This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 367 The Sons of Dorne

This year should have been the year when the sons of Dorne would once again compete against each other.

The Sons of Dorne who joined the great war that unfolded in the Misty Starfield have been liberated. They will once again send their representatives, carrying ten nominated contestants, holding banners brimming with honor and growing ever more unique with each victory, to the Mountain Town, the land of the Imperial Fist's glory.

They will be dressed in scout armor, their only weapon being a blade in the dueling cage coated with a neurotoxin. As the wounds accumulate with each collision, the toxin gradually seeps into the flesh until one falls unconscious. The victor then advances to the next round.
Will yet another great warrior, like a shooting star, break through countless obstacles to emerge victorious, or will the glorious chapter of the last time defy fate and reclaim the championship? At this gathering of opposing forces, the champions will once again take up their swords for honor and become the glorious guardians of the Sword of Dorne.

By exchanging feelings, settling scores, venting their inner resentment with swords, and passing on honor to one another, the bond between the Sons of Dorne will grow stronger with each battle.

But all of this is now largely irrelevant to the Soul Drinkers.

With a resolute face, yet shrouded in melancholy and sorrow, Astartes sat upright on a bench, wearing shackles that suppressed his psychic energy and hiding his face in darkness, as if trying to escape the shimmering light of the dome.

The surveillance from various imperial departments has disappeared, and the restless figures from the Assassin's Court have vanished without a trace.

As the Chapter Master of the Soul Drinkers and also the Soul Drinkers' chief strategist, Salpedon felt that emptiness for the first time after the chapter was accused. With mixed feelings, he looked at Gremadus, sent by the Black Templar.

This swordsman, possessing a charm that every Astartes standard could describe, brought exciting news before the main fleet that accompanied the Primarch's return.

[Outcome of the Atlas Foundry World Technological Heresy Case]

In accordance with the Xenomorph Technology Management and Research Act personally defined by the Emperor, the Dawnwing, in conjunction with the High Overlord Council and the Incaladion District Government, launched a special operation to 'trace the origins of Xenomorph technology and combat illegal research and irregularities in the scientific research field.'

As of August 15th, in accordance with the relevant provisions of the "Imperial Joint Technology Research Agreement (Version 775.m41)" and other relevant regulations, the illegal research forces such as Atlas in the Forging World have been dealt with, and the results are hereby publicized as follows:

Effective August 15, 780.m41, the rule of the Astra High Council was terminated, and the Imperial United Technology Research Organization took over its administration.

The entire operation lasted less than a week, ending with the dissolution of the Astra High Council after eighty-one military outposts in the Caladion sector were subjected to two-dimensional attacks and any resistance was forced into flattened management.

The entire text makes no mention of the conflict between the Soul Drinker and the Vic bio-sage; Vic's name merely appears on the dense death list, as if it were something he did casually.

This made Salpedon feel like he was dreaming. He seemed to see a roaring dragon circling in the sky above the empire, looking down contemptuously at this increasingly decaying starry sky, creating a territory full of lava simply by spewing out flames.

For a fleeting moment—

It really was just a fleeting moment.

Salpedon also wanted to stand before the corrupt empire once again, ignite his own flame, and denounce the empire's current injustice.

But he didn't.

He is not the Primarch; he is merely a Chapter Master.

The Empire can afford to lose a warband; once it's gone, it's gone.

Fortunately-

“It seems my advice was correct, Commander Salpedon.”

The judge who had been mediating between the two sides finally breathed a sigh of relief.

He had only been transferred from Terra a few years ago; before that, he was just a library apprentice.

More than twenty years ago, Terra urgently recalled the Inquisitors who were active throughout the galaxy, with the Imperial Guard personally extending an invitation, ostensibly to recognize their millennia-long dedication to the Empire and their unwavering loyalty.

Then there is no more.

In less than ten years, he rose three ranks from apprentice to judge, took over the fleet of some unknown mentor, and was then kicked out.

As for why?
There's no one up there anymore.

The highest mentor in the courtroom is the one who dies.

Terra's battle royale continues to this day, and this epic competition, which is expected to last for another century, has given this young Inquisitor a thorough understanding of what bloody struggle truly means. Even after arriving beyond the galaxy, he remains extremely cautious. In any case, the Inquisitors responsible for handling demonic and heretical matters are accompanied by the Assassin's Court, the Grey Knights, and the Silent Sisters; he simply needs to follow Imperial procedures and ensure everything is done to eliminate any potential threat of war.

We can't nitpick about everything.

Looking at the delegation that had arrived carrying the Primarch's message, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the social skills he had honed within the knightly family. Those social etiquettes that he once loathed had now cultivated in him extraordinary patience, giving him the means to survive.

Now, the Black Templar Sword Brother is followed by a bunch of Dorne's sons of various colors, carrying flags and getting lost everywhere, attracting envious, jealous and hateful glances from all sides.

Clearly, they didn't take the previous accusations from the Mechanicus seriously.

"Thank you, Judge Heinrich."

Salpedon expressed his heartfelt gratitude.

He knew very well that if the Soul Drinkers Chapter took any further extreme actions during this process, such as attacking other Imperial departments, then new names would likely have to be added to the reports now.

"I only hope that when I encounter difficulties in the future, the Soul Drinker will be able to respond."

He replied decisively.

Through their long-term interaction, he had come to understand the characteristics of these Astartes who were influenced by Dorne's personality.

"I will risk the honor of the chapter."

Salpedon replied curtly.

“Salpedon, I heard you had some dealings with the Cult of Mechanics.”

A hand rested on Salpedon's shoulder.

Turning around, he discovered that this was an acquaintance of his from Fist of Crimson.

The Blade Feast was held frequently, and many members of these re-established regiments were familiar with each other.

"It was just a minor disagreement."

One of the technologists accompanying Agrippina couldn't help but speak up.

He had been holding back all the way.

He can tolerate criticism of Mars or other worlds, but he can't criticize everything at once.

They are legitimate members of the Imperial Technology Research Organization, participating in all aspects of the Empire's development.

"It was indeed a minor friction, just like us."

One of the executioners who had come to join in the fun couldn't help but speak up loudly.

“Each Forge World has a fleet size several times that of the Imperial Sector, and under normal circumstances, a ship graveyard should appear around a Forge World that has been attacked, but there is none now.”

Judge Heinrich, standing to the side, chuckled and stopped trying to mediate, simply watching the debate between the Mechanicus and the Son of Dorn.

He was completely relieved after learning that the Primarch had intervened in the incident.

Yes, theoretically the Blade's Feast is held once every hundred years, but as of the 41st millennium, it has been held more than eight hundred times.

Considering that most of the sons of Dorne are like this, it's understandable.

(End of this chapter)