Tigrus Forge World.
Following a brief negotiation between the Wings of Dawn and the Obsidian Blades, they led the Expeditionary Fleet to this Forge World located in the very heart of the Ultima Segntum.
Within the system, a massive orbital station lood in The Void like a behemoth of Steel. Countless chanical arms waved through the starry expanse, while hundreds of shuttles darted between ships in the Starport, ferrying personnel back and forth.
The flagship of the Expeditionary Fleet, the Emperor-class Battleship Dawnlight, was currently docked at a berth in the main Starport. The ship's crew, having arrived in their compartnts ahead of schedule, peered through the thick observation windows at the bustling starship manufactorum outside.
Out in The Void, colossal macro-furnaces spewed searing flas, bathing the Starport in a deep, dark red. Countless Tech-Priests hurried between the factory sectors, their robes billowing in the superheated drafts, while chanical chadendrites clamped onto Data-slates as they bustled about their stations.
Soon, the fleet would depart with the equipnt and supplies prepared for the upcoming expedition, and it was here that the Wings of Dawn would also officially receive their very first dedicated naval force.
The other factions within the Expeditionary Fleet had also received their respective vessels. Though few in number, they were all among the Imperium's most advanced active models. The Black Templars and the Inquisition were particularly well-compensated, treating this as their reward for assisting Cawl in infiltrating Pierde.
An intact Geothermal Planetary Cogitator from the Dark Age of Technology had been perfectly preserved. Even after completing his necessary calculations, Cawl dared not overutilize the AI within it, but it was still a prize that would turn countless Magos Dominus green with envy. Naturally, the payouts for such a bounty were exceedingly generous.
The only surprising aspect was where Cawl had managed to procure so many warships, completing the logistical transfers in a re two years.
According to Grand Marshal Ledodes's past experiences, working for the Adeptus chanicus ant that while vehicles and standard wargear were easy enough to requisition, starships—especially capital ships—usually took them a swift fifty years to deliver as paynt.
As for Archmagos Cawl, one could only say he was truly capable.
Ledodes stared at the reception manifest in his hands, his eyes lingering on the final page, which detailed the exact origins of these warships.
Archmagos Cawl had made it explicitly clear that these vessels had absolutely nothing to do with him; they were debts of honor owed by various Space Marine Chapters. As for the accounting discrepancies, they had already been perfectly smoothed over through multilateral coordination.
If anyone from the administratum ever ca investigating, one could only wish them the best of luck.
The ledgers were entirely fabricated, but the warships were undeniably real.
——
A sprawling expanse of warships amassed at the Starport, while small shuttles from various factions darted through The Void.
Adjacent to the macro-forges, the entire bridge section of the Dawnlight was being painstakingly excised. Colossal chanical servitor-arms separated the command deck from the Dawnlight's hull with absolute, unwavering precision.
Simultaneously, a massive breach had been opened in the bridge section of another Emperor-class Battleship, as if eagerly awaiting the arrival of its new master.
Clank!
The bridge of the Dawnlight was slowly slotted into the gap. The binary canticles of the chanicus broadcast at a specific frequency, synchronized with the flashing warning luns. The entire process was like an immaculate ritual, brimming with solemnity.
The combat doctrine of the Wings of Dawn relied heavily on elite vanguard breakthroughs, and Romulus's command and logistical coordination skills were nothing short of breathtaking.
Therefore, even though an Emperor-class Battleship was far more cumberso than other Imperial battleship classes...
...its sheer hangar capacity and advanced sensor arrays were more than enough to maximize the capabilities of the Wings of Dawn's battlefield control units, making it the undisputed, perfect choice for a flagship.
This titanic vessel would serve as the core of the Wings of Dawn in their upcoming crusade.
As for grafting a bridge—truthfully, such extre asures were typically reserved for husks found in a Starship Graveyard to rapidly restore a vessel's Combat Power.
Furthermore, the demands of the Wings of Dawn were outrageously unorthodox.
Tearing a hole into an Emperor-class bridge, cleanly slicing out the Dawnlight's Machine Spirit, and directly dropping it in—while the Dawnlight's original hull would simply be scrapped and recycled by the Forge World to cover the exorbitant retrofitting fees.
When the Magos Dominus of Tigrus first received this proposal, they nearly jumped out of their augtic chassis to subject the lunatic who suggested it to a chanicus execution.
However, all four leaders insisted upon it, and Archmagos Cawl raised no objections. Nobody could stop them.
Moreover, during the refitting process, the Tech-Priests attempting to placate the two ships' Machine Spirits looked as if their entire worldview had completely shattered.
Why didn't they require any litanies of appeasent to coexist peacefully?
How could they possibly accept two queens ruling within the exact sa palace?
Beep—
A verification Instrunt, incessantly harassed by the murmuring priests, hard-crashed to a blue screen.
Several hunched Tech-Priests held smoldering Incense, muttering endlessly at the Instrunt as they tried to soothe its Machine Spirit through traditional Cult chanicus rites.
Yet their efforts were clearly futile. If anything, they only made the Machine Spirit increasingly irritated.
Thud!
A dull impact echoed through the compartnt as Rases slamd his fist heavily against the protective casing.
The Instrunt's Machine Spirit, which had completely gone on strike due to the Tech-Priests' endless stream of verification requests, seed shocked back to its senses by the blow and instantly resud its regular functions.
The hum of the Instrunt returned as streams of data began scrolling across the monitors, lodging a silent protest.
'I told them I already asked the Machine Spirit, but these cogboys just refused to listen.'
Under the horrified gazes of the hunched Tech-Priests still bowing with their Incense, Rases strolled toward the actively welding bridge and threw a casual remark over his shoulder.
"Give her so real work to calculate, or she's going to go on strike again."
Beep—Beep-beep—
The mont he spoke, the Instrunt's indicator lights flared to life, emitting a rhythmic series of beeps. Its most prominent rune-button began flashing rapidly in binary, as if vehently agreeing with Rases.
It was cursing them out in exceptionally foul language.
The Tech-Priests descended into Utter Chaos once more, scrambling frantically to run diagnostics on the machine's spirit.
A Machine Spirit capable of such direct communication was entirely anathema to them!
Thanks to the strictures of the Martian Accords, possessing highly intelligent Machine Spirits was strictly forbidden. The vast majority operated with beast-like intellects, typically existing only as a failsafe against chaotic corruption.
Therefore, compared to the forces of Chaos, the Imperium's Machine Spirits severely lacked independent initiative.
After all, pilotless Chaos Knights could charge across battlefields like rabid hounds, even using their literal, dog-like muzzles to bite people.
Rases, however, felt no such pressure. Ever since they discovered that materialized soul-creations could harbor Machine Spirits, their research into the matter had begun in earnest.
Aside from Arthur—who was treated like an absolute pariah and viewed as a ghost by the Machine Spirits—the other three had no trouble communicating with them. Rases could even tailor his demands, allowing the Machine Spirits to manifest in their psychic perceptions in perfectly idealized forms.
It could be said that ever since the Machine Spirits realized the four Transmigrators could literally create them, they had acted exceedingly polite around the group, treating them with palpable reverence.
Rases approached a welding servitor-arm and gently patted its casing. The arm's grinding hum instantly softened, as if purring in response to his touch.
Rases could even artificially elevate a Machine Spirit's intelligence to a certain degree. Anything even remotely connected to The Warp was a veritable playground for him.
"Sigh, I better get back to my den and continue the decryption. Aren't Soul Circuits an Aeldari Creation? How is it that even those Craftworlders can't decipher them?"
Having taken a brief stroll through the manufactorum and satisfied his curiosity, Rases turned on his heel and left.
Upon boarding the Emperor-class Battleship Dawnlight, Rases noticed Archmagos Cawl and Grand Marshal Ledodes, who had boarded alongside him. They were currently organizing the personnel required to operate the mighty vessel.
Although this ship was still a product of the Cult chanicus, it was, at the end of the day, a battleship. The Dawnlight's original crew was far too small to run it, necessitating extensive supplental recruitnt.
And within the Expeditionary Fleet, serving aboard the Dawnlight was an incredibly highly sought-after honor.
After tossing them a casual greeting from a distance, Rases slipped into the Transmigrators' cabin that Arthur had already set up for them.
It was a pri location. Shielded by Rases's Spells, he could simply open the viewport to surveil a full 270-degree radius around the battleship.
He lazily arranged a few pre-set summoning rituals for Daemons, shooting a glance out the window.
Aside from providing the Emperor-class Battleship as their command vessel, Cawl had supplied the Wings of Dawn with six Lunar-class Cruisers, a ragtag dozen Frigates, and three cruiser-grade Industrial Vessels.
There were countless variants of Industrial Vessels within the chanicus, infinitely subdivided by the whims of their individual designers. However, these specific ones, designated as Vesta-class Industrial Vessels, served as the very bedrock of Cawl's exploration fleets.
These ships were capable of mining, refining, and processing the vast majority of raw materials. They could even enter stellar orbits to harvest high-energy particles radiating from stars for power.
They contained massive, empty bays designed to house a multitude of production lines, capable of manufacturing anything from starship components down to basic Imperial civilian goods.
Given enough ti, these Industrial Vessels could even construct most classes of starships entirely from scratch, single-handedly completing the infrastructural needs of an entire Forge World. The pre-installed technological data banks varied wildly depending on the owner, but every single one of them contained an absurd wealth of knowledge.
If only these could be standardized across all Imperial fleets...
"..."
The chanicus were truly ruthless bastards. They clung to the Imperium like leeches, draining its population and resources, yet absolutely refused to share their toys.
Rases clicked his tongue, simultaneously commanding a few Daemons to ignite the divination rituals and forcibly decrypt the fragnted data trapped within the Soul Circuits.
Even Cawl held extre reservations about freely distributing these Industrial Vessels. Hoping to avoid unnecessary political headaches, he had only provided them to the Wings of Dawn—though, truthfully, the Wings of Dawn hardly had much use for them.
After all, the four of them were practically walking Living STCs. Regardless of their other empire-building skills, their ability to establish rapid infrastructure was unparalleled.
Moreover, these Industrial Vessels were incredibly conspicuous; any knowledgeable Magos would recognize them at a single glance.
"So, what exactly do you need from us?"
Deep within the council chambers, Romulus, still buried under a mountain of official duties, had accepted the Archmagos's request for an audience.
"In truth, it is not a matter of what I need you to do. These vessels can follow you, supplying your isolated, forward-deployed fleets, and they possess the capability to establish the foundational industrial base required for a civilization upon any given planet."
"I only ask that when they express the need to fulfill their primary functions, you permit them to act accordingly."
Scratch, scratch...
Romulus looked at the Archmagos and pondered for a mont. Just out of sight, his fingers continued to glide across the Parchnt like a precision machine, drafting docunts without skipping a beat.
The Imperium often utilized cogitator arrays similar to M2-era computers to handle widespread administrative tasks. However, when it ca to transmitting vital, classified intelligence, they were forced to rely on materials strictly divorced from The Warp, or ones deeply bound by occult connections to specific warp-entities.
During the Great Crusade Era, the influence of Chaos over realspace was relatively constrained. Furthermore, the Imperium possessed Malcador the Sigillite—a transcendent Psyker who ntally linked countless worlds. Information could be relayed directly via Astropathic Communication, seamlessly handled by Terra's administrative legions.
Local sectors enjoyed far greater autonomy back then. As long as they steered clear of Abominable Intelligences (AI), advanced cogitator-assisted networks were freely employed.
But in the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium, the preservation of crucial data relied desperately on relics sharing mystical tethers to The Emperor. Otherwise, there was an incredibly high chance that the information would be corrupted by Warp Fiends.
Fortunately, the Transmigrators possessed the uncanny ability to manifest docunts out of thin air. The ink was the blood of martyrs, the parchnt steeped in Holy Oil. Bypassing countless tedious production steps, Romulus only needed to review the texts and append his necessary annotations.
"...I will see to it."
Having rapidly processed several ergent administrative crises in his mind and run through dozens of simulated contingencies for accepting this Hot Potato, Romulus finally nodded.
If he didn't dare accept three re ships, how could he possibly accept it when the Archmagos inevitably offered to construct an entire shipyard for his sub-sector in the future?
"Understood. My exploratory fleets shall converge upon the Hades System, awaiting your selection of a Legion howorld."
Cawl gave a curt nod.
Satisfied with the answer, the Archmagos prepared to take his leave.
During their technological exchanges, both parties had also outlined their preliminary plans for the future. The Wings of Dawn intended to carve out their future pocket empire from the vast tracts of Imperial space wedged between the Hades System and the Ghoul Sector. Naturally, this required thorough, on-site reconnaissance.
"A mont, Archmagos."
Romulus called out, halting the towering cyborg.
"I require a technical consultation."
"Speak."
Cawl returned to his spot, patiently awaiting the question.
When it ca to the Wings of Dawn, the Archmagos seemingly possessed an infinite reservoir of patience.
Setting aside the fact that their unique individual traits and personalities struck a remarkably familiar and welco chord with him, their absolute willingness to shoulder imnse responsibilities had won Cawl's profound respect.
From Astartes augntations to brand-new armor patterns and various specialized vehicles—these primarchs made absolutely zero effort to obscure their miraculous origins. Furthermore, they willingly cooperated with the Archmagos to absorb his vast, surplus martial assets, such as the Primaris Space Marines and unassigned warships.
Through the sheer scale of this expedition, the Wings of Dawn were broadcasting a very clear ssage to every faction within the fleet:
Build what you must, take what you need, and fortify your own strength without hesitation. If anyone cos asking questions, point them at us. We will shoulder the bla.
Your only obligation is absolute loyalty, and to stand at our side as we shatter the old, stagnant dogmas of this galaxy.
Why else would the entirety of the Expeditionary Fleet follow these four leaders with such unquestioning fervor?
Cawl deeply appreciated such individuals—beings unafraid of Atlas's burden. Only figures like them possessed the true potential to reshape the Galaxy.
He eagerly anticipated the future of the Wings of Dawn, longing to see if this fledgling powerhouse could finally smash the oppressive fetters and shackles imposed by the stagnant Forge Worlds.
Romulus deliberated for a mont before passing over a data-slate containing the theoretical frawork for a highly unorthodox propulsion drive.
They hadn't even begun prototyping it yet; such exotic research was far beyond the material limits of their currently modest fleet.
"By generating an Antimatter Field Bubble, the vessel is propelled across real-space, functioning similarly to curvature travel."
The Archmagos instantly analyzed the engine's conceptual paraters and stated, "The Imperium possesses similar technology. While this thod is significantly safer than Warp Travel, it is dreadfully slow—roughly one-tenth the velocity of standard Imperial Warp Drives. Such drives are typically relegated to local Sector defense forces for short-range intra-system transit."
"Which ans, theoretically, it can be realized?"
Romulus pressed, utterly unbothered by the Archmagos's dismissive evaluation.
In truth, the Imperium's standard Warp Travel was reasonably secure and ti-efficient, utilizing stable Warp Routes charted painstakingly over ten millennia. However, for a proactive strike force darting constantly across the galaxy, the statistical probability of encountering a fatal Warp anomaly was terrifyingly high.
Furthermore, the volatility of The Warp would only worsen as the millennium dragged on—the exact reason The Emperor had obsessively pursued the Webway Project.
"While utterly useless to the wider Imperium, this technology is indeed a viable alternative for establishing a localized pocket empire. If you require it, I shall allocate computational cycles to its perfection. The Tyranid Hive Fleet's narvhal propulsion also offers valuable reference data. I calculate an eighty-percent probability of increasing this drive's velocity to one-fifth that of a standard Warp Drive," Cawl concluded.
"I will leave it in your capable hands, Archmagos."
"Indeed. I take my leave."
Clutching the theoretical schematics, the Archmagos turned and departed the chamber.
Romulus's pen never stopped moving. Docunt after signed docunt was whisked away by the Invincible Iron Guard, dispatched imdiately to their respective destinations.
His eyes, however, drifted upward to the sprawling Star Map, locking onto a bleak, uncharted expanse the Expeditionary Fleet was soon to cross.
The T'au. A race believed to have evolved from aquatic ancestors upon a Low-gravity Planet.
They had originated in a cluster of stars encircled by fierce warp storms. These raging anomalies acted as an impenetrable fortress, halting Imperial expansion and granting the T'au a remarkably stable cradle in which to flourish.
Unlike the vast majority of insular, xenophobic civilizations in the galaxy, the T'au had chosen a radically different path during their ascendency. Instead of adopting isolationist policies, they aggressively pursued diplomatic and cultural exchanges with the neighboring Xenos species.
Ard with an inclusive philosophy known as the Greater Good, they rapidly assimilated nurous alien species and began a terrifyingly efficient campaign of expansion.
By the ti they perfected their next-generation propulsion drives and surged south across the Damocles Gulf, making their very first contact with the Imperium of Man, this upstart race had already blossod into a xenos empire formidable enough to warrant the deploynt of a Mobile Fleet spearheaded by Lunar-class Cruisers.
Yet, it was this very species that, in the fast-approaching First Damocles Gulf Crusade, would miraculously halt an Imperial invasion force consisting of fifteen battleships, nineteen Astra Militarum Regints, and five hundred Adeptus Astartes.
During the future Second Damocles Gulf Crusade, they would even launch a frontal assault that utterly crushed the local Astra Militarum forces, culminating in the assassination of the Raven Guard's Chapter Master.
Faced with apocalyptic invasions from the Tyranid Hive Fleet, Orks, and the insidious forces of Chaos, the T'au Empire always managed to scrape by, erging from each disaster stronger and more advanced than before.
It was as if the universe itself favored them. Every single ti the Imperium cordoned them off for extermination, they found a miraculous escape route, evolving rapidly beneath the crushing weight of relentless galactic horrors.
By the ti The Great Rift tore reality asunder, this insignificant alien race would swell into an interstellar dominion rivaling the sheer scale of the Ultramar Segntum itself.
The Transmigrators cared nothing for the philosophical drivel of these aliens, nor did they waste a single thought on the endless ideological debates surrounding their existence.
They only coveted one thing.
The Slipstream Module.
The T'au's prized faster-than-light travel technology. Its underlying principles were identical to the theoretical blueprints Romulus had just handed the Archmagos. It wasn't fast—clocking in at a re fifth of the speed of an Imperial Warp Drive—and it was incredibly cumberso, capable of being mounted only on the most massive capital ships.
At a glance, it sounded utterly pathetic, barely worth a fraction of the Webway's potential.
However, during the T'au Empire's future Fourth Sphere of Expansion, the simultaneous activation of countless Slipstream Modules would violently tear the fabric of real-space, violently sucking the entire expansion fleet into an unknown dinsion before vomiting them out on the far side of the Galaxy.
This catastrophic event would leave behind a completely stable Wormhole. During their Fifth Sphere of Expansion, the T'au Empire would successfully traverse this Wormhole to migrate across The Great Rift and continue their relentless expansion.
A stable Wormhole.
"Heh."
Thinking of this, Romulus let out a soft chuckle, drawing perplexed glances from the surrounding Invincible Iron Guard.
Wasn't it completely absurd?
When The Great Rift split the galaxy in twain, swallowing half the Imperium's territory whole, humanity was forced to rely solely on the Nachmund Gauntlet—a perilous corridor tethered together by worlds rich in Blackstone deposits—just to maintain a tenuous link to the Imperium Nihilus.
While the Imperium, Orks, and Chaos plunged into an apocalyptic bloodbath over Vigilus...
...there was a minor xenos race casually ferrying back and forth across The Great Rift using a perfectly stable, side-effect-free Wormhole.
Before their transmigration, whenever they argued with people online, they usually just laughed it off as Gas Workshop having another episode. GW buffing the T'au into the stratosphere was hardly breaking news; everyone just rolled their eyes and ignored it.
But now, they had transmigrated.
Romulus stared at the Star Map, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
If the T'au's Wormhole technology could truly forge a thod of superluminal transit rivaling the ancient Webway, its strategic value was imasurable. They had to seize it at all costs, regardless of the blood spent.
Because in the future, they would—
'What am I even thinking about right now?'
Romulus gave a slight shake of his head, tossing those grandiose daydreams out of his mind.
He accepted a mug of coffee handed over by Dracus. Rich, aromatic steam wafted upward. Taking a slow sip, the harsh bitterness washed over his tongue, sharply grounding him back in reality.
The grand, empty promise Arthur fed him was certainly appetizing, and his comrades' unwavering trust ward his heart.
But that didn't an his mountain of paperwork would magically shrink.
On the contrary, as all factions delegated authority and relinquished control over their forces to Romulus, the sheer volu of administrative crises had exploded exponentially.
Work, and more work.
Sotis, he truly couldn't fathom the crushing, soul-destroying pressure borne by the few High Lords of Terra who actually wanted to accomplish sothing.
It was only after taking the reins of this administrative nightmare that Romulus finally understood why the High Lords either died young or descended into total lunacy.
Knock! Knock!
A chi requesting entry echoed through the Vox-caster System.
"Enter."
Romulus called out.
Whoosh—
The heavy blast doors slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss.
A silhouette appeared in the doorway.
It was a majestic, towering figure, yet carrying an unshakable aura of bone-deep exhaustion.
His steps were steady, yet exuded a crushing gravity, as if he bore the unseen sins of an entire species upon his shoulders.
His face was painfully ordinary, that of a middle-aged man, yet his eyes blazed with a terrifying incandescence, as though capable of piercing the very veil of reality.
He was wreathed in a corona of golden light—a glow that wasn't blinding, yet radiated an absolutely inescapable, suffocating majesty.
His voice was low, resonant, and thrumd as if echoing from the distant reaches of antiquity:
"Listen closely, my good child. You have done incredibly well!"
The golden, resplendent figure continued:
"Beware the deceivers. Guard against the traitors. Protect yourselves above all else. You are the ultimate hope of humanity. You shall ascend as kings, rise as the supre sovereigns, commanding your domains, ruling the Cosmos, seated upon the highest thrones of power."
'Oh crap, it's The Emperor!'
Romulus's pen trembled violently, a single drop of ink bleeding onto the parchnt to form a stark black blot.
It wasn't until he blinked hard that the mirage vanished, revealing that the arrival standing in the doorway was actually Arthur, having just finished the Primaris surgical augntations for Servius.
"The Inquisitor asked to hand-deliver her mission logs to you."
Arthur stepped forward, passing over a rolled cylinder of Parchnt.
The Inquisition's operations involved far too many devastating secrets to ever be transmitted via electronic databanks. They could only rely on the most archaic thods of communication.
"Let see."
Romulus whispered, his voice carrying an imperceptible trace of hoarseness.
He unrolled the Parchnt, his eyes scanning rapidly across the encrypted text.
His fingers, half-concealed by red ribbons, were still trembling faintly.
He had genuinely been scared half to death.
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