NOVEL NEXT Chapter 22: Darius Request
Joe didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned his thoughts to the Star Marine Corps itself. He knew its significance all too well. The Marine Corps wasn't just a military force; it was the pride and power of the Empire. Riding massive starships, they roamed the galaxy, protecting humanity and the Emperor's dominion.
In the days of the Great Crusade, there were twenty original interstellar legions, each commanded by one of the Emperor's sons, the primarch. Each legion numbered over ten thousand warriors, the ultimate expression of human strength. They swept through the galaxy, conquering worlds, erasing alien threats, and reclaiming lost colonies. But that was before the Great Rebellion.
When the rebellion erupted, half the legions turned traitor. The Emperor, mortally wounded, was confined to the Golden Throne. The loyalist forces won, but at a devastating cost. The traitor legions fled to the Eye of Terror, leaving the Empire battered and broken. To prevent another such catastrophe, the remaining legions were dismantled and reorganized under the Codex Astartes, penned by Roboute Guilliman. Their size was strictly limited, with no war group permitted to exceed a hundred warriors.
"I never imagined they'd entrust me with this kind of power," Joe murmured, exhaling deeply. "No wonder the review process was so strict."
"Of course," Joe interjected earnestly. "The Empire would never neglect a war hero from the legendary era like you, Captain. If I may ask, sir—what's your final decision on my application?"
Joe regarded the young man thoughtfully. "You should know that applying to join the Space Marine corps isn't about glory or recognition. It's a death sentence. I've reviewed the recent records. As for the Old Ravens and other chapters, they're in a sorry state. Centuries of war have left their gene pools fractured, their technology lost. Many things we once took for granted are now ancient relics.
"These days, any young man hoping to join the Space Marine must endure brutal tests. Failure often means death. From your attire and demeanor, I can tell you live comfortably and have a good education. Are you certain you want to give all that up? Dedicating yourself to the vast void of the stars isn't just dangerous—it's almost a guarantee you won't survive. Are you really prepared for that?"
Darius stood firm. His expression was resolute as he replied, "I understand the risks. I may suffer a mental breakdown from the pain, mutate into a mindless monster, or even die on the operating table. I've thought about all of it, sir. But despite the dangers, I still want to become Space Marine. I can't stand this hollow life anymore—living off the reputation of my ancestors without purpose. I want to follow you and become a true soldier, to fight and, if necessary, die with honor on the battlefield, just like my forefathers."
Joe's eyes narrowed. "Why do you feel so strongly about this?"
Darius straightened his posture, his voice unwavering. "Because I want my life to matter, sir. I want the strength to protect others, to safeguard the Empire and serve the Emperor. I don't want to waste my life on meaningless indulgences. I need to do something that counts!"
The words rang with conviction, though Joe knew lofty ideals often masked hidden motives. Still, he nodded. For an Imperial citizen, such awareness was commendable. "Very well," Joe said. "If I succeed in forming a Space Marine corps, I promise you'll be among the first I consider for recruitment."
Darius's face lit up with a rare smile. He saluted sharply. "Thank you, Captain Joe!"
"Don't celebrate just yet," Joe cautioned. "Even with the Emperor's letter of appointment, the outcome isn't certain. There are still many obstacles ahead."
The truth weighed heavily on Joe's mind. The Emperor had been silent, entombed on the Golden Throne for nine millennia. 'How much of his power remained?' Darius couldn't help but doubt.
Although the Emperor was now the cornerstone of humanity's faith, to many, he had become less of a person and more of a symbol—an idolized figure or even a god created by human belief. Yet Joe remembered clearly: this was not what the Emperor had wanted.
The Emperor had despised worship. In life, he had openly declared himself a man, not a god. A firm materialist, he believed only in what could be seen and proven. He had no patience for the ignorance of superstition, magic, or divine worship.
The irony was staggering. Now, in this broken age, the Emperor was revered as a deity by the very people he had sought to enlighten. For Joe, it was a bitter reminder of how much the Empire had lost—not just technology, but also the vision and values that had once united them.
The emperor once tried to pass laws banning anyone from worshiping him as a god. Yet, despite his efforts, secret religious groups kept appearing, like sparks that wouldn't extinguish. When the emperor was gravely injured and retreated to the Golden Throne, these underground movements only intensified. Over time, this devotion evolved into a fully-fledged state religion, entrenched in the empire's long history.
As the emperor ascended to the status of a divine figure, secular power naturally shifted to others. The true authority within the empire now lay in the hands of an institution known as the The High Lords of Terra, which wielded immense influence over the galaxy.
On a bright afternoon, young Darius stepped out of Joe's hut with a contented smile after their conversation. Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, night had blanketed the earth, but the skies over the heart of the empire glowed with perpetual light. This place, even during humanity's darkest moments—the Great Rebellion—never dimmed.
It was the Imperial Palace: the sacred heart of humanity's dominion over the stars. Here, silence reigned, interrupted only by the steady footsteps of golden-armored Imperial Guards. These warriors, with their unwavering gazes and steadfast hands, stood as eternal sentinels of the emperor's greatest legacy. Deep within the palace lay humanity's most treasured artifact: the emperor's body, preserved as a symbol of undying faith and unity.
Beyond the sacred chambers of the emperor's resting place, in the sprawling outskirts of the Imperial Palace, a meeting was taking place in an ornate yet intimate conference hall. The room was grand, but the wooden round table at its center was humble and old, its worn edges hinting at countless decisions made here. Around this table sat four figures engaged in quiet but intense discussions, their voices sometimes rising in heated debate.
Each decision they made reverberated across the stars. Orders issued here could dictate the survival or destruction of entire galactic systems. For those with ambition, witnessing this scene would be awe-inspiring, even terrifying. This was the The High Lords of Terra, the apex of human power, where humanity's fate was decided.