V2 Chapter 27: I Once Foresaw the Return of the Primarch
Duvette looked at the old Marshal who had just extended this invitation and stood completely frozen.
His face held the commissar's signature cold expression without difficulty. His mind was working at full speed.
Well. His commanding officer wanted to pull him into a reform that would overturn the Astra Militarum's entire structure. This plan had essentially no chance of succeeding. The High Lords' supposed promise that they would agree to reform if the Sabbat Crusade succeeded was nothing but a blank cheque.
Those old men had absolutely no intention of ever agreeing to a reform that changed the entire Imperial military structure.
And that was without factoring in Slaydo's eventual fate. Even if Duvette's involvement somehow changed history and kept him alive, the forced reforms would absolutely enrage the High Lords, and those old monsters holding the reins of power would reduce Duvette along with everything around him to nothing.
But what if he refused outright right now?
Facing an old man who treated this crusade as a personal pilgrimage and had just forcibly stood between Duvette and both the Inquisition and the Ministorum. If Duvette had no value to him, would Slaydo simply stop protecting him? Let the hounds off the leash?
As Duvette wrestled furiously with this in his mind, something flashed through his thoughts.
There's a way.
The conflicted look in his eyes cleared. Something extremely well-concealed and sharp replaced it.
Marshal Slaydo stood with his hands clasped behind his back, patiently waiting for the young commissar's response.
He understood clearly that what he had just said would be difficult for any rational Imperial officer to absorb, let alone a commissar raised since childhood on loyalty and doctrine. The man needed time.
Just as Slaydo sighed inwardly and was about to suggest Duvette return to rest and consider things at his own pace, he noticed the change in Duvette's eyes. Something shifted in the Marshal's chest. Could this have worked? Did this young commissar who could produce miracles in impossible situations genuinely have the resolve to carry that weight?
Duvette raised his head and met the old Marshal's gaze directly.
He did not accept the reform plan. Instead, in a tone that was carefully sincere and entirely diplomatic, he said quietly:
"Marshal, I am deeply grateful for your trust. But I am only a mortal commissar. My understanding of tactics reaches as far as the outcome of a single campaign. The grand design you envision, one capable of transforming the entire Astra Militarum's structure, is something I genuinely lack the capability or the standing to help you achieve."
Hearing the refusal, disappointment moved visibly through Slaydo's eyes. He was about to speak, to tell the commissar not to feel too much pressure, that there was no rush.
Duvette didn't give the Marshal the opening. He pivoted without pause and asked directly:
"Marshal. You mentioned Saint Sabbat just now. Do you genuinely believe I am someone like her? Someone chosen personally by the God-Emperor?"
The question silenced Slaydo. He reassessed the young man in front of him, thought for a moment, and then answered with complete seriousness.
"I did not personally witness the events you created in the Formal Prime upper spire. But whether it is the classified files from Lord Inquisitor Juno, or Chapter Master Calgar's endorsement at the time, or what Joghaten Khan described to me privately today... Duvette, I do not know where your strength comes from, but you genuinely possess something extraordinary. In this dark age, I am willing to believe it is the blessing of the Throne."
Slaydo left it at that, but Duvette heard the implication clearly enough. The Marshal was willing to accept, for now, that Duvette was the miracle. That was why he had dared to put his reform against such long odds and place his bet on him.
Duvette took a deep breath and threw out what he had just thought of.
"Marshal, it may not be in my power to help you complete the reform." Duvette let a careful gravity into his voice, the kind that carried the weight of something fated. "But I know of someone. Someone who can genuinely help you break through the Imperium's current rotten deadlock and lead humanity toward a new future."
Slaydo paused, brows lifting slightly. He didn't see how this young commissar who had come from the bottom and only fought in a few battle zones would have the kind of connection that could lever the Imperial machine.
"I once had a dream." Duvette paid no attention to the Marshal's doubt and continued weaving his half-truth. "In that dream, guided by the God-Emperor, I passed through the storms of the Warp and saw the future. When the Imperium stands at its most desperate edge, a son of the God-Emperor will awaken. He will return, and he will lead humanity forward again."
On hearing that, Slaydo's pupils snapped tight. "Who?"
Duvette gave it to him directly, his expression unchanged.
"Roboute Guilliman. The Emperor's thirteenth son, the genetic Primarch of the Ultramarines, Lord of Ultramar. He will return before long."
Marshal Slaydo went completely silent.
After a long while, he asked in an extremely hoarse voice: "How am I supposed to believe you? It was a dream."
Duvette met the Marshal's gaze without retreating and delivered the most critical piece.
"The dream was only the guidance. I know of an existence with an absolutely direct connection to the Primarch's return. He holds the key to waking the Primarch."
"Who?" Slaydo pressed.
"Belisarius Cawl. Archmagos of the Mechanicus." Duvette said the name. "I received the God-Emperor's guidance and need to contact him."
At that name, Marshal Slaydo's expression shifted to one of genuine surprise. He interrupted.
"You don't need to contact him." The disbelief in his voice was unmistakable. "During the crusade preparation phase several years ago, Archmagos Cawl personally contacted me. He indicated that after completing certain matters of his own, he would come personally to the Sabbat Sector, to this expedition, to find someone."
This time it was Duvette's turn to be frozen completely.
Cawl was already coming to find someone? That was almost certainly himself.
So the projection had successfully transmitted the message to Cawl after all. He had been planning to use the Marshal's communications authority to reach the Archmagos himself; he hadn't anticipated that Cawl had already made the first move.
Watching Duvette standing motionless, Slaydo had already made up his mind.
Because this information: he was certain the commissar could not have known it. When it had happened, Duvette was still somewhere in the Warp. Slaydo had told no one but Macaroth. The commissar knowing it was proof enough that he was not simply improvising.
If this was true, then against a prophecy of the Primarch's return, capable of overturning the order of the entire galaxy, his modest reform plan was no longer the most important thing in the room.
"Return to your camp, Commissar Duvette." Slaydo suppressed everything and restored the face of the iron commander. "The information you have brought me today, I have received. When the Archmagos's fleet arrives at the expedition, I will dispatch someone to notify you at the first moment."
The Marshal turned back to the viewport. "Remember: whatever passed between us in this observation deck today, whether about reform or about the Primarch, cannot reach any other person. No third party."
Duvette came back to himself and gave a solemn nod. He had successfully unloaded the most politically lethal weight he was carrying, and in the same motion had placed himself firmly under the Marshal's protection. Not a bad outcome.
He was turning to leave when Slaydo spoke again.
"One last piece of advice, Commissar. Be wary of any Inquisitor. Especially those among them who call themselves Thorians."
Duvette stopped and looked back at the Marshal.
"If those Thorian Inquisitors learn of the manifestations around you, they will spare absolutely nothing. They would mobilise their own forces and attack my fleet directly to take you."
Slaydo's voice carried a particular coldness in the dark. "They believe, with absolute conviction, that Living Saints are not mythology. They hold them to be temporary physical vessels of the Emperor's soul." He looked at Duvette. "They want to find a vessel that is 'perfectly formed, absolutely pure, and with unlimited psychic carrying capacity,' so that the Emperor's soul can undergo a permanent physical manifestation."
"And your existence will absolutely draw their attention."
Duvette paused at that. He genuinely had no knowledge of the Inquisition's internal factions. He gave a heavy nod to confirm he had heard and understood, then turned quickly and left the hidden observation deck.
Slaydo stood quietly where he was, listening to the commissar's footsteps gradually fade until they disappeared entirely.
This old man commanding hundreds of millions of mortal troops slowly turned his head and looked out again at the deep, cold starfield beyond the viewport.
His hand moved unconsciously to the power sword at his hip, and he murmured something nearly inaudible.
"The Primarch's return... O Emperor, in this dark age, can we truly hold hope once again?"
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