Commissar Grekov did not immediately change his equipment. Instead, he remained in his relatively "ancient" commissar's uniform, watching the mortal soldiers under his command become super-soldiers in an instant, his expression conflicted.
He stroked the Bolt Pistol and Power Sword hanging at his waist. These proud achievements of Imperial technology looked positively primitive beside the "standard equipment" prepared by the Men of Iron.
Stanislaus tightened his grip on Thousand Changes. Its cold touch seemed to reach him even through his hand armour.
This power was intoxicating, but unsettling, too.
They were no longer mere cannon fodder sent to plug gaps in the line with nothing but courage and faith in the Emperor.
They had been armed to the teeth, granted individual combat capabilities comparable to those of the Astartes—and in some respects, superior.
But this power came from cold logic and ancient technology, not the God-Emperor's blessing.
They had been thrust into this vast, efficient, merciless war machine, seemingly becoming more sophisticated yet still replaceable components.
The star of the Tark System radiated a warm orange-red glow, yet the steel fortress beneath its light held not a trace of warmth.
Far away, a few light-years farther out in Segmentum Tempestus, the shadow of the swarm was drawing closer.
Every mortal soldier knew that soon, they would all face the cruelest, bloodiest test imaginable.
They would fight to survive, but none knew whether they could truly safeguard humanity's tottering future.
The guide robot that had disappeared earlier slipped back into the distribution area without anyone noticing.
"Adaptive equipment distribution complete. Environmental familiarization and basic procedure instruction will now begin. Please follow the guidance."
A conspicuous blue strip of guiding light illuminated once more, this time leading toward an exit on the other side of the hall.
Under Commissar Grekov's watchful gaze,