Death and Responsibility

The group exchanged glances, their expressions turning grave.

Contact with the Warp, severe mutation, and impending encounters with other Imperial factions.

Given the fanatical nature of the Imperium, the fate awaiting the Broken Sword was self-evident.

"Lead the way!"

Arthur stood up.

The Imperium might not be worth saving, but saving the soldiers and civilians of the Imperium was absolutely necessary.

Scratch, scratch, scratch—

The nib of the pen glided across the parchment, producing a faint sound.

In a clean and tidy cabin, the Commissar held his pen, head bowed as he wrote by the light of a phlogiston lamp salvaged from the corridor wall.

After Arthur and his group finished purging the heretics and guided the crumbling ship out of the Warp, the Commissar had finally been able to dedicate his remaining energy to writing the mission report, once he had finished sealing the bulkheads with the Astra Militarum.

The Commissar, a profession that served as the morale guarantor for every regiment, was also the eyes and ears of the Administratum.

Every action taken by the Astra Militarum would eventually be submitted to the Administratum for review based on the Commissar's detailed report, and the quality of that report determined the future of that specific Astra Militarum regiment.

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

After carefully checking the star system details in the report and confirming there were no discrepancies, the Commissar skillfully transcribed the draft onto the official reporting parchment. He then retrieved a stick of solidified sealing wax from his gunpowder-stained robes.

Snap—

He broke off a piece of wax, lifted the lamp's glass cover, and dipped the wax spoon into the searing white flame.

The ghastly light fell upon the Commissar's face, casting deep, etched shadows and illuminating the gray hair at his temples.

In the past, he could fight on the front lines for seven days straight without changing his expression, even going so far as to spit in the faces of officials while reporting to the Administratum to secure better supplies for his regiment, but now...

The Commissar averted his eyes from the flame.

A piercing hum gnawed at his cerebral cortex, and the sound of the phlogiston roasting the wax felt like a thunderclap.

If not for the drugs constantly stimulating his nerves, he was certain he would have collapsed into unconsciousness.

He withdrew the spoon, poured the wax onto the seal of the report, and pressed his signet ring into it. The Commissar raised a hand to rub his brow, leaving a smudge of ink on his forehead.

In the depths of his mind, a voice kept reminding him.

You are already very old.

It was a sorrowful, yet undeniable fact.

I have finally grown old, too.

His face, not yet covered by metal, looked somewhat dazed. The Commissar let out a long sigh, as if he had finally set down a heavy burden, and then signed his name on the envelope.

Alex Kane.

Covering the name with the remaining wax, Alex picked up the letter and stood, clearly having made a decision.

He had served the Imperium for over two hundred years and had endured countless partings; now, he did not wish to endure any more.

At the Space Gate, Colonel Kovek of the Broken Sword had been waiting for a long time.

"Commissar Alex Kane."

The Colonel handed him a lit cigarette.

"Thanks."

Alex reached out to take it, biting down on the filter.

"How many are left?"

He asked, his voice muffled.

"One hundred and sixty-nine."

Colonel Kovek exhaled a plume 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 are still alive?"

"Two thousand six hundred, exactly."

Colonel Kovek's expression was unreadable.

"Thanks to the Emperor's angels, our raid went exceptionally smoothly; we suffered almost no casualties."

"Heh, I would have preferred they die on the battlefield."

Alex took a deep drag of his cigarette.

"Yeah, how nice it would be to just die."

The Colonel looked up and blinked.

"If everyone were dead, just like those Safra chemical dogs on the lower decks, I don't think the Administratum would need to bother verifying pension families one by one. We wouldn't have to be like this—having won yet another victory for the Empire, only to face an ending devoid of any glory—"

"That girl on the Titanic ocean planet..."

The Colonel lowered his head and whispered, "Jack loved her."

"This is the mission report for this time."

Alex handed the envelope to the Colonel.

The usually stern Commissar paid no mind to the Colonel's treasonous words.

"Go to the Administratum in the Maelstrom; I hear their efficiency is quite high."

The Colonel reached out and pressed the letter back into Alex's chest.

"Kovek?"

Alex asked.

"You go."

The Colonel flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground.

"I'm staying behind to keep them company."

The Colonel possessed great strength; Alex held his ground for a brief moment before clearly feeling his resolve falter.

"Heh, good, very good."

Alex's hands began to tremble. He instinctively wanted to clench his fists, but fearing he would ruin the report, he tucked it into the lining of his coat before finally balling his hands into fists and cursing in a fit of rage.

"You say that every single time. From Armageddon to Cadia, to the Maelstrom, to the Watch Fortress—you say it every time, and every time you leave me behind alone."

It was hard to imagine that a Commissar known for never cracking a smile could have such a look on his face.

"I am three hundred years old, child. Can't you let an old man who should have been in the grave long ago fulfill his wish? I never should have undergone those rejuvenation surgeries for that damn pension; my own grandson has already died of old age."

"I want a death. I need a death, do you understand? Even if it's just dying in the void, I don't want to abandon another group of people and slink back home again."

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

Watching Alex act like an ordinary old man throwing a tantrum over a family dispute, the Colonel felt somewhat at a loss.

"I grew up listening to your exploits. My father served in the unit you once led; I can only trust you."

"Always the same. Three centuries have passed, and it's always like this. You don't even bother to change your lines..."

Hearing this reply, Alex wore an 'as expected' expression, as if he had experienced this conversation countless times before.

"..."

Kovek did not reply, just stared at him stubbornly.

"Fine, very good! I promise you, this is the last time."

Between dying right here with his soldiers to end it all, or handling the aftermath for these warriors, Alex, after a brief struggle, had to once again abandon the death he had dreamed of for so long.

If they didn't trust him, who else could they possibly trust?