Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 133: Uninvited Guests

It was a very ordinary day.

Faint sunlight shone on the lands of Nathan IV that had not yet been covered by toxic clouds. The heat haze and dry air were as unbearable as usual.

Just under thirty warriors stood lined up on both sides of a kilometer-long avenue. The wind blowing from the distant mountain range tugged at dozens of banners painted with twin swords and eagles.

Everyone in the Chapter was present, including Sol. They had even attached some decorations to their armor, such as holy symbols and ribbons.

It was a very ordinary day, with only one exception.

A Brother Chapter was about to arrive.

As early as a week ago, an Astropath had relayed the message: a small Astartes fleet had already translated out from The Great Ocean and was approaching Nathan IV at an astonishing speed.

Like a sharp blade slicing through water, that fleet took the shortest path through the outer edges of the solar system, heading toward the docking points in planetary orbit.

They immediately stated their identity and purpose.

The Chapter Master of the Excoriators Chapter was personally coming to visit the Astral Knights, who had made tremendous sacrifices in The World Engine Campaign.Upon receiving this news, Soshyan didn't appear very surprised; he merely ordered his warriors to prepare.

Because he knew the other party would definitely come; it was only a matter of time.

The Excoriators, having first appeared during the Second Founding, were considered one of the oldest Chapters.

After consulting the Emperor's Tarot, the founder of the Excoriators Chapter was guided by the Emperor's will to the planet Posul in the Segmentum Tempestus. This meant they could be considered neighbors of the Astral Knights Chapter.

The Excoriators Chapter strictly adhered to the regulations of the Codex Astartes, but because of the influence of Posul's native culture, the Chapter still developed some distinct characteristics.

Their Monastery-Fortress, the Death-Sanctum, was a star fort orbiting Posul. The fortress's Great Hall was filled with rows of skulls harvested from dead Space Marines and subsequently carved, while the main Chapel was filled with skulls harvested from enemies after victory.

The Chapter's funeral rites were led by Chapter Chaplains. These Chaplains were recruited from the priest caste of Posul's native inhabitants and were known as Death Chaplains. Many of the Chapter's religious characteristics stemmed from the planet's native culture.

The cruel tribal wars on Posul produced a batch of Candidates to become Space Marines. The planet was a night world, devoid of light year-round, so the Excoriators were accustomed to fighting in low-light conditions.

Guided by a certain ideology, even after Neophytes underwent Implantation surgery and were inducted and indoctrinated with the beliefs of the Adeptus Astartes, they still retained a massive amount of customs from the planet's primitive tribes.

These traditional behaviors included pre-battle meditation and consuming the flesh and blood of their enemies after battle—followed by cutting off their heads to flay the skin and harvest the skulls.

But to the rest of the Imperium, such behavior made the Excoriators appear to be walking on the edge of Heresy.

They were often viewed with skeptical eyes by other Chapters, but to this day, they remained among the most steadfast defenders of the Imperium.

Regarding this Chapter's barbaric culture, Soshyan had already heard a bit about it after arriving at Nathan IV. Therefore, aside from welcoming them, he also adopted a somewhat more cautious attitude toward this meeting.

In addition to the Astartes, thousands of Servants serving the Chapter were also gathered here, though they could only gaze from afar.

The Chapter's historical Remembrancers were also kept at a distance, including Soshyan's personal scribe Servitor.

Meanwhile, the dignitaries of Nathan IV were completely barred from today's ceremony, leaving their frustration apparent.

But this was a meeting between Astartes, a private affair, and Soshyan didn't want irrelevant personnel present.

Although the weather was excellent, the tense atmosphere here was hard to ignore. The warriors' overly stiff and textbook stances also revealed their strained emotions.

This was not merely an Honour Guard welcoming a Brother Chapter—it was also a display of power, and a posture meant to demonstrate resolve.

Even though if one only looked at the numbers, their resolve was actually pitifully scarce.

Soshyan stood at the very front of the formation, without even a single Honour Guard by his side.

Fully armed, he had discarded some of the delicate decorations on his armor preferring a minimalist aesthetic better suited to straightforwardness.

A pitch-black chainmail cape hung on his back. His helmet, decorated with bristles, stood tall like a peacock's magnificent long tail, and the Holy Flame Sword hung at his waist.

Beside him stood only Chaplain Yazdan and Sol.

The latter wore plain battle armor and a helmet, looking just like an ordinary warrior.

Soshyan looked up, only to see the sky resembling an oppressive plate of white-hot metal.

He probably wouldn't see those iron-gray vehicles until they were close at hand, but he kept gazing into the distance anyway.

"They took so long to get here, yet now that were lined up to welcome them, they don't seem in a hurry anymore."

In the formation, Armin couldn't help but complain. Their voices were transmitted only within their helmets.

"Just the stinking habits of local tyrants."

Farzad said. Today, he had deliberately styled himself to look more like a rough and wild warrior.

"Isn't that right, Ustad?"

Ustad gave an imperceptible nod without expressing anything further.

"I heard their homeworld is a barbaric world, and they recruit their Neophytes from among barbarians."

"Hah!"

Farzad chuckled softly:

"They sound just like me. I'm almost starting to like them."

"Yes, your kind."

Armin teased:

"You two will definitely hit it off right away."

"Say what you want, but don't think I can't see you shaking."

At this moment, the unease radiating from Armin yanked Ustad's thoughts back to reality. He looked up and saw two sharply angular gray Thunderhawks diving down from the dark yellow sky, plummeting rapidly as if their engines had failed.

They shrieked, the tips of their wings trailing bright, blazing trails.

"They're in quite a hurry."

Farzad noticed it too, and the pitch of his voice changed.

"Is this a good thing?"

"No."

Farzad's voice was full of vigilance.

"I don't feel like it is. There's a kind of hostility there, like when two tribal chiefs meet and show off their strength by bearing their weapons at each other."

"You can sense their thoughts?"

Armin asked curiously.

"It's not difficult. Like you said, we're all barbarians; I know how they deal with people."

Farzad tried hard to keep his voice steady.

Ustad, however, did not participate in their conversation. He merely watched quietly as those two Thunderhawks fell from the sky, calculating their trajectories and realizing they would miss the designated landing zone.

"Something's not right."

He said softly:

"They're flying off course."

Just as he finished speaking, those meteor-like Thunderhawks altered their trajectories again, diving directly toward the formation. It seemed they were about to smash a devastated crater into the plaza outside the Monastery-Fortress.

Soshyan also realized that the other party's flight trajectory was somewhat off. He couldn't help but guess whether it was a mechanical failure or for some other, darker reason.

Just when everyone was certain they wouldn't have time to land safely, those Thunderhawks suddenly fired their reverse thrusters and crashed toward the plaza at the end of the road amidst a tsunami-like roar.

Exhaust and dust erupted from their landing point, the scorching air feeling like a hurricane.

Aside from the Astartes, everyone else struggled fiercely against the Thunderhawks' jet streams.

Before the thick dust cloud had dissipated, the Thunderhawks' ramps slammed down.

Figures clad in black and bone-white armor emerged from the billowing smoke. Draped in bones, they were swift yet steady, as lethal as a sharpened blade.

Leading them was a tall figure. That warrior, carved with bones all over, brimmed with pure and streamlined aggressiveness. Coupled with the massive long Scythe on his shoulder—which featured a gleaming, razor-sharp blade and a faintly glowing ebony haft—he looked like the physical incarnation of the word "Death".

Without a doubt, he was the Chapter Master of the Excoriators Chapter, Lord Magyar.