Chapter 26: The Old Terra Tradition—Split It Half and Half at First Meeting

The group exchanged surprised glances.

They had not expected this particular Chapter—the infamous "pauper" Space Marines.

Besides, shouldn’t these fellows be operating in the Outer Dark? How did they end up back in the Ultima Segmentum? Was their luck really so good that they happened to cross paths with them while they were returning to the Imperium for resupply?

"This just got interesting." Ramses chuckled softly.

He had not known beforehand that the ones coming to their rescue were the Carcharodons. After all, Astropathic communication was a matter of transmitting abstract imagery; both sides had to play a game of Pictionary, essentially guessing at riddles. If one could divine the general meaning, it was already a blessing.

The Carcharodons—their specific origins remained obscure, but transmigrators knew that they most likely traced back to the Terran-born Raven Guard exiled by the Primarch Corax. They first appeared on the Imperium's radar during the 32nd Millennium, and since then, they had maintained a distant, tenuous relationship with the state.

To call the Sharks poor would be a stretch; they possessed a wealth of Great Crusade-era equipment. Their 3rd Company alone boasted three Contemptor Dreadnoughts, and they even held onto relics like Hellfire-class cruisers and battle barges passed down from the days of the Great Crusade.

Yet, to say they weren't poor was equally inaccurate. After a battle, they were so eager to strip the enemy of everything—down to their very loincloths—that it was painful to watch. To conserve their dwindling supplies, the entire Chapter consisted of melee-focused brutes who utilized Mark V Heresy-pattern power armor, sacrificing peak performance for longevity and compatibility. They were also notoriously fond of chainaxes; at a glance, one might mistake them for a Chaos warband.

As a fleet-based Chapter constantly drifting through the darkness of the Outer Dark without stable logistics, every return to Imperial space felt like a village being raided by starving bandits. They would descend upon a planet to collect a "blood tax," and use STCs recovered from the Outer Dark to barter with the Adeptus Mechanicus for weapons and ammunition. Once satisfied, they would vanish back into the void, only to return for more supplies a century or two later.

The Chapter held little regard for the modern Imperium, yet they remained loyal. It was rumored they held a secret mandate signed by a certain Primarch, tasking them with battling xenos in the deep void beyond the light of the Astronomican, guarding the frontier of the Imperium.

The High Lords of Terra, for their part, held no affection for such an unruly Astartes Chapter. Their policy was essentially one of indifference: they tossed a remote, god-forsaken planet at them and left them to their own devices. The Sharks were even more ruthless—they simply packed up the entire planet’s population and resources and took them along.

Because of the lack of supplies and a stable recruitment method in the Outer Dark, the Chapter was forced to be self-sufficient. Consequently, the Carcharodons’ operational style had always been extremely "pragmatic."

Given the sheer volume of "thuggish" behavior recorded in their history, this meeting promised to be quite entertaining.

"Connect."

As Arabella and Colonel Kovek approached, Romulus gestured for the comms officer to open the channel. Over the past two weeks, both sides had successfully synchronized their communication protocols.

"Greetings. I am Romulus, Captain of the Deathwatch Kill Team."

The other side made no attempt at pleasantries. They spoke directly, their voices transmitted via High Gothic—a language that had ceased to be the standard of the Imperium thousands of years ago.

"Per our custom, we shall collect 50 percent of the supplies on your vessel as payment for your rescue."

Old Terran tradition: split everything down the middle upon meeting.

The group exchanged subtle, knowing glances. They had finally witnessed the legendary greed of these "Great Harvesters." It was reasonable, though; theoretically, they were merely a group of remnants, and fifty percent of their supplies likely wouldn't even cover the fuel costs for the Sharks' fleet to reach them.

"Whose custom?" Romulus asked with interest, replying in the same tongue.

They did not value material goods—after all, these were things they could fabricate with ease. Moreover, giving the Carcharodons some supplies wasn't a bad thing; this Chapter was not composed of the same scum as the Malignants. Still, the attitude was far too poor. Was this how one spoke to their future benefactor?

The communication fell into a brief silence, followed by the echoing sound of heavy metal grinding against the deck. Then, a colder voice replied.

"Our custom!"

"Tyberos?" Romulus asked tentatively.

"..."

The communication fell into silence once more.

Having successfully "boxed" the other party, a triumphant smile tugged at the corner of Romulus’s mouth.

"If you want it, you will have to come and take it yourself," he said. "You have long understood the rules, Lord of Shadows."

Romulus cut the connection and turned to Kovek. "Colonel Kovek, activate the hangar’s tractor beams. Move all empty transports to a visible area. Clear an additional space large enough to accommodate two hundred people. Order the mess hall to prepare food—there is no need to hoard the inventory any longer."

"My lord, is this meant for everyone?" Kovek asked instinctively, before realizing he had asked a foolish question.

"Of course, for everyone." Romulus replied as if it were obvious.

If one could eat once, could they not eat twice? Was there really a shortage of food?

"Also, once the Carcharodons arrive, try to keep some distance. Leave the food service to the automated systems. If any necessary interaction arises, ensure it takes place under the protection of our men."

"If any of them ask about our identity or the details of your mission, tell them the truth. It is not a secret worth hiding..."

"Understood, my lord."

Having heard Romulus’s orders, Kovek went off to arrange the logistics. Dealing with Romulus was easy; one didn't need to rack their brains trying to guess his intentions, as he planned every step and never engaged in petty tests of obedience.

Romulus then turned to Arthur, who had already stowed away the codex.

"Arthur, go and take care of those things of Ramses'."

Why not send Ramses? Because the man was prone to erratic whims and could never remember the status of his own projects, whereas Arthur, who had been keeping a close eye on him, knew exactly what was where.

"Understood." Arthur nodded and turned toward the lift leading to the Navigator’s Sanctum.

The group had never hidden their actions. Or rather, other than Ramses and Arthur, their identities were not something to be ashamed of; it mattered little if they were exposed.

In any case, no one alive recognized the paint schemes of the Thousand Sons or the Dark Angels from the Legion era. What could anyone find by investigating the Ultramarines or the Blood Angels? Every Chapter had its secrets, and as such, they rarely probed into one another’s affairs.

While Romulus continued to brief the others on the details, the elevator descended into a region where light and shadow were divided like a borderland.

He reached out and unlocked a combination lock known only to the four of them, and a chill that made the very soul tremble washed over them.

This was a Warp-tainted zone—a special area formed by the frequent interaction between reality and the Warp. Divine powers from the Empyrean gathered here of their own accord, like heavy objects sinking into the depths.

After walking a few steps in this environment, Arthur reached out and toggled a valve-like mechanism.