Warhammer: My buddy has too many secrets!

"The other party's identity may be beyond our expectations, otherwise the Weeping One would not have left it unmentioned in the Star Language."

Think tanks are more inclined to go there:

"Moreover, the mere fact that it contains the relics of Saint Geres gives us reason to go. However, as the chapter leader, you may choose to send the second company of soldiers."

Dante remained silent.

He looked out the window again. The other half of the night sky in Baal was completely dark, with only the searchlights on the distant fortress towers sweeping huge beams of light through the clouds.

In that darkness, Dante instinctively sensed that something was waiting for him... and watching him intently.

He thought of Saint Gilles, his father whom he had never met but whose soul had flowed into his veins.

He had seen Saint Gilles countless times, in meditation, in battle, and on the border between life and death.

That face so handsome it seemed unreal, those eyes that held the stars, those pure white wings, and those feathers on those wings forever stained with blood.

Saint Gilles died, at the hands of Horus, on the ship of Vengeance.

But the blood of Saint Gillespie flows in their veins, the rage of Saint Gillespie burns in their hearts, and the tragedy of Saint Gillespie is repeated again and again in their lives.

Dante understood that this was a sign that he was about to fall into dark wrath.

Every Blood Angel knows what Black Wrath means. It is the Primarch's memory before his death, etched into the genetic seed, passed down through generations, never to be erased.

When the Black Wrath descends, a Blood Angel will experience an almost real hallucination, feeling as if they are back on the Soul of Vengeance, seeing Horus's giant claws piercing into the chest of Saint Gilles.

They will scream, they will cry, they will brandish weapons at the air, at their comrades, at everything. Some will come back, but many more will never return.

The apothecaries of the Blood Angels have studied for millennia, yet they still cannot explain the mechanism of Black Fury. They only know one thing: their genetic father, Saint Gilles, died a very painful death.

That pain was even etched into his genes, transcending the limitations of time and space, and imprinted on everyone who inherited his bloodline; even Commander Dante could not avoid it.

For a thousand years, he had served the Emperor and Saint Jeremy for far too long. He closed his eyes, letting his consciousness sink into the depths of his heart.

In countless dreams, there, in a pure white void, he saw a blurry outline. A man, a winged man, standing with his back to him. Dante couldn't see his face, but he knew who it was.

"Should I go?" Dante asked.

The silhouette did not answer, but its wings slowly unfurled, and pure white feathers drifted through the air. One of the feathers floated toward Dante, closer and closer, until it touched his chest.

Dante suddenly opened his eyes.

"Assemble the second company," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "Prepare the landing ships and escort fleet. We're departing tomorrow."

The company commander and the think tank leader showed no expression on their faces. They absolutely respected the orders of the battle group leader. They then turned and left the room to reorganize the team.

Dante stood alone by the window, gazing at the dark sky.

The great bell of the warband fortress began to toll, its heavy, lingering sound echoing through the atmosphere of Baal, like some ancient prophecy. The monks of the Second Company were summoned from meditation or training to begin preparations for the upcoming expedition.

Servant pushes massive armory crates through the corridors, technical sergeants inspect the souls of every Dreadnought and Land Raider amidst prayers, while Holy Blood Priests apply holy oil to every weapon in the armory.

When the bells stopped, Dante had already donned his ancient, golden Terminator armor.

He walked out of the study, through the long corridor, past the marble statues of the heroes of the Blood Angels throughout history, through the arches engraved with battle honors, and arrived at the fortress's landing field.

The 2nd Company Commander was a veteran named Donatos Affil, who led 120 tactical squad monks from the 2nd Company, along with their transport vehicles and heavy support weapons, who were already waiting there.

"Commander."

He began to speak:

"All personnel are assembled and ready to depart at any time."

Dante nodded, and he turned to face his warriors.

For 1,100 years, he has stood before the ranks countless times, and when he puts on the golden mask of Saint Geres, it means that the weary man who was previously handling official business has disappeared, and in his place is the nightmare of the enemy of mankind.

"Set off!"

Countless pre-war speeches have now been condensed into a single, short syllable.

He once shouted the Emperor's name on a world about to be devoured by the Tyranids! He also sang the hymns of Saint Gilles amidst the encirclement of Chaos Space Marines!

In a life-or-death situation, Dante told his warriors: Death is just another beginning, and now he no longer needs these formalities!

The emperor created twenty-one sons, each with a fatal flaw. Saint Gilles' flaw was a dark side he himself did not want to face: a bloodthirsty instinct, a desire for destruction, and a madness that could devour everything at times.

But Saint Gilles never yielded, and Dante vowed that he should do the same!

Dante took one last look at his warriors before climbing the gangway of the Stormbird landing ship.

His cockpit is located on top of the ship, and through the armored glass, he can see the entire landing zone.

The monks of the first and second companies are boarding the ship in an orderly manner. This time, Dante only brought 10 Terminator veterans from the first company, while the majority of the troops are still stationed at Baal.

The engines of the Thunderhawk transport plane began to warm up, emitting a deafening roar.

"Navigation coordinates have been set."

The navigator's voice came through the communicator, accompanied by a slight static interference.

"Full speed ahead," Dante said.

The hatch of the Thunderhawk closed, and the ship slowly rose into the air under the action of its anti-gravity engine.

Through the porthole, Dante saw the red land of Baal rapidly shrinking beneath his feet, the outline of the chapter's fortress becoming increasingly blurred, and finally disappearing beneath the clouds.

The landing craft passed through Bal's thin atmosphere and entered space.

There, their escort force had been waiting for some time. Two Retribution-class cruisers, four Hunt-class destroyers, and a combat barge formed a loose wedge formation, awaiting the flagship's orders.

When Dante entered the bridge, everyone was waiting. The navigator was already in his meditation pod, his third eye on his forehead slowly opening, gazing into the abyss of the warp.

The navigators marked the best route on the holographic star map, avoiding several known subspace storm regions.

"Commander."

Dante did not immediately sit on the mechanical throne. Instead, he walked to the main window of the bridge and looked at the cold stars outside.

"Activate the subspace engine."

Dante said.

"By the Emperor," the accompanying mechanical priest prayed softly, then repeated the command. "Activate the warp engines. All ships, prepare for warp."

The bridge lights dimmed, and the emergency lights came on, casting a dark red glow over everything.

A sharp screech came from the navigator's meditation pod, followed by an indistinct whisper.

The Imperial fleet's warp drives rely heavily on the Navigator community, who are essentially mutants and psionicists. They possess a "third eye" naturally growing on their foreheads that allows them to see into the warp, "reading" its currents and undercurrents like sailors see the waves.

They used this as a guide to find Imperial Starlight and plan relatively safe routes in the warp.

The ship began to tremble, and the song of the subspace engines came from the bottom of the ship—a deep and long hum, like the heartbeat of some enormous creature.

Everyone on the bridge was praying, whispering the emperor's holy name and the hymns of Saint Gilles, their voices mingling to form a strange yet solemn chorus.

"Leap countdown."

The sound remained steady despite the vibration.

"Ten...nine...eight..."

Dante also closed his eyes to clear his thoughts.

Did he truly feel the call of Saint Gilles? Or was it merely his weary soul yearning for an answer?

An answer to why we fight, why we live, and why we continue to endure this endless suffering.

Hopefully, this sacred object belonging to the mourners will provide him with an answer.