A Stone That's Not Quite a Stone

On the distant frontier of the Empire, in the cold, merciless darkness of deep space, Steve Rogers was leading a fearless army into battle against a horde of savage Ork beasts.

The war had already dragged on for three months. Steve was used to how long wars could last, but he still had not fully adjusted to the intensity of this one.

The last war he had experienced had been called the Second World War, and it could not compare to a massive interstellar campaign fought across planets. Still, he was holding up.

"Have the artillery position on the left support us."

Inside his helmet, he heard his own voice echoing. His vision was wrapped in a living green hell. Across the hills and fields, Ork beasts clad in crude, vicious armor were roaring as they charged toward them.

Their Low Gothic sounded like torture itself. Even so, there was no hatred in these creatures' eyes. That was rare, and it surprised Steve. All he saw was pure, sincere devotion to battle.

As if these creatures simply wanted to fight. It did not matter who their enemy was.

"My lord, the artillery position just fell," the officer responsible for contacting him replied anxiously. "A group of cunning Orks ambushed them. Can we really not deploy the war mechs?"

"Do not let the intensity of this war escalate again. You should know better than I do what kind of evolution Orks undergo after encountering advanced technology."

Steve rejected his suggestion, at the same time tightening his grip on the longsword burning with golden flames in his hand, and stepped forward.

He raised both hands high. Will drove nerves, nerves drove arms, muscles worked, and terrifying strength split a gigantic Ork in front of him from head to toe. The creature's armor,