Believe Them

"I trust your judgment."

Arthur did not believe that he, a Transmigrator, could judge the situation better than a battle-hardened commander of the Cadian regiments.

Therefore, he respected the opinion of the local.

One had to remember that standing behind them were Cadians, not some delicate flowers in need of meticulous coddling.

Perhaps there had been some skepticism toward the Astra Militarum born of stereotypes, but now, having had close contact with these warriors, the two of them understood just how much weight the words written in the lore truly carried.

These were humans born on Cadia, a fortress world that stood tall even after blocking the Black Crusade of the Chaos Warmaster Abaddon twelve times; superhumans who had been entangled with the most evil existence in this galaxy since the very first beat of their hearts, yet still managed to survive to this day.

The Astra Militarum regiment behind them was the 43rd Cadian Regiment, an army that had emerged from the very Cadia capable of withstanding over a dozen Black Crusades led by the Chaos Warmaster Abaddon.

They were the elite of the elite within the Astra Militarum, a model that Astra Militarum forces from every world in the galaxy vied to emulate.

The Colonel's words were not some tragic farewell; they were a statement of what they were truly capable of.

Then, it was best to simply trust them.

With no worries left behind, the two decisively chose to accelerate. Like sprinters receiving the starting gun, they instantly surged to an incredibly exaggerated speed, kicking up filth and dust within the corridor, sending it spraying before leaving it far behind.

As the metal floor rang out under their footsteps and the wind howled, there was nothing that could stop the Astartes once they were unleashed.

Colonel Kovek, however, did not feel relieved by the Angel of the Emperor's approval; his expression was, if anything, even more subtle.

The two who had departed did not yet know how luxurious the subconscious respect they showed for life was in this era.

Drip—

A tremor struck. Water droplets fell along the edges of fractured steel, shattering against exposed bone and seeping into flesh.

In that dim path, illuminated only by obscure light sources, a massive number of cultists lurked, respectfully ready to contribute their strength to their master at any moment.

Of course, for heretics who had fallen to Chaos, this process was certainly not quiet, nor could it be called orderly.

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

Axe blades hacked into bone; among the piles of corpses, survivors fused with flesh and blood let out weak groans.

The miasma of the Warp emitted a stench that made the soul feel uneasy, quietly altering everything in the vicinity.

After hunting down those heretical believers who worshipped corpses, these cultists—each following different Ruinous Powers—naturally reached a consensus for infighting after a brief moment of chaos, then ignited an even more chaotic civil war in the dark corners.

Finally, after they had fought for nearly ten minutes, the ultimate victor stopped swinging his axe. His body was covered in wounds deep enough to reveal bone, yet he breathed in the air in large gulps as if he felt nothing at all.

The Blood God's blessing gathered within his soul. He stared at the cultists who bowed to him out of fear; the bone plates protruding from beneath his cheeks gradually obscured his face, and even if the previous cult leaders had all stepped forward together, they could no longer gain any advantage from him.

But—

"Not enough!"

The heretic roared, his booming voice echoing through the passage as a large amount of blood splashed down from a crack in the ceiling.

"Still not enough!"

"I need a stronger opponent—"

The next moment, the air around the heretic plummeted in temperature. Water molecules in the passage condensed into small droplets due to the sudden pressure change, hanging from the heretic's mutated, sharp horns.

A bone-chilling cold scoured the heretic's spirit, making him almost scream out loud.

He knew that the great Blood God had answered his prayer; the opponent had arrived, and he should begin the hunt!

Yes, the hunt, what was I supposed to do—

Fight? Yes, yes, yes, hiss, no, no.

Run? Yes, yes, yes, I have to run.

Run! Run away toward the back!

The heretic leaned against the wall and turned, wanting to find that Angel who had been baptized by the power of the gods. Only those favored by the Blood God were worthy of such an opponent; how could he dare to covet such prey?

However, the Blood God would not let a cowardly deceiver go. As the figure walking in the shadows revealed himself, the heretic's cry was strangled in his throat forever.

He could not see the outline of the opponent as it merged with the surrounding blackness; he could only catch a glimpse of the holy golden eagle revealed beneath the robe.

He could not hear the shriek of the blade as it cut through the wind; he could only drown in the despair of his flesh being torn apart and his life force being drained away.

The Blood God on the throne revealed a hint of confusion, then shook His head indifferently, turning His gaze with boundless fury toward another arena more worthy of His attention.

In endless agony, the traitor's fate reached its end, turning into filthy debris that fell in the dark corridor. Even his soul would never again reach the master he had once worshipped, only to betray so easily.

As for Arthur, the Angel who had merely crushed a speck of dust, he did not look at this corner again, turning into a gale and rushing toward the next corridor.

"Hurry."

Stopping for half a second to wait for Romulus to plant the waypoints and the Autocannon, Arthur felt a bit irritable.

Transmigrated into a cesspit for no reason, caught in a chaotic melee for no reason, and forced to abandon a group of people to complete a mission that might concern the life of the entire ship for no reason.

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

Even more annoyed!

This feeling of being out of place, the sense of detachment from his original perception, made Arthur subconsciously want to wipe out all these elements that made him feel uncomfortable.

"Blood for—"

The behemoth emerged from the shadows.

It was a Chaos Space Marine, his frame towering like an iron tower forged of flesh and blood.

The weathered armor and the writhing flesh filling the gaps in his plating seemed to tell the tale of the long eons he had spent within the Warp.

Arthur remained silent.

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

He only wanted to end this as quickly as possible, then find a place where he could think clearly and figure out what he was supposed to do next.

Arthur's counterattack was swift; he swung his shield to parry the axe blade hacking toward him, then raised his Power Sword to lock onto the enemy's neck, delivering two rapid thrusts.

Squelch—

Until the very moment of his death, the monster twisted by chaos could not finish his blasphemous war cry.

Clang!

With a spin of his blade, the sword—freshly withdrawn from the heretic's profane flesh—was hurled outward, its arc-sparking edge grazing the heavy armor before burying itself deep into the steel wall.

Another massive head hit the ground.

Clean and decisive.