"Rember, you only need to know what this creation is. Do not try to make any deeper connections."
Within the Knight production area of the Gavin Dynasty, Rases was leading a Librarian Detachnt in identifying Chaos corruption.
In truth, most stable psykers were not particularly sensitive to Warp flux, simply because those who were overly sensitive would lose control on the spot.
Ordinary psykers could not emulate Rases. In the eyes of Daemons, the four transmigrators simply did not exist, naturally allowing them to pull off many unconventional maneuvers.
Therefore, what Rases needed to teach these Librarians was how to quickly identify creations affected by the Warp without strengthening their own connection to it.
Of course, this was only one subject in an entire educational curriculum.
As for the results, they were neither exceptionally good nor terribly bad.
For Chosen Ones like Morpheus and Kahurangi, Rases barely needed to teach them anything. When Daemons saw them, their subconscious reaction was not a desire to consu, but a distinct feeling that these individuals were not to be trifled with. Thus, for characters of this caliber, the focus was more on teaching psychic application thods.
However, so of the Librarians were far more troubleso. They constantly failed to control their ingrained habits of using psychic energy. If not for the fact that they were stable enough after the Imperium's rigorous screening—and exceptionally lucky—these habits inherited from completely different users would have killed them long ago.
Fortunately, Rases had more than enough test cases. Countless Daemons had given him the opportunity to continuously construct different types of souls for experintation. By now, he could practically customize psychic application thods for each of these Librarians.
"In the future, when you operate alongside , you can try utilizing the psychic energy that originates from . This will help you build better usage habits."
As the brief instruction concluded, Rases did not push them too hard.
Librarians needed to ensure their energy remained abundant. The absolute greatest taboo in psychic-related research was a lack of ntal clarity.
"I imagine many of you have already tried it. You can continuously attempt to cast spells to find that specific feeling."
Rases consistently emphasized avoiding those overly complex and flashy rituals. The likelihood of being manipulated was simply too high. What he wanted was for a single thought to form, the spell to be executed, and the connection to the Warp to be severed imdiately—ideally so fast that the caster themselves barely had ti to react.
No matter how many tis they heard it, the Librarians felt that Rases's words were truly absurd.
Psychic energy, as one of the few thods of drawing power from the Warp to apply in the Material Universe, carried an incredibly terrifying risk factor. Every single ti a spell was cast, it was a gamble with one's own life. As more spells were released, the probability of losing that gamble inevitably increased.
Yet, the man standing before them could sohow reduce the risk of casting spells to absolute zero.
"You are vastly different from us,"
Morpheus whispered.
This most mysterious of the Elders possessed a truly terrifying reservoir of knowledge. It was difficult to imagine just how much pain and tears lay behind all that wisdom.
"Of course, that is quite obvious."
Rases cast a sidelong glance.
He was using literal cheats, so naturally, he was different.
After the Defense of Pierre ended, Romulus had asked him to write a textbook. At first, he thought it would be a minor task—sothing incredibly simple. But he soon discovered that every individual's soul traits were different. Their psychic application thods and tolerance thresholds varied wildly, which ant the educational approach had to be entirely unique for each person.
Thus, he had no choice but to throw together a basic preschool-level guide to temporarily appease them. Then, he went around scanning the souls of these psykers, categorizing them, and drafting specialized educational materials.
The process involved manually molding souls of similar natures and experinting on them one by one. All of this experience had been painstakingly accumulated through sheer trial and death. Thank goodness he had developed the pain transfer chanism early on; otherwise, dying that many tis would have completely numbed his mind.
Currently, the textbooks were still too complex and required more ti to refine, but he was already capable of teaching the Librarians hands-on.
"Do not try to trace its origins, because you will not be able to find them. What you must do is find humans who share your traits and pass this experience on to them. For every single person we save from falling to the waves of the Warp, we gain another asure of strength."
"We understand."
The Librarians nodded solemnly.
The Elders truly valued the transmission of knowledge. Even though Rases's constant attempts to proliferate psychic knowledge made him a supre heretic in the eyes of the conservative faction, the Librarians could only feel profound sincerity radiating from his deeply customized courses.
"Phew... what is everyone else up to?"
Rases walked over to Arthur, who was keeping a watchful eye over the entire area. He saw Arthur observing the Black Templars as they prayed to The Emperor before a Burning Banner.
"Karna is leading the Blood Angels and the Sororitas in post-battle rescue operations. Under the instructions of the General Headquarters, the Black Templars are purifying the planet. The Cadians have already begun transferring the armored vehicles. The Archmagos remains silent. The Inquisition Fleet is compiling the planet's reports and organizing population transfers across neighboring Sectors. Prince Lenster is currently communicating with Romulus. We are expected to depart by tomorrow."
Arthur replied.
Right. Whenever in doubt, asking a friend was always the perfect solution.
Crossing his arms with an approving nod, Rases curiously peeked over Arthur's shoulder, aligning his line of sight with his companion's.
"By the way, what exactly are you looking at?"
Rases highly doubted that Arthur had suddenly taken an interest in psychic energy.
Among their group of four, Arthur was the only one besides him who understood psychic energy, yet Arthur had always rejected this power. Consequently, psychic damage was practically incapable of affecting him.
"Legend has it that the Dark Angels are all master engravers. They carve the honors they earn from battle into their armor using hidden motifs. That way, any knowledgeable battle-brother within their order can instantly recognize the honor they carry at a re glance,"
Arthur said softly.
"And?"
Rases looked puzzled. The Black Library's historical records had definitely ntioned sothing about this before.
"Are you having trouble popularizing your Reality Anchor?"
"Exactly. Aside from the Black Templars, the other Space Marine Chapters are all taking a wait-and-see approach."
Rases explained, "The main issue is that it does not quite align with their Chapter cultures."
"Can burned Daemons leave any traces behind?"
Arthur asked.
"For example, their nas, the sins they committed in the past, who vanquished them, and so on. After a Daemon is slaughtered, these details could be displayed on a banner or a lantern using inscriptions or Imperial ciphers. The heavier the weight of the slain Daemon, the brighter its na and story would shine, and the more magnificent the engravings would be."
"Why bother doing all that—oh, Master Arthur, you are an absolute genius."
Rases had looked confused at first, but he quickly slamd his fist into his palm in sudden realization.
What was the most important thing to the Adeptus Astartes?
It was not loyalty.
It was honor!
With the exception of a few oddities like the Sharks, the Astartes cared about honor above all else. It was just that under normal circumstances, this honor was deeply intertwined with loyalty. But when a conflict between the two arose—
Well, one only had to look at the Chaos Astartes out there in the distance.
"Your train of thought just hadn't pivoted yet."
Arthur chuckled.
Why were the Black Templars so highly receptive to burning Daemons?
It was not solely because the Reality Anchor provided significant strategic assistance to a Chapter entirely lacking in Librarians. It was also because their culture placed great honor on the very act of incinerating Daemons.
"Exactly! Distributed by the Elders—kill a Daemon, burn it to light it up, and it automatically records the tale of the Daemon and the victor. It completely materializes and visualizes honor. Is that not a literal walking certificate of honor?"
The more Rases thought about it, the better the plan seed. Using a connection to the Warp to slightly modify physical objects in the Material Universe was incredibly simple. He just needed to squeeze a bit more juice out of the Daemons, which was hardly a waste.
"Yes, you can customize the styles according to the cultures of the different Space Marine Chapters. Then you can make it so that only those with titles like Company Champion or Chapter Champion are qualified to wear them, and only a Champion Company is qualified to raise the banners. Combine that with the fact that these are produced by a ten-thousand-year veteran, and you won't have to worry about popularizing them. You could even add special insignia for participating in a Campaign of Honor."
Arthur elaborated further, "Think back to how we used to grind ourselves half to death in video gas just for an achievent. There are very few things in an Astartes' life that they truly cherish, and honor is one of them. By structuring a systematic promotional model like this, their enthusiasm should be easily mobilized."
"This is no longer a matter of 'should' be. You are an absolute genius. I'm slipping away to get this done."
Rases swiftly opened a portal and leaped into the Warp to force the Daemons to start crafting molds.
When it ca to artistic design, the Daemons of Slaanesh were actually quite capable. Still, he needed to conduct so research with the other Chapters; if they already had established styles, he would simply adapt those.
——
Up in orbit, the mid-level commanders of the various Chapters looked down at the planet below, where the post-victory tallying had already begun. They felt rather sour about the whole situation.
The Chapter Masters had gone down. The Company Champions had gone down. It was only they who were left behind, simply because the teleportation beacons could not accommodate that many people at once.
But the main issue was that even if they went down, it would be pointless. The battle had ended far too quickly. The actual, serious fighting had barely lasted an hour; the rest was just garbage ti spent chasing down fleeing remnants.
The champions of the various Chapters and Companies certainly had their own justifications: 'I earned this honorable title by fighting! If you don't let fight, haven't I earned it for nothing?'
And the Chapter Masters had their excuses as well: 'I have sacrificed so much for this Chapter, for so long. What's wrong with joining a fight? It's not like I'm the overall commander anyway! Besides, my authority as Chapter Master is absolute. I leave the command of the fleet to you all!'
There was no helping it. The Company Captains just had to endure the slight.
Amidst the sighs and groans of the Captains, there were also the white-helted Astartes standing around like re grunts, entirely unsure of what they were supposed to be doing.
The Apothecaries felt equally wronged.
Lord Romulus's commanding abilities, paired with an utterly one-sided battle, had resulted in an abysmally low casualty rate. Aside from a few incredibly unlucky individuals who took high-explosive ordnance straight to the face, practically no one died. Once the battle was over, the Apothecaries had absolutely nothing to do.
"..."
Standing tall among the Invictus Guards, continuously fulfilling his duties as a protector, Drakus looked around at the heavy, battle-hungry atmosphere and quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank goodness Lord Romulus disliked descending to fight in person and remained extrely rational. Otherwise, Drakus would have been just as terrified and anxious as he was back when he followed Lord Guilliman.
Oh, and there was also the fact that Lord Arthur and his companions were incredibly capable fighters, completely eliminating any need for Lord Romulus to step onto the front lines.
As Drakus and the Invictus Guards experienced the most leisurely guard duty of their entire lives, silently marveling at their good fortune, a communication link from the planet's surface suddenly lit up.
"Respected Lord Romulus, I am Forsythe Lenster Gavin, of the Principality of Lenster, Gavin Dynasty."
On the other end of the comms, the Prince offered a respectful sign of the Aquila.
"Greetings, Prince Lenster."
Romulus gave a gentle nod, imdiately offering his praise. "I have heard of your decisiveness and witnessed your resolute determination to resist. Were it not for your contributions, this planet would have inevitably fallen to the minions of Chaos."
"The victory of this war stems entirely from your tily reinforcent, Lord Romulus."
The Prince was deeply flattered.
"May I ask what brings you to seek an audience with ?"
"It is like this, my Lord."
The Prince quickly returned to the matter at hand.
"I wished to inquire about the duration of the Expeditionary Fleet's stay, so that we may present you and your esteed lords with a glorious victory ceremony."
"...What did you just say, Prince Lenster?"
Romulus asked in return.
"A victory ceremony."
The Prince replied respectfully.
"Before that."
The Prince looked slightly taken aback. After making absolutely sure his mory and hearing were not failing him, he finally spoke up:
"The victory of this war stems entirely from your tily reinforcent, Lord Romulus."
"Yes. Tily reinforcent. You sent out a request for rescue, and we responded in a tily manner."
Romulus maintained his serene, gentle expression.
"Out there among the stars, there are countless others exactly like you, waiting for our tily response."
He answered earnestly, "And I, Romulus, bearing the mission of the Expeditionary Fleet alongside the forces under my command... when we receive a plea for aid, we will choose to respond."
The Prince gazed at the commander of the allied fleet, unable to suppress a profound sense of awe and astonishnt.
"...I understand, my Lord."
He replied with absolute reverence.
——
Prairie World Elks.
This planet had suffered a double strike from both Orks and Chaos. Their offensives were incredibly fierce. Chaos had begun deploying its blasphemous war engines from portals located at the planet's poles, while the Orks penetrated deep into every human core settlent. They infiltrated every conceivable gap, embedding themselves like immovable nails that left humanity choking on its own blood.
Even so, millions of Imperial Guardsn remained locked in a desperate stalemate across this vital resource planet, firmly believing that ultimate victory would belong to them.
That was until hundreds of Stormbirds tore through the sky, braving the anti-air fire of the Ork fortresses to dive toward the surface. Thousands of Adeptus Astartes deployed across the flat terrain, imdiately initiating a bloody and brutally swift slaughter of the Emperor's enemies.
"Commissar, look! It's the Emperor's Angels!"
On the front lines of the battlefield, a captain was in the middle of replacing the power pack of his lasgun. Seeing the very real Astartes manifesting before his naked eyes, he shouted in pure excitent:
"The Imperium received our distress signal! The Angels have co to reinforce us!"
"Is your pen still working?"
Staring in utter disbelief at the overwhelming deploynt numbers and the endless stream of war machines continually raining down from the sky, the Commissar turned to the lieutenant beside him.
"Of course. I just mixed the ink right before the battle, and it hasn't been damaged."
"Let borrow it."
"Commissar?"
The lieutenant stared blankly as the Commissar turned and began to walk away.
"What are we supposed to do now?"
"Write our wills."
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