A Warrior Like This Will Surely Fight for Humanity

Alex took a deep breath and pressed a hand against his chest.

"Once I get back, I'm filing for retirement with the Administraturm."

Perhaps he was destined never to receive the glorious death he had hoped for; perhaps he was fated to die in bed, humiliated, with a catheter tube stuck in him.

Alex thought this with a sense of pessimism, intending to just sleep it off and figure out how to conduct a "physical negotiation" with the Administraturm later, when an untimely knocking sound echoed from outside the corridor.

It was the emergency assembly signal unique to the Broken Sword.

Before Alex could even react, Kovek opened the door first.

"Lieutenant, what is it?"

"An Astartes lord is looking for you."

The lieutenant reported.

"Also, five minutes ago, the lord ordered all available soldiers to be gathered at the central elevator plaza."

Alex's heart skipped a beat, the weariness in his mind swept away in an instant as memories of Armageddon from over two centuries ago began to surface.

"Did the Astartes lord summon me?"

He pressed.

"The lord ordered us to assemble all available soldiers of the regiment."

The lieutenant replied.

"Take us there."

Alex turned back into his room, and thirty seconds later, wearing a few extra medals, he spoke to the lieutenant with a solemn expression.

Gazing at the iron Aquila and the Winged Skull on the Commissar's chest, as well as that gleaming star-shaped badge, the lieutenant instinctively straightened his back.

"Yes, Commissar!"

Alex adjusted his attire, carefully set his Commissar cap on his head, and strode after the lieutenant.

Those soldiers who had already suffered physical mutations were surely beyond saving, but the remaining one hundred and sixty-nine men—veterans who had survived such combat—were precious assets that every Astra Militarum regiment needed.

They were the hope for rebuilding the Broken Sword in the future.

Alex hoped he could protect these soldiers as much as possible, even if their value before the Emperor was not worth a ten-thousandth of an Astartes.

This hurried attitude seemed to infect the lieutenant, who recalled this sudden summons and simultaneously remembered those units that had mysteriously vanished after participating in certain wars.

The lieutenant's pace faltered noticeably.

"Don't overthink it."

Alex gently patted the shoulder of the lieutenant leading the way.

"You are loyal soldiers tested by the God-Emperor!"

"But we..."

The lieutenant opened his mouth to speak, but swallowed the words back. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and said, "We are all loyal soldiers of the God-Emperor."

Alex silently withdrew his hand and, together with Kovek, hurried toward the transport elevator plaza.

Clang—clang—clang—

"What is our duty?"

"To sacrifice ourselves for the will of the Emperor!"

As he hurried into the plaza behind the lieutenant, the responses of the soldiers reached his ears.

"What is the will of the Emperor?"

In the central plaza, wide enough to accommodate an entire Cadian armored regiment, the hulking knight in black armor asked.

He paced slowly among the soldiers, stepping past the side of each one like a beast prowling through the woods, sniffing out the fear radiating from the weak.

The Commissar looked into the plaza, where the soldiers were divided into two uneven groups.

It was worth noting that in the larger group, those Astra Militarum soldiers appeared incredibly frail.

These soldiers were divided into twenty-six columns, and their condition was dire.

Some had twisted limbs, their exposed skin showing signs of obvious rot, with abnormal appendages protruding from their wounds.

Others had the skin of their entire faces almost fused together, taking on an unhealthy dark purple hue, their mouths and eyes violently sliced open just to barely resemble human beings.

"To fight until death."

Everyone opened their mouths in unison.

The Commissar stepped closer, and a thick, pungent stench washed over him.

This was not a physiological odor; it was the innate revulsion of the human soul toward mutation.

"Why fight until death?"

The knight slowly reached the end of the line, where thirteen Sisters chosen from the Order of the Rose were chanting prayers of the Ecclesiarchy, and among the soldiers, some devout followers of the Ecclesiarchy followed the rhythm of the Sisters, chanting the prayers in low voices.

Cold, incandescent light poured down from the ceiling, yet it gilded the warriors in a layer of golden radiance.

"For the God-Emperor!"

The knight noticed the arrival of the Commissar.

He stepped aside, gently steadying a warrior who had leaned over from exhaustion, and once the soldier stood firm again, he walked straight toward the Commissar.

"Are you capable of fighting for the God-Emperor?"

The stern, cold voice echoed through the plaza.

"Yes!"

Everyone roared at the top of their lungs.

Clang—clang—

"Commissar Alex."

The towering frame blocked the light, casting a shadow downward.

The knight was within arm's reach; with every shift of his gaze, Alex could glimpse the restrained yet luxurious patterns beneath the grey robes, witnessing reliefs that would leave countless artists breathless.

Most striking of all was the crimson light emanating from the faceplate, a gaze that locked onto him like a majestic dragon.

The knight posed his question.

"Do you believe they are capable of fighting for the God-Emperor?"

"..."

Alex did not rush to answer; he was momentarily stunned.

He had expected to witness a brutal execution upon arriving here.

He scanned his surroundings, looking at these young men he could barely recognize anymore.

These poor soldiers had been exposed to the lethal influence of the Warp, and there was only one outcome for those who came into contact with a world filled with profane, divine power.

Mutation, followed by a painful death in the throes of that mutation, with their very souls denied salvation.

They were destined to die; they were unstable elements, seeds of disaster, Mutants tainted by the evil forces of the Warp, and the most intolerable threat to the Imperium.

Once, on Armageddon, an Astra Militarum regiment on the other side of the continent had been cruelly abandoned; they were gathered together, only to receive not medals of honor, but lances of light descending from the sky to send them to the side of the God-Emperor.

Alex had thought he had come to terms with that day; in this universe, sometimes a clean death was a form of mercy.

But—

Alex met the gazes converging upon him from all around—they were blood-smeared gazes.

Even as blood welled from their eyes, they kept them wide open.

Even as their roars tore open their wounds, with blood flowing down their pant legs until it pooled into a puddle, they did not fall.

They refused the support of their comrades, for in the presence of the Angel of the Emperor, before the Commissar and the Colonel, any sign of weakness was heresy!

Could you open your mouth and say such warriors were incapable of fighting for the God-Emperor?

Who could say such warriors were incapable of fighting for the God-Emperor!

Alex's expression stiffened.

He finally understood why the Angel of the Emperor stood before him.

He finally understood that the soldiers were to have a better ending.

"Yes, my lord!"

Alex lifted his head, then raised his hands to solemnly perform the Aquila Salute to the Angel of the Emperor.

"They can!"