer from earlier."
Raynor nodded. "Almost certainly."
But he still found it somewhat incredible. "How did she pull it off? Saint Gallus is a Knight House. How can a 'Technical Director' hold them in her palm?"
Isod—or rather, Sarah—remained silent for a few seconds. She was synchronizing her consciousness with her main body. A few moments later, her voice echoed directly in Raynor's mind, ensuring no one else could overhear.
"Raynor, from the moment we lost contact, I mobilized the entire Genestealer information network within the Hive to investigate the Saint Gallus family nonstop. I've finally uncovered some leads."
Raynor kept his face neutral, listening intently.
"The power structure of House Saint Gallus, aside from the High King, is dominated by three Lords overseeing major affairs: the Lord of War, the Lord of Internal Affairs, and the Lord of Technology. The Lord of War was originally the eldest son, Alistair, but he died in battle two years ago, and the position has remained vacant. The Lord of Internal Affairs was Callum, and he's dead now too. The High King himself is missing. Leo Saint Gallus, while beloved by the soldiers, is too young and lacks seniority; he's always been excluded from the inner circle of power. He simply isn't at the rank or age required to take command. Therefore..."
Raynor picked up the thread. "Therefore, Luna's ascension is legally sound."
"Correct," Sarah agreed. "Furthermore, she has close ties with the Adeptus Mechanicus. At a critical juncture like this, the Mechanicus will undoubtedly back her."
A chill ran down Raynor's spine as he began to piece everything together in his mind. The news of the Forbidden Wall, the civil war sparked by the Noble Council, and Leo being hunted by the Knight Aiden—these things happening simultaneously were no coincidence. If Aiden could be deployed, it meant someone had control over the Knight suits. Luna was the Technical Director and the long-term liaison with the Mechanicus. If she and the local Mechanicus had been subverted by Tzeentch...
"Sarah," Raynor whispered, "how many Knight suits does Saint Gallus have?"
"No one knows the exact number," Sarah replied. "But in the pivotal battle when Saint Gallus first arrived on Brevis, they deployed twelve suits. That means the Great Bear of Saint Gallus has at least twelve Knights."
Raynor's heart sank. Twelve Knights, combined with the power of the Mechanicus, represented a staggering amount of force. But then he reconsidered and felt a slight sense of relief. It was impossible for Luna to control all the Knights. With hundreds of years of tradition, how could those old-school Knight families—those Paladins who had piloted machines for generations—all succumb to Chaos?
There was still room to maneuver.