Chapter 336: The Dark Lord's Request  

"You must be Huron, their leader?" 

"And why don't you come down here and fight me yourself?" 

The unarmored warrior raised his head, shouting toward Huron seated above the arena. 

Huron regarded the warrior with a measured gaze and asked, "What is your name?" 

"Saiphro." 

"Very well, Saiphro. My men merely collect taxes from the planets. The people you protect would remain unharmed if they paid their dues. In fact, I've even shielded them from raids by other warbands. But your reckless actions have sealed your fate—and theirs as well." 

"I don't care. All I know is that when I fled to the Maelstrom, the mortals who sheltered me were slaughtered by your men simply because they failed to kneel throughout your procession!" 

Huron said no more. Instead, he turned to his adjutant and issued an order that left everyone bewildered. 

"Return this bastard's weapons and armor. Send him back to where he came from." 

"My lord, I mean no defiance, but… I cannot comprehend this." 

"Do as I command." 

Dismissing the adjutant, Huron ensured the weapons and armor were promptly delivered to the arena and thrown before Saiphro. 

It was a black suit of armor, its pauldrons adorned with white crosses—a symbol of the Black Templar Chapter. 

At that moment, Huron realized why Saiphro had fled to the Maelstrom. 

The Black Templars loathed psykers, mutants, and anything remotely divergent. Even the few psykers they did use, like Navigators and Astropaths, were exceptions blessed by the Emperor. Their ranks had no place for Librarians. 

For a warrior who had accidentally awakened psychic abilities, there was only one fate within the Chapter: secret execution. Saiphro had fled because he had no other choice. 

As Saiphro stared at his armor, hesitation filled his eyes. Why had Huron chosen to do this? What game was he playing? 

Huron addressed him from above, his tone cutting. "From what I hear, another warband is pillaging the world you seek to protect. Because they resisted taxation, the Red Corsairs will no longer defend them. Go back. If you can survive and drive off the raiders, I will name you the lord of that world. The mortals who sheltered you will still pay taxes, but at least they won't be slaughtered for failing to kneel." 

Saiphro remained skeptical but ultimately donned his armor. 

Huron's adjutant reluctantly approached Saiphro, his voice filled with frustration. "You heard his orders. Get out of here. Board the ship that brought you and face those other warbands. Then we'll see if you're all talk or if you can actually fight." 

Without hesitation, Saiphro armed himself and walked through the arena's open gates. True to his word, Huron did not send anyone after him. Saiphro made it through the Blackstone Fortress's corridors without incident. 

Before his final departure, Saiphro turned to Huron and saluted. "I hope one day I can serve under you." 

Huron's voice echoed through the arena, laced with disdain. "Go back where you came from. If you're as foolish as before, you won't survive your next encounter with the warband. And in that case, you'll never have the honor of serving me." 

Saiphro nodded, saluted again, and left. 

Huron turned to the gathered crowd in the arena, his voice a cold warning. "How many times must I say this? Don't slaughter people over petty matters. Dead men can't pay taxes or provide resources. Do you want to end up like other warbands, killing each other over a handful of water or scraps of food?" 

The Red Corsairs lowered their heads in silence. 

When the matters at hand were resolved, Karolos finally spoke. "Can we continue our discussion?" 

"I know what's happening on Cadia. You did almost nothing to stop it and were nearly banished by the Necron legions. You alone can't intercept a Primarch." 

Huron doubted Karolos's plan. Though the two-headed daemon was known for deceit, its truths were equally undeniable. The rise of the Changer of Ways' power amid the warp's chaos was unprecedented. Yet even that might not guarantee Karolos's success. 

Huron's skepticism deepened. If the Primarch truly arrived and Karolos fled midway, it would all be for nothing. 

"It's not just me who will carry out the Changer's will," Karolos declared. "There's another—one with immense power, a Primarch who can manifest in the material universe." 

"Magnus?" Huron arched a brow. 

Karolos both nodded and shook its heads. 

"And what do I gain from this?" 

"Knowledge." Karolos's twin heads locked their gazes on Huron. "The knowledge you've coveted: the secrets of the Tyranid starships." 

Huron was not easily swayed. He pressed further. "You're offering me the means to construct ships with physical shields, capable of bypassing the warp and teleporting anywhere on a planet, correct?" 

"Absolutely!" one head replied eagerly. The other, however, interjected with caution. "Not so easily. I can only teach you to transplant shield technology. As for the dimensional engines… entering the dimension would be a thousand times deadlier than traversing the warp. But surely, the most tempting prize for you isn't the shields—it's *Macragge's Honour*." 

"Shield transplants and *Macragge's Honour* will suffice." Huron nodded, his mind already devising a grand plan. 

The scheme hinged on the Blackstone Fortress and energy shields—two critical components. 

Karolos, peering into its visions of the future, saw that Huron would indeed accept the deal. The daemon could hardly contain its glee. 

Huron Blackheart. 

Lord of the Red Corsairs, ruler of the Maelstrom, a leader of unmatched ambition, poised to replace Abaddon as Warmaster. 

Unlike Abaddon, Huron had earned loyalty not through deception but charisma. The Red Corsairs, though labeled a warband, had the strength of a legion, their fleet rivaling even the Black Legion. 

Karolos was confident. With Huron's support, the thirteenth gene-Primarch would surely fall. 

"Guilliman is a formidable strategist," Huron remarked, pointing at Karolos's chest. "If you hope to capture him, you'll need more than just a tactical plan." 

"Of course," Karolos replied, wielding the Staff of Tomorrow. "I will perform a ritual. All I need is your assistance." 

Huron nodded. He already knew what Karolos required—millions, perhaps billions, of souls as ritual fodder. Entire Imperial worlds along the Maelstrom's edge would be transformed into daemon worlds, granting the Chaos Gods greater influence over the material realm. 

For Huron, there was no downside. The Imperium had long abandoned these worlds. If they were to burn, so be it.