51. Reclaiming Hope (VIII, 9K)

Balboa lowered his head to examine the object before him. After thinking for several seconds, he finally reached out and picked it up. It was cold and heavy in his hand, almost like gripping a block of ice.

His gaze swept across its black, rugged surface before settling on the side of its protruding curved magazine, where someone had carved a single word with a knife.

Hellhounds.

The crowned General Zahndrekh spoke leisurely.

"I have always believed that, to soldiers, their weapons are even more important than their own lives. You must share that view, Captain."

Balboa pulled his beloved gun tightly into his arms. He said nothing, merely nodding.

Zahndrekh gave a hollow laugh, turned around, and formally stepped onto the broad, terrifyingly vast avenue of the Solemnace Museum.

With his hands clasped behind his back, the towering metal creature walked like an elderly man in his twilight years—too steady, too slow, without the slightest trace of sharpness.

Balboa watched the xenos's retreating figure, his right hand instinctively stroking the trigger. Of course, he did not fire. He restrained the impulse.

That was rare, but not difficult to understand.

Over the past twenty-two days, the captain had met this Necron almost every day, and the latter had never done anything that could be considered offensive or threatening. Not only had it treated him with courtesy, it had even been a little excessively friendly.

More than once, he had wondered whether this obviously insane Necron had some ulterior motive.

But then he thought about it again. Even if it did, what help could he—a common soldier who could barely recognize all his letters—possibly be?

This damned xenos museum held all sorts of important figures. Why would it not seek them out instead?

Once he understood that, the captain stopped maintaining