Chapter 17: Such a Warrior Is Bound to Fight for Humanity

Alex took a deep breath, pressing his hand against his chest.

“When I return, I will apply to the Department of Military Affairs for retirement.”

Perhaps he was destined never to receive the glorious death he longed for; perhaps he would die shamed, bedridden with a catheter.

Such pessimistic thoughts crossed Alex’s mind as he considered simply sleeping in his room to think over how to negotiate physically with the Department of Military Affairs. Suddenly, an untimely knocking sounded outside the corridor.

It was the emergency assembly signal exclusive to the Broken Sword.

Before Alex could react, Kovic opened the door first.

“Lieutenant, what’s the matter?”

“Lord Astartes Chaplain is looking for you,” the lieutenant reported.

“Also, five minutes ago, His Lordship ordered all available warriors to gather at the central elevator corridor plaza.”

Alex’s heart skipped a beat; the weariness in his mind vanished instantly as memories of Armageddon from over two centuries ago began to surface.

“Has Lord Astartes summoned me?”

He asked urgently.

“His Lordship ordered us to assemble all warriors who can be gathered,” the lieutenant replied.

“Lead the way.”

Alex turned back into his room. Thirty seconds later, now adorned with several medals, his expression was grave as he spoke to the lieutenant.

Gazing at the Commissar’s chest where the iron eagle and winged skull gleamed alongside a radiant star-shaped badge, the lieutenant instinctively straightened his posture.

“Yes, Commissar!”

Alex adjusted his uniform, solemnly fastening his commissar's cap, and strode after the lieutenant.

Those warriors who had already suffered physical mutations were beyond salvation, but the remaining 169 battle-hardened veterans who survived such combat were priceless assets to any Imperial Guard regiment.

They were the hope for the future reconstruction of the Broken Sword.

Alex hoped to protect these soldiers as best as he could, even if their value before the Emperor paled in comparison to the Astartes.

His urgency seemed to infect the lieutenant, who recalled this sudden assembly and the units that had mysteriously vanished after certain wars.

The lieutenant’s steps faltered noticeably.

“Don’t overthink it,” Alex gently patted the lieutenant’s shoulder.

“You have been tested by the God-Emperor and are loyal warriors!”

“But we—” The lieutenant opened his mouth to speak but swallowed his words, hesitated, then nodded: “We are all loyal warriors of the God-Emperor.”

—

Alex fell silent, withdrawing his hand, and quickened his pace alongside Kovic toward the transport elevator plaza.

Clang—clang—clang—

“What is our duty?”

“To devote ourselves to the will of the Emperor!”

As he hurriedly followed the lieutenant to the plaza, the warriors’ responses echoed.

“What is the will of the Emperor?”

In the vast central plaza large enough to hold an entire Cadian armored regiment, a towering knight clad in black armor spoke.

He paced slowly among the soldiers, passing by each warrior like a predator stalking through a forest, sensing the fear emanating from the weak.

The Commissar looked toward the plaza where the warriors were divided into two groups of unequal size.

Notably, on the side with the larger number, the Imperial Guard soldiers appeared frail and weakened.

They were arranged in twenty-six columns, their condition dire.

Some had twisted limbs, with exposed skin showing clear signs of decay, abnormal limbs protruding from their wounds.

Others had facial skin almost fused together in an unhealthy dark purple hue, their mouths and eyes violently cut open in surgery, barely resembling humans.

“Fight unto death,” they all declared in unison.

The Commissar stepped forward; a pungent stench wafted over him.

This was no mere physical odor but a soul-deep revulsion toward mutation.

“Why fight unto death?”

The knight approached the rear of the ranks. Thirteen sisters selected from the Sacred Rose chanted prayers of the state religion. Among the soldiers, devout believers quietly echoed the prayers.

Cold white incandescent lights descended from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the warriors.

“For the Emperor!”

The knight noticed the Commissar’s arrival.

He stepped aside and gently steadied a soldier swaying from exhaustion. Once the soldier regained his footing, the knight approached the Commissar directly.

“Can you fight for the Emperor?”

The solemn voice reverberated throughout the plaza.

“Yes!”

All shouted hoarsely.

Clang—clang—

“Commissar Alex.”

The knight’s towering figure cast a shadow, obscuring the light.

—

Standing close enough to see every shift of his gaze, Alex glimpsed the restrained yet lavish patterns beneath the gray robes, bearing reliefs that left countless artists breathless.

Most striking was the crimson glow emanating from the knight’s armor, locking eyes with a majestic draconic presence.

The knight inquired,

“Do you believe they can fight for the Emperor?”

“...”

Alex hesitated, caught off guard.

He had expected to witness a brutal execution.

He surveyed the ragged young men he could barely recognize.

These pitiful soldiers had been exposed to lethal warp-taint effects, touched by a world brimming with blasphemous power.

The outcome was singular.

Mutation, followed by agonizing death in transformation, with no salvation even for their souls.

They were doomed to die.

They were unstable elements, seeds of disaster, mutants corrupted by the warp’s evil forces, the most intolerable threat to the Empire.

During Armageddon, other Imperial Guard regiments on the continent’s far side had been cruelly abandoned, gathered together but denied honor, their fates sealed by heavenly lances delivering them to the God-Emperor’s side.

Alex believed he had come to terms with that day; sometimes, in this universe, a swift death is mercy.

But—

Alex met the bloodied, torn gazes converging upon him.

Despite blood streaming from their eyes, they stared wide-eyed.

Despite wounds torn open by furious roars, blood pooling at their feet, they did not fall.

They refused aid from their comrades because before the Emperor’s angels, before the Commissar and Colonel, any weakness was corruption!

Could anyone say such warriors cannot fight for the Emperor?

Who could deny such warriors the right to fight for the Emperor?

Alex’s expression froze.

He understood why the Emperor’s angel stood before him.

He understood that these warriors would have a better fate.

“Yes, my lord!”

Alex raised his head, then lifted both hands, solemnly saluting the Emperor’s angel with the eagle salute.

“They can!”