Chapter 48: The Sky Has Fallen

"Triumph."

Interlocking weapons clashed, sending a cascade of sparks flying.

"Triumph!"

The crowd roared in response with thunderous voices, their piercing gazes burning with a fierce intensity capable of forcing back the very blades and edges confronting one another.

Arthur relaxed his wrist and lowered his sword.

He knew this was enough.

The black knight swept his cloak back, once again concealing his majesty and splendor beneath a silent veil of mystery.

Everyone stowed their weapons, gazing at the sacred light left behind by the Emperor, their hearts filled with an unshakeable resolve to conquer.

"One day to prepare."

Romulus glanced sideways at Arthur and let out a soft sigh.

From now on, whenever there was any morale-related matter, he would simply leave it to his good brother.

"Inquisitor Aglaia may assemble the personnel she requires, and our vessels will also need time to receive them."

"Understood!"

Aglaia straightened her back and lifted her chin, looking precisely like a soldier undergoing review.

"My lord!"

Approaching Arthur, she respectfully extended a grade-I insignia.

"Thank you for your magnanimity and mercy. This is an anchor for the soul, capable of locking onto my spirit at any given time."

It was an emblem she had earned during her time as a recorder in the Origin Archives before becoming an inquisitor.

The Roman numeral I signified that she had been the first among that cohort of operatives.

Under normal circumstances, this badge would have been passed down to her own apprentice and successor.

Yet now, Aglaia instinctively felt that she ought to present this very ornament.

"Should the future me show even the slightest sign of corruption, you may take my life at any moment."

Aglaia stated concisely, as if wasting a fraction of a second of the knight's time were an act of blasphemy.

Arthur's prior actions had afforded her a chance at survival.

One had to bear in mind that a psyker prone to emotional instability was extremely dangerous, especially given that she was an inquisitor—a classic example being her own teacher; just look at the massive turmoil he had stirred up.

Naturally, under normal circumstances, an ordinary person could not execute an inquisitor, but the problem was that none of the surrounding individuals were ordinary.

The Tech-Priest Magos cared only for threat levels, the Black Templars were already at odds with the Inquisition and harbored an extreme aversion to psykers other than Navigators, and they would have gladly seized any opportunity to strike down this witch.

Arthur's action, in the eyes of everyone present, served as a personal guarantee for her, and she could not tarnish the reputation of these ancient warriors.

"Very well."

Arthur reached out and took the insignia.

Golden light flickered and intertwined.

"Here it is again."

Ramesses muttered to himself, silently manipulating the safehouse to envelop Aglaia's warp projection.

"Thank you, my lord!"

Aglaia retreated with a flutter of excitement, feeling an unprecedented sense of peace wash over her.

"Tsk—"

Karna suddenly found the grape in his mouth losing its sweetness.

It tasted somewhat sour.

Why was this kid Arthur so damn lucky?

Having a customized weapon was one thing, but now he even had a dedicated accessory. Those 'locals' might not know what that numeral I represented, but they certainly did; it was obviously the Emperor playing favorites, and he was the only Dark Angels on this ship.

And what about them? If it weren't for Arthur earlier, the three of them wouldn't even have managed to draw Cadian lasguns.

The Emperor was biased!

Arthur always got to drop all those cool, aloof lines—why couldn't the three of them be that eloquent?

Besides, why did the Emperor have such a penchant for this dramatic flair? He was over fifty thousand years old; hadn't his adolescent delusions worn off yet?

"My lord, I wish to lead the Inquisitorial Guard onto your vessel hereafter."

Aglaia formally submitted her request to Romulus.

"Of course."

"The cruiser has completed docking, positioned between the *Nicole* and the Ark. Any alien spoils of war you have acquired will be converted by me into consumable resources," Cawr added as he watched Aglaia withdraw.

"My gratitude."

Romulus nodded in acknowledgment, then prepared to lead his detachment away.

Clang!

Just as the formation began to move, the warrior who had previously been struck in the face by a venom crystal shifted his footing. He failed to take a successful step forward, instead stumbling a few paces before dropping to his knees, supporting himself on his thighs.

Right there, in plain view of everyone.

"Elder!"

The three sharks cried out in alarm, hurriedly scrambling forward with a flurry of hands and feet.

They anxiously steadied the elder, feeling as though the sky had collapsed upon them in that instant.

"......"

Tyberos stood motionless, still gripping the drooling Archon.

For a split second, Romulus felt as though the gaze Tyberos cast upon the three sharks was the kind one reserved for the dead.

"His life is not in danger," Romulus stated, maintaining a composed demeanor that rivaled his commanding aura during battle.

He hadn't paid attention earlier simply because the data monitoring the status of the Imperial Fists on his end had not triggered any warnings.

*Looks like I'll need to add an abnormal status display module in the future.*

He thought to himself.

"...I understand."

Tyberos nodded.

The suffocating pressure immediately dissipated.

Plop—

The Son of Dorn removed his helmet, revealing a somewhat aged face to the onlookers.

His rugged crew cut and eyebrows had turned completely white.

Across his stone-carved features, the lingering deep wound traversing the lower half of his cheek appeared exceptionally savage.

The transcendent perspective granted by machinery allowed Cawr to lock onto the corroded traces remaining upon the scarred fragment of the cheek.

"Do you possess adequate medical facilities?"

Cawr's interest was piqued.

Romulus pondered slightly.

He was weighing the pros and cons.

The bodies they had created were Imperial Fists—that much was unquestionable—and even the cellular aging rate of these bodies could be manually edited.

However, undergoing an examination meant that this warrior's physical architecture would be completely exposed to Cawr's scrutiny.

One had to remember that when Romulus utilized the template, although he had refrained from selecting the Primaris Space Marines that Archmagos Cawr would introduce to the Imperium in the future due to chronological constraints, he had still employed flawless gene-seed to ensure optimal combat performance.

In this current era, the Imperial Fists—having endured the rapid conscription of the Siege of Terra, the near-total annihilation of the War of the Beast, and subsequent rebuilding utilizing personnel from the Exemplar Fists chapter—had lost two of the nineteen Space Marine implants: the Betcher's Gland and the Oolitic Kidney.

Furthermore, including various successor chapters of the Imperial Fists, certain organs had undergone varying degrees of mutation over time, leading to genetic flaws where organs functioned improperly to a greater or lesser extent.

Thus, a complete, unadulterated Imperial Fister, aside from the magos's own private stock and the collections of certain unnamed thieves, existed only during the Great Crusade.

Would the exposure of this trait be a good thing?

Naturally, it would.

The mere existence of that intact, pre-Heresy gene-seed alone would suffice to prove the undeniable authenticity of their identity.

"We do not have any Apothecaries; recovery is usually handled by Arthur," Romulus spoke up.

Since they were all just flesh-and-blood constructs anyway, if something broke, they simply replaced it. Romulus had never intended to maintain them in the traditional sense; he had planned to establish that role to mass-produce troops only after capturing a chapter homeworld.

And now, this was an accident—a remarkably convenient excuse.