Believe Them

"I trust your judgment."

Arthur did not think that, as a transmigrator, he understood how to assess the situation better than a battle-hardened Cadian regiment commander.

So he respected the locals' opinion more.

After all, standing behind them were Cadians, not delicate flowers that needed meticulous care.

Perhaps they had previously harbored some doubts about the Astra Militarum because of preconceived notions, but now that the two of them had encountered these soldiers up close, they understood just how weighty those descriptions in the setting books truly were.

They were humans born on Cadia, the fortress world that had stood firm after repelling Chaos Warmaster Abaddon's twelve Black Crusades—superhumans who had been entangled with the most evil existence in the Milky Way from their hearts' first beats, yet had survived to this day.

And the Astra Militarum behind them was the 43rd Cadian Regiment, an army forged on Cadia, capable of resisting Chaos Warmaster Abaddon's many Black Crusades.

They were the elite among the Astra Militarum's elite, examples that Astra Militarum forces from worlds across the Milky Way competed to emulate.

The Colonel's words were not some tragic farewell. They truly could do it.

Then all they had to do was trust them.

Free of all worries behind them, the two decisively accelerated. Like sprinters hearing the starting gun, they instantly reached an absurd speed, sending grime and dust from the passageways spraying into the air before leaving it far behind.

With the metallic floor ringing beneath their feet and gale-force winds rising around them, nothing could stop the unrestrained Astartes.

Yet Colonel Kovek did not relax after receiving the Angel of the Emperor's approval. Instead, his expression became increasingly complicated.

The departing pair did not yet know how extravagant their instinctive respect for life was in this era.

Drip—

A tremor ran through the corridor. Water droplets slid down the edges of fractured steel, shattered against exposed bones, and seeped into flesh.

Along the dim paths, illuminated only by a few unknown light sources, vast numbers of cultists lurked, respectfully waiting to offer their strength to their masters at any moment.

Naturally, for heretics who had fallen to Chaos, the process could hardly be called quiet, much less orderly.

The ground was riddled with holes, and severed limbs lay everywhere.

Axe blades chopped through bone. Amid heaps of corpses, survivors fused with flesh let out weak groans.

Warp miasma gave off a stench foul enough to nauseate the soul, quietly changing everything around it.

After hunting down those heretics who worshipped corpses, the cultists devoted to different Ruinous Powers naturally reached a consensus to fight among themselves after a brief spell of chaos. Then, in the dark corners, they ignited an even more chaotic civil war.

At last, after fighting for roughly ten minutes, the final victor stopped swinging his axe. His body was covered in wounds deep enough to expose bone, yet he gulped down air as though he felt nothing.

The Blood God's blessing gathered within his soul. He stared at the cultists who bowed to him in fear, while bony plates emerging beneath his cheeks gradually covered his face. Even if the former cult leaders attacked together, they could no longer gain any advantage against him.

But—

"Not enough!"

The heretic roared, his deep voice echoing through the passage as torrents of blood poured down from cracks in the ceiling.

"Still not enough!"

"I need a stronger opponent—"

The next instant, the temperature around the heretic plummeted. Water molecules in the passage condensed into tiny droplets under the sudden shift in pressure, clinging to his mutated horns.

Bone-chilling cold washed over the heretic's mind, making him nearly scream.

He knew it. The great Blood God had answered his prayer. His opponent had arrived, and he should begin the hunt!

Right, the hunt. What was I supposed to do again—

Fight? Right, right, right. Hiss, no, no.

Run? Right, right, right. I have to run.

Run! Escape backward!

Supporting himself against the wall, the heretic turned around, seeking the Angel baptized in divine power. Only the Blood God's favored children were worthy of such an opponent. How could he dare dream of claiming prey like this?

Yet the Blood God would not spare a cowardly Deceiver. As the wind walking through the shadows revealed its form, his cry was forever strangled in his throat.

He could not make out the figure blended into the surrounding blackness, seeing only the holy golden eagle revealed beneath its robe.

He could not hear the shriek of the blade cutting through the wind, only drowning in the despair of his flesh being torn apart and his life force drained away.

Upon His throne, the Blood God showed a trace of puzzlement, then shook His head without concern and turned His boundless fury toward another Arena more worthy of His attention.

Amid endless agony, this traitor's fate reached its end. He became filthy fragments scattered across the dark corridor, and even his soul could never again reach the master he had once worshipped, then so easily betrayed once more.

As for Arthur, he was merely an angel who had crushed a speck of dust. He did not spare this corner another glance, transforming into a gale as he charged toward the next corridor.

"Quickly."

Pausing for half a second to wait for Romulus to set up the markers and Autocannon, Arthur grew somewhat irritated.

For no reason, he had transmigrated into a shithole. For no reason, he had become entangled in a massive melee. For no reason, he had to abandon a group of people to complete a mission that might concern the lives of everyone aboard the ship.

The hand gripping his sword trembled slightly as Arthur sensed the twisted, enormous shadow within the dark passage.

Even more annoying!

This sense of being utterly out of place, this disconnect from everything he had once known, made Arthur instinctively want to kill every element that made him uncomfortable.

"Blood for—"

The enormous thing in the shadows revealed itself.

It was a Chaos Space Marine, towering like an iron tower built from flesh and blood.

Its weathered armor and the writhing flesh filling its damaged gaps seemed to speak of the long years it had spent in the Warp.

Arthur said nothing.

He was not like Romulus, who could always adapt to his surroundings and always find something to do.

Right now, he only wanted to end all of this as quickly as possible, then find somewhere he could think calmly and consider what he should do.

Arthur's counterattack was extremely swift. He swung his shield aside, batting away the axe blade chopping toward him, then raised his Power Sword and targeted the enemy's neck with two consecutive thrusts.

Splat—

Not until the moment of its death did this Chaos-twisted monster finish its blasphemous battle cry.

Clang!

He spun, turning his sword. The blade that had just left the heretic's blasphemous flesh shot outward, its crackling edge scraping across heavy armor before burying itself deep in the steel wall.

Another oversized head hit the ground.

Clean and decisive.