Death and Responsibility

"..."

The group exchanged glances, their expressions grim.

Contact with Chaos, severe mutation, and next they would come into contact with other Imperium forces.

Given how fanatical the Imperium was, the fate awaiting Broken Sword went without saying.

"Lead the way!"

Arthur rose to his feet.

The Imperium might not be worth saving, but its soldiers and civilians certainly were.

Rustle, rustle, rustle—

The pen tip scratched across the manuscript paper, making a faint sound.

In a clean, tidy little room, the Commissar held a pen and bent over his writing, using the light of a promethium lamp dismantled from the corridor wall.

After Arthur and the others had purged the heretics and guided the tottering ship out of the Warp, the Commissar was finally able to spend what little energy he had left on writing the mission report after leading the Astra Militarum in sealing off the compartments.

A Commissar was not only the guarantor of every regiment's morale, but also the Administratum's watchdog over them.

Every Astra Militarum operation would ultimately be submitted to the Administratum for a decision after the Commissar wrote a detailed report. The quality of that report concerned the future of the regiment.

"...I only hope the Administratum will spare me over my absence this time, for the sake of my nearly three hundred years of service."

After carefully checking the report and confirming there were no mistakes in his account, the Commissar skillfully copied the draft onto the official report paper, then took a piece of solid sealing wax from his powder-stained robe.

Snap—

He broke the wax, lifted the cover of the promethium lamp, and dipped the wax spoon into the heart of the blazing white flame.

That deathly pale light fell across the Commissar's face, carving deep lines into it and illuminating the white at his temples.

In the past, he could fight on the front lines for seven days straight without changing expression, then spray spit into officials' faces while reporting to the Administratum in order to secure better supplies for his regiment. But now...

The Commissar looked away from the flame.

The piercing buzz gnawed at his cerebral cortex, and the sound of promethium roasting the sealing wax was like thunder exploding in his ears.

If not for the drugs continually stimulating his nerves, he was certain he would have passed out.

He withdrew the spoon, poured the wax over the report's seal, and pressed the stamp on his ring into it. Then the Commissar raised a hand and rubbed his brow, leaving a black smudge across his forehead with his ink-stained fingers.

A voice in his mind kept reminding him.

You are already very old.

It was a sad fact, but one he had no choice but to acknowledge.

I really have grown old at last.

His face, still uncovered by metal, looked somewhat dazed. The Commissar let out a long breath, as if he could finally put something down, then signed his name on the envelope.

Alex Kane.

Spreading the remaining wax over his name, Alex picked up the letter and rose to his feet, clearly having made some kind of decision.

He had served the Imperium for more than two hundred years and experienced countless partings. Now, he did not want to endure another.

When he opened the door, Colonel Kovek of Broken Sword had already been waiting for a long time.

"Commissar Alex."

The Colonel offered him a lit cigarette.

"Thank you."

Alex took it and clenched the filter between his teeth.

"How many are left?"

He asked through the cigarette.

"One hundred and sixty-nine."

Colonel Kovek exhaled a stream of smoke.

"Counting you, me, and the Ogryn."

"One hundred and sixty-nine."

Repeating the number, Alex leaned heavily against the cold wall.

"How many survivors are there?"

"Two thousand six hundred. No more, no less."

Colonel Kovek's expression was unreadable.

"Thank the Emperor's Angels. Our raid went exceptionally smoothly. We barely suffered any casualties at all."

"Heh. I'd rather they had died on the battlefield."

Alex took a deep drag of his cigarette.

"Yeah. Death would be better."

The Colonel raised his head and blinked.

"If they had all died, like those Safra Chem-Dogs on the lower decks, I suppose the Administratum would not need to verify compensation claims family by family. And we would not have to be like this—having won another victory for the Imperium, only to be greeted by an ending without a shred of honor—"

"That girl from the Titanic ocean world..."

The Colonel lowered his head and said quietly, "Jack liked her very much."

"This is the mission report."

Alex handed the envelope to the Colonel.

The normally stern Commissar did not take offense at the Colonel's treasonous words.

"Take it to the Administratum in the Maelstrom. I hear they are very efficient there."

The Colonel reached out and pressed the letter back into Alarax's arms.

"Kovek?"

Alex asked.

"You go."

The Colonel tossed his cigarette butt onto the floor.

"I'll stay with them."

The Colonel was very strong. After briefly struggling against him, Alex could clearly feel that his strength was failing.

"Heh. Fine, very fine."

Alex's hands began to tremble. Instinctively, he wanted to clench them into fists, but fearing he would damage the report, he tucked it into the lining of his clothes before finally tightening his fists and cursing in exasperation.

"You always say that. From Armageddon to Cadia, to the Maelstrom, to Watch Fortress—you always say that. Every time, you leave me behind alone."

It was hard to imagine that a Commissar known for never smiling would show such an expression.

"I'm already three hundred years old, child. Can't you let an old man who should have been buried long ago fulfill his wish? I should never have undergone that damned rejuvenation treatment for the compensation money. My grandson has already died of old age."

"I want a death. I need a death, understand? Even if I die in the void, I don't want to abandon another group of people and crawl back in disgrace."

"...I don't trust those bureaucrats."

Seeing Alex act like an ordinary old man throwing a tantrum during a family dispute, the Colonel was at a loss.

"I grew up hearing your stories. My father served in a unit you once led. I can only trust you."

"Again with this. Three centuries have passed, and it is always this. You cannot even be bothered to change your excuse..."

Hearing that answer, Alex looked as though he had expected it all along, as if he had endured this sort of conversation countless times before.

"..."

Kovek said nothing, only stared at him stubbornly.

"Fine, very fine! I promise you. This is the last time."

Between dying alongside the soldiers and ending everything, or taking care of these soldiers' final affairs, Alex hesitated briefly before once again giving up the death he had longed for.

If they could not trust him, who else could they trust?