Whoosh—
The Black Sword swept upward, directly hooking the Emperor's sigil from the Inquisitor's chest.
Almost everyone assumed this was a veteran showing absolutely no tolerance for cowardice.
Buzz—
The sword tip drew close, steadily delivering the sigil into Aglaia's view.
"What is this?"
The commanding voice tore through the gray twilight.
Cold light shone down, and the matte blade made the sigil gleam brilliantly.
The Inquisitor froze. When her gaze fell upon the sigil, her turbulent, boiling mind was like a bucket of cold water had been poured over it, instantly calming down.
Then she spoke softly.
"...This is the duty the Emperor granted me."
"What is your duty?"
"...To act as the Throne Agent."
"And what must you act for the Throne with?"
The voice was like muffled thunder, waking one from a nightmare.
"Throne Agent... yes, I am the Throne Agent."
Aglaia looked at the golden sigil before her.
This was the symbol of authority granted by the Emperor to the Inquisitors as Throne Agents, and it was also a weighty responsibility.
Yet now, it hung around the neck of a weakling.
Hysterical with fear, she had forgotten why she stood here in the first place.
"..."
Reaching out and grasping the sigil, Aglaia let out a long breath.
The sigil had not been placed in her hands so she could stand here hesitating whenever she encountered difficulties. She should be solving the problem!
Arthur silently withdrew his sword and remained standing tall.
Karna somehow produced a grape and popped it into his mouth, deeply concealing his merit and fame.
"My apologies, Lord Romulus."
She had truly lost her composure.
Romulus lightly shook his head, signaling that it was nothing.
Rubbing her face, Aglaia composed herself. Then, as though she had made some sort of decision, she spoke.
"My lords, in the name of the Inquisition, I order you to provide me with a vessel and an unlimited number of Psykers. Afterward, you may decide for yourselves whether to stay or leave."
Her seriousness had returned, accompanied by an unprecedented resolve.
"What are you going to do?"
Romulus asked.
"As a member of the Order of Origin, I will personally travel to Piaerde and record this tragic history. Should we require more military strength, I believe you will need this intelligence when the time comes."
Aglaia raised her head and met his gaze. Romulus saw a profound sense of mission within her eyes.
Since they could not prevent the disaster, they would record it to warn those who came after. No matter what fog obscured history, they would trace it back to its source.
This was the mission the Emperor had bestowed upon the Order of Origin.
For all that could be said, these Inquisitors did possess professional ethics. At the very least, once she had recovered her senses, she had not backed down.
Everyone present instinctively looked toward Romulus again, waiting for him to make the decision. Flawless command and an identity they had vaguely guessed at made the warriors instinctively regard the Transmigrators as their core.
"Is there any need for us to wait?"
Romulus sought everyone's opinion.
"Or rather, if we send out a distress signal, can we obtain enough combat power to bring about a qualitative change within three months?"
Three months was the absolute limit. Waiting around doing nothing was not an option.
"Piaerde is classified by the Imperium as a remote Sector and enjoys extremely high autonomy."
Arabella said tactfully.
"In other words, no one can get there?"
Everyone fell silent, tacitly acknowledging it.
Mm, it seemed everyone understood the Imperium's efficiency.
Romulus had already believed they were giving the High Lords enough credit. Yet in these remote Sectors, people were simply expected to use their own initiative whenever something happened?
Everyone could see that this Elder was deeply dissatisfied with the Imperium's current efficiency.
This made the Black Templars even more suspicious.
After all, they were accustomed to it. They had never held any expectations for the Department of the Interior's efficiency, so they never considered seeking aid from the Imperium when thinking through problems.
"What do you say?"
Romulus asked over the Transmigrators' channel.
"You're the brain. You decide."
"Then we go?"
"Fine."
To the Transmigrators, crises were both challenges and opportunities.
They had intended to involve themselves in major events to grow stronger from the start. With teammates, if they still dared not go to a remote Sector, how could they talk about charging into the Great Rift in the future?
After a brief exchange, the four of them immediately reached a decision.
"Then we go together."
Romulus answered simply.
"That is the Void Forefather's asset. We cannot allow it to fall into the hands of Chaos."
Tyberos voiced his agreement. So long as it was for the Emperor, the Carcharodons could fight anywhere.
"A Black Templars crusade has never failed to find victory."
The Black Templars' Chaplain spoke before the Marshal.
At almost the same moment, the three Astartes forces reached a consensus.
Then everyone looked to Cawl.
This Archmagos had remained silent since the discussion began. His fleet would, without question, be the main force in the void battle.
"The Prospector Fleet will travel to the Piaerde star system, but the Mechanicus Ark will not accompany it."
Ever since the fleet had begun moving toward Piaerde, Cawl had felt obstacle after obstacle, as though even the Warp were preventing him from reaching that planet.
It seemed that even the Dark Gods did not wish for him to complete the research that had continued for ten thousand years. The secret aboard this Ark was enough to change the future.
But—why should he give up just because he faced obstruction?
Chaos had gone to such great lengths to stop him, while the Omnissiah supported him. Should that not be all the more reason to go?
Cawl looked at Romulus.
His reasoning was simple. Whatever these mysterious veterans chose, his answer would be the same.
Because he believed this was the Omnissiah's guidance.
Cawl knew very well what the Omnissiah truly represented, and what the one who had bestowed an unprecedented mission upon him ten thousand years ago truly was. That was why he was certain this was the Omnissiah's guidance.
Having received the final response, those who had reached a consensus once more focused their gazes upon the holy figure from the center.
The Black Templars' Chaplain openly stared at the solemn Blade Guard with burning eyes.
No one feared death. No one would abandon the challenge of facing Chaos, the great enemy.
The Transmigrators could not help but marvel inwardly.
Though they often mocked the Imperium's garbage, when it was time to risk their lives, heroes would always press forward one after another.
And what could the Transmigrators do?
What should ancient heroes, upon whom their descendants placed limitless expectations, do?
"Your turn."
Karna glanced at Arthur.
He had been born for occasions like this.
With a solemn bearing, Arthur stepped before everyone.
In the distant ancient past, warriors setting out to war would strike their weapons together to proclaim their resolve.
Strangely, though the civilizations across Earth had been scattered in those days, they all possessed such a rite.
And in this world, the first weapon to march toward war was likely the one the Emperor had picked up.
The blade lit with crystalline radiance. Gripping the hilt in reverse, the Blade Guard raised it high.
At last, everyone caught sight of the magnificent patterns buried beneath the dark hues—the profound engravings, the blurred traces of gold that made one unable to resist seeking the meaning they contained.
Beneath that radiance which touched every soul, though they did not know the meaning of the words upon the blade, their hearts instinctively called out for victory.
Clang—
Everyone raised their weapons of their own accord.
Clang—
Weapons met, bestowing bright light upon all and sending out a crisp echo.
"In the name of the Emperor's warriors, we shall know no fear."
"By sacred loyalty, we swear to secure victory."
"In the Imperium's supreme glory—"
The Blade Guard recited the benediction.
"May all behold our deeds."
Before you continue