Welcome to Hell, Commissar

This conversation became a turning point in Alexander's life at the Loyalty Academy.

Not only was he not punished, but he also received the old commissar Imran's "special attention." He was appointed student leader and granted access to a large number of high-clearance historical and tactical documents.

He began systematically packaging and elevating his theory—a fusion of "paternal care" and "Chaos incitement"—in the rigorous, sacred, and murderous rhetoric of the Imperial Commissariat.

He wrote the renowned paper, Loyalty Companies: A Preliminary Study of Building Combat Collectives Under the Emperor's Family Theory.

In it, he creatively proposed the concept of "Emotional Fueling." He believed that the widespread feelings of abandonment, desire for revenge, and yearning for belonging among Loyalty Academy cadets should not be suppressed. They should be guided, intensified, and ultimately elevated into a collectivist fervor to "fight for the protection of a new family."

He compared the company to a fireplace, faith in the Emperor to a flame, and each soldier's personal emotions to firewood thrown into the hearth. The more firewood there was, and the drier it was—the more intense the emotions—the more fiercely the flame within the fireplace, the will to fight, would burn.

And the commissar's duty was to be the poker. He had to ensure that every piece of firewood was lit, and at the most crucial moment, pour a ladle of accelerant into the fireplace—deliver a pre-battle speech.

This theory caused a tremendous uproar among the Loyalty Academy's upper ranks.

Some rigid-minded instructors believed it was outright heresy. Soldiers, they argued, should be emotionless weapons. This theory of "Emotional Fueling" was only one step away from the mind-bewitching methods of Chaos cults.

But another group of more pragmatic instructors, led by Imran, keenly recognized the theory's immense potential. In these increasingly dark times, the Imperium's manpower was already stretched thin. Traditional methods of maintaining morale through absolute fear and discipline were becoming less and less effective. If there were a way to make soldiers fight and sacrifice with genuine, fanatical devotion, it would be nothing short of a revolutionary upgrade for the Imperium's war machine.

In the end, thanks to Imran's staunch protection, Alexander's paper was not burned as heretical nonsense. Instead, it was archived as an experimental military theory of "high risk, high value."

And for the first time, the name Alexander von Lawrence entered the sight of higher levels within the Imperial Commissariat.

On graduation day, Alexander stood before all the cadets as the undisputed top student. He wore the black commissar's uniform, a symbol of discipline and death. Its golden sash and silver double-headed eagle insignia stood out sharply against his young, resolute face.

Old Commissar Imran personally fastened the bolt pistol and chainsword—the symbols of commissarial authority—onto him.

"I've been a commissar for one hundred and twenty years, Lawrence." For the first time, the old soldier's voice carried a trace of emotion. "I've executed more cowards than you've eaten meals, and I've seen countless heroes braver than you. But I have never seen a... 'monster' like you."

"You use the sincerest methods to achieve the most terrifying goals. You use the warmest words to incite the coldest slaughter. I don't know whether you will ultimately become the Imperium's greatest hero or its most dangerous hidden threat."

Imran patted his solid shoulder.

"Your assignment has come through. A newly formed regiment, the 99th Infantry Regiment of Cadian Pride. The name sounds impressive, but in reality, it's a bunch of battered survivors dug out of Cadian's ruins, mixed with criminals and recruits from every backwater imaginable. Morale? Finding that among them is harder than finding a bottle of clean water. They need a miracle, or a madman. The Commissariat has decided to give them both."

"Go, Commissar Alexander." A red glint flashed through the old commissar's mechanical eye. "Put your theories into practice. Light your fireplace. Let me see whether your fire can burn the enemy to ashes... or whether it will consume you first."

When Alexander arrived aboard a Valkyrie assault transport and landed at the temporary base of the 99th Regiment of Cadian Pride, he understood firsthand what the old commissar meant by "scraps."

It was a temporary military camp on some godforsaken mining asteroid. The air was perpetually thick with the smell of metal dust and chemical waste. Beneath the gray sky, rows of rust-stained barracks made from prefabricated panels stood like lifeless tombstones.

Soldiers lounged against walls in twos and threes, their eyes numb and their expressions vacant. Their uniforms were tattered and mismatched, and many still bore old wounds that refused to heal. Drinking, brawling, and gambling were everyday occurrences. The officers' shouts and punishments earned only deeper resentment and more passive idleness.

There was not the slightest trace of the honor or discipline expected of an Imperial army. There was only despair, failure, and confusion about the future.

The moment Alexander stepped off the transport, he witnessed a "welcome ceremony."

A huge veteran built like a bear, reeking drunk, had grabbed a newly assigned recruit who looked barely old enough by the collar.

"...Say that again, you bastard?" The veteran blasted him with a wave of alcoholic breath. "You said Cadian will be rebuilt? Have you ever even been to Cadian? Did you see that planet explode into a heap of space junk right in front of our eyes? Did you see our brothers' guts hanging from barbed wire while they were still shouting, 'For the Emperor'?"

The recruit turned deathly pale with fear and could not say a word.

"Damn, a bunch of greenhorns who only know how to hide in the rear and pray..." The veteran seemed to decide that beating up the recruit was not even worth the effort. He shoved him to the ground and staggered away.

Then he saw Alexander standing not far away.

He saw that brand-new, spotless black commissar's uniform.

A flame of contempt and hatred instantly flared in the veteran's eyes.

"Well, well, look who's here?" he called out in an exaggerated, mocking tone. "Lord Commissar! Us little vermin have finally been blessed with a high-and-mighty overseer!"

His shout drew everyone's attention. The previously numb gazes all turned toward Alexander. There was curiosity in them, and disdain, but more than anything, a deep-rooted hostility toward the "men in black."

The veteran staggered up to Alexander and nearly pressed his face against his.

"Tell me, Lord Commissar. Are you here to randomly shoot a few unlucky bastards every day to maintain your pathetic discipline? Or are you planning to hide with the safest rear-guard unit once the fighting starts, shooting us cannon fodder in the back?"