The reforged regiment

When Alexander emerged from the magnificent hall once more, his expression was as calm as still water.

No one knew what he had discussed with the living Primarch inside. But everyone knew that a tremendous storm was about to sweep through the Imperium's military establishment.

Inquisitor Valerius and his cruiser, the Word of Truth, had long since slunk away from Terra's orbit. The so-called investigation into Alexander's "suspected heresy" had vanished without a trace along with them, never to be mentioned again.

In its place came an edict of the highest order, personally issued by Imperial Regent Guilliman.

[Commissar Alexander von Lawrence is hereby named a hero of the Imperium. In the battle of Viridia Prime, he demonstrated unparalleled courage, wisdom, and self-sacrifice, setting an example for every soldier of the Imperium.

Though the 99th Regiment, the "Pride of Cadia," under his command was nearly annihilated in battle, its indomitable fighting spirit and absolute loyalty to the Emperor were sufficient to wash away all disgrace and forge anew its supreme glory.

It is therefore decreed that the designation of the 99th Regiment, the "Pride of Cadia," shall not be revoked. The regiment shall immediately receive replacements and equipment from Terra itself at the highest priority. All surviving soldiers shall be promoted three ranks. Its commissar, Alexander von Lawrence, shall receive an exceptional promotion to Legion Commissar.

Upon completion of its reorganization, the 99th Regiment, the "Pride of Cadia," shall formally join the ongoing Indomitus Crusade, attached to the Fourth Fleet battle group.]

When this edict, signed by the Primarch's own hand, spread throughout the Imperium, everyone who heard it was thrown into an uproar.

A second-line regiment that had been all but crippled had not only escaped disbandment, but received the highest-priority replenishment that even legendary founding Chapters could only dream of? A young commissar who had graduated from the Schola Progenium less than a year ago had received an exceptional promotion to Legion Commissar?

More importantly, they had been assigned directly to the core fleet of the Indomitus Crusade, commanded by Guilliman himself!

Countless speculations stirred beneath the surface among the Imperium's upper echelons.

Everyone wanted to know what that young man named Alexander von Lawrence had said to the Primarch. Had his deranged ideas, steeped in heresy and known as the "fireplace theory," been purified by the Primarch, or...

Had they received the Primarch's... tacit approval?

No one knew the answer.

When he saw his "family" again, it was in a top-tier rehabilitation center prepared especially for them aboard the Sleep of the Faithful military space station, in orbit around Holy Terra's moon, Luna.

After several days apart, the three hundred and fifty-one familiar faces had been transformed.

They were no longer dying casualties. They had changed into brand-new gray training uniforms bearing the Aquila insignia, shaved away the patchy hair left by their burns, and washed the blood and dust from their bodies.

Most striking of all were their new prosthetic limbs, gleaming with a cold metallic sheen.

Some soldiers had lost a leg, now replaced by an intricately engineered piston-powered limb embodying the brutal aesthetic of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Others had lost an eye and now had multifunctional tactical eyepieces fitted into their sockets, glittering like rubies with streams of data. One veteran, whose face had been half bitten off by an Ork in battle, had received a heavy metal jaw engraved with skull emblems marking his kill count.

Each of them resembled a work of art shattered by war, then pieced back together with steel and wire by the most efficient craftsmen, their bodies bearing the brutal, powerful beauty of a posthuman age.

They were no longer purely human.

When Alexander appeared before them in a brand-new, tailored black Legion Commissar's uniform, his left arm replaced by the fearsome, powerful Punisher Type VII combat prosthesis, a deathly silence fell over the entire rehabilitation center.

Then three hundred and fifty-one bodies of steel and flesh straightened with all their strength. Three hundred and fifty-one arms, some flesh and some steel, rose as one to offer their sole spiritual leader an impeccable military salute, filled with fanatical adoration.

"Elder Brother!"

Their perfectly synchronized roar, like the grinding of steel, echoed through the vast rehabilitation center.

Smiling, Alexander returned their salute with his steel left hand.

"Welcome back, soldiers."

"Raaah!!!"

The soldiers pounded their chests with steel fists, voicing their hunger for war and glory through modified vocal cords.

Yet just as this celebration among "family" reached its peak, a cold, jarringly out-of-place voice came from the doorway.

"Silence! This is an Imperial military facility, not some barbarian arena!"

Everyone turned toward the voice.

A man stood in the doorway, wearing a dark green Imperial officer's uniform so crisp it might have been cut with a blade. Behind him stood two adjutants in the same dark green uniforms, their faces bearing the arrogant expression of people who considered themselves superior to everyone else.

The officer was around forty, tall, with sharply chiseled features. His pomaded hair was so immaculate that not even a fly could have found purchase on it. His chest bore so many medals there was scarcely room for them all. He wore spotless white gloves and held a silver baton symbolizing his authority.

Everything about him exuded the rigid elitism and arrogance of a military aristocratic family with a thousand-year pedigree, utterly out of place here.

He was the newly appointed military commander of the 99th Regiment, the "Pride of Cadia"-Colonel Valerius Carsten, a thoroughly traditional Imperial soldier from the Mordian Iron Guard.

Colonel Carsten frowned, sweeping an appraising, almost disgusted gaze over the strangely shaped "soldiers" before him, who looked as though they had been assembled from the contents of a scrapyard.

When his gaze finally settled on the young commissar at the center of the crowd, whose left arm was fearsome steel but whose face wore an amused smile, his frown deepened.

He had long since heard of this "heroic unit's" exploits and had also read the postbattle report concerning the "fireplace theory."

In his view, this was not an army at all, but a mob of mentally unstable lunatics beguiled by cult doctrine. The young commissar before him was their most dangerous, most deranged cult leader.

"You are Commissar Alexander von Lawrence?" Colonel Carsten marched up to Alexander with a regulation parade step. He did not salute, merely looked him over with condescending scrutiny.

"I am your new counterpart, Colonel Valerius Carsten. By order of the Imperial Regent, I am here to take charge of the 99th Regiment's military affairs and daily training." His tone was cold and strictly businesslike.

"Welcome, Colonel." The smile on Alexander's face did not fade in the slightest. "Welcome to our... warm and loving family." He deliberately emphasized "warm" and "family."

The corner of Colonel Carsten's mouth twitched involuntarily.