Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

Chapter 180 Ashes and Direction

Three dark gold Imperial Guard warships leaped out of the subspace. The instant they passed through the exit, the flames from their thrusters narrowed from blazing to almost invisible pale gold streaks, and they adjusted their course, rapidly advancing towards the main planet of Garros.

After more than ten hours of routine sailing, the outline of Garros was clearly visible through the porthole. The cold starlight fell on the dark gold armor plating, spreading a thin layer of frosty glow. Rellano stood before the main ship's porthole, watching the forged world he had left so long unfold before him: on the gray-yellow surface, clusters of domes, like solidified bubbles, were anchored to the rock layers, many more than when he left. At the edge of the terminator, the outline of the brand-new space elevator orbital port was fresh and distinct; the "Wangshu" fortress hovered above it, the blue light of its plasma thrusters flickering like breath, subtly adjusting its attitude to the rotation of Garros's main star. Garros was never still.

The berths were neatly arranged like a chessboard on the anchored spaceport. Once the signal indicating berthing was complete was given, Rellano followed Trajan two steps behind, maintaining a precise distance, and crossed the docking bridge.

Thousands of Garros Guardians stood solemnly on both sides of the corridor. Clad in dark gold power armor and crimson cloaks, their long-handled halberds held at an angle, they stood in orderly ranks in the dimly lit passageway. The red beams of light from the optical lenses formed two unblinking lines on either side of the corridor, stretching towards its end; servo skulls hovered above their heads, playing binary hymns in perfect formation—the highest tribute the Forged World could offer to the Emperor and the messenger of the Ohm Messiah. As Rellano passed by, not a single Guardian turned their lens; even the hum of their breathing pressure valves remained perfectly synchronized.

Outside the corridor bridge, the spaceport's transit hall teemed with people. Merchants, travelers, workers, mechanical priests—a diverse array of faces exchanged glances amidst hushed conversations. Some looked on in awe, while others hurried away, their steps hurried.

Tura's stride remained unchanged throughout. He wore a fully enclosed helmet, and his gleaming gold visor concealed all expression. Rellano followed behind, maintaining a comfortable distance.

During the weeks at sea, he had rehearsed countless times the scenario of facing Cohen: returning with the Emperor's decree, standing before him in this original body that he hadn't chosen, what to say, what to do. But when the berth lights at the end of the jetty fell on his shoulder armor, the agonizing question suddenly faded. The only important thing was—he was back.

Trajan had already moved on to the other high-ranking Garros. Rellano walked up to Cohen and stopped. The skeleton of the Proto-Forged Space Marine was half a head taller than that of a regular Astartes, and Cohen had to tilt his head slightly to meet his gaze. His gaze fell on Rellano's face, lingering for exactly one second—the speed of his gaze falling and returning was perfect, without surprise, without inquiry.

"You saw Him." This is not a question, but a confirmation.

"How is He?"

Rellano paused for a moment. The circulating air from the berth platform swept over his shoulder armor, causing the edge of his cloak to flutter slightly. "Just like ten thousand years ago. Sitting on the golden throne, wearing golden armor, with a gentle smile. Exactly as I remember."

""

He paused, then looked up. "But I know it's not real. If that smile were real, the Istvan III wouldn't have happened."

Cohen looked directly at him without asking any further questions. "It's good that you're back. I'll handle the rest." His voice was calm and devoid of any warmth.

Rellano knew he couldn't continue this topic. He took the cold, hard, adamantite-sealed cylinder from his side and displayed it to Cohen. "Documents from the Highlords Council and Mars. The Emperor's Will confirms: I will form the Phoenix Chapter and serve as its Chapter Master."

Cohen glanced at the sealed container. "This is a gift for Garros, and also a clear constraint. This is His position."

"Protect the Garros Nexus, and follow your orders. Also, we should persuade you to go to Terra."

Cohen shifted his gaze from the sealed container back to Rellano's face. "Persuade?"

Rellano did not answer. He turned his head to look beside him. Trajan had already exchanged polite greetings with the Garros executives and was walking back to Cohen.

The commander of the Imperial Guards still wore his visor. He stopped before Cohen, his voice steady: "Your Excellency, the Emperor's will: You must proceed to Terra and pay homage to the Golden Throne."

Cohen turned his head to look at him. "Your Excellency Trajan, discussing this matter in the berth is not a good place."

Tula did not refute. "Of course."

Cohen turned and gestured towards the passageway. "The temple has prepared a reception hall. Please follow me."

Tura didn't move immediately. He glanced at Cohen over Relano's shoulder before taking a step to catch up. Relano, with the sealing cylinder tucked under his arm, lagged behind, still keeping a two-step distance.

The main dome of the Garros Casting Temple was already completed. A hundred meters high, the dome hung overhead, its adamantine frame stretching out under the cool white light. A giant gear-shaped chandelier hung from the center of the dome, rotating smoothly with the slow airflow within the temple. The statue of Om Messiah stood in the center of the main hall: half a complex of intricately meshed gears, half a bare human skull, its empty eye sockets containing two eternally burning psychic flames. A dark golden halo spread across the statue's base, filling the entire empty main hall.

Trajan walked to the center of the main hall, raised his hand to unlock the clasp of his throat armor, and the visor slid open along the rails. He looked up at the icon for a moment, his gaze moving from the teeth of the gears to the eye sockets of the skull, then back to his head. He tucked his helmet under his arm and turned to Cohen, who stood at the base of the icon.

"Cohen Severus, Forge Master of Garros. The Emperor's Will: You must travel to Terra and pay homage to the Golden Throne."

Cohen stood ten paces away, his right hand on his hip. "I need to confirm something."

"you say."

"Can I travel to Terra in my own flagship?"

"Feasible. The Imperial Guard fleet will accompany and escort them."

Cohen remained calm and said frankly, "Then I accept the Emperor's invitation and will set off for Terra in ten days to see how it differs from the Terra I remember."

Trajan's gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer before shifting away. He didn't correct the word.

Rellano's gaze lingered on that sentence for a moment, then looked away.

Trajan looked at Cohen, his amber pupils slightly contracting. "We will wait in Garros for ten days."

He turned toward the main hall entrance. He paused for a moment, without looking back, his voice barely audible, just enough for Cohen to hear: "He needs help. I'm not talking about Him." Then he stepped out, his footsteps fading beneath the dome of the main hall.

Cohen stood alone for a moment. The words "He needs help" hung in the air, like a weight placed in the wrong place.

Rellano stopped a step to the side of Cohen, looking at his face. Cohen's expression was no different from usual, but Rellano noticed that the fingertip of Cohen's hand resting on his waist was tapping the hem of his robe at an almost imperceptible frequency.

That was a habit he rarely showed when calculating weights.

"Trajan came in person, not just to send you to Terra."

"I know. He has his duties, and I have my path."

Cohen's gaze fell on the sealed cylinder in Relano's arms. "Open it."

Rellano broke the seal. The parchment scroll unfurled in the cold light, its elegant High Gothic script neatly arranged, the bright red seal of Mars and Terra at the end striking. Cohen didn't touch the parchment, but merely bent down and scanned it in the cold light before straightening up.

"Two thousand Space Marine seeds, two thousand MKX power armor sets. The starting point of the Phoenix Chapter. He gave you a new body, a brand new Chapter, and then sent you back to Garros—that's clear enough for now."

Rellano paused for a moment, then lowered his head and opened his palm. "No matter what, my loyalty to the Emperor will not change."

"From fearlessness to mortal, and back to Astartes." Cohen looked at him, his tone slightly lowered. "It was all to have a better chance of survival in this chaotic world. Everything I did was based on this judgment."

Rellano paused for a few seconds: "I know. You and he were both caught in a bind, let alone me."

Cohen did not respond.

"In short, it's my mission, and I must complete it." Rella paused, then looked up at Cohen. "So, what's my next task?"

Cohen looked at him for two seconds. "There are a few things I need to explain about what you brought back."

"The formation of the Phoenix Chapter?"

"It's the Phoenix Legion. The seeds are in place, and the original 15,000 Phoenix Legion warriors are your recruits. You can gradually select and nurture them; it will still be the Phoenix Legion. The warband is just a facade."

Cohen returned the sealed container to Rellano and turned to walk towards the side corridor of the main hall. Pushing open the adamantine door at the end of the corridor, the light outside was a shade darker than in the main hall. "Come with me. There are a few things you need to know before I leave."

Rellano followed.

The two walked side by side through the corridor. Twilight seeped in through the transparent armor plates of the dome, casting a layer of dark golden velvet on the terracotta floor. Cohen suddenly spoke up: "Regarding the modification surgery, before I return from Terra, you can contact Liz's team and have her assign a group of bio-priests to train. There's no need to rush."

After a brief pause, Cohen continued, "There's still the issue of two thousand MKX power armor sets. Store them in storage. Garros has better options."

Rellano wasn't surprised and continued the conversation: "A mechanical sage named Caul left behind a modification plan." His arm swing slowed down slightly. "I think it will be of great help to Garros."

Cohen paused for a moment after hearing Caul's name. "Very good."

"And—the Emperor's state, everything about him is too cold and fickle." Rellano hesitated for a long time before speaking, "He gave me a new body, gave me the Phoenix Legion, brought me back, and now he insists you go to Terra—he just wants to see you face to face, with his own eyes. That's obvious."

He carefully considered his words. "I don't want him to become a god."

Cohen stopped in his tracks. "You just said 'God'."

"Yes."

Cohen didn't continue. He stepped forward again and pushed open the heavy, adamantine door at the end of the corridor.

Behind the door was the reception hall in the side wing of the temple. A long conference table was already set up, with data boards neatly arranged along its edge. Cohen walked to the head seat and gestured for Relano to sit opposite him.

"I will personally go to Terra to check on the Emperor's condition." Cohen pushed a data panel to the center of the table. "This is the Orbital Harbor Shipyard Expansion Plan. Garros now has ample shipyard space. In two years, the Phoenix Legion can plan a combat barge based on the Nemesis-class and two standard strike cruisers, plus the existing Phoenix Mars-class battlecruiser, and a few escort ships—that will be complete. At the current pace, it should be ready in time for the next expedition against the Tau."

Rellano didn't look at the data panel. "The Phoenix Legion itself is already quite elite. If we add a few more original Astartes companies, it can form a force stronger than the Imperial standard battle chapters within five to ten years."

Cohen leaned back in his chair. "You remain the Chief Military Instructor of Garros. Garros' military system cannot function without your involvement."

Rellano picked up the data panel and placed it in front of him. After looking at it for a while, he exclaimed, "Gallos is developing so fast. If the entire empire were this efficient, Horus's rebellion wouldn't have left the Emperor sitting on that chair for ten thousand years, unable to move."

"The Phoenix Legion's structure is clearly defined, with a combat style similar to that of the Space Marines. So in reality, it's just adding a few Astartes companies; there's not much difference."

Cohen didn't reply. After a moment of silence, he stood up. "Come with me."

The two headed to the Garros underground. The elevator platform descended into the industrial layer, and deeper still, beneath a dome stood a skeletal archway. The pale, sacred bones gleamed with a soft, moon-like light in the cold glow, their edges etched with intricate patterns of psionic energy.

Rellano stood before the archway, gazing up at the ripple of emptiness in its center. In the underground bunker of Istvan III, he had heard of the Webway—the passage the Emperor had attempted to open for humanity, which had ultimately become the starting point of his suffering. It was the Emperor's unfinished work, and one of the Empire's deepest wounds.

"This is what the emperor paid a huge price for back then."

Cohen stood beside him, the light falling on the pulsating crack. "This is the smallest size; there can be larger ones. There is one beneath the Golden Throne of Terra—the Emperor wants me to repair it."

Rellano paused for a moment. "It allows Imperial ships to bypass the warp; that's its value."

"Guard it, expand it, fix it. That's the plan for Garros's Netway," Cohen said.

He turned and walked toward the exit. Rellano didn't follow immediately. He stood before the Spirit Bone Arch, watching the void ripples rise and fall in the center of the arch for a while before turning to follow Cohen. The Web Gate behind them continued to release void ripples, psychic energy surging from the gap between the warp and the real universe, flowing into the arch and burning continuously.

In the days that followed, Cohen reviewed several reports. The ambush plan by the Netway Fleet was progressing smoothly, and multiple coordinates had been obtained. Trade orders continued to be processed. Ten days was more than enough time for Garros to operate at its own pace, especially with the body of the Great Sage Enpu in Garros overseeing things; there was no real urgency.

Late on the tenth night, Cohen boarded the Black Pearl. Marcus remained its pilot; the voyage to Terra required the most reliable person to command the bridge. Navigator Sera and Astrologer Hera were transferred back from the Web Path, where more navigators and Astrologers had taken their place. The Storm Assault Team, originally deployed in the Web Path, was replaced by the First Elite Regiment of the Faith Guard—their team protecting the Forge Director, and Kara naturally accompanied them to Terra. The Second Elite Infantry Regiment of the Faith Guard, serving as the escort and ceremonial guard for the accompanying ships, was incorporated into the Black Pearl. Cohen saw many new faces along the way, newly added after the original core members were transferred to the Pale Judgment. This was the Forge Director's flagship, a symbol of the Forge world.

The Black Pearl's thrusters ignited, and the ship smoothly glided out of its berth. The three dark gold warships departed the port in succession, coalescing into a precise escort formation in the starry sky.

Cohen stood at the porthole on the bridge, watching the domes of Garros gradually converge in his view, eventually merging into the starlight. He watched for a moment, then turned and walked toward his private workshop. The hatch closed behind him, shutting out all the starlight.

>