"Ah!"
Mountbatten jolted awake. He was soaked in cold sweat, his head splitting with pain.
Four days had passed since that nightmare in his own camp.
The chief arcanist of the Civic Temple had described a terrifying future to him—a future where Orks ran rampant and demons walked the land. More importantly, they had stated outright that the Blood Cult had already infiltrated the upper ranks of the Republic.
They were the ones directing this war, and they were brewing a massive conspiracy.
Mountbatten had never considered himself a savior. Back at Sunflower Ridge, there had perhaps been brief moments when he had seen himself that way.
But reality had mercilessly told him that he had saved nothing.
He could not drive that scene from his mind.
The Civic Temple had sought cooperation with him, but for an active-duty soldier, cooperating with an outside force was, in other words, "treason."
They claimed it was to save his country, but he was not sure. He found it difficult to trust them completely, even with the Inquisition standing as their guarantor.
That was until they took him to a ruined altar, where the inquisitors were dealing with a "thing."
It had once been human, perhaps even a soldier, but without question, some force had turned it into something else.
Mountbatten had been frightened and shaken then.
He had been startled in battle before, but the pure terror brought by that monster, along with its stench—that feeling... it had lingered in his mind, whether he was asleep or awake.
A demon—
"Ugh..."
Mountbatten staggered up from his cot and put on a brand-new uniform.
The sun was shining brightly outside, and he could hear the bustle of people and vehicles coming and going.
He had much to do. If he wanted to remain