A heavy silence fell over the threshing yard. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the wind blowing through the crops and the distant chatter of the farmers.
Sanguinius studied the mortal standing before him. He looked at the man's perfectly ordinary face, marveling at the unshakeable resolve burning in his eyes.
His mind drifted back to that New Year Eve night twenty-three years ago. Back to the sprawling plaza of Kent Hive, where a handful of fragile mortals had made that exact same declaration under a canopy of fireworks.
He had intentionally pressed the issue, hoping to catch Governor Cage off guard and force him to slip up about their connection to Titus. Instead, the man had smoothly turned the tables and checkmated him.
A slow, genuine smile tugged at the corners of Sanguinius's mouth. It was a smile laced with a touch of defeat, but mostly... profound respect. He didn't say a word.
Cogboy just turned his head and looked at Guilliman.
Guilliman looked right back at him.
The eyes of the two Primarchs met for a split second. Then, Guilliman finally spoke.
His voice was calm, but threaded with unquestionable authority. "So far, you have done very well."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the surrounding farmland. "In many ways, this place is on par with my Macragge."
His eyes settled back on Cogboy, a glint of genuine approval in his icy blue irises. "Perhaps... even better."
Cogboy's smile deepened. But he knew this was just the beginning.
Sure enough, Guilliman continued. "But this does not represent the entirety of Aurelian. We will continue our tour."
Cogboy nodded. His smile carried the relaxed ease of someone who had anticipated this all along. "You make a fair point, Lord Guilliman."
He paused, meeting both Primarchs' gazes, his tone suddenly growing heavy with implication. "So, for our next stop... How about the City of the Holy Anthem?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the threshing yard instantly froze.
Guilliman's pupils contracted slightly. Sanguinius furrowed his brow.
Behind them, the Legion's high command simultaneously wore expressions of absolute shock. Azkaellon's eyes went wide. Tobias's jaw slightly dropped. Nassir Amit, the notoriously short-tempered Captain of the Fifth Company, was completely stunned.
Of course he remembered the City of the Holy Anthem. In that hive city, he had fought tooth and nail for days and nights against the heretics that had spewed out of the Warp rift. He had watched his battle-brothers fall, one after another, with his own eyes. He had seen that once-prosperous hive city reduced to a complete ruin.
Every Blood Angel officer present who had fought the Warp in the City of the Holy Anthem was completely dumbfounded. They never expected this.
This planetary Governor Cage actually had the balls to suggest... touring the City of the Holy Anthem?
That hive city had been thoroughly corrupted by Warp, for Emperor's sake. Over five billion people died in that disaster. Thousands of Blood Angel warriors were also buried there. Even though it was later purged, it was completely uninhabitable and totally useless for production. So they had universally assumed that the City of the Holy Anthem was off the itinerary.
And yet... Governor Cage was actually bringing it up himself?
Guilliman stared at the mortal governor in front of him. He looked at the unshakeable confidence in his eyes and the relaxed smile on his lips. Suddenly, he remembered the words this man had spoken twenty-three years ago when he accepted the governor's seal.
"The Crimson Dawn never backs down from a challenge."
A slow smile tugged at the corners of Guilliman's mouth. He gave a slight nod. The gesture was subtle, but everyone present felt the heavy weight of his approval.
"Very well." His voice was calm, yet echoed with unquestionable authority. "Then we set out for the City of the Holy Anthem."
Sanguinius nodded as well. His eyes rested on Cogboy, a glimmer of anticipation shining in his pale golden irises. "I hope the Crimson Dawn does not disappoint Guilliman and me."
Cogboy didn't say a word. He simply offered a slight bow and gestured forward with his right hand. "After you."
The group left the threshing yard, heading toward Crimson Valley City's mag-lev train station.
--
On the edge of the atmosphere.
[Kingslayer Luna Wolf Horus] had his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His body tumbled violently during the high-speed freefall, the extreme G-force making him feel like his bones were about to shake apart. The internal oxygen circulation system of his spacesuit hummed deeply, as if protesting this absolutely inhumane treatment.
He opened the regional voice channel (Wings of Freedom) and listened to the frantic bitching going on inside.
[Did the Emperor Lift His Ass Today?]: "Holy fucking shit! I'm gonna puke my fucking guts out!! This spinning is making me so damn dizzy!!"
[Four-Armed Emperor I Gotta Wreck You]: "Fuck, I'm so done with this. I seriously respect that dude IRL who jumped out of a satellite. I'm playing a game and I'm about to die of motion sickness, and that absolute madlad bet his actual life on it. Horus, you motherfucker. If I ever play along with your extreme sports bullshit again, I'll take your damn last name."
[Inherit Sevatar's Will to Slay the False Emperor]: "Shut the hell up! I'm way dizzier than you!! Whose absolute genius idea was this anyway?! I'd rather be drawn and quartered than deal with this. Freefalling? What is this, a skydiving simulator? Even skydiving simulators give you a damn parachute to stabilize!"
[Kingslayer Luna Wolf Horus] couldn't hold back anymore and snapped back in the chat. "Stop your bitching! I'm falling right down here with you guys, aren't I? It's not like I'm sitting comfortably on the sidelines enjoying the show! How was I supposed to know the physics in this game were so damn realistic! If you wanna keep crying, just go kill yourselves and respawn! Stop whining!"
The channel went dead silent for a second.
Just as [Kingslayer Luna Wolf Horus] was about to keep chewing them out, a sudden gasp ripped through the comms.
[Emperor Get Off the Throne Let Me Sit]: "Huh? Why am I not dizzy anymore?? Holy shit! Why am I glued to something?? Why can't I move?? What the hell is this?? Noooo—"
His voice was abruptly cut off from the channel. Immediately following that, a chain reaction of panicked shouting erupted.
[Four-Armed Emperor I Gotta Wreck You]: "I'm stuck too!!"
[Inherit Sevatar's Will to Slay the False Emperor]: "What is this?! Where the hell did this net come from?!"
[Did the Emperor Lift His Ass Today?]: "Fuck me!! There are two fighter jets hauling us!! I can't fucking move an inch! This net is way too fucking sticky!!"
[Inherit Sevatar's Will to Slay the False Emperor]: "Those jets have the Crimson Dawn emblem on them!! Horus!! This was a really great fucking idea you had!! We just got caught in one giant fishing net!!"
The voice channel instantly devolved into a chaotic storm of cursing.
[Kingslayer Luna Wolf Horus] violently snapped his eyes open. And then he saw it... A colossal net, wrapping tightly around him.
The netting was terrifyingly durable. He thrashed and struggled with everything he had, but the ultra-high-density molecular coating on his spacesuit had become a massive liability... The hyper-adhesive gel slathered over the net had him completely glued in place.
He was utterly immobilized.
He craned his neck, looking upward. Two silver-gray fighter jets were holding either end of the giant net, blasting blue plasma from their thrusters as they hauled him steadily through the air. The Crimson Dawn emblem painted on their wings gleamed brightly under the sun.
[Kingslayer Luna Wolf Horus]'s face instantly drained of all color.
He opened the regional text channel and watched as the five hundred Chaos players spammed the chat into oblivion...
"I got grabbed!"
"I got caught too!"
"This net is dirty as hell! I can't break out!"
"Crimson Dawn was ready for us!!"
Five hundred people. Not a single one escaped.
[Kingslayer Luna Wolf Horus] closed his eyes.
It's over. It's completely over.
--
Inside the Crimson Drake Gate Command Center.
[God-Tier Mechanic] leaned back in his comfortable desk chair. He watched the five hundred red dots getting hauled off on the holographic display, his smirk growing wider by the second.
"Crimson Star 1st Squadron, capture successful."
"Crimson Star 2nd Squadron, capture successful."
"Crimson Star 3rd Squadron, capture successful."
"Crimson Star 4th Squadron, capture successful."
"Crimson Star 5th Squadron, capture successful."
Multiple voices chimed in consecutively over the comms, each sounding incredibly relaxed. Five hundred drop coordinates. Five hundred nets. Not a single target missed. Total capture confirmed.
Operation Bug Catcher was a flawless success.
[God-Tier Mechanic] turned his head to look at [The Last Mechanical Scourge] and [Heal You My Ass] sitting beside him.
"Five hundred players who can't log off..." His voice was dripping with amusement. "Should we ship them off to the Aurelian North Pole to farm potatoes? Or should we use them as guinea pigs to test out new combat stims? As long as we keep them locked in a perpetual state of imprisonment... They'll never be able to log off. They'll have no choice but to work for us like dogs. If we play our cards right, these five hundred guys are basically a tireless, nuclear-powered workforce."
[The Last Mechanical Scourge] picked up his coffee mug and took a small sip. "Whatever you want." His tone was flat, but the sly grin on his face completely betrayed him. "Free labor is free labor."
[Heal You My Ass] chimed in from the side with a ghostly, quiet tone. "Let's make them farm potatoes. We're short on manpower out in the arctic tundra anyway. I can already picture it. We just have to slap them with those special shackles from the System Store, and crack a whip on their backs every half hour. That way they'll be permanently stuck in 'Combat State' and won't be able to log off. Our potato yields will absolutely skyrocket."
Hearing this, [The Last Mechanical Scourge] shook his head. "Did you guys forget who we're dealing with? They're players, just like us. They've got Imperial Coins burning a hole in their pockets, which means they can swap for heavy firepower at any given second. They aren't going to be kept in chains that easily. The only reason we stayed locked up... was because we were broke and out of Coins. So, while making them farm potatoes is a hilarious insult, it's not realistic. If you ask me..."
A cold, ruthless glint flashed in [The Last Mechanical Scourge]'s eyes. "Let's just turn them into Penitent Servitors!"