Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

He doesn't need to regret.

Astelan muttered in his heart, resisting the tingling anxiety.

He doesn't need to feel regret, he is just doing a small thing: in the face of ambition and cause covering the entire galaxy, loyalty to the Primarch is irrelevant, he can certainly choose to betray his oath.

No: he never made an oath, he never pledged allegiance to the Primarch they called him.

Yes, he can go his own way.

The Dark Angel took a deep breath, and he completely wrapped himself in a power armor that was older than the entire Great Crusade: in today's human empire, the Mark II power armor is generally considered to be backward and outdated equipment. It originated from the end of the Age of Strife. Although it once made great contributions to the Emperor and the Great Crusade, its admirers have now rushed to the Mark IV with higher performance and popularity.

They called this newly developed armor [Ultimate Power Armor] (another great victory of Guilliman's descendants in demonstrating their ambition and influence) and claimed that it symbolized the most glorious period of the entire human empire. Almost everyone agreed with the words of the Mechanicus.

But Astelan was an exception.

He stubbornly retained his own Mark II Power Armor, and through the connections he had accumulated in the past and his own manual skills, he modified it again and again until his power armor was no less powerful than those new products. When he wore this armor that symbolized powerful performance and ancient honor and walked through the bridge and deck of the Indomitable Truth, those fighting brothers who were overjoyed because of their new equipment stopped and made way, casting envious eyes at Astelan's majestic back.

This is Astelan's philosophy.

He never pursued what everyone desired most. Whether it was the Primarch's respect or the best equipment, Astelan was just so-so. With his ability and qualifications, he could get whatever he wanted, but he was never willing to give up his own standards for these external materials.

Just like he wore the Mark II that had been officially equipped before the Great Crusade to commemorate the true glory of the Dark Angels Legion, Astelan never concealed his dissatisfaction with the current situation of the Legion and declared his thoughts all the time.

If it were an ordinary soldier, he would have been punished for this, but his ability and achievements were so important that no matter how much the Primarch's followers hated him secretly, when the First Legion's column set foot on the red sand-colored land of Ullanor, they still had to place Astelan in the first row of the parade column, which was the most conspicuous and important position.

But he was not satisfied, if it were not for the so-called prejudice and favor of the Primarch. He shouldn't have been in the first row at all, he should have been at the front of the entire queue, as the undoubted leader and guide of the Dark Angels: now standing there is Alajos, a figure who can't compare with him in any aspect.

Yes, everyone will boast about Alajos's superb swordsmanship, but isn't Astelan also a swordsman who is good enough to be ranked in the top three in the entire First Legion? He has won completely in other aspects: if it weren't for the beast-like lion brought out by the Emperor from the deep forest of Caliban, Astelan should have been the Grand Master of the Dark Angels.

This should have been his legion!

He should have...

He should have stood on that high platform, reviewing the elite of the entire Great Crusade, and being respected as a being second only to the Emperor: instead of being a member of the vast crowd, becoming the object of ridicule by these so-called descendants of the Emperor.

This is unfair... Why?

Astelan asked himself, the noisy sound made him more irritated. The World Eaters in front of them had already lined up and set off to the pace of military music, and the Dark Angels who were traveling with him also checked themselves for the last time. In the inherent silence of the First Legion, the sound of rustling sounded, and each pendant and medal was re-positioned.

Everything was progressing steadily according to the steps Morgan taught them in advance.

Astelan was doing the same, he checked his armor absent-mindedly: using black as the main color, then using silver trim and smear decoration, and finally filling the blank areas with bright red. This combination was simply the best arrangement in the eyes of the Terran veterans. Their armor was the best, far better than those of the other legions.

Astelan's fingers stroked the huge shoulder armor, and the silver olive leaf logo surrounded the huge First Legion emblem: the dark silver thickened with black depicted the main structure of a sword, and the sharp wings on both sides were as clear as rubies, making others love it.

He liked this outfit, just like he liked all the costumes prepared by the entire First Legion for this parade, because Astelan also had a share of the credit: these internal affairs related to honor were jointly formulated by him and Corswayn, and then submitted to the Spider Queen for inspection as usual, and some details and errors were modified according to her comments, and finally, they were approved after getting a stamp from Jonson.

The lion didn't even take a closer look.

Astelan was right next to him, and he remembered the moment when he was so angry that his teeth were chattering: he was angry because of the Primarch's dereliction of duty.

Even after so many years, the Caliban people have never concealed their impatience for these [non-military affairs]. When Astelan was honing his originally weak internal affairs and management skills in countless documents, from the initial chaos to the current remote control of the daily operations of more than a dozen star systems with only documents, he witnessed with his own eyes how Jonson's ability was stagnant.

No, it should be said that most of the Primarchs have been stagnant since the moment they were born. They are endlessly squandering their talents. They are like beasts and never deliberately learn and hone: if these talents were given to him, he could lay down half of the territory of the entire Great Expedition for the First Legion!

What if there is no Primarch? Horus has no face to mention the idea of ​​competing for the Warmaster!

But unfortunately, the reality is not like this.

They even lost the rightful position of the head of the Legions.

Others can hardly imagine: when the Emperor decided to appoint Horus as the Warmaster, how much of a blow this news was to Astelan.

But what made him even more angry was: Did Zhuang Sen really give up?

He gave up: the glory of the First Army?

Handed over this position to someone else?

"..."

Astelan heard the sound of his own deep breath.

The Terra veteran turned his head and fell into deep thought again: the noise in the distance and the rustling around him disappeared at this moment. He was immersed in his heart, stroking the military emblem that symbolized all honors, and asked himself for the umpteenth time.

Does he really want to do this?

Obviously, as long as he opened his mouth, as long as he thought a little, he could find so many faults and so many disappointing things from the so-called Primarch. He waited for so many years with cautious desire, but Zhuang Sen never changed, and never even tried. He led the legion into the abyss of decline, indulging in his own beast-like desire to kill.

The former First Army, look at how you have declined now!

Look at how your so-called master has failed all of us.

Zhuang Sen is not worthy of leading them.

Astelan was sure of this.

But he... was leading them.

If Jonson was a soldier under his command, he could kick him away. If he was his battle brother or colleague, he could never see this man again: but he was his superior, his primarch and commander, the master of his beloved legion. Astelan could only stand here and let all his past glory and treasures be squandered.

How many more years would he continue to hide in silence like this?

Obey this mediocre man? Slip from the position of his grandmaster to the so-called first column of the legion? And then watch the newcomers who were loved by Jonson step on his shoulders and continue to move up? Look at these people in the same column with him. Apart from him, who is a veteran of Terra?

Jonson's thoughts are self-evident: Can he only accept it passively?

Or...

Astelan lowered his head, and when the wind on Ullanor began to sob again, he remembered what Luther had said to him.

Just last night, when Luther's Caliban fleet had just arrived, as a guard who went to greet it with Jonson, he had a brief private conversation with the de facto king of Caliban, the old knight who now had the power to rule alone.

During the conversation, Luther had implicitly expressed a desire to him: he told him that the so-called Caliban Alliance was expanding day by day, and he himself was caught between the functions of commander and management, and was increasingly unable to do it. He longed to have more help and to get elites like Astelan to assist him.

Of course, this might just be a joke or a sigh, a polite remark: but Astelan had to admit that he was moved. He knew Luther. Through countless long-distance correspondence and cooperation, he knew that the old knight was not a mediocre person like Jonson. He would give him enough respect and autonomy. With these two points, Astelan would have new possibilities. As long as he could have a world and fleet of his own, he could completely break away from Jonson's control and start a new great expedition.

Maybe, maybe the glory of the First Legion needed him to save it.

He could definitely do it: as long as he was free from Jonson's control, as long as he could abandon the so-called loyalty to the Primarch, so that he could act completely according to his own ideas, so that he could restore the ancient path of the First Legion, not what Jonson wanted.

As long as he could embrace his ambitions...

It was that simple.

Yes, he didn't need to feel any guilt or regret, because every one of his battle brothers would do the same: no matter who stood in his position, they would have their own ambitions without hesitation.

Even if it meant: abandoning the Primarch to whom the Emperor asked them to be loyal.

However, on the other hand, if it were not for the Emperor's endorsement, what qualifications would these Primarchs have, born to ride on their heads? They are warriors, they are legions, they are conquering machines born for victory and glory, not juggling toys that are used by the father to be distributed to each of his sons as prizes or toys.

Think about it, how difficult it is to become an Astartes warrior. They grow up in slums where they are not qualified to live if they cannot kill at the age of five. Often only one person in a thousand can survive to adulthood. And among hundreds of such lucky ones, after participating in the election of Astartes warriors, only one or two can be elected or even survive.

This is just the introductory stage, coupled with the near-death transformation surgery, the training process with extremely high elimination rate, and the first few battles with shocking casualty rates: their Dark Angels are not like other legions, and their soldiers are all selected from the best. Excellent elites are not just a bunch of trash or mutants who can blend in.

And it is among such two hundred thousand battle elites that Astlan has reached the top position by virtue of his ability and tenacity. He is only one step away from the power of the Grand Master: as long as he is given some more time, he can Leading the First Legion to true glory, but the lion fell from the sky without any test or even any education.

He took everything from him.

No: all of them!

Things shouldn't be like this.

Astelan closed his eyes. It was not until the military music belonging to the Dark Angel Legion began to play in his ears that the Terran veteran opened his eyes again. Now, his eyes were already firm, and he had Decide what you want to do.

After this pointless and boring military parade is over.

He wanted to find time to talk to Luther about Caliban.

The Terran veteran clenched his fists, and a wild smile symbolizing confidence and ambition appeared on his face again: How many years has it been? How many years has it been since he smiled like this? The road ahead was clearly visible, and he already knew how to take the first step.

With the tense relationship between them and the selfish motives of the Calibans, it would not be difficult to convince Jonson to release him from the front lines of the Great Crusade and let him return to assist Luther. After being away from the violence of the original body, , he will naturally gain the freedom he desires.

Astelan laughed, and his hearty laughter melted into Ullanor's fanatical hurricane and vocals, and no one could hear him.

The Dark Angel's gaze was as bright as a torch.

He wants to leave Jonson: since the Caliban has made up his mind to fulfill his so-called duty and destiny, and burn all his bones and blood in the shadow of the Great Crusade that no one can see, then let him Go ahead, he doesn't care about Jonson's fate.

He only cares about one thing: the glory and future of the Dark Angels.

They are the First Legion. They are the most valued force of the Emperor. They are weapons forged by the Lord of Mankind himself. They are not slaves or private property belonging to Jonson. The lion of Caliban has no qualifications for him. They squandered the glory that originally belonged to all the Dark Angels because of their delusions.

Why should he? Just the statue at the entrance of the palace?

It's not like he did it alone!

He had participated in the Randan War, he had participated in the erased war, and he had experienced fighting and shed blood on the front line, even compared to Jonson himself: the original body had no qualifications to accuse him, And he was also very aware of Jonson's importance in these wars.

Very important: but not so important that he could decide the fate of the First Legion.

Without the bloody fighting and polished preparations of Terran veterans like them, what qualifications would the Calibans under Jonson have to break through to the core of the Randan Empire? Without the heroic sacrifice of five hundred of their best battle brothers, what qualifications did he have to embrace the statue at the entrance of the palace? How could he have persisted until the end of the war without the help of the Spider Queen, one of the few worthy of the Primarchs?

Is he a hero?

Everyone is a hero: this is not the reason why Johnson can be so domineering.

The lion of Caliban can certainly drown in the pool of galactic blood that he cherishes so much, but he does not deserve to be buried with the First Legion. Only those Calibans who are equally crazy like him will die at the same time as him, and Astlan Will leave, he is going to find new fertile ground, return to the path that truly belongs to the First Legion, and build everything that belongs to the Dark Angel Legion from scratch.

Build their own Great Crusade.

Yes, that's it.

In this ordinary moment, an Astartes made up his mind: the Primarch's place in his heart disappeared, replaced by a fire he could not even describe.

Even Astlan himself couldn't explain what was burning in this fire, but he no longer wanted to look back. In the few minutes left, he had already begun to carefully think about the details of this grand blueprint: such as Said he could win over a few allies.

The good news: not less.

In Astlan's memory, there are many Terran veterans who have the same ideas as him, or even more radical ideas than him. He may be able to pull up a team of several hundred people, which is enough to serve as the leader of an expedition fleet. Backbone: He will lead a group of people back first, and the others will gradually return through various means.

As long as he has a hundred men under his command, his plan can start to work.

Luther can't control him, and the knight is a smart man. Unlike Jonson, he will respect Astlan's inherent freedom and power, and in return, Astlan doesn't mind accepting The most important of the countless burdens placed on Luther's shoulders.

Let him think about it, what is the name that makes Luther complain in every possible way?

Ah...right

The Archon of the Cadia Universe.

He will like his new position.

——————

38.8 degrees...

Uncomfortable...want to cry...