Chapter 49: Let’s Call Her Dawn

"Would you mind allowing me to examine it?"

To dispel any doubts, Cawl added, "I am a Tech-Priest Dominus from Mars. I have handled the gene-seed tithes submitted by all Chapters, so you needn't worry about any secrets being leaked."

To maintain a certain degree of oversight over the Space Marines, preserve the lineages of the various Chapters, and ensure they have a chance to rebuild should they face total annihilation, almost every Chapter periodically submits gene-seed tithes to Mars.

This prompted Romulus to cast a surprised glance at the Black Templars Chaplain.

Wait, leaving aside the fact that tithes were being discussed so openly in front of another Chapter, could this really be brought up in front of a Black Templar?

Did these over-producing guerrilla fighters pay gene-seed tithes as well?

The Chaplain assumed the Elder was seeking confirmation regarding the veracity of this information.

"The Black Templars also pay the gene-seed tithe."

Although the Black Templars never cared much for the Codex and frequently caused the ships of the Departmento Munitorum and Adeptus Administratum to get lost in the warp, they actually maintained fairly good relations with other Imperial departments.

They were considered quite sociable among the Sons of Dorn.

Thus, they still paid their gene-seed tithes, though the quantities might occasionally be slightly problematic.

"Thank you."

With his brain instantly synthesizing known information to deduce the underlying reasons, Romulus's confusion was dispelled.

"Think nothing of it."

Immediately after, the injured Son of Dorn spoke.

His voice was as hard as his face, and even when pulling at his wound, his breathing did not fluctuate in the slightest.

Cawl did not stand on ceremony, directly setting to work on cleaning the wound.

He sprayed disinfectant, extended a pair of delicate medical forceps, and grasped the shattered venom-crystals.

These projectiles, laden with lethal toxins, inflicted pain that surpassed the sensory threshold of the nervous system, making it nearly impossible even for a Space Marine to endure.

*Sitch—*

The medical forceps pulled out the fragments, along with a large amount of nerve tissue adhering to them.

The Son of Dorn remained unmoved.

Aside from the muscles around the wound drooping limply where the nerves had been severed, that rock-like visage betrayed no expression whatsoever.

Next came disinfection and cleansing, cellular tissue regeneration, and blood dialysis.

Marshal Orlando noticed the fluorescent venom-crystals glowing in the surgical tray, and looking at the other's expressionless face, his respect deepened profoundly.

What an unyielding warrior!

The Sons of Dorn had always been renowned for their self-discipline and endurance of pain.

During times of peace, they frequently utilized a piece of equipment known as the "Pain Glove" to temper themselves.

Yet even among the Black Templars—brothers whom Orlando regarded as exceptionally resolute and stellar—few could suppress the physiological reactions caused by excruciating agony when faced with venom-crystal weaponry.

With warriors like these, how could they fail to secure victory for the God-Emperor?!

As a fellow Son of Dorn, Orlando felt a surge of pride.

Morale rose once more.

Romulus smiled.

The objective was achieved.

"The acid successfully neutralized the toxicity of the venom-crystals."

Having completed the procedure, Cawl stated as much.

Marshal Orlando, listening from the side, instantly changed expression. The pride that came from the bottom of his heart froze on his face for a mere moment before dissolving into sheer disbelief.

That stubborn, stone-headed warrior finally caught on.

The Sons of Dorn donned their helmets without a word, then rose to their feet.

"Thank you for your treatment,贤者 [Tech-Priest]."

"Preserving such warriors for the Omnissiah is my bounden duty,"

The Archmagos replied in a low rumble, then dragged his massive frame away.

Servitors automatically stepped forward to clean up the bloodstains on the floor.

"Then we shall take our leave."

With everything concluded, Romulus politely bid farewell to the gathering and departed alongside the Carcharodons.

This time, thankfully, there were no unexpected interruptions.

In the empty landing plaza, only the two Black Templars were left staring at one another in silence.

"Did you hear what the Archmagos just said?"

Marshal Orlando could no longer maintain his composure.

No wonder, no wonder these elders were so unyielding.

The Sons of Dorn rarely engaged in conjecture, choosing affirmation only when in possession of undeniable answers.

"Marshal!"

The Chaplain's tone was laden with unconcealed agitation.

He reached out and snatched a venom-crystal from a servitor's carrying basket, scrutinizing the corrosion marks upon it.

"That elder... he possesses salivary glands."

If Archmagos Cawl's examination was accurate, and his own Space Marine senses had not deceived him, then there could only be one conclusion.

The being who had stood before them was a true Son of Dorn.

That was a genuine Imperial Fist!

-----------------

A Tyrant-class Cruiser.

At the landing bay, the Stormbird slowly opened its hatch, and Romulus stepped out of the transport alongside Rameses.

The Tyrant-class, boasting an extra battery of primary weapons on either side compared to its Lunar-class cruiser counterpart, appeared slightly more slender than the Lunar.

Consequently, its structural design was not optimized for boarding actions; compared to the Imperial Navy, ships of this type—which required no ramming prow and offered ample internal modification space—were far more popular among the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Before the Stormbird, the cruiser's captain stood waiting with her officers to welcome the arrival of the angels.

*'Why does this ship feel like it's trembling, or is it excited?'*

The captain thought to herself.

When Romulus's boots touched the deck, the captain, who maintained a lifelong communion with the ship's machine spirit, sensed something amiss.

Yet a moment later, she buried her doubts deep within her heart.

"Honored Lord, acting Captain Aurora von Caralox pays her respects to you."

Aurora stepped forward, deliberately ignoring the Angels of the Emperor who disembarked and immediately dispersed toward various decks.

"Greetings, Captain Aurora. I am Romulus, Deathwatch Kill-Team Commander."

"Please allow me to invite you to the bridge and introduce the officers of this vessel."

Romulus nodded politely, observing his surroundings through multiple fields of vision while listening to Aurora's report. Guiding his squad under the guidance of attendants, he walked toward the bridge elevator.

"The name of this ship."

Walking down a corridor grand enough to overlook the lower decks of the warship, after Captain Aurora had finished introducing every officer present, Romulus asked.

"She now belongs to you."

Captain Aurora replied submissively, evidently having been coached beforehand.

"Understood."

Romulus acknowledged.

He found the ship's environment acceptable.

Clean, orderly, devoid of ostentatious religious ornamentation, and with all the officers already assembled—which indicated that the captain possessed a firm command over her crew.

Even the technicians on the lower decks of the warship were arranged in an orderly fashion; his perception registered only cold, concise commands, free of the sound of whips lashing flesh.

Though the work hours listed on the shift schedules still felt abstract, they bore a faint resemblance to the eras of tens of thousands of years ago.

"Daddy!"

A voice laden with profound sorrow interrupted his thoughts.

Romulus tilted his head.

His superhuman senses had caught the faint commotion.

He halted his steps, walked to the edge of the corridor, and looked down toward a cargo-handling area deep within the ship's lower levels.

One of the Space Marines serving as his eyes and ears was stationed nearby.

"Daddy!"

It was a little girl squeezing her way forward against the tide of the crowd.

"Daddy, let's go home, Daddy."

The little girl shouted toward a servitor, only to be instantly swallowed by the human tide formed by the laborers.

The Space Marine "laboriously" parted the crowd and picked up the little girl, whose clothes bore a few extra footprint smudges.

"Thank you."

The little girl had no idea what an Emperor's Angel was. After offering her gratitude, she struggled to stand from that broad embrace.

"Daddy, Mommy misses you so much."

She continued to call out.

Yet the servitor merely trudged onward with heavy footsteps, carrying its cargo onto the transport lift and disappearing from their sight.

"......"

Leaning against the window sill, Romulus remained silent for a long time.

Captain Aurora waited patiently, acutely sensing that the atmosphere had grown somewhat strange.

"Where were we?"

"The name of the warship, my Lord."

"Let us call her Dawn."

Romulus replied. This was one of several names they had discussed in private, signifying that the journey of the travelers had ushered in a dawn.

It also represented their faint aspiration to bring the light of dawn to a dark galaxy.

Their existence should do more than merely bring victory to a single war.

*Crackle— Pop—*

The lights in the elevator flickered twice, as if in response.