Chapter 1081 Supporting the Black Templar

Fulgrim's private quarters were located in the heart of the Emperor's Pride, and were more like a miniature palace than a commander's lounge.

The hatch slid open, revealing an archway made of pure gold and amethyst. The pillars on both sides were carved with reliefs of the great battles of the Emperor's Children Legion.

The floor is paved with obsidian tiles looted from the extinct world "Glory of Ulica", and each tile is polished to reflect a person's shadow.

A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Its light source does not come from electricity, but from the bioelectricity of the Eldar imprisoned inside. Their bioelectricity is transformed into a melodious light.

In the center of the room stood a massive throne, made from the bones of some long-extinct alien creature and plated with pure gold.

Display cases on either side of the throne held numerous trophies: a perfectly severed head of an orc warlord, soaked in embalming fluid, still retaining its snarling expression.

A Dark Eldar Archon's Blade of Pain, the blade still glowing with an ominous green light.

There was even a nerve node of a Tyranid Hive Tyrant, which was bound by a special force field and was still twitching slightly.

Fulgrim walked in slowly, his boots tapping the ground with a crisp sound, as if every step was in time with some invisible beat.

He took off his cloak, letting it flow into the hands of a kneeling servant, and then walked towards a huge holographic projection wall at the end of the room.

"Get through to my brothers," he ordered quietly.

The holographic projection wall flickered, and then figures gradually emerged.

The image of Robouti Guilliman was the first to stabilize, sitting in the command throne of Macragge's Glory, datapads cluttering his desk.

"Fulgrim, your fleet movements are still so... exaggerated."

Sanguinius's wings slightly spread out in the projection, and his smile was as warm as the sun. "But it is undeniable that his tactics are indeed perfect."

Lion El'Jonson crossed his arms, his face grim. "It's efficient, but too formal."

The metal arm of Ferrus Manus glowed coldly in the holographic image.

"At least he didn't lead the fleet as a barbarian charge like some people did."

"Since the death of Kharn, Angron's fighting style and his way of dealing with people have become two extremes, especially when fighting demons."

“Angron didn’t answer the transmission,” Jaghatai Khan shrugged. “He was busy hacking a demon fleet to pieces. It’s said that his flagship crashed directly into the center of a group of demon fleets.”

"Lorgar did not respond either," Mortarion said in a hoarse and low voice, "He and his fleet are trying to force their way into the Warp, seemingly for some... sacred mission."

"As for Alpha and Omega..." Dorn frowned, "They seem to rarely participate in this kind of collective communication."

"Bad habits of spies," Perturabo commented dryly.

Fulgrim tapped his fingers on the throne's armrests. "It is a pity that without them this conversation would be much less... interesting."

"Speaking of fun," Ferrus' voice was as low and cold as a machine, "Fulgrim, your fleet's performance today was like a dance."

"Because war itself is an art, my dear Vulkan." Fulgrim smiled, "and art must be perfected."

"Perfect?"

Corax's shadow swayed slightly in the projection. "Your fleet wasted 17% of its ammunition on excessive bombing."

"If it were me, I would have a more economical way of fighting."

"The resources of the empire are given to us, we just need to use them to bring victory."

"For us, this is necessary magnificence. War is not just about killing, but also about deterrence. When the enemy sees how accurate and elegant our artillery fire is, their will will collapse before the battle even begins."

"There is no precedent of a hive collapsing. They only give up, not collapse," Corax added.

"I am more concerned about the actual results of the battle." Guilliman flipped through the data pad. "You did destroy the entire Hive Fleet, but according to tactical analysis, if a more conservative formation is adopted, energy consumption can be reduced by 23%."

"keep?"

Fulgrim raised an eyebrow. "Guilliman, you are always so... pragmatic."

"Pragmatic... pragmatic... pragmatic..."

"How boring. Is that why your army is always so...mediocre?"

“Pragmatism wins wars,” Guilliman responded calmly.

“But art brings honor,” Sanguinius interceded gently. “We all serve our Father in our own way.”

When the word "father" was mentioned, the atmosphere in the room changed subtly.

"You mentioned my father. It occurred to me that he seemed to be with Horus recently."

"And that skeleton on the Golden Throne, I don't know what he wants, he pesters us every day." Fulgrim continued to complain.

The chat lasted for hours, ranging from tactical discussions to reminiscing about the past, even occasionally interspersed with some light-hearted jokes and mutual ridicule of the shortcomings of their brother's legion.

Eventually, as each Primarch received new battle reports, the communication gradually ended.

One by one the holograms went dark, until only Fulgrim was left sitting alone in his palace-like chamber.

He stood up and walked towards the huge floor-length mirror in the corner of the room. He was flawless in the mirror, with purple-gold armor, a handsome face like a sculpture, and eyes that always burned with pride and ambition.

Fulgrim's fingertips remained on the mirror, as if touching some distant phantom.

His thoughts were lost in the afterglow of self-admiration until the quiet was broken by the subtle sound of the hatch sliding open.

He didn't look back.

There are only a few people on the entire "Emperor's Pride" who can enter his private area without notification.

"You interrupt my reverie, Eidolon." Fulgrim's voice was smooth as silk, yet sharp enough to be ignored.

The commander-in-chief of the Emperor's Children Legion knelt on one knee, his purple-gold armor emitting a gorgeous halo under the soul light of the chandelier.

"My Lord Primarch, please forgive me for my offense." Eidolon lowered his head, and his long silver-white hair fell from his shoulder armor, "But the distress signal from the Crisco system cannot be ignored."

"Ask for help?" Fulgrim finally turned around, his brows raised slightly. "I remember that there are three companies of Black Templars stationed in that system."

“That’s the message they sent.”

Eidolon held up a data crystal in his hands. The iron-gray runes of Perturabo's Legion danced on the surface of the crystal. "The Tau Empire's 'Dawnblade' fleet has breached the Mara Ring defenses and is currently bombarding the Forge World of Hephaestus from orbit."

"Then there is no need to say anything more, let's go."