Chapter 43: They Look Alike, Really Alike

Romulus added an extra processing module to the panel that appeared through his subconscious, filled entirely with recorded combat data. He planned to take time later to optimize this information.

Since souls were too precious, after studying his own panel, he developed a command system for directing Space Marines in battle.

From cluster commands for multiple units to precise individual operations, the system could equip different soldiers with action modules as needed. Romulus only had to input brief commands for the soldiers under his control to carry out complex tactical maneuvers.

As the information accumulated, this system would gradually evolve from quantitative to qualitative transformation.

A typical example was when he equipped the Ironclad Terminators of the Imperial Fists. Now, with simple commands, he could have three Space Marines autonomously don their Ironclad armor without external interference.

This troublesome experience of gear replacement also reminded Romulus that he should record data on various equipment change processes for these warriors. Previously, they always deployed fully armored, so he had overlooked this aspect.

This approach was far more economical, and if sustained, Romulus believed he could cultivate a cohort of truly battle-hardened veterans.

By then, he could command like playing an RTS game—just a quick F2A command—without the need for meticulous micromanagement.

Closing the panel and gazing at the rapidly increasing number of souls, filled with visions of the future, Romulus watched the Sharks who had completed post-battle cleanup.

The joint operation had concluded.

As the travelers dragged the regent, who had been reduced to a human stick, out of the chamber, all eyes around were filled with admiration.

Even Orlando, who had previously worn a sour expression for not being included in the fight, now looked upon the intact squad with respect.

It was clear these warriors didn’t need them when handling xenos.

Though it was a humiliation, the Sons of Dorn did not refuse to admit their shortcomings. They would learn from this and strive to perform better next time.

“An extraordinary battle, Sons of Guilliman,” Kael said, looking at Romulus.

In his eyes, this warrior, so different from the Primarch genetically, now overlapped with the towering figure who had lain dormant for tens of thousands of years in stasis.

“I would like to record your combat process. I assure you this record will not be leaked,” Kael added.

Romulus silently complained—if you’re recording, why say that? He knew the servo-skull was eavesdropping on his commands.

Still, he replied politely, “It is my honor, Sage.”

“I will provide appropriate compensation,” Kael said, producing a key and handing it to Romulus.

“A Tyrant-class cruiser from the Explorer fleet. Its former name no longer matters. Now, it belongs to you.”

Romulus did not immediately reach out.

“It was initially said to be just a frigate.”

He needed a reason.

“Yes, but I believe a Space Marine chapter like yours deserves such a valuable token to win your allegiance,” Kael said frankly.

“Of course, your gain will far exceed the cost.”

Only then did Romulus take the key, confident there was no trick involved.

What a joke—if there were any issues, Arthur and Karna would sweep through and find them quickly.

“I think so as well,” Kael said sincerely, truly seeing in Romulus someone very much like Guilliman.

Except for the face, everything else matched perfectly.

Unfortunately, he had cleared much of the records on the Primarch-era warriors and could not find this particular soldier in past rosters.

A commander like this should have left legends behind in that era.

He then appraised those guarding the regent—Arthur, Karna, and Rameses.

Arthur maintained a cold demeanor, ready to leap into battle at any moment.

Karna had returned to a lazy, casual posture, as if the rampaging Crimson Angel were merely an illusion.

Rameses rested a hand on the coffin, feigning contemplation, his eyes flickering with inspiration—signs of ideas sparking in his mind.

Kael understood well.

Judging by their bearing alone, this sage, a pioneer in biological research capable of modifying Astartes surgeries, already had a solid guess about their lineage.

These warriors should have left traces in that era.

“Great Sage Kael, will you be heading to Pierde next?” Aglaia asked nervously after the conversation paused.

“Of course,” Kael replied, withdrawing his consciousness from the ocean of data.

“Conditions remain unchanged. The fleet will avoid high-intensity combat. Upon completing escort duties, you will all receive due compensation.”

“Thank you for your generosity, Great Sage,” Aglaia exhaled deeply, then thanked the Space Marines.

“Also, thank you for your sacrifice and efforts, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Lord Romulus. Your bravery and wisdom are worthy of our learning,” Marshal Orlando said, pounding his chest in salute, oblivious to the inquisitor’s deliberate nod.

He was more focused on these formidable warriors.

Even without thinking, he should now realize the origins of these Deathwatch were anything but simple—whether they were even truly Deathwatch was uncertain.

“After the expedition, the Black Templars will also reward you, my lord,” the chaplain quickly added.

‘If this expeditionary fleet has survived until now, besides the strong name of the Black Templars, much credit must go to this chaplain,’ Romulus thought with some feeling.

He glanced back at the three, each posing differently, and feeling a faint kinship, Romulus was about to offer some polite words to move on from the topic.

After all, aside from lacking large ships and personnel, they lacked little else.

“Loyalty requires no reward. Loyalty to the Emperor is the greatest reward,” Arthur suddenly said coldly.

“Of course, my lord,” the chaplain immediately straightened solemnly and saluted the holy symbol in Arthur’s hand, his respect peaking at that moment.

Truly a predecessor worthy of the Emperor’s watchful gaze.

Romulus, unexpectedly flooded with goodwill, glanced once more at Arthur.

‘How do you always manage to say the perfect thing at the perfect time?’ he wondered.

With his social skills, Romulus admitted he could not have come up with such an effective response.

Then he refocused, watching the Black Templars and the sisterhood slip back into religious fervor.

It was hard to imagine that a 21st-century youth like himself could, in the far future of the 40th millennium, repeatedly experience the shocking power of medieval faith.

This world was truly strange indeed.