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THE RETURN OF THE GREEN KNIGHT The strike cruiser Verdant Oath did not sound a welcoming chime. The Thunderhawk settled into its cradle amid drifting vapor and cooling metal. From its hold emerged a lone figure clad in black ceramite. Brother Martin bore the sigil of the Deathwatch upon his pauldron. The Inquisitorial mark still clung to his armor, dull and intrusive, like a scar that refused to fade. No honor guard awaited him. Marshal Calder stood at the foot of the embarkation ramp, hands clasped behind his back. To one side waited Brother-Artificer Verdug, his servo-arm locked in repose. A pace behind them stood Codicier Lucan, hood drawn low, presence folded inward like a sheathed blade. Calder inclined his head. ‘Your vigil is ended.’ Brother Martin knelt. ‘It ended early, My Lord,’ Martin said. Not defensively. Precisely. ‘As intended,’ Calder replied The black of his armor was not revered aboard the Verdant Oath. It was residue. A foreign layer to be removed. They led him into the Armorum Sanctum. Cog-etched arches rose overhead. Incense hung heavy in the air, sharp with solvents and sanctified oils. The rites of return began. The black paint was burned away. Chemical agents hissed as Deathwatch livery dissolved down to bare adamantium. Serfs worked in silence. No hymns were sung. No litanies spoken. Only the steady rhythm of cleansing. As the green was reapplied, Codicier Lucan circled Martin slowly. His eyes never lingered on the armor. They searched deeper. ‘You refused three direct taskings,’ Lucan said, eyes unfocused. ‘Not requests. Orders.’ ‘I did,’ Martin replied. ‘Specify,’ Calder said. ‘The Deathwatch required maintenance of xenos-derived weapon systems,’ Martin said. ‘Calibration. Sanctification. Instruction.’ Verdug’s optics brightened faintly. ‘I refused,’ Martin continued. ‘Each time, I cited Martian doctrine and Imperial law. Each time, I offered sanctioned alternatives.’ ‘And?’ Calder asked. ‘They recorded my refusals,’ Martin said. ‘They judged me obstructive. Ideologically inflexible. A liability to operational cohesion.’ Calder’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. 'They I was released to my parent chapter under writ,’ Martin finished. Calder inclined his head once. ‘Exactly as hoped.’ Lucan stopped pacing. ‘There has been interference,’ Lucan said at last. Calder did not turn. ‘Explain.’ ‘The Ordo Xenos attempted a surgical purge,’ Lucan replied. ‘Memory excision. Observation anchors. They were thorough.’ Verdug’s optics flared softly. ‘And successful?’ Lucan paused. ‘Incomplete.’ At a gesture from Verdug, servitors drew back a shrouded reliquary. Runes flared as seals disengaged, one by one. Beneath lay an ancient device of brass and blackened steel, its surface etched with sigils older than the Chapter. ‘Sanctioned by Holy Terra,’ Verdug intoned. ‘Recovered during the Third Scouring of Helican Reach.’ Lucan’s voice lowered. ‘Rumors claim the Ordos Hereticus uses such devices to unmask witches. To reconstruct lies stripped from the mind.’ Calder turned at last. ‘Then use it.’ Brother Martin was seated before the device. Cables interfaced with his cranial ports. The machine stirred, not with noise, but with intent. Lucan reached into the warp. The device responded. Fragments surfaced—gaps where memory had been cut away, cauterized with cold precision. The machine probed those absences, not restoring what was taken, but mapping what should have been there. Runes ignited across the chamber walls. Star charts unfolded, incomplete at first—then sharpening. Worlds returned from omission – bled back into focus. Vaults hidden by silence. Listening posts. Quarantine reliquaries hidden beneath layers of denial. Lucan exhaled slowly. ‘Nineteen,’ he said. ‘Recovered from absence,’ Verdug confirmed. ‘The rest are too degraded.’ Calder stepped forward, studying the burning points of light. ‘Nineteen worlds touched by xenos treachery,’ he said, ‘Nineteen worlds, hidden not by ignorance, but by intent.’ ‘Some confirmed,’ Martin said, his voice steady despite the lingering ache behind his eyes. ‘Some merely watched.’ Lucan’s gaze hardened. ‘Watched is enough.’ ‘Then no longer,’ Calder said. He turned to Verdug. ‘Inform the Blade.’ The words carried weight. The War Council would convene. Routes would be charted. Oaths renewed. Weapons sanctified. Calder faced Martin once more. ‘Your vigil ended early because it needed to,’ he said. ‘You were sent back because you exposed their weakness. They lack faith in humanity.' Martin bowed his head. ‘You return to us without stain,’ the Marshal said. ‘Go and rejoin your brothers.' Outside the Armorum Sanctum, klaxons began to sound—not alarms, but summons. The Verdant Oath altered course. A Crusade had been declared. It was a good day for the Green Templars. And the alien would not endure it.