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"You're right..."
The Chief Librarian nodded. "Though the Baal system is impoverished, the Blood Angels should still be able to afford these. They would never refuse our request."
After all, the Carcharodons had come from light-years away to aid their brothers.
The Blood Angels weren't wealthy—among the larger Chapters, they were considered poor—but even if they couldn't fulfill all the Carcharodons' supply requests, they would surely offer something.
At the very least, it could ease the Chapter's financial crisis a bit.
The Carcharodons had no homeworld to operate from, and no imperial treasury to support them.
They'd even resorted to grey-market dealings with pirate warbands. Their mighty Chapter Master had once fought in illegal duels just to win resources.
Battling Chaos Space Marines in underground arenas.
They were so destitute they were practically fighting in their underwear—locked in a downward spiral: the more they fought, the poorer they became.
Of course—
If the Carcharodons stopped fighting, or cut down on their battles, this problem could be greatly mitigated.
But that was impossible.
The Carcharodons could not stop. They could not abandon their holy mission to exterminate mankind's enemies. Otherwise, there would be no point to their existence.
So—
The moment they received the Blood Angels' call for aid, they came immediately.
The Chief Librarian sighed and continued:
"My lord, we've just completed a full statistical analysis of our spoils and losses... and the results are far from ideal."
Chapter Master Tyberos snapped his head up.
Trembling, he asked,
"By the Emperor… are you saying our losses have grown even worse?"
The Librarian nodded solemnly. "Yes. Even worse than what we suffered in the outer regions..."
Hearing that—
The cold and ruthless Chapter Master's black eyes seemed to lose their soul, as if the heavens had collapsed.
"Sigh... the Carcharodons truly can't go on like this…"
He looked to the Librarian.
"You are the mind and wisdom of our Chapter. I beg you—please, find us a solution!"
"My lord, I've done all I can. Maybe… it's time to appoint another Librarian to manage our finances…" the Librarian replied coldly, plainly giving up.
He had exhausted himself over the Chapter's budget. He hadn't even had time to meditate.
Every day, he struggled to find new sources of revenue, micromanaged expenses, even slashed his own and his acolytes' research funding by more than half.
But it was all futile.
In truth, he regretted ever accepting the invitation to join the Carcharodons. Had he joined a richer Chapter, he'd be enjoying luxury by now.
The Librarian grumbled inwardly.
But that was just complaining. His love for the Carcharodons ran as deep as any brother's.
He turned back to Tyberos.
"My lord, I warned you long ago that returning from the Outer Regions was unwise. But you refused to listen. Now reality has proven the wisdom of the Librarium."
Tyberos couldn't argue. He just sighed.
"Who would've thought the Imperium would become this poor..."
To break the cycle of loss and ruin, he had defied tradition—leading five companies from the Outer Regions back into Imperial territory, seeking paid contracts.
Supporting Imperial worlds besieged by xenos and heretics. The idea was to fight mankind's enemies and secure desperately needed supplies.
But they found—
Each world was poorer than the last, unable to provide even the bare minimum for Space Marines. Their gear was simply too expensive for most planetary economies to support.
Yet they couldn't abandon the calls for aid. That would be a betrayal of their faith in the Emperor.
So they kept fighting—gritting their teeth.
And after several engagements, they found their losses had outstripped those suffered in the distant void.
Like that one time—
They had targeted a world historically listed as wealthy. They aided the local governor in eliminating a Genestealer Cult.
But when the battle ended, they discovered the reward was shockingly meager.
Like tossing scraps at beggars.
Tyberos felt insulted. He seized the governor and demanded more.
But—
The governor explained that what they had given was all they had. There was simply nothing left.
He begged the Angels to understand.
Tyberos was livid.
He believed he had been lied to. In fury, he led his warriors to storm the palace vault—hoping to plunder it and score some badly-needed wealth.
But to his dismay, the treasury was so empty it could house rats—there was practically nothing of value.
The governor, seeing this, broke down in tears. His pride and noble bearing collapsed.
He confessed everything.
The world had once been wealthy. That much was true.
But that was years ago.
Ever since the Imperium had raised the planet's tithing grade decades ago, it had been in deficit.
The governor had been forced to sell off family heirlooms just to make up the shortfall on the Tithe of Eleven.
Just to survive.
More recently, the Regent had launched the Indomitus Crusade.
To cover the costs, the Imperium levied extra tithes from its wealthier worlds—burying this one even deeper in debt.
The governor, trembling, told Tyberos:
They truly couldn't pay more. They might not even survive the next tithe cycle.
Faced with this—
Tyberos spared the governor's life. He always had a soft spot for the truly destitute.
After all, the man was poorer than he was. Who knew? Maybe next time he'd be executed for failing to pay the tithe.
So he forgave him—once.
The governor then pleaded with the Angels of the Carcharodons to appeal to Holy Terra, to lower the world's tithe rating.
Otherwise, a few more cycles, and the planet would collapse.
But—
Tyberos was powerless. The Carcharodons had no influence on Terra. Any direct appeal might backfire.
Still, he had an idea.
He told the governor to overreport the damage—claim the planet had been looted and stripped bare by the Carcharodons.
That would certainly draw attention from the Inquisition and related agencies. It might trigger a reassessment of the planet's tithe grade.
In theory—
Imperial law wasn't without mercy. Tithes were supposed to match a world's capacity. Planets devastated by disaster could apply for a reassessment.
But law was law. Execution was something else.
Some overwhelmed planets had submitted petitions—but those applications might wait a century before anyone even read them.
And even when read, most officials shirked the responsibility.
Some assessments, even when approved, would take so long that the planet in question might not even exist by the time a team was dispatched.
So yes, the law existed. But whether it helped? That was a matter of faith and chance.
Only a few lucky or noble-backed planets ever saw results.
Tyberos' solution? Take the blame, and force the system to act.
Once the Inquisition was involved, no one could ignore the case—especially when Space Marines were implicated.
In that scenario, the planet's tithe grade would almost certainly be reevaluated.
When the governor heard this—
It was like seeing hope for the first time. He fell to his knees, weeping, praising the Emperor's angels.
Once again, the Angels had saved his world.
But when he looked up—
The expressions on the Carcharodons' faces had darkened.
Tyberos beat the governor to a pulp and had the Chief Librarian purge his memory, in case the Inquisition came snooping.
Then—
He and his warriors "appropriated" some local resources and manpower.
And departed.
As Tyberos saw it—if they were going to take the blame, they might as well collect a little interest.
The governor got his tax break.
The Carcharodons got some much-needed supplies.
It was a win-win.
As for the Inquisition's investigation?
Tyberos wasn't concerned.
The Carcharodons already had a fearsome reputation.
There were dark rumors—that they were savage monsters, that they slaughtered human worlds, even that they'd wiped out entire star systems.
But in truth—
Most of it wasn't even their fault.
Take the Badab War, for example.
Returning from the Outer Regions, the Carcharodons were integrated into the Imperial war effort to fight the traitor Astartes.
They followed orders to the letter—employing scorched-earth tactics under the command of noble strategists. Alongside the Astra Militarum and Fire Angels, they attacked one traitor world after another.
The Carcharodons carried out every order with brutal precision.
They destroyed key infrastructure and crushed all resistance with savage strength.
And they broke the rebels entirely.
Of course—
The price was high. Several worlds were annihilated.
But when the war was over, and the Carcharodons collected their agreed-upon share and withdrew—
The Imperium dumped all the blame on them. Public outcry, political condemnation—the Carcharodons became a pariah Chapter.
Infamous.
Tyberos could only sigh.
The Fire Angels, who had done nearly the same, walked away with governance over a whole star system—and had their dark deeds quietly sealed in official archives.
They became the saviors of the sector.
He had just been helping. The orders came from the Imperium. The war was a group effort.
But he alone bore the blame.
And it wasn't like they got rich either. All they did was take what they were promised from traitor strongholds.
One particularly ridiculous accusation?
That the Carcharodons had abducted an entire generation of young people from the star system.
They had a few old ships—how many people could they even carry?
Even if packed full, they couldn't transport much—and certainly couldn't feed that many.
Yes—
They had taken some for trials. Those who survived the arenas became new initiates.
But that was hardly unique to the Carcharodons...
Indeed—
The Carcharodons had taken a group of civilians, placing them into the arena for trials. Those who survived became new recruits.
But that was never a reason for the Imperium to censure or prosecute them.
Due to their population shortages and dire poverty—
The Carcharodons' recruitment standards were already drastically lowered. They now relied solely on arena duels, with a survival rate of about one in ten.
In contrast, many of the larger Chapters would gather an entire planet—or even an entire star system's worth of youths—subject them to a brutal gauntlet of multiple trials, and then throw them into the arena.
By the end, the process often left mountains of corpses.
The Carcharodons numbered only about a thousand Space Marines. They could only train a small number of new initiates at a time—and even then, it was one in ten. By comparison, that was merciful.
Some planetary governors ran harsher trials just to choose their bodyguards.
All in all, Tyberos felt he was being slandered.
He had seen enough of the Imperium's noble hypocrisy—and he swore never to involve himself in such things again.
Once they finished supporting Baal…
He would lead the Carcharodons back to the Outer Regions, and wash his hands of the Imperium's nonsense forever.
After the Chief Librarian finished his report on the Carcharodons' situation, the White Maw locked onto Baal's location and resumed course.
Inside—
The ship rumbled violently. The roar of the engines echoed throughout the halls.
The propulsion systems sounded like an asthmatic patient, wheezing and straining to drag the ship through space.
Tyberos steadied himself.
He looked toward the Chief Librarian and offered a sincere reminder:
"Go tell those deckhands again—take it easy with the helm. One more rough jump and this old girl might fall apart."
This aging Tyrant-class cruiser was the most respectable ship the Carcharodons had left.
If it broke down—
He, the great Chapter Master of the Carcharodons, would be forced to travel on escort frigates or troop transports.
How disgraceful would that be…
Soon enough—
The White Maw's Gellar Field activated, belching black smoke as it rumbled into the Warp corridor.
—
Deep in the Ultima Segmentum…
The Red Scar split the stars with its crimson curtain.
A dying red supergiant was imprisoned within this scarlet prison, casting light across a sparse system of irradiated planets.
This whole region was so toxic, it was barely habitable.
In truth, the Red Scar was unfit for any human life.
It wasn't just a matter of lacking water.
On some worlds, lethal red fogs would periodically roll in—so thick they could blot out the sun.
And yet—
Due to rare resources and a kind of religious obsession, countless humans still lived here.
Some relied on genetic modifications or drugs to resist the terrible radiation.
But even then, their bodies often mutated, plagued by chronic illnesses like cancer.
To the people of the Red Scar—
Cancer was a common condition, no more shocking than hunger. It was a simple fact of life.
But not all hope was lost.
Amid these malformed mortals lived a race of angels—with pale skin, handsome faces, and bodies untouched by mutation.
Survive trials worse than death—and one could become one of them.
This was the Baal System.
And those angels were none other than the sons of Sanguinius—the Blood Angels.
Now—
The Tyranids, filled with vengeful rage, had locked onto this region.
Chapter Master Dante had issued the call—summoning all sons of Sanguinius and any loyal brothers who could fight, to defend their sacred homeworld.
At that moment—
Baal's cloudless, crimson sky was filled with intersecting contrails from shuttles and landers.
Blunt-nosed Strike Cruisers packed the orbital anchor stations. Dozens of war barges aligned into narrow formations, forming a massive fleet.
The sons of Sanguinius had arrived.
On the orbital platforms, the Blood Angels' serfs hurried to receive the warriors from each successor Chapter.
They guided them toward the fortress-monastery.
Most of these successor warriors wore aged and battered armor—clearly, the sons of Sanguinius had fallen on hard times.
One Chapter disembarked from a small war barge, carrying a yellow battle standard that had been repaired many times.
Their yellow power armor bore deep scars, their expressions solemn and grim.
But their presence radiated determination.
The Blood Angels' serfs offered them quiet reverence—mourning their tragic fate in silence.
Word was—
This Chapter had been ambushed in battle, losing most of their warriors, equipment, and even their ship.
Their already desperate situation had worsened further.
Suddenly—
A vast shadow blanketed the entire anchorage and all the war barges.
The change sparked gasps from the serfs.
They looked up—and saw a fleet of unimaginable size. Each vessel was larger than any war barge, gleaming brightly as they cut through the sky.
These steel leviathans brought terror just by their presence.
But soon, the serfs smiled.
They recognized the symbol—
It was the Savior's fleet!
More specifically, his logistics fleet.
Unlike the bewildered successor Chapters, the Blood Angels felt a rush of excitement and anticipation.
They remembered well the Savior's generosity and grandeur during the War of the Underworld System. They knew what these cargo ships carried—
An unimaginable abundance of equipment and supplies.
As for the Redeemer's combat fleet, it had already taken up position around Baal.
Soon—
The serfs activated the orbital defense permissions according to the Savior's authorization.
The Savior's transports were granted unrestricted passage.
As Dante himself had said:
"Leave the Baal system to the Savior. He may do as he pleases—just don't let him blow up the planet."
—
On the surface—
In the middle of a crimson desert, encircling a dead volcano, stood a holy structure larger than a city.
The Blood Angels' fortress-monastery.
Built along the caldera's rim, the "Wall of Arx" was lined with towering defensive bastions.
Above it, the "Angel Dome"—a massive triangular armored glass canopy spanning several square kilometers—was shut tight, reinforced with unbreakable diamond lattice.
Inside the dead volcano, countless chambers had been carved out—each encircled by giant angelic buttresses and radiant with stained glass.
Thousands of glittering windows lined the walls.
Hallways stretched in every direction, allowing unhindered movement across the complex.
In one of the outer storage bays—
First Captain Karlean of the Blood Angels exhaled lightly, rubbing a rag soaked in sacred oil across the leg plating of a large suit of armor.
He stepped back, nodding in satisfaction at the Centurion Devastator suit.
After careful polishing and anointing with sacred oil, the armor shone with holiness and power under the light.
Karlean adored it. He loved the feeling of rampaging through enemy ranks in that suit.
No doubt—it was a masterpiece granted by the Savior. A dream to pilot.
He looked upward and murmured reverently:
"Praise the Savior…"
Behind him, another two hundred Centurion suits stood parked. All of them now belonged to the Blood Angels!
After the War of the Underworld System—
The Savior had noticed how reluctant the Blood Angels were to part with the suits. They cherished them like priceless relics.
So, with a wave of his hand, he gave them all as gifts—leaving the Blood Angels deeply moved.
After everything that had happened, the Savior's reputation among the Blood Angels had reached an almost divine status.
In truth—
These sons of Sanguinius were starting to look more and more like the Savior himself.
Suddenly—
Karlean heard rumbling from outside the warehouse—and received a direct transmission from the Savior's logistics division.
Requesting them to come out and receive supplies.
Karlean jogged to the warehouse doors.
"By the Emperor…"
The sight before him left the First Captain utterly stunned.
The plaza outside was piled with equipment. Row after row of Centurion suits stood tall, stretching beyond the horizon. Beside them were mountains of armor crates—nearly all of them containing Terminator suits.
And another even larger pile consisted of standard armor, bolt rifles, power swords, and other gear—along with an uncountable stockpile of ammunition.
These priceless materials were just dumped on the ground like surplus!
Not far away—
Industrial lifters were still unloading cargo at a frantic pace, pouring more and more equipment onto the surface.
Karlean was dazed, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all.
Even the entire Blood Angels armory couldn't match this treasure trove!
"Greetings, Captain Karlean. I'm Furi, the logistics officer in charge of this delivery…"
A soft, gentle voice called out.
Furi stepped forward, holding out a data slate.
"Twenty thousand full Space Marine loadouts and 2,500 Centurion suits have been successfully delivered. Please confirm and sign."
She offered the slate for his approval.
"By the Emperor… by the Savior… all of this… is for us?!"
Karlean screamed in his heart.
The Blood Angels had never known such wealth. Their backs had never stood straighter!
Trying to contain his excitement, he glanced again at the "equipment mountain," gulped, and hesitantly asked:
"Miss Furi… judging by the number of crates… it seems there's more than twenty thousand sets?"
He had done a rough count, and the equipment here clearly exceeded that figure—likely several times over, enough to outfit tens of thousands of Space Marines.
And that wasn't even including the ongoing unloading.
At his words—
Furi frowned slightly, her tone a little tense:
"Did the shipment get mixed up? That would be a serious accountability issue!"
(End of Chapter)
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