Chapter 449: Kaul: Kain Must Be Saint Doraemon

Kaul watched the battle in the arena with calm composure.

The hooded, mysterious Saint Doraemon guard collided with the Primus Cast.

He had no fear that the Primus Cast would lose—it was one of Kaul's most perfect creations, its genes directly drawn from the twenty Primarch gene-sequences stored in the Original Blood Vault, refined with countless biological arts both known and forgotten by Kaul.

Kaul's original purpose in crafting the Primus Cast had been to replicate the Emperor's creation of the Primarchs.

Though the attempt ultimately failed and left the Primus Cast with a persistent pain as a flaw, it still possessed abilities far surpassing those of ordinary Space Marines.

Even Seth, the Flesh-Eater Corps Captain, immensely strong and exploiting his own genetic flaw of bloodlust, could not match the Primus Cast in physical Suzhi, relying only on combat skill to hold his ground.

That hooded Astartes would surely not stand against the Primus Cast.

Thus, Kaul's thoughts had already turned elsewhere.

His invitation to Saint Doraemon to visit the Explorer-King had not merely been to showcase the Casts to this figure and other important persons—it had another purpose.

Kaul had prepared a small gift, hoping to present it to Saint Doraemon.

He had noticed Saint Doraemon seemed particularly fond of certain special Astartes.

For instance, Saint Doraemon had requested the Deathwatch send a certain Astartes named Titus.

For instance, Saint Doraemon had asked Kaul whether he could construct a mechanoid in the image of Sigismund.

And Kaul happened to possess an Astartes from the Great Crusade era, legendary in his own right—Saint Doraemon would surely be interested.

As Kaul pondered, a sharp metallic snap rang out, followed by gasps and exclamations from the crowd.

Kaul blinked, then saw that the Primus Cast's precision power sword had been cleanly split in two by the hooded Astartes.

Kain moved by instinct, his axe-hilt humming as he swung the shattered fragments of the blade in a vicious arc toward the Primus Cast's head.

The Primus Cast held his breath, blocking Kain's strike with the broken sword.

Kain's strength and murderous intent were so overwhelming that for an instant, the Primus Cast felt as if a blood-drenched beast had crushed him.

He swung the broken blade, channeling potent psychic energy that warped reality—shards of the shattered sword flew back and reassembled upon the hilt, restoring the power sword to its original state in an instant.

Swords clashed with axes, their ringing echoes never ceasing.

What stunned the Astartes and Casts most was that Kain was subtly overpowering the Primus Cast in speed, technique, and strength.

The Primus Cast had previously crushed Seth, a top-tier Chapter Master, in all three categories.

That Kain could suppress the Primus Cast meant he was at least equal to the Empire's Three Pillars—Dante, Calgar, Logan, and Azrael.

When had the Empire produced such a figure? How had Saint Doraemon found this guard? Did he pull him from his magical pocket?

Only by unleashing psychic power did the Primus Cast avoid having his head cleaved off by a single axe-blow.

"This guy is this strong?"

Seth was stunned—he had sparred with Kain before, but now it was clear Kain had held back.

"This power? Even among traitors, he'd rank with Ahriman, Kain, Lorgar, Tiberius, and Abaddon," Seth muttered involuntarily.

Impossible. Kaul's modified brain reeled.

From his build, this hooded Astartes was clearly an ordinary, older-model Astartes.

His theoretical performance couldn't even match a standard Cast—how could he match the Primus Cast blow for blow?

Was it divine blessing?

Was he a Chosen?

Kaul's eyes lit up—he suddenly understood.

Of course.

He had been blessed by Saint Doraemon.

He was Saint Doraemon's Chosen.

That made sense. That made perfect sense.

In an instant, Kaul felt his logic was complete.

Just as Kaul achieved logical coherence, the Primus Cast's expression darkened.

He could sense Kain was still holding back—he had not yet unleashed his full strength.

The Primus Cast's senses also told him Kain carried no scent of bloodlust or battle-frenzy.

"Am I not worthy of your full strength?" The Primus Cast surged his psychic energy, igniting his power sword in searing flame—a blazing arc slashed toward Kain.

Kain crossed his axe, blocking the psychic-laced strike with brute force.

The blow sent a sharp pain through Kain's arm.

The Butcher's Nail on his skull hummed, urging him to unleash his full fury, to drown the Primus Cast in endless slaughter.

But Kain was frustrated—not because he didn't want to go all out,

but because the power he still possessed was either the raw gift of the Blood God or the demonic force bound to his body.

He couldn't suddenly transform into a demon here, before tens of thousands of Astartes.

But the Primus Cast misinterpreted Kain's silence.

He sighed, drawing his blade across his own face, carving a thin red line.

"I have lost. I fought with all I had." The Primus Cast drew his own first blood, surrendering to Kain.

The Casts and veteran Astartes offered only admiration—no mockery, no judgment.

For the duel had reached a level too high for most present—even Chapter Masters, Librarians, and elite Company Captains.

To properly judge their clash, one would need to summon Dante or Calgar.

But Calgar was working overtime on Ultramar, and Dante was working overtime on the Dark Imperium—neither had time.

"Both are exceptional warriors," Seth declared in his own style: "Both could take a Primarch's slap and live."

That was indeed praise—some Primarchs could crush an Astartes' skull with a single punch.

But Kain fell silent at Seth's words—he had truly taken a blow from Dorn.

So Kain ignored Seth and turned to the Primus Cast: "You are a fine warrior—better than I am. But I sense your talent has not yet been truly unleashed."

"That Grand Sage is not a good teacher. You should seek others to learn combat."

Kain's words were sincere—he would have gladly trained the Primus Cast himself, if he could.

He saw in the Primus Cast echoes of something he himself had nearly forgotten.

The scent of the old War Hounds clung to the Primus Cast.

But Kain still had a debt to settle.

According to Zhou Yun's plan, once the Indomitus Crusade began, they would launch their operation to hunt Erebus.

He had little time to train the Primus Cast.

"To match your combat skill is no easy feat," the Primus Cast replied humbly.

"All are heroes, all are warriors—heroes meet heroes, warriors meet warriors," Zhou Yun said, smiling faintly as he watched.

Just now, Saint Guilliman had used psychic communion to relay his thoughts to Zhou Yun.

He had removed the natural distrust between Casts and veteran Astartes—so Astartes wouldn't fear being replaced, Casts wouldn't be belittled, and Casts wouldn't feel they were replacing Astartes or looking down on the veterans.

Zhou Yun turned to Kaul.

"Kaul, tell me—do you have the technology to transform Astartes into Cast Astartes?"

Kaul bowed deeply to Zhou Yun: "No technological advancement escapes your eyes or wisdom."

"The Cast Space Marines differ from ordinary Astartes by three new organs: tendon-cables, the Hymnal Gland, and the Belisarius Furnace."

"I can implant these organs into ordinary Astartes—so long as they dare to cross the Cast Rubicon, they may be transformed into Casts."

This stirred a quiet commotion among the Astartes.

Many were tempted—though still wary of the Casts, who wouldn't want greater strength to serve the Emperor and the Empire better?

Yet some still worried—was altering the Emperor's creations sacrilegious?

"I have here an edict signed by the Emperor himself, granting Kaul authority to perform Cast transformations," Zhou Yun said cheerfully, pulling from his fourth-dimensional pocket a decree he had just written.

Though freshly penned, the Emperor's psychic signature and autograph were genuine.

Kaul's expression froze—he had never heard of such an edict.

But the Astartes' anxiety vanished the moment they saw it.

Kaul hesitated, his devotion to the Omnissiah compelling caution.

"The technology to transform original Astartes into Casts remains immature."

"Success rate is approximately sixty-six percent."

Sixty-six percent success? Most Astartes found it acceptable.

"Sixty-six percent fatality rate," Kaul added—and their enthusiasm evaporated instantly.

They could accept death on the battlefield—but not on the operating table.

After all, their bodies still served the Emperor; death on a table served nothing.

"I will."

At that moment, Kain spoke in a low voice.

(End of Chapter)