Warhammer 40k: Shattered Steel Soul

Rogal Dorn came to the center of the Phalanx. The Temple of the Oath was here.

The Templars guarded the door of the dark room and opened it after seeing their Primarch. This is the holy place where new warriors take the oath, and it is also the place where the Templars move, train and gather. The black scorch marks caused by the burning fire still covered every brick and stone in the room, bringing a smell of burnt bones that should not exist.

The surrounding pure white lights were dimly lit, like a circle of twinkling stars, illuminating the vast obsidian walls. They did not go out unless necessary; in the central oath copper basin, new fuel had been filled, waiting to be ignited when the next Imperial Fist warrior took the oath.

...It was like a metaphor for the vast universe and the central star torch, hinting at the situation he saw now. The dark blue shadow extended in the huge black after the burning, and the uneven curves and scars were like painful faces and hideous demons howling and struggling; and the central pillar like a lighthouse, although still white, the fire was quietly extinguished, relying only on the dim light around, barely highlighting a vague image...

He tried to erase this meaningless correspondence from his mind, and he did it. In front of him, the Temple of the Oath was just a temple.

He took the torch to start the fire, but did not light it immediately.

"Father. What happened?" Sigismund hurried out of the secret door and saluted him. He was wearing a loose meditation robe, a simple training sword hanging around his waist, and his golden hair was wet with sweat.

"Nothing." Rogal Dorn stared at the torch. "I'll take a look."

Sigismund was not relieved. As the warrior closest to him and the founder of one of his two guard teams, Sigismund always knew him very well.

Perhaps this is why he came to Sigismund.

Sigismund followed Dorn's gaze and looked at the copper basin in the center. "I heard that Lord Fulgrim has awakened, father."

"He is very calm. Better than I expected." Dorn said, he had just left Fulgrim.

Even when the helpless pharmacist tried to give him some treatment, Fulgrim still did not let go of Ferrus Manus's iron head. When he woke up, he did not react much, but solemnly and calmly explained the regret of Ferrus's departure and how to unify the remaining clans of the Iron Hand in the future.

In addition, he whispered to him that the throne had indeed fallen into darkness.

The purple phoenix was in poor spirits, and after a few words, he fell asleep again on the bed in the pharmacy department.

"Then, may I ask how Lord Fulgrim is injured?"

"Wait until he wakes up. From the looks of it, his limbs should not be unable to move."

Sigismund nodded, took out a flint from the grid under the stone pillar, and lit a flame for the torch in Rogal Dorn's hand.

He hesitated for a moment and said, "Father, you saved them."

"I didn't do anything." Rogal Dorn said, "Constantine Valdor revived Fulgrim, and Ferrus Manus, we all lost him. A respectable Primarch."

The Primarch shook his head. "I hesitated in my heart, Sigismund. Similarly, I missed the opportunity."

He pointed the flaming torch at the fuel in the copper bowl, and the flame rose in an instant, flashing hot light.

Sigismund spoke solemnly: "We have no way to stop what is beyond our ability, father. Lorgar Aurelion is not something we can stop, and the warp power above Medusa is not something that the Imperial Fists can easily expel. Since closing the Webway node, you have been doing your best every moment."

"I know these facts." Rogal Dorn interrupted him softly, "I don't need to repeat them."

"But you need to calm down." Sigismund said stubbornly.

"No, I need to make a choice." Rogal Dorn rejected his heir. He concentrated on putting his hand into the burning fire, just like every time he took his recruits to take the oath.

The flames wrapped around his clenched fist, and the stinging made his mind clear. In moderate pain, a person will be more focused on his inner life.

Dorn once again remembered his state of mind when he heard about the death of the two Primarchs.

Magnus, Ferrus Manus, he did not witness it, he was a waiting stone, chasing this world rolling into the abyss. He knew he had not relaxed for a moment, and he knew he was in pain. He had not done enough, far from enough.

So what about his children?

Will the indestructible Imperial Fists follow the footsteps of betrayal, or will they hold their fortress?

The latter is the most respected tenacity throughout the Legion for hundreds of years. As strong as a rock. Never change. Never waver.

This is not just a betrayal of Terra. What really troubles them is the betrayal of their past.

Sigismund stared at his face, then walked around to his side and put his palm close to the fire.

"Yes, father, we need to choose." Sigismund said.

In the eyes of the Space Marine, Rogal Dorn could not see any other emotion except quiet stubbornness.

He waited for Sigismund's response.

"Purification is fire," the Templar's voice echoed in the empty room, penetrating time and overlapping with their original oath.

"Burning is the price of cleansing. After the fire burns, what remains is the foundation of a new era."

"We have a heavy responsibility." Rogal Dorn continued his son's words, looking down at Sigismund's hand. It was a hand that held a sword and swung a knife, and now it was guarding his pale and hard fingers, trembling slightly in pain. The leaping flame melted it and made it warm enough.

"Survival is a flame." Sigismund continued, "We fight, purify, and live. We will become a blazing fire."

"Because the universe where humans live is far and cold." Rogal Dorn replied. This feeling is wonderful enough. His warrior became his guide. Is this because he is asking for his opinion?

Sigismund gave him a set of hints. A set of words about burning the galaxy. A decisive and rebellious choice.

Did he really think so? He would ask it clearly.

There is no place for evasion and confusion in the Temple of Oath.

He pulled his palm out of the flames, and Sigismund did the same. Their blood flowed down the broken wounds, falling on the uneven surface of the obsidian, covered with intricate words and patterns. The blood explored the dents and extended to the deep void in all directions.

Rogal Dorn's heartbeat quickly became stable.

He faced the Templar and spoke softly.

"Sigismund, my child, my warrior, tell me. Have you chosen to betray Terra?"

Sigismund frowned. He could find any reason to cleanse his behavior for his choice, but he didn't.

"The entire Templar has made a decision, yes, father. The Haskar Guard is the same."

"What about my more warriors?"

"It's normal to hesitate, just like you." He said bluntly, and when he looked up at him, Rogal Dorn knew that he had inherited his insightful eyes.

"Very good." Dorn said, pausing.

"Are you distressed?" The warrior asked mercilessly. "I'm not sure if your friendship with the Iron Warriors Primarch has affected your decision? I'm not sure if your hesitation has delayed a better possibility?"

"I don't know." Rogal Dorn thought, "but it doesn't affect everything we have to do."

Just as their huge fleet has sent messengers to the Olympia Cluster. The Phalanx is one of them.

According to the navigator's description, golden guidance continues to appear, and they are naming this new phenomenon "Golden Path".

Sigismund reached to his waist and drew out his training sword. It was still a heavy steel sword, but there was no force field attached to it.

"I apologize for my offense, father, but I hope to do this." Sigismund said, handing the sword to Rogal Dorn with both hands.

The Primarch took the sword, and in his hand, the one-handed sword used by the Space Marines was like a thin and brittle dagger, but he felt an irresistible weight. This weight came from the blood on the blade, the blood that flowed from their hands when they shared the oath.

"I swear to you again. As a knight of the rebels," Sigismund said, staring into Rogal Dorn's face. The shadow of the flame burned continuously in his eyes.

Rogal Dorn raised his sword and gently placed it on Sigismund's shoulder.

"I accept you," Rogal Dorn replied, "accepting a knight who walks the path of truth."

"My knight, I once thought about whether I would choose to stick to Terra, return to the throne, and fulfill my duties as a guard; or lead my troops away and go with the Warmaster. I once questioned whether I was blinded, whether I was bewitched, because of my personal contradictions and disgust with the Word Bearers, I rashly chose the path of betrayal. After that, I asked whether the pain we would bring to the galaxy was worth it for mankind, whether the blood released to treat the rot would be more than a race could bear."

All these thoughts took place deep in his heart.

As he walked in the Phalanx, passing the training hall, passing by the hermitage, and examining the rows of shells in the armory, he seemed to see lasers cutting through the clouds in the sky, fragments from the explosions falling like heavy rain, light spears peeling off the hull along the way, and the dazzling lightning sparks condensed into a wisp of dust in the universe in an instant.

He evaluated, compared, tried to deduce everything that was going to happen, and tried to build a fortress of reason in the chaotic galaxy.

He saw the world burn again and again in his mind, and finally he saw Terra, and saw the palace he built with his own hands shattered.

He knew that this was what Perturabo would see.

"I can't get an answer. We can't get an answer until the war is over." Dorn continued, "However, we must choose a path of betrayal. Because returning to the throne is easier."

"So, will the war end?" Sigismund asked.

Dorn did not answer immediately. He stood still, his thoughts progressed as fast as lightning, and this lightning burned his heart.

He handed the sword back to his warrior and turned away. "It will be," he said firmly.

No matter who wins in the end.

They would return to the real universe soon after calculation. He would be ready to face Perturabo. And Fulgrim, he hoped his brother would wake up again in time.

He hoped so.

After Dorne left, Sigismund turned to the still burning oath fire. The heat of the flames touched his cheeks, spreading from his cheekbones, leaving a phantom of fire in his eyes, and the burning pain seemed to penetrate his bones.

His heart was so peaceful. It was as if they had arrived above the flames, riding the air currents of entanglement and hesitation, disbelief and grief, fear and anger, and reached a height high enough to hover without worries.

At this altitude... like on an iceberg howling in the wind and snow of Inwit... he looked down and examined their true beliefs, thought about the logic and legality (Ley) implied in all the actions brought by the universe, and re-insighted into the hidden truth and eternity... the only eternal thing is war.

Sigismund knelt on one knee, quietly raised the long sword, and pressed the steel face against his forehead. A chill spread from there.