Calgar knew he shouldn't trust the words of that traitor.
But he couldn't put his mind at ease.
He was so loyal to his gene-father.
Even if there was only a sliver of possibility, he was unwilling to let him be in deep danger.
To avoid incurring his gene-father's wrath, Calgar pondered for a long time.
He decided to use the excuse of being confused about his strategy to seek enlightenment from Guilliman, while also preparing for the Dark Angels to make trouble.
This way, there might be some differing opinions, but presumably, Guilliman wouldn't be overly angry about it.
Nor would he punish him for this matter.
Macragge's Glory entered the warp on the edge of the Ivens system.
Calgar temporarily left the battlefield to protect his liege.
Meanwhile, on the lower decks of Macragge's Glory.
The low hum of airflow echoed through rusty pipes, vibrating the stone walls with a rumble.
Thick darkness accumulated in the deepest chambers of Macragge's Glory.
This place was perpetually shrouded in darkness and dampness, rarely visited even by the lowest serfs and crude laborers.
Only the fauna and flora hidden in the shadows, stowing away on different planets, would live in this place.
Macragge's Glory, twenty-one kilometers long and several kilometers high, was a magnificent mobile city.
Being so massive, the crew simply couldn't monitor every corner.
And at this moment, something ominous was happening here.
A pungent smell of blood drifted in the darkness, mixing with the stench of decay.
Cybros stood in the darkness, only the faint red light emanating from the electronic bionic eyes on his helmet betraying his presence.
Before him, two crew members lay in pools of blood, already dead, their still-warm blood gushing forth.
But a strange thing quickly happened; the blood rapidly decayed, becoming foul-smelling.
The crew members, who had only recently died, also quickly began to rot, becoming utterly repulsive.
Seeing this scene, Cybros smiled.
His action was merely to test his sword.
"This is the Godslayer Sword," Cybros whispered.
In his hand was a strange, blood-stained blade.
The sword body, like a venomous serpent, was uneven, as grey as flint, yet gleaming like a diamond.
This was a thing of exquisite craftsmanship, a thing of beauty, a thing that could shake the cosmos.
If there were a psyker here, they would surely cry out in surprise.
This sword contained unparalleled evil and curses, the embodiment of pure warp energy.
"Guilliman," Cybros' voice was unusually flat, carrying an absolute rationality and coldness, "The universe is balanced, as are the warp and reality, and you are the biggest obstacle to the ultimate plan. So, I'm sorry, you cannot continue to live."
He spoke softly, then slowly placed the longsword back into its exquisite scabbard.
This was a terrifying weapon capable of severely wounding a Primarch.
More venomous and terrifying than the Anathame that nearly killed Horus in the past.
Much of Horus' rebellion was attributed to his incomprehension of the Emperor's disregard for the Council of Terra and his use of mortals to rule the Imperium.
But what truly pushed Horus into the abyss was undoubtedly the Anathame in Erebus' hand.
That weapon possessed extraordinary power.
It severely wounded Horus.
That terrible wound, relying on the Primarch's physical strength, could not heal.
Finally, the Sons of Horus warriors were misled by Erebus into taking Horus to a heretical temple for a ritual.
The Anathame was so terrifying.
Once severely wounded, even a Primarch's regenerative ability could not heal.
Cybros looked at the longsword in his hand, a faint smile on his face.
Horus' fall, along with the Emperor's dream of peace, was shattered.
And what would Guilliman's fall bring?
The Rock.
Bloodwing Boreas and his tactical squad members rushed back.
The transport ship's engines roared.
Under the operation of the tech-priests, the grav-array system operated according to new parameters, slowly cutting into the force field and smoothly entering the interior of the Rock.
The ramp lowered.
Boreas stepped past the servitors who were there to greet him.
"Lord Boreas," a mortal attendant said.
The Rock had a large number of mortal slaves who provided services to the warriors of the Dark Angels Chapter.
They were the Chapter's wealth.
Every Chapter had a large number of mortals providing services for them.
Chapters with a homeworld would select a batch of servants from the planet periodically to replenish the ranks of servants and recruit new blood.
Chapters without a homeworld would levy taxes everywhere.
For example, Chapters like the Space Sharks, after fighting a battle in the frontier, when their servants were mostly dead, they would return to the Imperium to replenish their numbers.
When passing by a planet, if they saw that the planet had enough people who met their requirements, they would conscript servants and recruits from that planet.
Because there was no homeworld to replenish losses on time, coupled with heavy combat duties.
These Chapters' tax levies were extremely simple and brutal, packing up entire colonies, men, women, old, and young.
This led to the Administratum, upon discovering that some colonies had been completely plundered, first investigating whether a Chapter without a homeworld had passed through the area. Only after confirmation would they consider xenos or Chaos.
It is said that a certain brutal Space Sharks Chapter wouldn't even spare a 180-year-old grandmother.
They would still be taken onto the ship to serve as servants.
Of course, to live to 180 in this dark and chaotic universe, one had to be rich or noble.
After all, life-extension surgery was very expensive, and ordinary people could not afford it at all.
Boreas paid no attention to the mortal servants saluting him.
He hurried away from the port to find the Grand Master, Azrael.
The Grand Master was in a strategy room on the Rock.
His lieutenants, Ezekiel and Dagornet, were also present, discussing the assignments for the various companies and the arrival of Guilliman.
A large holographic table was at the center of the room, and strategic divination shrines and cogitators were displayed on the walls, humming as they processed vast amounts of data.
The room was large enough to accommodate over twenty Dark Angels, very spacious.
However, at this moment, there were only three.
They were the highest leaders of the Dark Angels.
The three stood around the holographic table, and upon hearing the sound, their eyes turned to Boreas who entered.
"Boreas?" Azrael said.
"It is I, Grand Master," Boreas said, saluting respectfully.
"How goes the hunt?"
Azrael scrutinized Boreas, his gaze carrying authority and inquiry.
"There were no Fallen Angels, but a daemon, a daemon of Tzeentch. They are preparing something, likely related to the resurrected Lord Regent of the Imperium," Boreas said. "That daemon seemed to have been guiding us all along. When it was finally banished, the daemon said that Guilliman would destroy the First Legion. I realized something was wrong, so I hurried back."
Azrael slightly furrowed his brow, a serious expression appearing on his noble face.
Guilliman was the hope of the Imperium.
This was the consensus of everyone who could see the dark future of the galaxy.
Only with Guilliman's unimaginable strategy and wisdom could humanity be helped to emerge from this eternal abyss.
"You should not believe any words from a daemon; they are nothing but lies," Azrael shook his head. "You cannot doubt a noble lord Primarch because of the words of a daemon."
"But if that lord Primarch knew what happened ten thousand years ago, and the matter of Lord Cypher, what do you think he would do?" Boreas said. "Are we to sit by and watch a Primarch destroy us? Is this the reward for our ten thousand years of loyalty?"
"You have overstepped your bounds," said Ezekiel, the Chief Librarian. "Such words are overly offensive. Say no more, Boreas. We all understand your concerns, but have the few words of a daemon shaken you?"
"No, I just had some premonitions," Boreas said. "A very bad feeling. A storm is brewing, and we are unaware. We must take a proactive stance to defend the honor and existence of the First Legion."
"We are loyal to the Imperium, and we should also trust Guilliman," Ezekiel said.
"If he wants the First Legion to offer their necks for slaughter, should we also wait for death?" Boreas shouted. "The bloodline of the First Legion will be severed."
"Get out, Boreas. This matter is not to be discussed further," Azrael looked at Boreas, slamming a fist on the holographic table, his tone filled with anger. "We swore loyalty. If he wants us to die, then the Dark Angels should execute it unconditionally. Do not doubt a loyal Primarch because of the words of a daemon."
"He is merely overly concerned about the fate of the Chapter," Ezekiel said.
"Then do not question it. We fight for loyalty, and we fight for the blood of the Lion that flows in our hearts. Now, Boreas, are you going to target a Primarch? Are you going to kick humanity while it is on the verge of falling into the abyss?" Azrael said. "Now get out. You will be confined until I personally issue a pardon."
Boreas glared back, spat heavily on the ground, and strode out of the room.
"You were too agitated," Ezekiel said.
"Pay him no mind," Azrael said. "Let us continue to discuss the upcoming arrangements."
Azrael, as the Grand Master of the Dark Angels, held most of the Chapter's secrets.
Aside from the Lion, Lion El'Jonson, no one could know all the secrets of the Dark Angels.
Thanks to the extraordinary wisdom of their gene-father, the Lion, the structure of the Dark Angels was extremely complex.
On the surface, they were divided into captains, Tactical Squads, and also Masters, Librarians, recruits, veterans, and so on.
The hierarchy was strict, the classes distinct.
However, this was merely the outward appearance.
Beneath it were various different Chapters and Inner and Outer Circles, guarding different secrets.
Even Azrael could not know exactly how many secrets the Dark Angels held, or who was secretly preserving and passing them down.
Aside from the Lion, no one knew.
Proceeding along the gloomy tomb passage, Azrael walked past the heroes who had long since departed.
The deeds of the deceased were commemorated by inscriptions and sculptures on stone pillars.
Azrael wore a hooded robe that covered his entire body, concealing everything that symbolized his identity and status.
He followed the tomb passage into the depths.
Under the illumination of the dim light, as he turned a corner.
An unnamed warrior, similarly concealing their body and hiding their identity, blocked his path.
That warrior made a complex and difficult half-gesture.
And Azrael completed the other half.
Afterward, Azrael was led into a secret chamber.
A fire burned in the center of the chamber, providing a faint light that made the chamber very dark.
Four warriors, including Azrael, stood in different directions.
Everyone had concealed their identities, ensuring the secrecy of this meeting.
Azrael was also unsure whether the individuals before him were veterans, Masters, or even raw recruits.
Within the Chapter, everyone was nameless.
Outside the Chapter, the Chapter did not exist.
"I am pleased that you can all gather here," Azrael said.
The other three knights said nothing, only remaining silent.
They had been summoned.
To do certain things within the secret Chapter that could not be known to the outside world.
"The conspirator has emerged, the bait has been cast, and it is time to prepare for the net to be drawn," Azrael said. "The hunt for the daemon has led to a Deathwing member already having the seed of confusion planted by the daemon. The daemon believes we will be played within its palm, yet it does not know that the noose is already around its neck, and we will use this to find the cancer hidden within us."