I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 558 Blood Raven: This is practically my father whom I've never met before!

Fifty-seven people dressed in Astartes armor walked through the corridors of the Red Tear, accompanied by three Dreadnoughts.

There was no chapter commander, not even a company commander; the entire think tank had perished, and all the priests had died in battle. Only the Dauntless led the last fifty-seven warriors of the chapter.

Their power armor was riddled with holes and cracks from insect damage and acid rot, and the original paint had almost completely peeled off, leaving only faint traces of its former bright yellow color. However, their shoulder armor had clearly been repainted, with the chapter insignia prominently displayed and clearly visible.
It was a red heart flowing with tears.
The same insignia was also on their battle banner, held aloft by the fearless leader at the very front with his single arm.

Calling it a battle flag was a stretcher of tattered rags, a grotesque mass of remnants, a pile of shredded remains torn apart by insect claws and fangs. It was stained brown with the mud of the battlefield, the pus of the insect swarm, and the blood of the Astartes, sparsely tangled around the flagpole to keep it from being blown away by the wind.

Atop the flagpole stood a bright yellow Astartes helmet, its head bowed slightly at the top, covered in knife marks and blood. A low, drooping bloodstain lay beneath the helmet's left eye, seemingly weeping—a poignant reflection of the Astartes standing behind their battle flags.
The warriors, weary and tormented, passed among the other sons of Saint Gilles, like an endless rain of tears.

They were hunched over, they were broken, they were nearly wiped out, and they had not answered Dante's call to go to Baal.

But not one of Saint Gilles's sons showed the slightest disrespect to these warriors.

The sons of Saint Gilles, some in red, some in yellow, some in gold, and some in black, stood on either side of the corridor, offering the Eagle Salute to the warriors.
They are the Lamenters' Chapter, they are.
“A true son of Saint Gilles.” Seth, the leader of the Flesh-Tearers Chapter, gazed at the warriors and said with an almost admiring tone, “The suffering they have endured is worthy of the holy blood that flows in their veins.”

The Lamenters were born from the Cursed Army, a group of arrogant and incompetent members of the Mechanicus who tampered with the geneseeds of multiple warbands in an attempt to fix what they perceived as genetic defects.
For this reason, the weeping ones lack the black rage and thirst for blood, and have never borne what other Saint Gilles had borne.
They were initially met with hostility, contempt, and denial from many chapters that they were the sons of Saint Gilles. But this chapter ultimately proved themselves through their virtues. Even without the tempering of Bloodthirst and Blackfury, their virtues remained as noble as Saint Gilles himself.
However, the absence of Bloodthirst and Blackfury does not mean they are without flaws. The warbands produced by the Cursed Army also had their own flaws, some even more severe than the original ones.

Those who weep are the most special; their deficiency is not physical, but on a more mysterious level. It is said that their luck is ridiculously bad.
But Seth didn't believe in these things, nothing about luck or anything like that.

Bang! ! ! ! !
A loud explosion suddenly rang out, and the Red Tear ship shook for a moment.

The fearless leader, who was leading the mourners and holding high the battle flag, had already lost an arm. His center of gravity was unstable, and with a sudden sway, he fell directly to the ground, the battle flag falling to the floor with a thud.
It wouldn't have been a problem, but then another explosion rang out, and the ship shook violently, shaking off the helmet atop the battle flag. The helmet rolled down the floor and into the distance.
The fearless man quickly stood up and hurried after him.
But Fearless was ultimately a bit slower, and the swaying ship also affected his movements; he couldn't catch up with the yellow helmet no matter what he did.

Fortunately, at that very moment, a dark red figure moved with such speed that it seemed to have exceeded the limits of Astartes. Despite the swaying ship, he caught up with the bright yellow helmet in the blink of an eye.

Then he skillfully reached out and grabbed the helmet.
The Astartes, clad in dark red power armor, examined the helmet in his hand, seemingly as if he were appreciating its history.
Blood Raven. The surrounding Sons of Saint Gilles recognized the battle group, and almost all of them took a step back, creating some distance between themselves and Blood Raven.
At the same time, they looked at Blood Raven with some strangeness, not understanding why this warband was on the Red Tear. Wasn't this a gathering of the Sons of Saint Gilles?
The Blood Raven hesitated for a few moments, then took a few steps forward, handed the helmet to the Weeping One, and returned to the crowd.

Seth ignored all of that; he switched to the comms and growled, demanding to know what had happened.
He didn't believe anyone would dare attack the Red Tear directly. At least 20,000 Sons of Saint Gilles were gathered here, along with countless ships, not to mention Saint Gilles himself was present.

"What do you mean by 'a torpedo was ignited by a cigarette discarded by the crew'?"

What does it mean when a torpedo explosion triggers a chain reaction of explosions?

"Was that crew member interrogated? Did Mephisto read the heart himself? Was it really an accident?"

"How much damage did you suffer? Not too much? Good."

Seth, somewhat bewildered, disconnected the communication.

Is it really just a coincidence?

He had initially suspected a conspiracy, but upon closer inspection, the only loss caused by the explosion was making the already unfortunate mourners even more miserable.
Hiss. Seth's expression twisted slightly. Could it really be because the weeping one was unlucky?

Seth recalled that some chapter leaders who had previously worked with the Lamenters suggested that the Lamenters should not be allowed to meet Saint Gilles, lest Saint Gilles be put in danger.
At the time, Seth was so angry that he berated all the chapter commanders. But now it seems that their concerns were not unfounded.
The idea of ​​igniting a torpedo with a cigarette is clearly illogical.
Seth felt a chill run down his spine for a moment, but frankly, he wouldn't stand up for such a vague matter and object to the weeping one meeting with Saint Gilles.
Although many people viewed Seth as an angry madman, he actually had his own moral code, and this code did not allow him to prevent a group of exceptional Sons of Sanguinius from meeting their genetic father.
Secondly, the desire to see the weeping one was Saint Gilles' own request and his own will, which no one could oppose unless the ambitious Guilliman suddenly appeared, the Emperor suddenly manifested, or Saint Doraemon woke up.

Although the situation had just been a bit awkward, the mourners seemed unfazed, as if such a situation was utterly insignificant to them.
They quickly regained their composure and formation; these minor incidents did not affect their spirits. They passed through the ranks of the Sons of Saint Gilles and stepped toward the bridge gate where the Primarch was located.

"Noble, holy, and perfect sons of Saint Gilles! Lamenters born of the twenty-first founding of the army!" The chapter servants proclaimed the names of the fifty-seven and three fearless warriors in booming voices, raising incense and sweeping it over the power armor of these noble warriors, blessing them with twenty-two holy prayers.

The bridge gates of the Red Tear slowly opened amidst resounding praises. In the bright light, Saint Gilles' figure appeared and disappeared. The weeping men trembled slightly, almost unable to stand, and barely managed to step into the bridge.
But just then, the Chapter servants, who were about to finish their work, suddenly noticed that another Chapter was following behind the Lamenters. That Chapter had dark red markings, and their insignia could easily be mistaken for Blood Angels if not looked closely. The Sons of Saint Gilles looked at the dark red Space Marines with great surprise, but Gabriel, the Chapter Master of the Blood Ravens who led those warriors, simply nodded to the Sons of Saint Gilles with a polite yet serious smile, showing no embarrassment whatsoever, as if he were one of them.

The warband servants paused for a moment, but quickly began to complete their work.

"The Blood Raven Chapter, whose origins are unknown—from which founding of the army, from which Primarch gene sequence, and whose first Chapter Leader was unknown!" a Chapter Servant shouted in a loud yet somewhat hesitant voice.

It's a warband with no known origins, no known genetic prototype, and even the identity of its first warband leader is unknown. It's practically a warband with no history.

“Yes, the Blood Ravens Chapter of the Sons of Saint Gilles,” Gabriel corrected with a smile.

A brief commotion erupted among the sons of Saint Gilles.
For a triad like Blood Raven, who normally would be suspected of having the genetic lineage of a rebel legion if someone called them a cousin, how could they now claim to be the sons of Saint Gilles?

But Gabrielseth ignored it and, after receiving permission from Saint Gilles, led the Blood Ravens into the bridge, following behind the Weeping Ones.

Gabriel Angelos had seen Primarchs before; he had personally witnessed Perturabo's terrifying steel body. Besides Primarchs, he had also seen legendary figures in the galaxy such as Tzeentch's Chosen Ariman, Khorne's Chief Demon Scabrand, the Aetherian incarnation of Kane, and the Living Saint Celestine.
But the instant Gabriel saw Saint Gilles' figure, all the colors in his mind seemed to fade. The golden figure was so beautiful and perfect that even the finest artifacts in the Blood Raven's Relic Treasury could not compare.
The bridge was filled with flickering lights and candles, but in Gabriel's eyes, it seemed that all the light emanated from Saint Gilles, who was the sole source of light in the bridge, just as people would regard the sun high in the sky as the only source of light, no matter how many lights twinkled on the earth during the day.

How beautiful! Saint Gilles Gabriel couldn't even find a single word to describe this Primarch.
Because all the words that humans can utter are imperfect, while Saint Gilles is perfect.

Gabriel believed that those weeping further ahead felt similarly; being closer to Saint Gilles, their feelings must have been even more intense.

Especially for those who were weeping, who had endured so much darkness and suffering before, seeing Saint Gilles was like seeing the sun breaking through the clouds.
Sobbing rose from among the mourners, and one mourner even involuntarily took two or three steps toward Saint Gillespie.
Then, as if he had reached his limit, his body went limp and he collapsed to the ground.

But a pair of slender yet strong hands supported his body, and pure white wings slowly enveloped his tattered power armor, while gentle, caring eyes fell upon his face.

Almost all of the Astartes gasped in shock.
The Primarch is kneeling on one knee!
To catch the weeping man who had fallen, Saint Gilles knelt on one knee before his son.

"My father." The wailing man looked terrified and hurriedly stood up.

“My offspring, my children, why should you be alarmed?” Saint Gilles smiled gently, slowly stood up, and placed his hands on his offspring’s shoulders. “This is not the first time I have knelt before my offspring, and moreover, the resilience you have shown deserves this respect from me.”

All the sons of Saint Gilles remembered that ten thousand years ago, when Saint Gilles returned to the Empire and took over the Ninth Legion, which had been reduced to ghouls, Saint Gilles had also knelt on one knee and swore to his offspring that he would save them and the Ninth Legion.

All the Sons of Saint Gilles were moved by this shared memory. Even the Blood Ravens were affected by the atmosphere, though they were unaware of the history of Saint Gilles kneeling before the ghouls—a history long forgotten by time, known only to the true Sons of Saint Gilles.

“This is practically our father whom we’ve never met,” Gabriel Angelos murmured instinctively, then quickly shook his head. “No, this is our father.”

Whether it was a misperception or not, Gabriel seemed to feel that Saint Gilles had heard his extremely quiet, almost self-talking words and nodded slightly to Gabriel, as if tacitly approving of Gabriel's actions.

Gabriel Angelos's heart pounded. Regardless of whether the Primarch before him was his genetic father, he couldn't help but feel a surge of respect and loyalty towards him.
Suddenly, he noticed that the one-armed wailing man's body trembled a few times.

Perhaps it was the excitement of seeing Saint Gilles, perhaps the recent tremors had damaged the Dreadnought's mechanical structure, perhaps the Wailer's damned bad luck had struck again, or perhaps the crippled warrior inside the Dreadnought had reached his limit—whatever the reason, the massive Dreadnought swayed and took a few steps forward before tilting towards Saint Gilles.

“Father!” Gabriel Angelos cried out in terror, trying to rush forward.

But, almost the instant that Fearless fell, a reddish-pink wooden door suddenly appeared between Fearless and the Primarch.

The wooden door swung open with a bang, and a gloved, round hand reached out as if it had been expected, precisely supporting the fearless, heavy body.
(End of this chapter)