Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 578 Medusa

The top-floor offices of the Rostov II planetary governor's mansion transcend the scope of ordinary administrative spaces, resembling more of a strategic altar enshrining cold wisdom and iron will.

The air, a mixture of fine ozone produced by the operation of precision machinery and the dusty smell of old parchment rolls, is filtered exceptionally clean by a highly efficient temperature control system.

Outside the giant observation window that occupies the entire wall, the ever-burning steel jungle of the sub-sector capital and the cold streams of light from the orbital port swallowing stars form a grand and silent backdrop.

The interior furnishings are minimalist, with sharp, clean lines.

The only decoration bears a strong mark of conquest—the meticulously dismantled remains of a space necromancer warrior displayed inside a reinforced glass capsule.

Its broken, emerald-colored metallic skeleton refracts an unnatural geometric beauty under the cold light, like a frozen alien nightmare, silently proclaiming the awe-inspiring authority of its master—Chen Xi, Governor of the Rostov Subsector and Chief Inquisitor of the Anti-External Order—and his profound understanding of the alien threat.

The heavy alloy door slid open silently.

Ferrus Manus stepped into this territory that belonged to Chen Xi.

Even reborn as a woman, the Primarch's imposing body still exudes an oppressive aura like a mobile fortress, with every step carrying immense weight.

The liquid metal "Gorgon Skin" covering her right arm and shoulder blade flowed slowly, changing in a dull silver-gray hue under the light, as if it possessed a cold life pulse independent of her will.

Her gaze, sharp as a probe, swept across the room, but froze abruptly when it landed on the carefully designed shadow deep within the office.

Hathor—the embodiment of past glory and betrayal—stands there silently, like a statue cast from regret and power.

In an instant, an invisible current exploded in the air, and the scorched earth of Istvaan V, the acrid smoke of gunpowder, and the cold light of the demonic sword named "Laurel" as it fell, carrying with them resentment and pain spanning thousands of years, surged forth.

Hathor nodded very slightly, almost imperceptibly, with a deliberate calmness and restraint.

She didn't say a word, but her figure smoothly retreated half a step, blending deeper into the shadows.

This is a deliberate avoidance, stemming from the victor's calm consideration—she won the duel, and now chooses to avoid it, simply to prevent igniting unnecessary sparks in this sensitive encounter.

Chen Xi did not get up to greet him from behind the desk.

The smooth, mirror-like obsidian tabletop reflected his sharply defined profile and the rose emblem that symbolized the highest authority of the Exile Order, seemingly sculpted from congealed blood.

The data panel in his hand emitted a cold, bluish light.

But those deep eyes pierced through the light barrier and landed steadily on Feralus. The gaze contained not only insight but also a calm and all-encompassing power.

"Primarch," his voice wasn't loud, but it pierced the silence of the space with exceptional clarity, carrying a businesslike calm, "the development progress of the psionic knight-type mech?"

Ferrus forced his gaze away from the shadows.

The liquid metal luster covering her right arm seemed to dim slightly, just like the turmoil stirring within her heart.

"The prototype has entered the testing phase." Her response was low, with a metallic, gritty quality.

But a barely perceptible tension at the end of the note betrayed the momentary wavering that had just occurred.

"You summoned me not just for progress updates."

Chen Xi gently placed the data tablet on the table.

The fingertips of both hands touch gracefully together in front of the body.

His posture appeared relaxed, yet it contained a rock-solid confidence.

He looked directly at Feralas.

That gaze seemed to be able to peel away the thick soul armor of the Primarch and reach straight to its core.

“Indeed, Ferrus Manus.” He paused deliberately, letting the weight of his words settle in the silence.

“I have a more fundamental question.” His voice became low and solemn.

Do you still remember your legion?

"That Tenth Legion, named after your steel hand, which forged fear and victory deep into the very marrow of the galaxy?"

The heavy lead curtain crashed down.

Feralus's straight spine trembled almost imperceptibly, as if struck by an invisible hammer. The streaks of light from the shuttle outside the window swept across her angular face, illuminating the immense pain, like solidified volcanic lava, deeply embedded in her eyes.

Istvaan V!

Fugen's face, distorted by chaos, both familiar and strange.

The demonic sword "Laurel" whistled as it tore through the air.

The absurd lightness of the head as it leaves the body...

And then there was the sharper, more eternally resounding cry of despair from the Legion's offspring at the moment of her fall—a cry powerful enough to tear apart the stars.

The sound, like a maggot clinging to a bone, has lingered for millennia and still buzzes deep within her skull.

Ten thousand years is a long time.

Through Chen Xi's cold, scalpel-like archives, she clearly witnessed how her Iron Son twisted, deformed, and slid into an abyss in the agony of losing the "Head of the Gorgon."

They twisted the proverb "flesh and blood are weak" into a complete denial and desecration of flesh and blood itself.

New recruits have their left hands amputated upon enlistment, and spend the rest of their lives in endless mechanical replacements.

She even regarded the bodies of her fallen comrades as "recyclable parts"—a complete betrayal of her original intention to remove the living metal from her arms.

She knew all too well that over-reliance on external things would eventually erode the foundation of her will.

They extinguished the burning fighting spirit, like the core of a furnace, that the Medusa tribe had instilled in them.

All emotions are dismissed as "human weaknesses".

Under the cold logic of the so-called "Tempering Conference," the Horusic Rebellion is attributed to this.

To give all acts of extermination a veneer of "reasonableness".

They desecrated her legacy.

She attempted to piece together a pathetic mechanical puppet, the "Pseudo-Prototype," from fragments of her head and metal arms.

A blasphemous farce unfolded, enraging Vulcan.

They caused the power structure to fall apart.

The Steel Council degenerated into an arena for infighting among clans driven by their own selfish desires.

Each tribe formed its own army and became independent.

Her ideal of "an army as strong as an iron fist" has long since turned into cold iron filings.

They formed a distorted alliance with the Mechanicus.

The "Iron Father" forcibly stitches together imperial faith and mechanical dogma.

Technology has been reduced to a cold religious ritual.

Her core belief that "technology serves the advancement of humanity" has been completely forgotten in the scrap heap.

Witnessing all this, a pure, scorching rage roared within her chest, nearly shattering the dam of reason.

—Cleaning!
Scrape this twisted creation off the steel backbone of the empire!
It's Chen Xi.

It was Chen Xi who used his icy logic to cut off her torrent of rage.

The dark picture of the empire's future, torn apart by the Great Rift and filled with despair and destruction, was laid out before her in a cold and clear manner.

After a long cooling-off period.

The bitter magma solidified into a heavy foundation called responsibility.

(End of this chapter)