Chapter 159: The Blood Knights

Danton and Asford residents drove away swiftly, promising to wait just ahead for Zhou Yun.

After watching them depart, Zhou Yun turned to look at the two corpses on the ground—the two Astartes corpses.

If these two corpses weren't disposed of, the Astartes could easily track them down and trace Zhou Yun and his group's movements.

Zhou Yun walked over to the two Blood Knights' corpses, knelt down, and forcibly unsealed their helmets.

The descendants of Saint Guilliman were exposed to the sun of Baal, bathing in the same light as their gene-father.

Aside from eating, Blood Knights rarely ever removed their helmets—even during rest, they seldom revealed their faces.

They must have been ashamed and terrified of others seeing this face, even fellow battle-brothers who shared their fate.

The faces beneath the helmets could not be called human.

Even the most generous soul could not believe such a face belonged to a human.

After all, this face was even less human than alien races like the Eldar.

It was a twisted visage, muscles taut and coiled beneath ashen skin, faintly visible as clots of crimson shadow.

Their eyes remained wide open in death, nearly entirely yellow, horrifyingly filled with inhuman greed and hunger.

Sharp, elongated teeth had grown from their upper lips, forcing the lower lip backward until it pressed against their chins.

Zhou Yun had seen many mutants in Asford, but the Blood Knights' appearance was more inhuman than most.

The winged figure within the white light watched this scene, nearly silent.

This was the curse etched into Saint Guilliman's bloodline: the mutation known as Crimson Hunger, awakening an insatiable thirst for blood and flesh in the Blood Angels.

"Dinner time. The Ultramarines, Space Wolves, and Blood Angels have begun their meals."

"The Ultramarines clapped their hands; their battle-servitors brought forth refined noble dishes and red wine."

"The Space Wolves roared; their battle-servitors brought massive platters of roasted meat and barrels of fine ale."

"The Blood Angels gave a graceful order; their battle-servitors sprinkled themselves with salt and climbed onto the dining table."

Zhou Yun couldn't help muttering under his breath.

The winged figure within the white light visibly shuddered.

Yet there was truth in this joke: not just the Blood Knights, but many Blood Angel successor chapters also suffered from Blood Hunger, even developing cannibalistic cultures.

But the Blood Knights had sunk deeper, twisting once-loyal warriors of the Emperor into utter beasts.

Blood Knights mutated to this state had no path back.

They always mumbled that only Astartes could judge the loyalty of other Astartes.

But in this state, even the Emperor himself would grant them only death—and that would be mercy.

"I've always thought the Blood Knights' path had grown too narrow. I have an idea perfectly suited for them."

Zhou Yun glanced at the winged figure in the white light and said:

"Since you've mutated this far and been labeled Traitor Astartes, why not just change your paint scheme?"

"Then pretend to be a World Eaters warband. After all, the World Eaters are already shattered to dust, their gene-seed chaotic—no one could tell the difference."

"Then just go raid other Chaos warbands, or slaughter Tyranid swarms and Orks, suck the blood of sprouts and Tau—blood doesn't have to come from humans."

"When the Imperium is in crisis, you pretend to be a Khorne warband joining the invasion, act like you've gone berserk, and casually slaughter your fellow Chaos allies—after all, the World Eaters love slaughtering their own. No one would find it strange."

The winged figure in the white light froze, then began chattering frantically like a startled bird, its words indistinct across the barrier between the Warp and reality.

Still, it was surely praising Zhou Yun's astonishingly brilliant idea.

Zhou Yun grinned, reached out, and shoved both Blood Knight corpses—along with their power armor and weapons—into his fourth-dimensional pocket.

As his hands touched the power armor and weapons, Zhou Yun clearly sensed faint emotions emanating from them.

Not as strong as during battle, but undeniably present.

"Machine spirits?" Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow.

He had previously been able to slightly enhance nearby machinery's efficiency, stirring their machine spirits to excitement.

Now, this ability seemed significantly stronger.

According to the winged figure in the white light, this meant Zhou Yun's Warp essence had awakened further.

Zhou Yun raised an eyebrow—if he could influence enemy weapons like this during combat, it was a very practical skill.

Thinking this, Zhou Yun pulled the psychic cap from his fourth-dimensional pocket and placed it on his head.

Powerful telekinesis radiated outward from him in all directions.

He swept the area repeatedly with his mind, erasing every trace of their presence.

That was enough. The Blood Knights would investigate the disappearance of the two Astartes.

But as long as they hadn't found the bodies, they wouldn't openly search—or report it to other chapters or Dante.

After all, if someone actually uncovered something, it would be disastrous.

Zhou Yun nodded in satisfaction, his body flickered slightly, and in an instant, he vanished from the spot. The Crimson Council was the Blood Angels' institution for launching and commanding wars, with twenty-five seats.

But now, the original Crimson Council was insufficient—the number of Blood Angel successor chapters arriving to reinforce was growing.

Fifteen thousand warriors had already reached Baal, and more would come—perhaps reaching the astonishing figure of twenty-five thousand, or even more.

More than Dante had hoped. Ten thousand years had passed since so many children of the Angel had gathered to defend a single world.

All these warriors carried Saint Guilliman's blood. Most had been separated from the parent chapter too long; thousands of the reinforcements had never set foot on Baal, their chapters rarely contacted the parent chapter—some were even Traitor chapters like the Blood Knights, or Crimson Angels who had once broken from the parent chapter.

Yet they all came. When Saint Guilliman's homeworld was threatened, when the Blood Angels faced peril, they stood up.

Dante couldn't help thinking:

Everyone here was a bloodline descendant of Saint Guilliman; now, their bonds were tighter than any other chapter's ties.

But Dante dared not lower his guard—he knew these successor chapters had developed vastly different cultures over ten thousand years.

To reunite these scattered blood-brothers, they needed a far larger command structure.

So Dante ordered the expansion of the original Crimson Council chamber: the ancient hall was demolished, connected to neighboring halls, rebuilt, and carved anew.

In the end, the new Crimson Grand Hall grew more than twenty times its original size; the Crimson Council itself expanded to five hundred seats.

Each seat surrounded a circular table made of marble.

Dante's chair had once been slightly larger, but he insisted all chairs be made identical.

Everyone invited to this Crimson Council was equal within this room.

Dante knew that power and pretense could never earn true recognition from these blood kin.

!. ead

He stood before a wall in the new Crimson Council hall, its sides carved with the names of every chapter master known to each successor chapter—these names of heroes over ten thousand years represented the Blood Angels' honor.

Along the wall stood grand statues of Saint Guilliman, each symbolizing a chapter of Imperial history, inlaid with countless glittering gems and precious metals.

Even races who considered themselves more elegant than crude humans had to admit the Beauty of the Blood Angels' creations.

Dante hoped this wall would awaken a shared pride among the Blood Angels' descendants, binding them together, and perhaps, like the Archangels of ten thousand years ago, use art, creation, and beauty to suppress Blood Hunger and Black Rage.

Dante's gaze settled on one of the statues.

In the statue, Saint Guilliman knelt on one knee—the moment he first met his Legion, swearing eternal loyalty to his Legion and his progeny, despite the Empire's rejection and fear of the Ninth Legion.

"I too will do the same—earn their recognition through loyalty to my chapter and my blood-brothers."

The thought flashed through him, and Dante felt shame—how could he compare himself to the Primarch?

Suddenly, the light and shadows in the room began to writhe; countless shadows crawled across the floor. Dante suddenly felt as if every name on the wall whispered.

"I've come." Morpheston's voice rang out.

He walked across the floor, his footsteps echoing softly.

Everything hidden behind the veil of reality seemed to swirl around this Chief Librarian.

Morpheston nodded to Dante, his head tilting slightly, like a statue carved from the dead.

It was a simple gesture, yet horrifying when performed by Morpheston.

Dante looked at Morpheston: "You've come, Lord of Death."

"Lord of Death" was Morpheston's title within the chapter, embodying the brothers' wariness, respect, and fear.

Dante felt the same emotions toward Morpheston.

Yet when Morpheston heard the four words "Lord of Death," his expression twisted sharply—as if embarrassed.

Dante didn't understand, but asked: "Why have you come to see me?"

Morpheston demanded a private meeting with Dante—no one else allowed.

The request was troubling; Dante had to pull time away from his already overwhelming duties.

Morpheston studied Dante's weary face. He knew the news he carried was earth-shattering, so he chose to deliver it gently, to spare the Chapter Master's spirit.

"Let's begin with something less important: Kabanha is coming."

"Hmm?" Dante's expression tightened instantly, his eyes confused—as if asking, "This isn't important?"

"A Lictor will infiltrate Baal."

"Cadia may fall; the Warp rift will swallow the galaxy."

"A Primarch is returning."

"A candidate for one of the Warp's many positions is on the Baal Triad."

Before Dante could react, Morpheston spilled it all like beans:

"All of this was told to me by Kharn the Betrayer."

"Ahhh???" For a thousand years, Dante had never been so bewildered.

(End of Chapter)