Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

"Just what I said." Kayvaan shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Your presence here is a relief. It simplifies a lot of things. The fact that you're here means the reports about me are contained, at least for now. That buys me time."

"And if I hadn't shown up?" Edward pressed. "What if a Puritan inquisitor had come instead, ready to throw you onto a pyre?"

"I'd have no choice but to run," Kayvaan admitted with a sigh. "The galaxy is vast, and the Far Eastern Sector alone offers plenty of places to hide. But it would be a bitter thing to abandon everything I've worked for."

"Have you never considered standing your ground and fighting the Imperium?"

Kayvaan shook his head firmly. "My training was never meant to turn me against humanity. Astartes are protectors, not butchers. Fighting my own people is unthinkable. If it ever came to that, it wouldn't be by my choice."

Edward nodded thoughtfully. This sentiment resonated deeply with the ideals of the Xanthism faction. "I understand. Those who cling to dogma without question can't see beyond the surface. Change takes time and effort. Your existence, as controversial as it may be, proves that chaotic forces can be harnessed and controlled for the benefit of humanity and the Imperium."

Kayvaan smiled faintly. "That's a noble perspective, but not everyone shares it. Sometimes, it's better to stay hidden and avoid the fight altogether. If the worst happened, though, it wouldn't just be me who paid the price. It'd be a waste of the chapter we've been building here."

Edward chuckled dryly. "No offense, but your chapter is barely more than an empty shell. Those soldiers out there look good on the surface, but let's not kid ourselves. They're soft."

Kayvaan winced at the blunt observation. "You're not wrong," he admitted. "Building an Astartes chapter isn't something you can do overnight. It requires a strong foundation—one you can't rely on outsiders to provide. You have to lay it yourself, brick by brick. But this world… Reach has been too peaceful for too long. Without conflict, soldiers lose their edge."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Too peaceful? That's not a phrase you hear often in the Imperium."

Kayvaan sighed. "The last recorded conflict here was five centuries ago, when an alien predator arrived and started hunting local warriors for sport. The best special forces on Reach went after it, but they were slaughtered. It took a passing Imperial governor—working from his office, no less—to finally take it down. The story is obviously exaggerated, but it illustrates the state of things here. The military is complacent, the leadership is lax, and the culture has grown soft." He paused, staring out the window at the training grounds below. "The Reach forces aren't what they once were. Even the so-called special forces would be hard-pressed to handle the threats the galaxy throws at us. Five years of reforms have helped, but it's a slow process. You can't rebuild centuries of neglect overnight. The soldiers look disciplined now, and the atmosphere on Reach is shifting. But until they've faced real combat—until they've been tested by blood and fire—we won't know their true mettle."

Edward followed Kayvaan's gaze, watching the soldiers drilling below. "You've made progress," he said. "But the real challenge will come when these men and women face their first true test on the battlefield. Will they rise to the occasion, or will they crumble?"

Kayvaan understood the reality of building his chapter: he couldn't afford to be selective. The initial construction of a battle group didn't rely solely on individual skill but rather on collective discipline and unwavering obedience. For now, the first batch of warriors had to come from the soldiers already under his command. "They are excellent seeds," Kayvaan explained to Edward, watching the recruits drill in the training yard. "Energetic, confident, and physically and mentally sound. Sure, they've never faced a real battlefield, so they're a little naive. But people grow. The Knights Templar and its warriors are young—still green—but they will mature."

Edward nodded, finding himself intrigued. Over the past few days, he had observed Kayvaan carefully and gathered a wealth of information. Despite harboring chaos-tainted power, Kayvaan remained rational, disciplined, and loyal to the Imperium. His calm demeanor, even under pressure, was particularly remarkable, especially considering the presence of a daemon within him. How did he maintain such control?

Edward was also growing interested in Kayvaan's young regiment. Observing them might provide deeper insights into Kayvaan himself. People often revealed their true selves through the things they built. For Edward, this assignment was becoming increasingly fascinating. He considered extending his observation period if necessary.

Kayvaan lived among his recruits, overseeing their training personally. For Edward, the exercises seemed basic, almost childish. But for the soldiers of Reach, these drills represented a trial unlike anything they'd ever faced. Training began with weighted long-distance runs. The soldiers wore heavy, medieval-style armor and were made to run along the beach. After the grueling run, they returned to the training grounds to practice melee combat.

There was skepticism among some instructors. Why waste time training with melee weapons in the age of bolters and lasguns? Even Edward raised an eyebrow. Yet Kayvaan believed in the importance of close-combat training, so he chose to teach the course himself.

On the training ground, Kayvaan addressed the gathered soldiers with his signature intensity. "On the battlefield, your ammunition will run out, grenades will be spent, and your vehicles will fail. Modern equipment may save your life in one battle but betray you in the next. A gun without ammunition is just a stick, and a tank without fuel is a coffin. But there are weapons that will never abandon you. Your body. Your will. These are your greatest tools, and the mastery of them is your salvation."

To illustrate his point, Kayvaan picked up an ancient longsword. Turning to the assembled soldiers, he barked, "You there! Step forward!"

A young recruit snapped to attention, saluted, and marched toward him, clearly nervous. "Stand at attention! Don't move," Kayvaan commanded. He raised the longsword high, then swung it down with a powerful strike. The sword struck the recruit's shoulder armor with a resounding clang, sending the soldier sprawling to the ground.

Kayvaan stepped back and crossed his arms. "I said stand at attention! Why are you still lying there? Get up!"

The recruit groaned, checked himself for injuries, and scrambled to his feet, the weight of his armor making the process slow and awkward. "Good," Kayvaan said, addressing the gathered soldiers. "You've all seen it. This armor protected him. He took a full swing from this longsword and came out unscathed. And this armor is just a rudimentary design—basic medieval armor. Imagine the protection provided by Space Marine power armor, which is ten times stronger than this. But the lesson here isn't just about armor." He held up the longsword for all to see. The blade was visibly dented from the strike. "This longsword, though forged to be durable, suffered damage from that single swing. Yet the recruit remains uninjured. That's the value of good armor. Trust it. But now let me show you something more."

Kayvaan drew a sleek dagger from his belt. It gleamed unnaturally, its edge razor-thin. "This is my dagger. Observe closely."