Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 895, page 08.894: Fenris Mead

As a captain well-versed in the history of the Empire and its current crisis, Horatio's gaze was fixed on the ominous eight-pointed star mark on the holographic star map, a symbol of the forces of chaos.

He knew that, as the millennium drew near, the shadow of the thirteenth Black Expedition was gathering like a storm, and every disturbance in the chaos could be the prelude to the end.

He had to find out their exact whereabouts; every detail could determine the survival of millions of lives.

Major General Bruyès's expression grew even more solemn. He stretched out his white-gloved hand and drew a path on the star map, pointing to an imperial beacon that had been extinguished.

“The last time we received a valid detection signal was a month ago. That forward outpost was subsequently invaded and completely destroyed; everyone inside died, not a single survivor.” His voice was low and echoed in the silent bridge.

"The Thinker Array has been smashed to pieces, and the surveillance records have been irreparably destroyed and blasphemously contaminated in the subspace. Now, no one dares to assert that what our star map shows is necessarily the truth."

"Those damned traitors!" Ragnar Blackmane roared like suppressed thunder, his grip on the hilt of his holy frost sword, Frostfang, turning his large knuckles white with force. "Once we've chopped those green-skinned scum and the traitors of Severus to pieces, we'll chop those heretical scum to pieces too!"

"The crisis is temporarily over, Wolf Lord." Horatio finally looked away from the star map and turned to Ragnar. His tone was calm and firm, like a rock that stood firm in a storm. "The Blackmane Company can continue to fulfill your duties. I wish you good luck in Calicith. Farewell on the battlefield."

Ragnar gave Horatio a deep look. The extraordinary composure of this mortal captain made him feel a little strange, but he still nodded heavily, accepting the blessing.

Just then, Major General Bruyès suddenly stepped forward, his usually serious face now showing an barely suppressed eagerness and inquiry.

"My lord... I heard that you encountered... werewolves in the battle?" He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "My armed sailors reported in their post-battle report that they saw a 'Gevadang monster' that only appears in the local mythology of Calicus. It's a terrifying werewolf creature, said to appear only when the Tyrant's Moon is high. By the Divine Emperor, is this... true?"

For a moment, the air inside the bridge seemed to freeze.

The whispers of the servo skull and the hum of the machine seemed to have stopped.

Horatio and Ragnar, the wolf lord, exchanged a meaningful glance.

He could see the fury and icy chill that instantly ignited in Ragnar's azure eyes, a fury powerful enough to incinerate a person to ashes.

Before the Wolf Lord's signature, all-crushing frost greatsword could unleash its power, Horatio smiled and stepped forward, silently standing between the two.

His voice was steady and persuasive, like a clear spring, easily dispelling this fatal question.

"Your Excellency, as you know, those alien ships have all sorts of strange things on them."

He shrugged, his posture relaxed. "Their flesh wizards take pleasure in twisting flesh, and we even saw some snake-like alien creatures. What's so strange about having a few monsters they've modified from slaves, mimicking wild beasts, as war beasts? They're just a bunch of damned alien mercenaries. Even if there were any, they've already turned into cosmic dust along with that ship."

Ragnar gazed at the exceptionally skilled naval captain before him, watching him so calmly conceal the catastrophic secret that threatened the very existence of Space Wolves—the curse of "Uffin." The wariness and vigilance in his eyes, like the glaciers of Fenris, melted away under an unseen warm current, and the massive hand gripping the sword hilt beneath the wolf-hair fur relaxed in response.

“Indeed.” Rear Admiral Bruyès let out a sigh of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing. “Those damned aliens. Thank goodness they’re all dead.” He turned to Horatio, speaking with genuine respect, “Captain, for the rest of the journey with the wind at your back, I can escort your fleet to a port of call, and then we can travel together to Calicus.”

He then turned to Ragnar: "Lord Wolf, the Space Wolves' journey takes them directly to the Spin-Switch route, which is different from ours. I'm afraid we'll have to part ways here again. May the Emperor guide your journey, and we'll meet again on the Spin-Switch line."

The cold metal passageway connected the bridge of the "Eastern" to the berthing area. As Horatio was about to step onto the gangway to return to his own ship, Ragnar's voice came from behind him.

“Before you leave, the pack wants to give you a gift to commemorate this time fighting side by side,” Blackmane said. He turned slightly to the side, and a wolf guard with dazzling gold trim on his shoulder armor—the most elite veteran of the Space Wolves Legion—stepped forward with steady steps, carrying a long, solid wooden box.

At first glance, Horatio thought it was another chainsaw sword inside—the shape of the box was exactly the same as the one given to him by the Holy Blood Angels, except that the lid was carved with a howling wolf's head emblem, and the wood was a deep walnut color, rather than the mahogany in the style of Saint Gilles.

Horatio raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Another wolf guard stepped forward and opened the box for him. What came into view was not a pair of gleaming swords, but rows of crystal-clear wine, like melted amber, in rough-looking yet exquisitely crafted glass bottles.

"This is the best Mjd (Fenris mead) we produce," Ragnar said with a hint of pride. "For the people of Fenris, sharing mead with comrades is the highest honor we can bestow."

“Thank you, Lord Wolf.” Horatio took a deep breath, the air seemingly filled with the rich aroma of mead. He solemnly accepted the wooden box, then turned to Ragnar, lowering his voice: “May you and your brothers in arms have good fortune. I believe this dark age will eventually change. And… be careful when fighting the Greenskins.”

As someone who foresaw the future, Horatio knew that Ragnar Blackmane would soon be critically wounded in a duel with the orc warlord Shalaka the Bonebreaker. But this fatal injury would ultimately forge a legend of rebirth from the ashes.

That's all he could say.

Ragnar's sharp eyes scrutinized Horatio, as if trying to see through his mortal body and reach the depths of his soul.

"Although I don't know your true origins," the Wolf Lord began slowly, his voice low, "I can see that your strength far surpasses that of ordinary people. I'm not sure if beneath your mortal exterior lies something even more terrifying than Ufen, but..."

Ragnar's lips curled into a proud smile, revealing slightly elongated canine teeth: "I have already seen that the man before me is a worthy warrior. 'Never judge a brave warrior by the secrets behind him.' — This is an ancient proverb of Fenris."

Horatio smiled in response: "The Holy Blood Angel who fought alongside me once told me that there is a beast hidden within each of us. But even a beast is the beast of the Emperor."

Ragnar was taken aback at first, then burst into a hearty and unrestrained laugh that echoed through the empty hangar.

"Ha! Now I know why you have a Holy Blood Angel's relic-grade chainsaw sword. Farewell, High Lord Captain." He struck the eagle on his chest, the power armor glove making a muffled sound. "We will meet again, and I hope that when that time comes, you and I... will still be the same as we are now."

(End of this chapter)