Deep within the massive stone fortress, silence fell. After a while, Azrael's dry voice broke it.
His gaze toward Datch was complex, mixing shock, humiliation, and wariness. As Supreme Commander of the Dark Angels, he had personally ordered Caliban's destruction. Yet Azrael did not believe he had been wrong. The situation had been extremely urgent. If Astelan had summoned the Fallen from ten thousand years ago, the galaxy would surely have faced a terrible catastrophe. Destroying the passage had been the best course.
"What exactly do you want?" Azrael asked.
A smug smile appeared at the corner of Datch's mouth. With such overwhelming superiority, there was no way the proud Azrael would not yield.
"Come with me to meet the Primarch."
"He is a fake," Azrael reflexively retorted. After the recent revelations, his stubbornness was no longer as firm, but he remained convinced that the Lion King would never forgive traitors.
"Skip."
Datch shouted and repeated, "Come with me to meet the Primarch."
"I already said he can't—"
"Skip."
"..."
Azrael was silenced by several consecutive "skips." This greatly infuriated the Supreme Master. However, he soon showed relief and simultaneously mocked his own foolishness. He had actually tried to persuade the faceless one—something even the Imperial Regent had failed to achieve.
Azrael quickly exchanged glances with Belial, Sammael, Asmodai, and Ezekiel. Without words, agreement was reached through eye contact alone. The faceless one had left them no other choice. They could only go in person to verify.
Azrael turned to Datch. "Very well. I will accompany you to meet the Primarch. However, if he proves to be a fake, I will act without hesitation."
Datch said nothing and teleported behind Azrael. He extended an armored hand and gently pushed the Supreme Master from behind, urging him to depart as quickly as possible.
"Nameless Lord, I can walk on my own feet."
Azrael's voice carried barely suppressed anger as he desperately clung to his last shred of dignity. Datch remained silent, simply pushing and shoving to make the Grand Master walk faster.
"I told you, I don't need you pushing me from behind."
Azrael's voice rose slightly, and the power armor's servo systems hummed quietly in response to the thrust. Datch ignored the Supreme Leader's protests and continued the pushing match with unwavering determination.
The guards along the path were all stunned by the sight. They had never imagined even the Supreme Master would experience such a pathetic moment. The cornered Azrael had no choice but to quicken his pace toward the embarkation deck. The other leaders silently donned their helmets to hide their embarrassed expressions.
Astartes had always despised the bureaucratic scheming of the Imperial bureaucracy. Now they occasionally felt the need to discuss it—for example, one should not push or shove others in public.
Once aboard the transport bound for the Terra Glory, the hatch closed and the engines hummed.
"Later, we will meet that heretic pretending to be the Primarch," Azrael glanced at his companions and said in a low voice. "No matter how well he disguises himself, we must expose his true nature."
"We must make him repent," Asmodai clenched his fist, knuckles cracking. "This sacred duty is best suited for me."
"What we need is his repentance, not his corpse, Asmodai," came the deep, realistic, and cautious voice of Belial, Grand Master of the Deathwing.
"I agree," Grand Master Sammael crossed his arms and fixed Asmodai with a sharp, hawk-like gaze. "Your success rate at achieving repentance is not exactly admirable."
As was well known, Fallen who fell into the hands of this Master of Repentance always tended to suffer accidental deaths.
Asmodai pursed his lips, his expression almost obsessive. "The prejudice in people's hearts is as high as a mountain. But I am confident I can make him open his mouth and confess his sins."
Ezekiel, a senior member of the think tank, rubbed his temples and countered helplessly, "Asmodai, let me point out one issue: the mountain in people's hearts was built by your own hands. Remember how many Fallen died in various 'accidents' before they could repent, right in your grasp?"
"That's their problem. What does it have to do with me?" Asmodai said shamelessly and confidently. "My interrogation methods are completely correct."
"..."
Datch leaned to one side, listening to the high-ranking Dark Angels discuss how to make the returned Primarch repent. A smile spread from the corner of his mouth to his ear. He really wanted to summon the Changeling spirits, put his hands on his hips, and laugh out loud. However, due to the complicated historical feud between the Dark Angels and the Changeling, he wisely abandoned the idea.
The transport ship landed smoothly on the brightly lit embarkation deck of the Terra Glory. When the hatch slid open, the scene outside instantly made Azrael and the others tense, causing all their prepared words to catch in their throats.
On the deck stood Lion El'Jonson, towering like a mountain. He wore ornate power armor adorned with lion emblems. His face showed even more weathering than in the Emperor's portraits or ancient records, etched with traces of millennia. His eyes were sharp, dignified, and profound, like the ancient forests of Caliban.
Even more awe-inspiring was the implicit and direct genetic resonance of blood kinship, along with an oppressive sense of authority that acted at the seed level of the gene—quietly surging like a tide into the souls of every Dark Angel.
Behind Lion stood several angels led by Zabriel. They were fully armed and courteous, no longer hiding their identities. Further back were numerous high-ranking Imperial Navy officers, representatives of the Inquisition, and envoys from other Space Marine chapters—all eyes fixed on this place.
It was him. It really was him.
The Emperor's eldest son, Primarch of the First Legion, Knight King of Caliban—Lion El'Jonson.
All defenses based on portraits, ancient texts, and stubborn doubts collapsed instantly before this living presence. The last remnants of doubt in the five Dark Angels' hearts were completely swept away by the light and resonance of his first manifestation.
Instinctively, they disembarked from the transport with indescribable reverence. Azrael led the way and stopped a few steps before Lion. Then, awkwardly and slowly, he dropped to one knee and lowered his head. Never before had he bowed so easily.
"I am sorry."
Azrael's voice had lost its strength, leaving only deep regret and relief. "I apologize for my arrogance, stubbornness, and blindness. Since you have truly returned, please forgive me."
Belial, Sammael, Asmodai, and Ezekiel followed suit, kneeling together to show the highest respect to their genetic father.
A gentle expression of relief and emotion appeared on Lion's face. When the faceless one handled matters, it was indeed reliable.
"Caution is not a mistake, but a virtue, my sons."
Lion's voice was loud, calm, and free of rebuke. He stepped forward, extended his massive hand, and helped each of the Dark Angels to their feet one by one. This small gesture symbolized acceptance and forgiveness.
The moment the Primarch made contact with the Dark Angels' Grand Masters, the tense atmosphere between the fleets vanished like frost under the sun. The energy readings of the Stone Fortress and its attached fleet's main weapon arrays gradually decreased, and locks were disengaged.
On the Terra Glory side, officers and soldiers felt their taut nerves relax and secretly breathed sighs of relief. The crisis that could have caused a serious internal conflict within the Imperium's elite forces had finally been averted.
A mission completion message also appeared for Datch.
[Mission "Assist Lion El'Jonson in resolving the internal division within the Dark Angels" successfully completed. Congratulations. The issue is atoning for past mistakes.]
[Mission Rewards: 1300 points, 1300 experience, +300 reputation points, 1 telephone booth]
Datch opened his game inventory and checked the detailed description of the newly acquired item. This wonderful tool from the Doraemon world had astonishing functions—it could turn "what if" into reality.
Many people had dreamed of this: "If only I had done that, then this would have happened…"
And now, that dream was realized in the game. Of course, it came at a cost—points had to be consumed. The more important and wide-ranging the change, the exponentially higher the points required.
His mind instantly activated as countless long-standing "unsolved" problems from the Warhammer community flooded his thoughts.
What if the Horus Heresy had never happened? What if that troublemaker Erebus had died young? What if Angron's adoptive father had not suffered such a tragic death and had been rescued in time…? What if Magnus had not breached the Webway barrier…?
This was the ultimate story-alteration tool. With enough points, one could activate "what if" options after tragic endings, rewind time, and create a more perfect, different conclusion. This way, the operations team wouldn't have to worry about him failing to achieve a perfect ending and being criticized.
Datch happily stored the item in his in-game inventory. His current points were far from sufficient to back his ideas, but the future looked promising. He could almost imagine himself saving up enough points to say "what if" to the telephone booth, triggering a grand scene in which the entire historical flow of the Warhammer world changed.
At this moment, Azrael and the others were being led by Lion toward the operations room. Clearly, fully resolving the millennia-old grudge and estrangement between the Dark Angels and the Forgiven Angels would require deep and lengthy dialogue.
Datch had no interest in the rest of the story, so he casually opened the minimap. Several new side quests with question marks had appeared. He randomly selected one, took out his teleport gun, set the coordinates, and pulled the trigger, teleporting directly to the location.
The moment Datch stepped out of the green light cave, he heard deafening cannon fire. The ground shook violently, and the strong smell of gunpowder and molten slag filled the air. He stood at the edge of a fierce battlefield.
Datch was currently wearing the Cursed Legion skin, his body quietly wreathed in golden flames. It formed an eerily stark contrast with the hellish surroundings.
Nearby Imperial Guards setting up a temporary position spotted him. They were initially startled, but once they realized what was happening, they looked at him with expressions mixing reverence, surprise, and hope, bowing their heads in respect. They regarded this cursed spirit as a symbol that the Emperor was watching over this land, greatly boosting their morale.
Datch ignored the NPCs and stood beside a half-collapsed fortress, gazing at the battlefield. On the distant horizon rose a breathtakingly magnificent giant fortress. Its walls soared into the clouds, shimmering with the light of phantom shields.
On the Imperial side, massive war machines thundered. Imperial Knights advanced ponderously, unleashing fierce attacks on the fortress with meltaguns and Avenger cannons. Leman Russ tanks, Chimera troop carriers, and even stranger siege engines formed an iron torrent. They struggled to break through the deadly net of artillery fire while returning fire themselves. The sky was dyed a deep red by traces of bombardment and explosive smoke, filling the air with a tragic atmosphere.
Datch looked around and rechecked the question mark's position on the minimap. It was the Imperial command post located behind the front lines. He immediately summoned a mechanical warhorse, mounted it, and galloped over, preparing to accept the mission.
...
Planet Fras was an extremely important armory for the Imperium in this sector, serving as the lifeline for the local defense forces. Vast quantities of military supplies were transported here from Mars, Jupiter, and countless other forge worlds: millions of lasguns and boltguns, mountains of energy cells and shells. The giant warehouses and fortified caves were lined with tanks, armored vehicles, and even repair parts for Titans.
To protect these supplies from elusive Eldar pirates and greedy Chaos forces, the Imperium had invested enormous energy and resources, constructing a series of impregnable fortresses. In addition to the permanently stationed Astra Militarum legions, the fortresses themselves boasted walls as grand as mountains, layered void shield arrays capable of deflecting orbital bombardments, and an automated laser defense network covering the entire near-orbit space, capable of reducing any intruder to dust within seconds.
This world of military supplies had never been conquered since its discovery and development by the Imperium. Countless enemies who attempted invasion had been shattered against its sturdy defensive walls, ultimately leaving only vast numbers of corpses.
However, a great rift had opened, changing everything. A terrifying conspiracy had been hatched from within, and this fortress that had never fallen before had ended up in rebel hands.
Bishop Saban, who had been stationed there for many years, had used his religious influence and positional convenience… They had secretly trained private troops and spread heretical ideas. After the conspiracy was exposed, he boldly incited his misguided believers to launch a bloody purge against all bureaucrats and tech-priests who had tried to maintain Imperial order.
The Silver Shroud Sisters of Battle, originally tasked with protecting his safety, had refused to bend their beliefs and were quickly suppressed and imprisoned in underground cells deep within the fortress.
The flames of rebellion had ignited. If the fire was not extinguished in time and the news spread… terrifying xenos fleets and Chaos raiders would surely descend, devouring the world along with its inexhaustible stockpile of weapons.
The Inquisition responded swiftly. Inquisitor Grephax took command as supreme leader, and penal battalions were quickly assembled: the Krieg Death Legion, accustomed to the harshest battlefields; two Imperial Knight houses that had answered the call; and a recently reorganized former Forged Space Marine unit.
Their mission was clear and merciless: thoroughly crush the rebels and reclaim the world for the Emperor at all costs.
Datch had teleported to the front line where the fighting for recapture was fiercest. Colonel Tyrock, commander of the 261st Krieg Regiment, had been tasked with attacking a weak point in the defensive line. However, even with support from knight-pattern mechs and armored units, breaking through head-on was difficult.
Upon arriving at the fortress, Datch handed his warhorse to the stables and entered. Imperial officers and guards who saw him along the way were first surprised, then offered him the aquila salute.
Since the Great Rift had opened, the Cursed Legion had appeared across the galaxy, supporting Imperial forces in battles against rebels and Chaos daemons. Therefore, most people knew that the cursed warriors were extensions of the Emperor's will. Their appearance signaled that the Emperor was watching this battlefield.
The Krieg forces advanced with their own artillery support, but the rebel fortress was far too sturdy. Tunnels ran beneath it, integrating the entire structure. Moreover, as this was essentially an armory planet rich in military supplies, heavy bombardment was frequent. The ground was riddled with mines. The enemy's fearsome firepower had inflicted heavy losses on engineering teams. Even attempting a forced breakthrough with large vehicles risked immobilization by mine explosions, turning them into burning wreckage.
Under such conditions, even Primaris Space Marines would find it difficult to execute a decapitation strike on the leadership and would have to rely on overwhelming numbers for victory.
Datch approached the astonished Tyrock and opened his information panel.
Commander of the 261st Krieg Regiment, Colonel Tyrock.
"Colonel Tyrock, is there anything I can do for you?" Datch asked expectantly.
Colonel Tyrock's eyes widened. The cursed warrior before him could speak.
"Colonel Tyrock, is there anything I can help with?" Datch asked again upon seeing the NPC's dazed expression.
"Glory to His Majesty the Emperor, I am…"
"Skip!" Datch shouted. "No more meaningless conversation."
"Colonel Tyrock, please…"
"If there's anything I can do, feel free to ask."
Tyrock seemed slightly bewildered but still pointed to the holographic projection on the distant strategy table. "Please help us break through the fortress and annihilate the enemy."
[Mission: Assist Colonel Tyrock in breaking through the rebel defensive line and eliminating the traitors.]
The rebellion on Fras had enraged the Imperium, but the sturdy defensive network and fearsome firepower had made the advance of the commanding Krieg Legion extremely difficult. Colonel Tyrock seeks your cooperation to reduce casualties and achieve victory.
[Quest Rewards: 1000 experience points, 1000 points, +80 reputation.]
"Side quests are really hard for earning item rewards," Datch muttered to himself. Then he nodded to Tyrock. "Alright, I'll help break through the enemy's defensive line."
With that, he borrowed a ghostly pickaxe usable for only one hour and began digging a tunnel right in front of everyone. Don't waste time on side quests—clear it quickly in one hour and move on to the next.
The tunnel appeared at a visibly rapid speed, forming neat square shapes. Its walls were reinforced by some power, so no mud flowed down or collapsed.
Tyrock stared in astonishment at the tunnel large enough for three Leman Russ tanks to pass through. After a moment, he regained his senses and ordered the 261st Regiment to assemble and attack through the tunnel.
Even the soldiers wearing gas masks were shocked when they saw the tunnel. It was said to have been opened by that mysterious cursed warrior. It must be the Emperor's holy power.
"Hurry, charge!" Tyrock shouted. "In the name of His Majesty the Emperor, seize victory!"
Encouraged by him, the Krieg soldiers surged into the tunnel with tank support and launched a flanking attack on the enemy.
...
On the rebel side, upon seeing the Krieg Death Legion's apparent retreat, the commanders wore smug smiles.
"Our defensive line is impregnable. Even the fearless Krieg soldiers have no way to break through."
"The minions of the Corpse Emperor have no chance. Their attacks will be shattered time and again, turning into miserable corpses on the battlefield."
"Chaos shall triumph, and the gods shall prevail."
…
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