Chapter 192: The Angel

Blood slaves darted urgently between the tables, carrying heavy trays brimming with wine and food, while Seraphim floated through the air, trailing blue scented smoke from their censers.

"Bitter wine," said Kaong, Warlord of the Crimson Blade Chapter, raising his cup. "But a trace of blood—the very source of life—quenches the blood thirst without stoking it further?"

Juel, Warlord of the Blood Knights, always masked, set down his cup and snorted coldly: "Don't rely on luck. Blood thirst only deepens—until there's no turning back."

"You," Kaong frowned slightly, displeased by Juel's tone.

Then Juel added, nodding: "Until you become like me."

Kaong froze, staring at the chilling aura of blood and hunger radiating from Juel.

The scent of blood in the air stirred him, yet Juel fought hard to suppress it, never removing his helm to feed.

Juel's hand rested lightly on his waist, where a long, cloth-wrapped object lay. Kaong did not know what it was, only that the Blue-armored Warrior had met Juel in secret—perhaps this item was given by him, and somehow helped suppress Juel's blood thirst.

"Becoming like me is no blessing," Juel murmured again, his voice still sharp enough to unsettle.

But Kaong set down his cup and nodded with quiet gratitude: "That is honest counsel. I will remember it."

Juel merely grunted in response.

"They celebrate before battle…" said Goren, Warlord of the Holy Angels Chapter, seated beside Kaong, his lips curling in disbelief.

"My friend? Is not loyalty to the Emperor worth celebrating?" Kaong smiled faintly. "What do your Chapter do before battle?"

"Vigil. Silent vigil," Goren shook his head.

Kaong marveled at the differing customs among Chapters—then noticed, before Goren, an Astartes clad in a power armor of extraordinary grandeur.

The armor was engraved with intricate metallic patterns; judging by the motifs, this was a Grave Warden—depicting death, tombs, and the death of the Archangel. The style suggested it was crafted three to five thousand years ago, its craftsmanship refined enough to be called a relic.

And this warrior didn't even look like a company master. Grave Wardens truly are wealthy.

The warrior sensed Kaong's gaze, turned, and fixed him with an odd stare.

Kaong gave a slight nod: "A magnificent and sturdy armor. Is it an heirloom of past Grave Wardens?"

The Grave Warden hesitated, then said: "I carved it myself."

"Ah?" Kaong blinked in surprise.

Beside him, Goren chuckled softly—he and the Grave Wardens were on good terms.

"Grave Wardens are fleet-based. In non-combat periods, they seal themselves within massive stasis fields."

Kaong stood frozen. He had only noticed the armor was ancient—he hadn't realized the man himself was too.

"Do you need such an object to prove you are a son of Sanguinius?" Juel glanced at Kaong.

"True," Kaong's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "But without these relics, how do we remember the history of our gene-father?"

His Chapter had once mistaken its father—how could he not cling to any artifact proving his gene-father was Sanguinius?

Kaong's gaze lingered on the cloth-wrapped bundle at Juel's waist for less than a second, then withdrew.

If only I could win the relic brought by the Blue-armored Warrior… Kaong sighed inwardly, his eyes involuntarily drifting toward the distant dais.

The Blue-armored Warrior sat beside Master of Death Mephiston—no one questioned his elevated seat. First, he represented an entire Chapter; second, few wished to sit beside Mephiston.

Huh? Kaong blinked—suddenly, the Blue-armored Warrior and Mephiston had vanished from their seats.

Clearly, they had used some warp power.

Before Kaong could ponder further, a roar of cheers erupted through the hall.

Dante strode back into the Angel's Well, wearing Sanguinius's pure gold mask, carved with the Archangel's furious visage. His forehead glowed with gemlike drops of Archangel's blood.

Dante paused briefly before Mephiston and the Blue-armored Warrior's seats—but as if expecting this, he sighed softly and walked to his own place.

A nearby blood slave raised a wine bottle to pour for this honored warrior.

"No!" Dante refused.

His gaze swept over every son of Sanguinius present.

"When I first learned of blood thirst, I threw myself into a pool of blood, drinking alien blood in hunger." "When I last drank blood, my hands were caked in it—mortals lay dead at my feet."

"So I swore: never again shall I draw blood from the living. Never again shall I sink into blood thirst. I have kept this vow for a thousand years—and I shall keep it until death."

Standing beside Dante, Kabor rose, took the wine bottle mixed with blood from the blood slave.

The Chief Blood Priest filled Dante's cup. Dante nodded to him, then slowly removed the golden mask.

The aged face revealed to all sons of Sanguinius bore the weight of centuries. Deep within his eyes lay the marks of time.

Silence fell across the hall. A Blood Angel who, for a thousand years, had never tasted blood—resisting the crimson hunger solely through willpower, letting his body wither under time's touch.

"When I was a neophyte, my instructor, Master Kaphir, told me: the Black and Red Curses stem from the Archangel's wrath."

"To control this wrath, the Archangel taught us five virtues: Focus. Humility. Mercy. Restraint. Forgiveness."

Dante slowly raised his cup.

"But if adherence to all this still fails to defeat our enemies… then what we offer them is only wrath! The Archangel's wrath!"

Dante lifted the cup, drank the blood-tainted wine. Instantly, the scent of blood poured from him—every soul present trembled.

Deep within Dante's eyes, the pupils turned murky crimson, sharp and terrifying. His wrinkles seemed to fade; his face subtly merged with Sanguinius's, radiating searing fury—as if ready to deliver the cruelest punishment upon humanity's foes.

!

"DANTE!!!" Kaong felt a tremor deep in his soul, roaring the name of the Lord of Baal.

"DANTE! DANTE! DANTE!" Astartes hammered their chests, chanting Dante's name.

Only Juel of the Blood Knights let out a low, bitter laugh—filled with sorrow, grief, and resignation—as if mocking Dante, fate, blood thirst, and himself.

"We are all too impure," Juel whispered, too softly for anyone to hear.

His fingers rested on the cloth bundle at his waist—barely, he felt it trembling.

No. Juel's eyes widened slowly. Not the bundle—it was the entire world trembling, as if silently pushed by unseen hands from among the stars.

Starlight bathed the Solar Vault. The grand library of the Blood Angels trembled faintly.

Not here alone—Baal trembled. The entire star system shook. Space itself groaned.

"The Hive Fleet is coming," Zhou Yun murmured, feeling the vibrations in the air.

The Hive Fleet's faster-than-light travel is unique: they use specialized ships called Whale-Spiders to harness stellar gravity, compressing space into corridors for rapid transit. Slower than warp travel, but far more reliable.

Moreover, when the Hive begins movement, the target system suffers frequent quakes, tidal surges, and stellar anomalies. Their appearance confirms the Hive Fleet is advancing toward Baal.

But soon, the trembling ceased. The space within the Solar Vault stabilized—as if some force now protected it.

"The Emperor's grace?" Zhou Yun's lips curled slightly as he gazed at the blazing star suspended in midair—Ardalia.

This star, bound by the Emperor's psychic power, rested upon the chest of a Sanguinius statue. Within the statue lay complex machinery, channeling the star's energy to power the entire Solar Vault.

Yet traces of the Emperor's power still clung to the star—perhaps stronger, more valuable than the star itself.

No one could truly harness the star or the Emperor's might upon it—not even Mephiston, the mighty psyker.

Even the Emperor's residual power, left here ten thousand years ago, far surpassed Mephiston's strength.

"How goes the ritual?" Zhou Yun turned to Mephiston. "Can you link the gateway for Kabanha into my pocket?"

Mephiston stood beside him, nodding slightly: "The ritual at the Heart of Baal is ready. We wait only for the Hive Mind to envelop the Baal system."

Zhou nodded, pulling from his fourth-dimensional pocket a remote studded with buttons, fitted with a metal sighting scope.

Looking at the device, Zhou Yun's face flickered with barely perceptible regret—hoping Kabanha would at least return his investment.

(End of Chapter)