An Unexpected Visitor

They were more than three hundred men in clean hospital gowns, their bodies likewise wrapped in bandages, leaning on crutches or sitting in wheelchairs. Yet their eyes burned as brightly as flames.

They were the last surviving sparks of the 99th Regiment, the "Cadian Pride."

They were his "family."

When they saw the young commissar sitting on the hospital bed, his left arm now transformed into grotesque steel, the eyes of these hardened men—who had never taken a single step back before the Ork tide—instantly reddened.

"Elder Brother!"

No one knew who had cried out first in a hoarse voice.

Then came a second, a third...

They said nothing more. They merely used every ounce of strength they had to straighten their backs and gave the young man on the bed a flawless military salute.

There was no sympathy in their eyes, no pity.

There was only the purest, most fervent worship and joy.

Their elder brother was still alive.

The core of their "hearth," that brightest flame, had not gone out.

That was enough.

Alexander looked at those familiar faces before him, at their horrific scars and missing limbs. A trace of gentleness surfaced in his pale golden eyes.

He slowly raised his brand-new, cold steel left hand and returned their salute with one just as precise.

"Welcome home, brothers."

His voice was not loud, but every soldier heard it clearly.

"Home... going home..."

A young soldier who had lost a leg and could only lean against his comrade could no longer suppress his emotions upon hearing those words. Tears surged forth like floodwaters bursting through a dam.

Yes, home.

They, the orphans abandoned by the world, finally had a place they could call "home."

And their elder brother was the heart of that home.

The atmosphere in the ward was warm yet solemn. However, the brief peace belonging to the survivors was soon mercilessly shattered by a synchronized, oppressive march drawing closer from afar.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

The sound was like Death's pendulum, striking with precision against every heart.

Outside the ward, every light in the corridor seemed to dim in an instant. A cold, suffocating shadow mixed with death and authority descended over the entire medical convent.

The ward door was roughly shoved open by two Imperial storm troopers clad in black carapace armor, carrying hellguns and wearing vicious skull masks.

Then a man in a long black coat slowly entered from outside. A massive silver-threaded "I," the emblem of judgment, was embroidered upon his coat.

His face was deeply lined like a dried-up riverbed. His hawkish eyes, sunken deep in their sockets, shone with cold, emotionless scrutiny. At his waist hung an ornate power sword and an equally ornate bolt pistol steeped in the aura of death.

Behind him followed two attendants, also dressed in black coats but carrying an even gloomier air.

Their arrival was like an invisible mountain, instantly weighing upon the hearts of every 99th Regiment soldier.

The joy on their faces froze at once, replaced by vigilance and hostility.

Without realizing it, they took a step forward, forming a wall of bodies that shielded the elder brother on the bed behind them.

"Stand down."

The inquisitor's voice was like the man himself: cold, dry, and filled with unquestionable authority.

Yet not a single soldier moved.

They simply stared at him with eyes blazing like fire. Their fists had unconsciously clenched white.

"I said, stand down."

A flash of impatient frost passed through the inquisitor's eyes. The two storm troopers behind him immediately stepped forward, raising their hellguns as dangerous blue arcs flickered at their muzzles.

The ward's atmosphere instantly became taut as a drawn blade, as though a bloody conflict might erupt the very next second.

"Stand down, all of you."

At that moment, a calm voice rang out from behind the human wall.

It was Alexander.

He had already sat up in bed. His steel left hand rested lightly on the shoulder of a soldier standing in front of him.

"Let him through."

Though the soldiers were unwilling, they obeyed their elder brother's orders without question. The wall of bodies slowly parted to either side, opening a path to the bed.

The inquisitor's expression did not change in the slightest. With steady steps, he approached Alexander's bed and looked down at the young commissar sitting there with only one arm remaining.

"Alexander von Lawrence." The inquisitor spoke slowly, his voice like the reading of a verdict. "I am Valerius, an inquisitor of the Heretic Inquisition."

"By order of the Lord Inquisitor, I have come to investigate your suspected use of unauthorized tactics during the battle of Viridia Prime, your incitement of abnormal soldier emotions, and... possible dissemination of heretical ideas."

"Now, I order you to get dressed and come with me."

His words once again ignited the fury of the 99th Regiment soldiers, which had only just been forced down.

"You can't take him!"

"Elder Brother is a hero! He saved the entire sector!"

"You cowards who only hide in the rear! What right do you have to judge a hero?!"

The soldiers became agitated once more. They pressed forward, their more than three hundred broken bodies gathering into an imposing force enough to make anyone tremble.

"Silence!"

Inquisitor Valerius suddenly raised his voice. An invisible, icy force of overwhelming mental pressure erupted from him!

It was the psychic presence unique to an inquisitor, forged through countless interrogations and killings, condensed from the purest and most merciless will!

The temperature in the ward seemed to plunge to freezing in an instant. The agitated soldiers felt as though an icy steel needle had stabbed viciously into their minds, leaving them with splitting headaches and unable to think.

However, just as that mental storm was about to crush the will of every soldier completely.

An equally powerful but utterly different force rose from the hospital bed.

It was warm and gentle, yet carried a strength like spring rain and breeze. Soundlessly, it effortlessly dissolved the inquisitor's blade-like force of will into nothingness.