Chapter 94: The Second Legion’s Scientific Research Team is Established!

Dukel quickly located Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl and brought him aboard the Inner Fire, setting course for Magos Gris's laboratory.

Lately, the esteemed Tech-Priest had been immersed in his work aboard the Soul Fire.

The previous campaign had inflicted significant damage on both the expeditionary fleet and Guilliman's forces. Several months of repair and recovery were necessary, including purging nearby dark worlds and rescuing surviving Imperial citizens.

Thus, there was ample time.

As they traversed the vessel, Dukel and Cawl observed the grandeur of the Soul Fire with keen interest.

Despite being the master of this Gloriana-class battleship, Dukel was notoriously reclusive, spending 99% of his time secluded in his quarters. He seldom visited the bridge, only making rare appearances to welcome new reinforcements into the fleet.

The Soul Fire spanned an imposing 28 kilometers—long enough to stretch across a hive city's central district. In comparison, the ancient Ford-class aircraft carriers of Old Terra measured a mere 337 meters—shorter than the bore of a single macro-cannon on this ship.

Dukel's limited range of activity on this vast vessel had left much of its splendor unseen. Now, like Cawl, he found himself intrigued by its unfamiliar sights.

The Inner Fire's decor, resplendent in gold and silver, reminded Dukel of the sacred halls of Ophelia VII. It bore the unmistakable artistry of the Adepta Sororitas.

Unlike the somber and oppressive Gothic aesthetic of the Imperial Navy, this ship exuded a grand yet reverent aura—solemn but hopeful.

Dukel was unsurprised. His resurrection had taken place on Ophelia VII, a bastion of the Sisters of Battle. When the expedition fleet first embarked, its ranks had comprised over 50% Battle Sisters. Only as reinforcements were drawn from liberated worlds did their proportion diminish.

The warrior-nuns, possessing both martial prowess and an appreciation for beauty, took great pride in adorning the vessel they called home. Their Primarch, ever indifferent to matters of governance, had certainly not objected to such embellishments.

As they walked, Dukel turned to Cawl.

"Cawl, I hear you possess the gene-seed of the Second Legion. Have you considered initiating the Primaris augmentation process?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Cawl admitted without hesitation. Though the topic was heretical to many, he knew better than to conceal the truth from a Primarch.

Yet, he could not help but wonder—how had Dukel learned of this? Within moments, he deduced the most likely source: the Lord Regent himself.

"Do not be alarmed, Cawl. I am not bound by archaic dogma," Dukel reassured him. "Since my return, I have been deeply invested in this matter. Your Primaris technology has great potential."

"The Regent speaks highly of you, describing you as a scholar of remarkable insight," Cawl replied, his concerns easing.

He then allowed himself a rare jest: "However, after witnessing your battlefield prowess, I momentarily doubted the Regent's assessment. Now, having met you again, I see his words were indeed true."

Dukel chuckled. "In this vast galaxy, only two pursuits are truly indispensable—warfare and scientific advancement."

Cawl's mechadendrites twitched in amusement. Dukel continued, "I once provided Gris with the means to correct genetic deficiencies and instructed him to seek your counsel. Yet, he has yielded no satisfactory results."

"It is not entirely his failing, Your Highness. Gris and I follow divergent paths. The Omnissiah filled the galaxy with infinite mysteries so that we may strive toward perfection. Gris believes the roar of machinery to be the divine voice of the Machine God."

Dukel had not expected Cawl to defend his colleague. The Archmagos's mechanical eyes swept over the ship's intricate constructs. "And yet, is this magnificent vessel not a testament to Gris's genius?"

"Indeed," Dukel conceded.

The technology he had entrusted to Gris was pivotal, but it was only a fraction of the whole. The vast majority of the work—the unrelenting labor, the relentless innovation—had been Gris's alone.

Without Gris's efforts, not even a Primarch could have assembled such a formidable fleet in so short a time.

"Your Highness."

As they walked, a squad of Battle Sisters on patrol approached. They saluted the Primarch with unwavering discipline before continuing their rounds, their composure unwavering.

Dukel found their conduct pleasing.

"Pah—"

A small object—a meticulously crafted figurine, no more than ten centimeters tall—fell from one Sister's robe, landing silently on the deck.

With practiced grace, she retrieved it in an instant, resuming her march as though nothing had transpired.

Yet nothing escaped Dukel's notice.

The figurine bore a striking resemblance to himself—though no one dared fashion an exact likeness, its features were unmistakable.

Unbeknownst to the Primarch, the Sisters had developed a fondness for crafting such effigies, a hobby that had spread among them like wildfire.

Dukel, far from perturbed, found the revelation amusing.

He turned to Cawl. "Tell me, what did you see?"

Cawl's optics flickered briefly. "Your Highness, I was merely admiring the deck craftsmanship. Remarkable work."

Dukel smirked, satisfied with the tactful response.

With the minor diversion behind them, they soon reached the expansive Mechanicus workshop.

Within, they found Magos Gris clad in oil-streaked robes, deeply engrossed in his labor upon a massive plasma reactor.

"Your Highness Dukel, and… Cawl?!"

To Dukel's surprise, Gris reacted as though he had seen a daemon.

His servo-claws twitched. Then, stiffly, he exclaimed, "Cawl, you lunatic! What are you doing here?!"

"Gris, must you be so prejudiced against me?" Cawl intoned in a modulated voice.

"Madmen are not welcome here, Cawl! You are too extreme!"

"My dear colleague, you are too conservative. You cling to outdated dogma, unwilling to challenge its confines. But I do not fault you—your mind is merely shackled by antiquity."

"01110!"

"01001!"

Realizing the impropriety of their argument before a Primarch, the two Tech-Priests seamlessly switched to binary.

Dukel now understood why Gris had failed to consult Cawl on the Primaris project.

He was now 22% certain that Gris had never actually spoken with him.

Watching the two adepts bicker in machine-code, Dukel abruptly interjected:

"0010100."

Both fell silent.

Magnus, his severed head resting on Dukel's belt, suddenly spoke: "010011."

The Primarchs exchanged knowing smiles. Truly, mastery of foreign languages was invaluable.

Dukel clapped the two Magi on their shoulders.

"Enough. I did not summon you here to quarrel."

The Tech-Priests stilled, their scholarly façades restored.

With a solemn gesture, Dukel placed Magnus's head upon the table.

The Second Legion's Scientific Research Division was officially established.

...

Author's Note ✍️:

From now on, I'll post 1 extra chapter 📖 for every 500 power stones 💎!

...

✅ Check out my Patreon for +20 extra chapters 📚 on all my fanfics! 🎉

🔗 [p@treon.com/LordMerlin]

🙏 Thank you for your support! ❤️