Chapter 78 When the Lion Meets the Wolf, a Fight is Inevitable

“At this rate, I’ll clear the main quest in no time and fully restart the Age of Primarchs.”

Vane looked up at the Wolf King and the Khan hovering in the void, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Two more subordinate gods officially on the payroll. This was going to make mopping up the Warp infinitely easier down the line.

Five Primarchs had already officially returned to the Imperium. That left Dorn, Ferrus, Vulkan, Corax, and Vulkan still unaccounted for.

Once he finished dealing with the Drukhari, he’d head over to Medusa and find a way to glue Ferrus Manus’s head back on.

As for the remaining three—Dorn, Vulkan, and Corax—the old man on the Throne would undoubtedly guide them back so he could keep mooching off Vane’s generous handouts.

I’ll let the Big E enjoy the free rides for now. But once I conquer the Warhammer universe, I’m absolutely going to make that old man work overtime to pay off his debts.

As time passed, the apocalyptic shockwaves generated by the two Primarchs’ ascensions gradually dissipated. The blinding divine fire burning in their eyes slowly retracted, and they returned to their normal, albeit massively empowered, physical states, landing softly back on the deck of the Macragge’s Honour.

The moment Russ—now brimming with the world-ending power of the Wolf—touched down, the Lion immediately stepped up to him.

“Russ. You have assimilated the Forefather’s gift. It is time we settled our score.”

Russ looked at the Lion and let out a booming, hearty laugh that echoed across the hangar before finally calming down. “Lion, my brother! I was thinking the exact same thing! Name the terms. How shall we settle this?!”

The Lion thought for a moment before proposing a challenge.

“The Imperium is currently prosecuting a massive war against the Dark Aeldari. If we were to engage in a personal duel right now, it would unnecessarily disrupt the morale of the crusade.”

“Instead, let us each lead a vanguard force. We’ll see who reaches the throne of the xenos tyrant Vect first, and who returns in failure.”

“So, we return to the roots of our feud?” Russ rubbed his chin, a vicious, excited grin spreading across his face.

The ancient grudge between the Lion and the Wolf King traced its roots all the way back to a specific incident during the Great Crusade.

At the time, the crusade was in full swing, and both the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves had set their sights on Dulan, a highly advanced, heavily militarized human splinter empire that refused Compliance. The Space Wolves had gone through absolute hell, fighting a brutal void-war just to capture a Dulanian warship and extract the coordinates to their throneworld.

However, by the time Russ and his Wolves finally arrived at the coordinates, they discovered that the First Legion had already beaten them to the punch and was actively laying siege to the Dulanian capital.

Enraged by what he saw as kill-stealing, Russ immediately ordered his fleet to join the fray without bothering to hail the Lion or coordinate their assault. Furthermore, he completely ignored all incoming vox-transmissions from the Dark Angels.

In the ensuing chaos, Bjorn and a squad of Space Wolves opened fire on a Dulanian warship—completely unaware that a Dark Angels boarding party was currently inside. The ship was destroyed, killing every single Dark Angel aboard. The Dark Angels commander overseeing that sector was so furious he immediately ordered a retaliatory strike, demanding the Space Wolves pay in blood.

When Russ finally learned the full context of his colossal screw-up, he knew he was completely in the wrong. He personally sought out the Lion to apologize, offering a concession: he asked the Lion to allow him the honor of personally decapitating the Tyrant of Dulan to make amends.

However, during the planetary assault, Russ was heavily delayed because several of his ‘Wolf Pups’ succumbed to the Curse of the Wulfen. The Lion waited for a while, but seeing the Space Wolves’ advance stalling and massive waves of Dulanian reinforcements pouring in, he decisively teleported straight into the throne room and executed the Tyrant himself.

Russ and his Wolves breached the throne room just in time to see the Tyrant drop dead. Seeing the corpse, Russ completely lost his temper, convinced the Lion had intentionally played him for a fool just to humiliate him.

A few heated words were exchanged, and the two Primarchs immediately threw hands. The duel was brutal and perfectly matched. But right in the middle of the slugfest, Russ suddenly found the utter absurdity of the situation hilarious and started laughing hysterically. The Lion, completely unamused by the sudden fit of laughter, capitalized on the opening and knocked Russ out cold with a single punch.

And thus, the eternal grudge was born. Ever since that day, whenever the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves crossed paths, an ‘honor duel’ between their champions was an absolute requirement.

“Of course,” the Lion added, his tone utterly deadpan, “if you are afraid, you may decline. As your brother, I won’t judge you.”

“The Wolves of Fenris do not know the meaning of fear!” Russ roared, waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll do it your way! Let’s see who claims the xenos tyrant’s head first!”

Vane honestly couldn’t care less about the cat-and-dog rivalry. The moment they finished setting the terms for their competition, he immediately interrupted.

“Alright, little Wolf, little Khan. Introductions are over, and the gifts have been handed out. Now it’s time to clock in and get to work.”

“We need to execute this war with maximum efficiency. Wipe out the Drukhari and completely dismantle Commorragh.”

Without even waiting for the Primarchs to acknowledge the order, Vane pulled out his obsidian and flint, immediately constructing a Nether Portal back to the front lines of Commorragh. He didn’t want to deal with any more talking; he just wanted to get back to the slaughter.

“The Forefather truly has a bottomless bag of tricks. I honestly feel like he’s even more capable than our father,” Jaghatai Khan mused, watching Vane step through the portal.

“Drop the ‘feel like’,” the Lion immediately corrected his brother. “The Forefather is more capable than our father.”

“When our father launched the Great Crusade, the constant question was how we would achieve victory. With the Forefather leading this crusade… I genuinely can’t think of a single scenario where we actually lose.”

Guilliman nodded vigorously in agreement. “The Forefather literally built a high-speed highway directly through the Warp. That feat alone is something our father couldn’t achieve.”

“Once we conquer Commorragh and secure the Webway, we might actually be able to save father,” Sanguinius added. “Father has been trapped on the Golden Throne for ten millennia solely because he must use his psychic might to seal the shattered Webway gate beneath the Imperial Palace, preventing Terra from being swallowed by the Warp.”

“If humanity can master the Forefather’s Webway construction techniques, we could finally repair the catastrophic damage Magnus caused and free father from his eternal vigil.”

Those words ignited a spark of genuine, desperate hope in the Primarchs’ eyes. Someday soon, they might actually see the Emperor walk among them again, fighting side-by-side as they did in the days of old.

“Speaking of which, I really should stay close to the Forefather. As the most revered ancestor of humanity, it would be highly inappropriate for him to walk the battlefield without a proper honor guard.” Sanguinius smoothly turned and walked toward the portal. “I leave the logistical coordination to you, my brothers.”

“As the Lord Protector of Imperium Secundus, my place is undeniably on the front lines,” the Lion declared, instantly fabricating an excuse as he stepped toward the portal.

“The eagles of Chogoris are not meant to be caged on a voidship deck. We are born to soar across the battlefield,” Jaghatai Khan declared poetically, following suit.

“The fury of the Fenrisian wolves can only be slaked by blood and death! My axe thirsts for xenos blood!” Russ bellowed, charging toward the portal.

“Wait, am I seriously the only one doing the paperwork again?!” Guilliman stared in absolute disbelief as his brothers all found incredibly convenient excuses to bail and go fight on the front lines.

He was the Primarch holding the divine authority of War! Why the hell was he the one getting stuck on desk duty in the rear echelon?!

Are you kidding me?!

Despite his intense internal complaining, Guilliman obediently returned to the Macragge’s Honour’s central strategium to manage the macro-logistics and direct the theater-wide strategy.

“My Lord, when will we be deploying to the surface?” Captain Sicarius asked eagerly as Guilliman approached the hololith. The War for Commorragh was a conflict that would definitively shape the future of the Imperium. Any warrior who distinguished themselves here would be immortalized in the annals of Imperial history. Glory and absolute loyalty were the lifelong pursuits of every true Astartes.

“We are not deploying to the surface. We are remaining here to coordinate the theater-wide strategy.”

Guilliman’s answer instantly drained all the excitement from the faces of Sicarius and the Honor Guard. If they couldn’t fight on the front lines and bathe in the glory of combat, how would anyone know they had contributed to this historic victory?

“Alright, alright. Honestly, with my current power, I don’t exactly need a bodyguard detail anyway. You all have my permission to link up with Calgar and join the ground assault.”

Having assimilated the authority of War, the number of entities in the entire galaxy capable of actually harming Guilliman could be counted on one hand. His ‘Honor Guard’ was, at this point, effectively just a ceremonial marching band.

“But it is our sacred duty to protect you, my Lord! We could never abandon our post—” Sicarius’s eyes immediately lit up, though he put on a completely transparent display of dutiful reluctance.

Guilliman looked at his gene-son, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

Your heart is already on the battlefield, yet you’re still preaching about ‘never abandoning your post’.

“Fine. Then you can stay here on the Macragge’s Honour.”

“Ah… you’re really making us stay—?” Sicarius looked like he was about to cry. No, father, I was just being polite! Please don’t do this!

“If you don’t want to stay, then get out of here before I change my mind. Do you want me to personally escort you to the drop pods?!” Guilliman shook his head, turning back to the hololith.

The emotional whiplash hit Sicarius and the Honor Guard like a dropship. They instantly cheered, praising Guilliman, and practically sprinted out of the strategium toward the hangar bays to secure a gunship before their Primarch could actually rescind the order.

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