Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 512 Painful Oath
Rogal Dorn came to the center of the Phalanx. Here was the Temple of the Oath.

The Templars guarded the door to the dark room, and opened it when they saw their Primarch. This was the holy place where new warriors took their oaths, and where the Templars gathered, trained, and gathered. The black scorch marks from the fire still covered every brick and stone in the room, bringing with them a smell of burnt bones that shouldn't 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; new fuel had been filled in the central oath-taking copper basin, waiting to be ignited the next time the Imperial Fists warriors took the oath.

…It was like a metaphor for the vast universe and the central star torch, hinting at the situation he was seeing now. The dark blue shadow stretched out in the huge blackness after the burning, and the uneven curved surface and scars were like painful faces and hideous demons howling and struggling; and the central lighthouse-like pillar, although still white, the fire was quietly extinguished, relying only on the dim light around it to barely create 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 fetched the torch for 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 training sword simply hung around his waist, and his golden hair was wet with sweat.

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

Sigismund was not reassured. As the warrior closest to him and the founder of one of his two guards, Sigismund knew him well.

Perhaps this was also the reason 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 calm. Better than I expected," said Dorn, who had just left Fulgrim's presence.

Even when the helpless apothecary 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 Hands in the future.

Besides, he whispered to him, the throne was indeed engulfed in darkness.

The purple-clothed phoenix was in low spirits. After saying a few words, she fell asleep again on the bed in the pharmacy department.

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

"Wait until he wakes up. From the looks of it, he shouldn't be unable to move his limbs."

Sigismund nodded, took a flint from the grid below 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 did little," said Rogal Dorn. "Constantin Valdor revived Fulgrim, and Ferrus Manus, we all lost him. A worthy Primarch."

The Primarch shook his head. "I hesitated, Sigismund. And likewise, I missed my chance."

He pointed the flaming torch towards the fuel in the copper bowl, and the flames rose instantly, flashing brightly with hot light.

Sigismund spoke solemnly: "We cannot prevent what is beyond our power, father. Lorgar Aurelion is not something we can stop, and the warp power above Medusa is not something 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 must choose," Rogal Dorn overruled his scion, and he thrust his hand into the burning fire, just as he had done every time he had sworn in his recruits.

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

Dorn recalled again how he had felt when he had heard of the deaths of the two Primarchs.

Magnus, Ferrus Magnus, he had no witnesses, he was a waiting stone, chasing the world that was rolling towards the abyss. He knew that he had never relaxed for a moment, and he also knew that he was full of pain. He had not done enough, far from enough.

So, what about his descendants?

Will the indestructible Imperial Fists follow the betrayal, or hold on to their fortress?

The latter is the most respected tenacious quality in the entire legion for hundreds of years. As firm as a rock. Never change. Never waver.

This was more than a betrayal of Terra. What really troubled them was the betrayal of their past.

Sigismund stared at his face, then moved around to his side and likewise placed his palm close to the flame.

"Yes, father, we need to make a choice," said Sigismund.

Rogal Dorn could see no other emotion in the eyes of the Space Marine except for quiet stubbornness.

He waited for Sigismund's response.

"Purification is fire," the Templar's voice echoed throughout the empty chamber, reaching back through time and echoing their original vows.

"Burning is the price of purification. After the flames burn out, 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.

"Life is fire," Sigismund continued. "We fight, we purify, we live. We will become fire."

"Because the universe in which humans live is distant and cold." Rogal Dorn answered. The feeling was strange enough. His warrior became his guide. Was it because he was asking for his advice?
Sigismund gave him a set of hints. A set of words about burning the galaxy. A decisive and rebellious choice. Did he really think this way? He would ask it.

There is no place for avoidance and confusion in the Temple of the Vow.

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

Rogal Dorn's heartbeat quickly became steady.

He faced the Templar and spoke softly.

"Sigismund, my boy, my warrior, tell me. Have you chosen the side that betrayed Terra?"

Sigismund frowned. He could have found any reason to justify his choice, but he didn't.

"The entire templar has made their decision, yes, father. So have the Haskar Guards."

"Where are my more warriors?"

"It is natural to hesitate, just as you do," he said bluntly, and when he looked up at him, Rogal Dorn knew that he had inherited his own penetrating eyes.

"Very good," Dawn said, pausing.

"Are you troubled?" the warrior asked mercilessly. "Are you unsure whether your friendship with the Iron Warriors Primarch has affected your decision? Are you unsure whether your hesitation has delayed a better possibility?"

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

Just as their huge fleet had sent out envoys to the Olympia Cluster, the Phalanx was one of them.

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

Sigismund reached to his waist and pulled out his training sword. It was still a heavy steel sword, but without the force field attached to it.

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

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

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

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

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

"My Knight, I have considered whether I would choose to stay on Terra and return to the throne to fulfill my duties as a guard, or to leave with my troops and follow the Warmaster. I have questioned whether I have been deceived, whether I have been deceived, whether I have been deceived, and whether I have rashly chosen the path of betrayal because of my personal ambivalence and disgust for the Word Bearers. After this, I asked whether the pain we would bring to the galaxy was worth it to humanity, and whether the blood we would shed to heal 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, past the training hall, stopped by the hermitage, and examined the rows of shells in the armory, he seemed to see lasers cutting through the clouds in the sky, fragments from the explosion pouring down like heavy rain, spears of light peeling off the hull as they went, and the dazzling sparks of lightning condensed into a wisp of dust in the universe in an instant.

He evaluated, compared, tried to deduce everything that was going to happen, 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 had built with his own hands shattered.

He knew that this was what Perturabo would see, too.

"I have no answers. We will never have answers until the war is over," Dorn continued. "Yet we must choose the path of betrayal. Because returning to the throne is easier."

"Will the war end, then?" asked Sigismund.

Dorn did not answer immediately. He stood still, his thoughts moving at lightning speed, burning his soul.

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

No matter who wins in the end.

After calculations, they were about to return to the real universe. He would be ready to face Perturabo. And Fulgrim, he hoped that his brother would be able to wake up again in time.

He hoped so.

After Dorn 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 mind was so peaceful. It was as if they had arrived above the flames, riding on the current of entanglement and hesitation, disbelief and grief, fear and anger, and reached a height high enough to hover without any worries.

At this altitude... like on an iceberg howling in the wind and snow... he looked down and examined their true beliefs, pondered the logic and legal principles (Ley) implied in all actions brought about by the universe, and gained new insights into the hidden truth and eternity... the only thing that is eternal is war.

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

(End of this chapter)