Warhammer: Empire Reboot

"This is real...this is actually real..."

Dante grabbed Lawson's right arm: "Your Excellency!"

Dante's eyes glistened with rare tears: "You saved the Holy Blood Angels! You saved all the offspring of Saint Gilles! In my fifteen hundred years of life, I have never felt words so inadequate. I do not know how to thank you! The entire Holy Bloodline owes you a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid!"

Looking at Dante, who was so excited he was almost incoherent, Lawson smiled with an extremely gentle and kind smile.

"Your Excellency, the Holy Blood Angels have shed enough blood to protect the Empire's borders. You withstand the terrors among the stars in the darkest of despair; it would be too unfair to torment even your souls. I, Lawson, have merely borrowed a meager amount of power bestowed upon me by the Emperor. It is an honor for my White Tiger Legion to help Saint Gilles's finest offspring resolve the Black Fury's troubles and allow them to draw even sharper swords to slay demons."

Lawson made no mention of compensation, instead elevating the other party to a moral high ground.

As expected, upon hearing Lawson's humble yet magnanimous reply, Dante's gratitude instantly transformed into intense admiration.

"Good! What a fine 'for the empire' indeed!"

Dante took a deep breath to calm his turbulent emotions, then abruptly turned to look at his adjutant behind him.

"Draft a communication immediately."

"Tell the Holy Blood Angels, Blood Dragons, Blood Wings, Blood Swords, the Legion of Repentance, the Angels of Annihilation... all the Holy Blood successor legions..."

"Black Fury, I have an idea."

"All those who can break away from the front lines, all those who can send representatives, all those who still have a breath left, gather at Iron Oath Fortress."

The adjutant paused for a moment, then repeated to confirm: "Your Excellency, do you mean the entire Holy Blood Successor Battle Group should assemble?"

"Correct."

"My lord, the last time all the subordinate groups gathered was..."

"The Battle of Bar"

Dante himself added that line.

The adjutant's Adam's apple bobbed.

The Battle of Baal was the final stand against the Tyranid Leviathan fleet. On Baal, the home planet of the Blood Angels, they witnessed representatives from dozens of successor chapters gather before the Primarch's mausoleum. It was a gathering for a desperate battle, a gathering where only victory was acceptable, a gathering where everyone knew it was a death trap, yet they still came.

The last time all the subgroups gathered was to face death.

This time...

It is to welcome hope.

The adjutant snapped to attention, slammed his right fist into his breastplate, and then sprinted away as if injected with adrenaline.

Just then, the crowd in front parted.

The 120 Death Company warriors, who had just escaped the Black Fury, walked in neat rows before Lawson after removing the heavy adamantite chains from their bodies.

Their armor remained a deathly black, bearing the marks of their frantic struggle and dried blood.

But their eyes had regained the coldness and determination unique to the Astartes Space Marines.

"boom!"

One hundred and twenty black giants knelt down on one knee in unison before Lawson.

The leader, a veteran of the Death Company, looked up at Lawson.

"Commander of the White Tiger, we are people who have crawled back from hell."

The veteran's voice was hoarse: "We were originally destined to die in the mud like mindless wild dogs. It was you who pulled our souls out of the abyss and restored our dignity as soldiers."

The veterans drew their short swords, slashed their palms without hesitation, and smeared their blood on their breastplates: "From this day forward, we owe you a life. Wherever your sword points, even to the deepest reaches of the warp, we will charge into battle for you!"

Lawson strode forward, grabbed the shoulder armor of the leading veteran with both hands, and forcefully pulled the two-meter-tall Space Marine to his feet.

"Rise up! Warriors of the Holy Blood Angels!"

Lawson's voice echoed throughout the square: "You owe me nothing! You are the finest descendants of Saint Gilles, who, even in your madness, still roared the name of the Primarch. Your honor is beyond question!"

"The soul shield I've placed upon you will last for three years. During these three years, you will have absolute clarity and will not be troubled by any dark rage. After three years, I will place the shield upon you again. As long as I, Lawson, live, the brothers of the Holy Blood Angels will never again die like beasts!"

"I want you to use your clear minds, grip your chainsaw swords, and tear out the guts of those chaotic bastards, to protect this abandoned dark side of the Empire! For the Emperor!"

Lawson's words were like a spark falling into a powder keg.

"For the Emperor! For Saint Gilles!!"

More than six hundred Space Marines roared a deafening battle cry, raising their weapons and pounding their breastplates wildly.

At this moment, Lawson's status in their hearts had risen directly to a level second only to the Primarch Saint Gilles.

He was not only their savior, but also their spiritual leader who guided them out of millennia of darkness.

The admiration in Dante's eyes was almost overflowing.

"Your Mightiness."

Dante glanced at the ancient timepiece on his wrist, a pocket watch made for Imperial officers during the Great Crusade era.

"I have a three-hour window before I can embark on the mission to the Serres system."

In the Serres Galaxy, Lawson's swarm-like thinking instantly retrieved the data.

That was a remnant Imperial fortress on the outskirts of the Agrippina sector, under siege by the cultists of the Changing Lord.

Dante continued, "I have a temporary command post on the transport ship, and there are some things I'd like to discuss with you privately."

"It is my great honor, Your Excellency."

Seth walked over from the side, having regained his authority as Chapter Master.

“Me too,” Seth said.

Dante's transport ship is an old Stryker-class attack ship.

The paint on the ship's hull was almost completely eroded by the subspace storm and demonic acid, making its original color unrecognizable, but the ship's structure remained sturdy.

This is the vehicle of a 1,500-year-old veteran, just like its owner—dilapidated, but still standing.

The temporary command post is located on the floor below the bridge, and it is not a large area.

The four walls are covered with holographic star map projection panels, and in the center is a round table made of refined gold, with an ancient star map module embedded in it.

In the corner was a simple reclining chair, like the one Dante used to take a nap occasionally.

When Lawson walked in, the first thing he saw was the star chart on the table.

Every star on the star chart is flashing on and off.

Red represents a territory that has been captured, yellow represents a battle that is raging, and black represents a territory that has lost contact.

Lawson glanced at it.

Red, yellow, and black make up 80% of this star chart.

The remaining 20% ​​of sparse, shimmering blue represents the territory still under the Empire's control and where normal communication is possible.

The menacing rift that runs across the Milky Way at the bottom of the entire star chart is the infamous Great Rift.

Seth took a bottle of wine out of the cabinet.

The bottle was old-fashioned, and the label had long since fallen off, making it impossible to tell where it came from.

He skillfully pulled out the cork and took a sniff.

“A private collection from the Red Hills cellar of Balstar, aged two thousand years.”

Seth said, "The Primarch's order of the Tomb of Saint Gilles gives the Chapter Master one vial every hundred years, with a limit of five vials per generation. I've only had it twice in my life."

He poured three glasses.

A cup was pushed in front of Dante.

He pushed a glass towards Lawson. He kept the last glass for himself.

Seth picked up his glass and looked at Lawson.

"This glass of wine..."

Seth never drinks with such seriousness.

His band of Flesh-Tearers all knew that the Warband Leader either drank by smashing the bottom of the bottle or didn't drink at all.

"Respect to you, Cole Lawson. Respect to you for saving us twice, and for breaking the shackles of the Flesh-Tearer that have bound us for eight thousand years."

"From this day forward, the gates of the Flesh-Tearers Warband will always be open for you."

“You are the most honored guest of Saint Gillespie.”

He didn't wait for Lawson to speak, and downed the rest in one gulp.

Dante also raised his cup. He didn't speak, but simply nodded to Lawson and drank it all in one gulp.

Lawson picked up his cup.

"From now on, the White Tiger Legion is also part of the official order of the Empire's Astartes. In the future battlefields, wherever I can lend a hand, the White Tiger Legion will definitely lend a hand."

"Don't say anything about distinguished guests."

He smiled and said, "From today onwards, we're all brothers. The Holy Blood Angels have never backed down in eight thousand years, so this toast is mine to you all."

He raised his glass, offering half a glass to Dante and Seth, and then drank it all in one gulp.

Upon hearing this, the muscles on Dante's and Seth's faces relaxed slightly.

The three people sat down.

Lawson's gaze fell once again on the living star chart on the table.

"Your Excellency the Regent."

He began, "You seem to have many schedules, not just in the Serres Galaxy?"

Dante reached out and gently pressed his hand on the star map.

The star map is magnified, focusing on the Cyrus galaxy.

“Here,” Dante said, “their distress signal is the nearest.”

His finger moved away from Serres and tapped another black, shimmering star next to it.

"Here in the Salomon Sector, the distress signal was sent three years ago. It wasn't until more than a year ago that the signal reached me intermittently. I sent a destroyer squadron there, but there has been no response since."

He then added another star.