Chapter 47: May All the Emperor Witness Be Our Triumphs!

Whoosh—
The black sword swept upward, directly catching the Imperial Aquila upon the Inquisitor’s chest.
Almost everyone believed this was a veteran's zero-tolerance stance toward cowardice.
Hum—
Drawing close to the sword’s tip, the emblem was steadily brought into Aglaia’s field of vision.
"What is this?"
The majestic voice pierced the desolate twilight.
A cold light cast down, the matte blade making the emblem gleam with brilliant radiance.
The Inquisitor froze. As her gaze touched the emblem, her churning, boiling spirit felt as though a bucket of cold water had been poured over it, instantly calming her down.
Then she spoke in a low voice.
"...This is the duty bestowed upon me by the Emperor."
"What is your duty?"
"...To act in the name of the Throne."
"By what do you act in the name of the Throne?"
That voice was like a heavy rumble of thunder, startling one from a nightmare.
*Acting in the name of the Throne... Yes, I am an agent of the Throne.*
Aglaia looked at the golden emblem before her eyes.
This was the symbol of the power to act as the Throne's agent, bestowed upon the Inquisitors by the Emperor, yet it was also a heavy and weighty responsibility.
And yet, at this moment, it was hanging around the neck of a weakling.
Hysterical, driven by fear to the point of forgetting why she was even standing here.
"..."
Reaching out to grasp the emblem, Aglaia let out a long breath.
This emblem was not placed in her hands so that she could hesitate and stammer when facing difficulties; she was meant to solve the problems!
Arthur silently withdrew his sword, maintaining his upright stance.
Karna pulled a grape from goodness-knows-where and popped it into his mouth, utterly detached from the glory and renown.
"Forgive me, Lord Romulus."
She had acted quite unbefittingly.
Romulus shook his head slightly, indicating it was of no consequence.
Massaging her face, Aglaia reassembled her expression, then seemed to arrive at a resolute decision.
"My lords, in the name of the Inquisition, I command you to provide me with a vessel and an unlimited retinue of psykers, after which you may choose to stay or leave as you see fit."
She had regained her seriousness, carrying an unprecedented determination.
"What are you going to do?"
Romulus inquired.
"As a member of the Order of Our Martyred Lady—no, the Order of The Origin—I will personally travel to Pierrede to record this tragic history. Should we require greater military force, then, I believe you will need this intelligence."
Aglaia raised her chin to meet his gaze, and Romulus caught a glimpse of a profound sense of mission within it.
Since the disaster could not be prevented, then the disaster would be recorded to warn future generations. No matter what mists obscured history, its source must be traced.
This was the mission bestowed upon the Order of The Origin by the Emperor.
To her credit, these Inquisitors still possessed professional ethics; at least now that she had recovered her composure, she wasn't cowering.
Everyone present subconsciously looked toward Romulus, waiting for him to make the decision. A flawless command and an identity vaguely guessed by all had caused the warriors to instinctively treat the time-travelers as their core.
"Is there any necessity for us to wait?"
Romulus sought the opinions of the others.
"Or rather, if we issue a distress signal, can we obtain combat capability within three months that is sufficient to cause a qualitative change?"
Three months was the absolute limit; sitting around and waiting was no solution.
"Pierrede is classified by the Imperium as a remote sector, enjoying a very high degree of autonomy,"
Arabella said tactfully.
"Meaning it won't arrive?"
Everyone fell silent, taking that as tacit agreement.
Well, it seemed everyone understood the efficiency of the Imperium.
Romulus had already felt they were giving these High Lords enough credit, yet in these remote sectors, people were simply expected to rely on their own subjective initiative when facing trouble?
Everyone could see that this elder was deeply dissatisfied with the current efficiency of the Imperium.
This made the Black Templars even more suspicious.
After all, they were long accustomed to it, holding zero expectations for the efficiency of the Departmento Munitorum, and thus never factored appealing to the Imperium for aid into their calculations.
*'What's the verdict?'*
Romulus asked on the time-travelers' channel.
*'You're the brains, you decide.'*
*'Then we go?'*
*'Fine.'*
For the time-travelers, crisis was both a challenge and an opportunity.
They had originally intended to intervene in those major events to grow stronger; if they didn't even dare to go to a remote sector with teammates, how could they ever talk about facing the Great Rift in the future?
The four of them communicated briefly and made their decision on the spot.
"Then we go together,"
Romulus replied simply.
"That is the asset of the Void Father; we cannot let them fall into the hands of Chaos."
Tyberos chimed in with his stance. As long as it was for the Emperor, the Carcharodons fought anywhere just the same.
"A Black Templar crusade never fails to witness victory."
The Black Templar Chaplain spoke before the Marshal could.
Almost simultaneously, the three Astartes Chapters reached a consensus.
Then everyone looked toward Cawl.
This Archmagos, who had remained silent since the beginning of the inquiry, would undoubtedly command the main force of the void war.
"The Prospector Fleet will proceed to the Pierrede sector, but the Mechanicus Ark will not accompany them."
Cawl had sensed layer upon layer of resistance ever since the fleet began its movement toward Pierrede, as if the Warp itself was trying to stop him from reaching that world.
It seemed even the Dark Gods did not wish for him to complete that millennium-long research; the secrets aboard this Ark were enough to change the future.
Yet—why give up just because one encountered resistance?
If Chaos was going to such painstaking lengths to stop him, while the Omnissiah supported him, shouldn't he go all the more?
Cawl looked at Romulus.
His logic was simple: whatever these mysterious veterans chose, his answer would be the same.
Because he believed this was the guidance of the Omnissiah.
Cawl understood very well what the Omnissiah represented, and who the being was that had bestowed an unprecedented mission upon him ten thousand years ago, which was why he was certain this was the guidance of the Omnissiah.
Having received the final response and reached a consensus, the company once again converged their gazes upon the Saint from the center.
The Black Templar Chaplain didn't even try to hide the burning gaze with which he watched the solemn Sword Guard.
No one feared death; no one would abandon the challenge against the Archenemy of Chaos.
This caused the time-travelers to involuntarily feel a silent wave of awe.
Even though they often grumbled about the garbage state of the Imperium, when the time came to lay down their lives, heroes would always step forward one after another.
And what could the time-travelers do?
What should ancient heroes, invested with the boundless expectations of their descendants, do?
*'Your turn.'*
Karna glanced at Arthur.
He was born for occasions like this.
With a solemn demeanor, Arthur stepped forward to the front of the assembly.
In the distant antiquity, warriors going to war would always cross arms and weapons to declare their intent.
Curiously, though the civilizations of Earth back then were scattered across different lands, they all shared such a ritual.
And in this world, the very first weapons to march to war were likely those picked up by the Emperor himself.
The blade ignited with a crystalline glow, and the Sword Guard reversed his grip on the hilt, raising it high.
At last, everyone caught sight of the gorgeous patterns buried beneath the deep, dark colors, the profound engravings, and those faint golden traces that made one instinctively yearn to fathom the meaning they held.
Beneath the radiance that touched the soul of every individual present, though they knew not the meaning of the runes upon the blade, their hearts instinctively cried out for victory.
Clang—
Spontaneously, the assembly raised their weapons.
Clang—
The weapons crossed, imbuing everyone with a brilliant light and ringing out with a crisp echo.
"In the name of the Emperor's warriors, we shall know no fear."
"Sworn upon sacred loyalty, we pledge ourselves to victory."
"Amidst the supreme glory of the Imperium—"
The Sword Guard chanted the benediction.
"May all that living beings behold be naught but our deeds."