68th Dark Crusade (II: New Recruits)

Cato Sicarius tried clenching his fist; the artificial muscle bundles tightened directly in response to his nerves, giving his clenched right fist a powerful feel. 💙☹ ☯🐺

He wore his helmet, and all around him was silent; the operation of his Power Armour did not interfere with him in the slightest. This was strange, because Sicarius had tried it before. When he was truly completely still, he could even hear his internal organs rubbing against each other.

The human body is an extremely complex machine, and the Astartes is a special improved version of this machine, so advanced as to be outrageous. The Emperor's ingenuity is preserved in every cell.

However, even so, this machine makes noise when it's running, while the Power Armour doesn't.

"Really not? "Sicarius wondered doubtfully.

He tried throwing a punch and, sure enough, heard a low hum from the servo motor amplifying his power. This discovery made him laugh behind his helmet.

A Servitor carrying a replacement training weapon passed by him, and the eyepiece quickly moved the white crosshairs above its head, even marking the best way to kill it.

Sicarius quickly canceled it; he wasn't quite used to controlling the Power Armour with neural connections yet, but that wasn't a big problem, as he had plenty of time to adapt.

For the next two hours, he was like a child who had received a favorite toy, testing the various functions of the Aquila in the deserted training ground. Every punch, run, and even breath made him feel extremely exhilarated.

He wore training armor and scout armor, neither of which were Power Armour. The former was nothing more than a polished armor plate. The latter, although also made of Ceramite, had sacrificed many features for the sake of lightness.

Its protective capabilities are negligible against enemies like the Tyranids —which is exactly what it was designed for; it's a lightweight armor primarily for stealth and reconnaissance, and doesn't require particularly strong defensive capabilities.

Of course, if Power Armour is available, who would need reconnaissance armor?

It may be heavy, but it's enough to turn a soldier into a complete killing machine on the battlefield.

Sicarius removed his helmet and took several large gulps of the excessively purified air.

He felt no fatigue, not even a drop of sweat; he did this simply to calm himself. Realizing his current agitation, Sicarius couldn't help but laugh again.

He felt he could march through the world in this armor for a century. This thought gave him satisfaction.

However, he also had some important things to take care of.

Sicarius put on his helmet, strode into the depths of the training ground, and left through the back door. He passed several corridors lined with shrines, and the sound of weeping filled the air as people mourned their deceased relatives or friends.

Most people treated his presence with respect, but a few looked on with fear and confusion. Realizing this made his face tense, and he was quite glad he was wearing a helmet.

He spent twenty minutes rushing to the Chapter's armory, where his Servitor and the cold mechanical arms removed his armor and changed him into a neat officer's uniform before he set off to report.

He was going to report to his company commander—or rather, the new company commander.

He was no longer part of the reconnaissance company; he had been recruited by Idaeus, the company commander of the Fourth Company, a fact that Sicarius found honorable. He had heard tales of Idaeus, but none of them could compare to the explosive shell he had fired at the monster.

Only the truly brave can seize the opportunity with boundless decisiveness at that moment, pull the trigger, and accurately hit the target.

He turned left, left, right, took the elevator up, squeezed through the crowded assembly hall, and it took him a total of thirty-seven minutes to finally arrive at the Fourth Company's camp.

Sicarius looked up and saw a banner.

It has weathered many storms, and its edges are already damaged. The repairs are not obvious, and there are still dark, bloody handprints on the flagpole.

It was placed atop two large brass doors, with a laurel wreath, a skull, and a metal glove holding the capital "U" of the Ultramarines gleaming on it.

"Defenders of Ultramar." Sicarius slowly read the line of cursive script embroidered on it, a sense of awe washing over him.

At that moment, a voice that was almost a roar came from behind him.

"Yes, that's right, the defenders of Ultramar!"

Sicarius turned around quickly and saw a strong and imposing man. He was dressed in the robes of priests, with a rosary around his neck and a black book of prayers in his left hand.

His face was covered with crisscrossing scars, and his eyes were a stern gray. An incense burner was strapped to his waist, emanating the calming scent of herbs and ointments.

Sicarius quickly stepped aside. He didn't know who this person was, but he guessed that the man must be a priest—and judging from his attire, he had most likely just returned from some mourning service.

"What are you doing here?" the burly priest asked bluntly, his tone almost rude.

Sicarius his chest, tapped his heels, and answered his question in the same tone he used to answer his superior.

"Report! I'm here to report to Idaeus! He requested that I come to see him after the armor-presentation ceremony!"

"Oh, so you're that noble lad from Talassar?"

"My name is Cato Sicarius, sir!"

"I'm not your superior. My name is Judd, Judd Clausell, and I'm the chaplain of the Fourth Company."

As he spoke, he suddenly snorted coldly, and then asked him in a tone that was quite familiar to Sicarius.

"What are your aspirations, recruit?!"

"The Emperor's Will is the Torch!" Sicarius roared out the words as if by reflex.

It took him several seconds to belatedly realize the awkwardness, but he also noticed a certain mark on the priest—who did not hide it and quickly revealed a rough, cold laugh.

"Yes, I was an instructor in boot camp," he said calmly. "But that's not your concern. Come with me, Sicarius."

He turned and pushed open the brass door. The two heavy doors shouldn't have been opened so easily by him, but Sicarius heard some kind of mechanical sound and saw a faint white light emanating from Clauseleel's hands on the door.

He then realized that the door probably had some kind of hidden screening mechanism, and only those who passed this screening could easily open the door with the help of the machinery inside.

He gathered his scattered thoughts and quickly caught up with Clausele.

The priest walked with a brisk and powerful stride, his steps quick and long. Sicarius had to break his usual gait to keep up with him. It was no easy task, as the Fourth Company's encampment was quite complex.

It is a composite creation that blends architectural beauty with complex mechanics. Take the hall they are in now, for example. With a quick glance, Sicarius estimated that it was about twenty meters high.

Sacred stained glass windows depicting the Emperor's face and various banners of honor fluttered together, while the Fourth Company's past glories floated at the top of the hall along with simulated sunlight.

However, the thirteen rapidly moving devices placed throughout the walls obscured this sacredness; with people coming and going, going up and down everywhere, the hall suddenly transformed into something akin to a transit station.

Moreover, there are not only Astartes here, but also maintenance workers, loaders, Servitor Fourth Company, and even civilians holding flowers. There are also quite a few children.

They would entangle every Ultramarines they saw along the way, and the priest himself seemed to notice this, so he quickened his pace.

However, aside from the children who were supposed to be a bit noisy, everyone else maintained a degree of quiet. They created an orderly clamor in the hall, a small miracle brewed from respect and shared understanding.

Sicarius had to admit that this was the first time he had ever seen such a captivating sight, and the first time he had ever actually entered the barracks of a company.

He was almost bursting with excitement, if Clausel hadn't suddenly turned around, grabbed his shoulder, and shoved him forcefully toward a door.

"I almost got lost," the pastor muttered. "Damn, why are there so many people today?"

"Open Day, Priest," said one of the Ultramarines passing by. "Don't forget about it."

"Who said I forgot?!" Clausele roared at him. "Watch your tongue, Uriel Ventress! You're not much better than this stupid brat!"

"After all, I only joined the Fourth Company three months before him." He was known as Uriel Ventress's fighting comrade. "And I even came in with you, Instructor Clausel."

He saluted, winked at Sicarius with a rather pleasant yet sympathetic look, and then disappeared into the crowd. Sicarius remembered his face, but still wanted to turn back to see where he was going, but the priest didn't give him the chance.

The strong, burly man with a loud voice pushed him into a narrow corridor with many wooden doors. His hands, which seemed to be made of cast steel, pinched Sicarius's shoulder painfully.

They walked through this corridor, then another winding but wider one, before finally arriving at a black wooden door. Above the door were carved Aquila and a skull, along with a simple place name—Company Commander's Office.

The office? Sicarius frowned incredulously.

This was the first time he had ever heard of such a thing, and it greatly shocked him—the company commanders actually wanted to... work?

"Go in."

Clausel released his grip roughly and with disdain, giving him a sidelong glance, but still patted him on the shoulder, smoothing out the wrinkles he had caused.

Then he added, "Remember to straighten your uniform, young man. Also, when you're moving into the accommodations, remember to walk faster. Don't stand in the middle of the road like an idiot, looking left and right. Be careful not to get picked up as a model by those artists mixed in with the crowd."

"What?" Sicarius looked at him in confusion. "What did you say?"

"I told you to get in there now!" Clauseles roared.

He turned and left without a trace of regret. Sicarius blinked, seemingly wanting to say something, then began to straighten his uniform and calm himself.

Once he was sure he was ready, he took two steps forward and knocked on the black wooden door. Unexpectedly, the door opened by itself very quickly.

Idaeus sat behind a large solid wood desk, watching him. He was dressed in civilian clothes, and his face showed obvious signs of fatigue. Sicarius figured this was probably related to the frighteningly large stack of documents beside him.

He walked into the room without looking to either side, his boots making a dull thud on the wooden floor. He stopped at the desk, saluted, and gave his report.

However, his company commander raised his hand to stop him from continuing after he got to the salute.

"You're punctual, Sicarius," Idaeus said. "I like people who are punctual; a lot of the guys in my company don't. They often extend training time, which always annoys me."

As he spoke, he reached for a paper document next to him and handed it to Sicarius.

The latter, without changing his expression or paying attention to detail, reached out and took the book before lowering his head to read it.

He read it quickly, but didn't miss any key information. The document concerned punishments for fighting and excessive noise, and the people being punished were several officers.

They were all leading Tactical Squad, and judging from the description in the documents, the brawl probably started because one of the captains forcibly extended the training time.

Sicarius managed to calmly put down the documents in his hand, and a certain preconceived notion in his mind suddenly shattered.

"I don't know how many times I'll have to explain to them before they understand that those high-level Combat Servitor are issued on demand. They're made of Adamantium and equipped with the most advanced combat chips. This should be a great place for every brother to hone their combat skills."

"As a result, there are always a few bastards who never learn their lesson and insist on fighting the Servitor in the cage until they can't stand up before they're willing to leave."

Sicarius glanced at his company commander and found that the latter looked both annoyed and helpless, as if he was very dissatisfied with the matter. He was going to observe for a while longer, but Idaeus suddenly looked at him and even stood up from behind his desk.

Show me your left hand.

Sicarius did as instructed, and the tactile sensors on the prosthetic arm quickly transmitted a sense of pressure to him via the neural unit. Idaeus was manually examining the prosthetic arm, quite carefully. After a while, he nodded.

"Very good, your prosthetic limb is perfectly fine, which means you have fully recovered your combat capabilities. So, Cato Sicarius, are you ready to face your first challenge since joining the Fourth Company?"

Sicarius his chest and slammed his right fist into it in response.

Idaeus smiled slightly.

Thirty-five minutes later, Cato Sicarius saw a mortal in a black robe standing opposite him, carrying a knife. He was stunned, but the veterans of the Fourth Company around him just laughed heartily.

Wasn't the plan to fight high-level Combat Servitor?