Capítulo 104: Chapter 104: The First Time Kharn Saw Angron
In the ordinary flow of fate, his life was a lament of cowardice.
His foster father was torn to shreds amidst the roar of the Butcher's Nails, and his comrades turned to dust under the war cries of the slaver armies.
And he? He hadn't had time to act.
He'd rather die on this red sand than become a speck of dust in the vast cosmos.
But he fled.
It wasn't his choice. He never had one.
Perhaps he once held the power of choice, but the roar of rage consumed everything—leaving only fury and sorrow.
*Warhound, the future.*
"Nuceria."
Captain Kharn of the Eighth Company stood beside the holographic projection of the planet. The blue glow illuminated his sleek power armor, pristine and solemn.
Following the orders of the Twelfth Legion's Primarch, Kharn led his company on a patrol in this sector—to find their gene-father.
In this region, few planets were colonized by humans, and even fewer were highly civilized.
Nuceria was one of them.
Tall mountains perpetually covered in snow, lush forests, tall walls adorned with silken banners, and bustling cities.
Technology and culture had found a delicate balance. The productivity brought by technology even supported the planet's thriving gladiatorial entertainment.
Kharn had to admit, even after campaigning across countless worlds with the Expeditionary Fleets, Nuceria, with its landscape and culture, was a beautiful planet in his eyes.
If the Warhounds were to find their Primarch, Kharn hoped he would be on such a beautiful world.
Compared to the crowded, noisy hive worlds, the dark, oppressive agri-worlds, or the barren death worlds, their Primarch deserved a beautiful homeworld.
Like the Thirteenth Legion's Lord Guilliman, who had the enchanting Macragge, or the Seventh Legion's Lord Dorn, whose solemn Phalanx silently traversed the cosmos.
Their Primarch should be a king on a shining world, standing tall in his castle.
Kharn carefully observed the landscapes scanned by the Warhound, looking at the towering fortresses.
Something deep in his blood and soul called to him. It was here, he was sure of it.
Kharn thought.
He was eager to make contact with the humans on this planet.
No, he remembered the words of his Primarch: caution, always caution, Kharn.
If the Warhounds' Primarch was indeed on this planet, he needed to make a good impression.
He wanted their Primarch to know—
The Warhounds would be his most glorious axe.
"Sangor, send a formal greeting to this planet on behalf of the Imperium."
Kharn turned around, starting to deploy.
His brothers stood behind him, their hearts pounding strongly. A vague premonition told them—
It was here.
*Nuceria, Noble Fortress.*
Meeting with the ruling class of the planet was surprisingly smooth.
There was no resistance or sycophantic probing. After understanding the scale and military might of the Imperium, the rulers quickly opened their doors.
The ruling class even possessed a rare STC.
The rulers proposed terms: swear allegiance to the Imperium, hand over the STC, pay the tithe on time. But the Imperium must not interfere directly with the planet's hierarchical management and ensure the ruling class remains in power.
Of course.
For any other planet, to swiftly conquer a world rich in resources and possessing an STC without shedding blood would be a great honor for the conquering legion.
But not now.
Kharn, in his gleaming power armor adorned with badges of past glories, stood impatiently before a portly middle-aged man.
The man, slightly balding, exuded a slyness that the Warhounds found repugnant.
Why wasn't their Primarch the ruler of this planet?
Was their Primarch not here?
Or did their Primarch disdain the petty intrigues of mortals, currently engrossed in his own pursuits?
As Kharn mentally listed the sixteenth world he had conquered, the repugnant man finally closed his mouth, looking up expectantly.
Be cautious, Kharn, be cautious.
Kharn took a deep breath and said in his most serious tone, "The Eighth Company of the Twelfth Legion accepts Nuceria's proposal."
"Following this, other departments of the Imperium will come to this planet and bring it under the Imperium's rule."
Usually, the first Imperial department to arrive was the tax collectors, or the eager Mechanicum archaeologists.
"Normally, the affairs of this planet would be handed over to other departments."
"But as Captain Kharn of the Eighth Company of the Twelfth Legion, we seek your help, in the name of the Legion."
Hearing that these towering warriors sought his aid, the man's eyes lit up with glee, "What do you request, honored guests? We will do our best to assist."
If he could build a good relationship with these so-called Imperials, wouldn't his, Genisovich's, rule be solidified? Let those nobles who hid behind their families and pushed him to face these outsiders regret it!
From now on, the Prolov family would firmly hold the reins of Nuceria!
Genisovich gave his most sincere smile, looking at the giant before him, "We... seek a Lord on Nuceria."
"He will be the master of our Legion."
Seeking someone?
"What features does this Lord possess?"
The warrior opposite him paused for a long time before slowly saying, "Extremely tall, standing out among the crowd."
"Is that all?"
"That's all."
The warrior fell silent again.
Genisovich quickly began recalling any outstanding figures among the noble families he knew.
"Alright, I'll start the search immediately."
Seeing Kharn not willing to elaborate further, Genisovich quickly took the lead, his face full of smiles.
But inside, Kharn was anything but calm.
Typically, mentioning someone who stood out would get a response if the Primarch was truly on the planet.
Perhaps their Primarch truly wasn't here?
But the connection in his blood told him he was in the right place.
Could their Primarch be entirely different from the others?
Kharn didn't dare mention other details, like their Primarch descending from the sky. In many Primarch discoveries, such details were hidden or distorted by the locals, so he refrained from mentioning it.
He also didn't dare say their Primarch was perfect or handsome, because Kharn knew some Primarchs weren't.
Frustration.
Kharn watched as the three-thousand-and-seventh noble tried to prove his nobility, his powdered face streaked with sweat.
These parasites trying to gain favor from the Legion.
He wished he could just pull out his bolt pistol and shoot the fop before him.
"Not him, next."
"Ah, Lord, perhaps I truly am the one you seek. I've always felt my family doesn't deserve me..."
The noble was forcibly dragged away, still trying to say something.
Anger, the feeling of being mocked.
What was he doing, wasting precious Great Crusade time playing this foolish game?
Kharn had no time or patience to waste here. The Twelfth Legion's Primarch was not here.
Perhaps the earlier sensation was just a delusion, even if it still tugged at Kharn's sanity.
They should leave.
Feeling the simmering anger of the giant beside him, Genisovich quickly spoke, trying to appease the towering figure.
"Lord, perhaps we can expand the search to the commoners."
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