With Diedrech Torismund's official return, a grand celebration was launched. Both Space Marines and mortal auxilia joined in, commemorating the return of their true Legion Master.
Diedrech didn't forget his roots either. He promptly dispatched transport ships, airlifting both beastmen and humans, bringing his entire clan to join the festivities.
As the celebratory atmosphere reached its peak, Diedrech raised a goblet high and delivered another passionate speech, announcing that the Second Legion would henceforth be renamed Atlas, and their flagship rechristened the Abomination Exemplar.
This proclamation sparked cheers from the crowd. The clan members who'd always stood by their boss were especially ecstatic, ascending in a single leap from dirt-digging natives of Tranquility to members of the Imperium, the galaxy's most notorious power.
Perhaps because Tranquility's human population was so sparse, Diedrech's followers consisted mostly of beastmen and Ogryns. This led to a remarkably swift integration of the legion, with no factional disputes whatsoever.
After all, in the eyes of the legion's members, their Primarch was clearly conscripting them as labor. The Ogryns, aside from eating a lot and being dim-witted, were the perfect workhorses.
Best of all, it was a buy-one-get-one deal. They came with a pack of giant beastmen, just as burly as the Ogryns, who could guard the house and serve as stress-relieving head-scratchers in downtime.
As for the beastmen and Ogryns, their simple minds couldn't even process the situation. Every day was either spent eating or waiting to eat, thinking how awesome it was to be the legion's dogs.
During this period of legion integration, Diedrech wasn't idle. As the Legion Master, his first task was to take stock of resources, checking how much was in the legion's coffers and how many of the old yellow man's coins they'd blown through.
After all, despite its warm-sounding name, Tranquility was a world full of monstrous creatures. Having scavenged garbage for twelve years, Diedrech was genuinely terrified of poverty.
The first step in managing assets, naturally, was to inspect the fleet's operations.
As a Gloriana-class battleship, the Abomination Exemplar was less a ship and more a floating steel city in the void, with Diedrech as its lord.
According to Eighth Company Captain Tom, who'd been stationed on the flagship, the Abomination Exemplar was a sister ship to the First Legion's Invincible Reason, constructed simultaneously. At 26 kilometers long, it was slightly smaller but faster.
"Father, in the days before your return, the *Exemplar* was assigned to the First Legion's sequence. But those shifty cousins didn't treat us like equals.
To hog the glory, they only sent us to second-line battlefields—or sometimes not even that. We were either cleaning up battlefields or transporting supplies, basically treated as lackeys."
The Eighth Captain's complaints struck a chord. Several other captains who'd trained with other legions began airing their grievances to Diedrech, saying they were mostly sent to do grunt work.
Sure, it was relaxed, and their casualty rates were laughably low compared to other legions, but it also meant they had zero honor to their name. Even the Ninth Legion's corpse-eaters mocked them behind their backs as "junk collectors."
Diedrech got the picture. Even in the 30th millennium, bullying was a thing.
It made sense when you thought about it. As bio-engineered superhumans who'd undergone nineteen surgical procedures, Space Marines had high mental thresholds. Trained from youth, regular pleasures couldn't satisfy them.
It's not that Space Marines were all eunuchs, but compared to mating, honor thrilled them more. Studying abroad with other legions had truly made them feel like unwanted stepchildren, with no chance to claim any glory.
But Diedrech soon noticed something off. Two captains were silent, shrinking into a corner, slacking off.
"What's up with those two?"
Following their father's gaze, the captains turned to the two unfortunate souls. Upon realizing it was Fourth Company Captain Gawain and Seventh Company Captain Liviere, their eyes filled with sympathy.
"Father, those two were sent to the Fourth and Seventh Legions. That's no life for a human. They were valued by their cousins, sure, but in the thirty-plus years since the Great Crusade began, they haven't fired a single shot. Every day was spent building bunkers or digging trenches. They've been pouring concrete for thirty years straight—they're practically broken."
Brian wasn't wrong. Comparing them, Diedrech noticed these two sons were the shortest among the typically two-point-seven-meter giants, barely two-point-three meters in power armor, and their bodies had developed horizontally, giving them a sturdy, grounded feel.
Considering the Emperor had stuffed all sorts of scraps into him, it wasn't hard to guess why these two had specialized into concrete-pouring lads.
Seeing their father's mood sour, the captains swiftly changed tack, slickly crowding around with data-slates in hand, urging Diedrech to take a look.
"Father, studying abroad might've meant getting sidelined, but we're no pushovers. Over these thirty years, we've scavenged a ton of stuff to offer you!"
Surrounded by his little tin cans, Diedrech took the data-slate and glanced at it, only to be rooted to the spot. This wasn't just scavenging—they'd practically robbed other people's homes blind. Three full squadrons of Dominator Knights, two Titans, and more.
The miscellaneous loot was endless: brand-new but unwanted stormbirds, beat-up but still functional Mastodons, even a few Fenrisian wolves.
"Hold on! There's a Dreadnought in here? You stole people from other legions too? Whose gene-seed did you swipe?"
You had to admit, there was a reason other legions targeted the Second. It was a miracle they hadn't been caught all these years!
Thankfully, Diedrech's moral flexibility shone through. Far from scolding, he lavishly praised his sons, calling them thrifty, good kids. Since the stuff was ownerless, why not let it benefit them?
Only the Dreadnoughts were scratched from the list, with plans to trade them later for something valuable from other legions.
For ten whole days, Diedrech roamed the flagship, poking around, trying to understand his legion as quickly as possible.
After ten days, he summoned all company captains and senior auxilia officers, including former Legion Master Gough, fresh from the dueling cage.
At the meeting, Diedrech decided to follow his hometown tradition and draft a five-year plan. First up: pouring concrete to build up Tranquility's infrastructure.
Especially the starport. The adage "to get rich, build roads first" held true everywhere. In line with the Emperor's task, Diedrech planned to turn Tranquility into a space fortress.
This task was assigned to Seventh Company Captain Liviere, with a promise that once the starport was built, Father would erect statues of them on it.
Next was immigration. The Atlas Legion's numbers were too low. Even with nearly 1.5 million people on the Abomination Exemplar, Tranquility's human population was nearly extinct, totaling under 40 million, including Ogryns and beastmen.
That wasn't enough to sustain recruitment, let alone maintain homeland construction.
This task went to Eighth Company Captain Tom Klaus, a graduate of the Eighth Legion, who swore he had at least nine ways to lure people over.
At the meeting's end, Diedrech decided to overhaul the legion's livery. After pooling ideas, Atlas's colors shifted from bare metal to a dark gothic style, primarily black with red accents.
For the senior officers, a hooded trench coat was issued to boost their swagger. After all, strength was negotiable, but style was a lifelong commitment.
As Atlas buzzed with activity, the vibrant scene—like a thousand things vying to bloom—prompted Diedrech to start mustering his forces. He still had an unfinished goal, and now was the time.
In the hangar, the long-prepared Atlantians stood with resolute gazes. After thirty-two years, they could finally fight for themselves.
"Father, give the order!"
"Alright, hear my command: full air assault, move out!"
Three minutes and seventy-two seconds later, a stormbird carrying 5,000 Space Marines streaked across Tranquility's sky, heading toward the abandoned hive city covered in dense vegetation.