The side door to the main hall yawned ahead like salvation's threshold. Beyond lay organized chaos – law enforcers, Astra Militarum regints, PDF remnants, and masses of ard pilgrims in mismatched armor. Though wounded stread through this staging ground, none lingered.
Zhang Ge paused at the threshold, analyzing the ragtag assembly. Numbers ant little when half these "soldiers" were zealots clutching autoguns. Send them against Chaos? Better pray they didn't shoot allies first.
Familiar faces erged through the crowd: the grizzled forr vice-regint commander, Yolanda, Burton, even the security captain. They'd ford an impromptu war council near the altar.
"Take there."
Dominica's ceramite-clad arm beca his crutch. The veteran spotted them first, bulling through the throng with parade-ground urgency.
"Colonel!" No salute – warti protocol. "First chanized Regint: 873 active. 20,000 recruits awaiting assignnt."
"20,000? Screening standards dissolved?"
Even accounting for desperation, such numbers defied reason. PDF veterans and hive gangers might pass muster, but civilians?
The veteran's data-slate glowed. "Breakdown: PDF discharged within 24 hours, Underhive enforcers, augtic junkies, and... 'motivated' civilians. So shattered Guard units requested integration."
Ah. The usual dregs. Zhang Ge's lip curled. The real miracle was their recruiters surviving long enough to enlist this circus.
Where are they?
"They're currently assisting with periter defenses at the outer chapels."
After pondering for a mont, Zhang Ge continued:
"How far is the nearest active warzone from here?"
"Approximately thirty kiloters. The defensive line there is primarily manned by PDF forces, with the Battle Sisters deployed among them."
Thirty kiloters. That distance was practically point-blank range. Even without large-caliber artillery, a clear line of sight and decent weather would allow lascannons to strike directly. The PDF and Battle Sisters must have been applying significant pressure on the enemy; otherwise, they'd have surely diverted fire to bombard this conspicuously marked chapel.
Shifting his weight slightly, Zhang Ge assessed his condition. While improved, he still couldn't move independently. His body needed more recovery ti — coincidentally allowing for pre-battle preparations.
As Zhang Ge contemplated these matters, a youth who'd been staring at him repeatedly rose and approached. The surrounding Astra Militarum imdiately intercepted him. After receiving the report, Zhang Ge ordered:
"Let him through. I'll hear what he has to say."
Several soldiers scanned the youth for explosives before permitting passage.
Standing before Zhang Ge, the youth cut straight to the point:
"I rember you. You promised we'd win. Now... tell — can we still win?"
Observing the faint traces of youthful naivety on his face, Zhang Ge countered:
"Before answering, let ask — what's your definition of victory?"
"Victory? Obviously defeating the enemy!"
"Then yes, we'll win."
The abrupt certainty left the youth montarily speechless. He quickly pressed:
"How can you be so sure?"
"If you don't believe , why bother asking?"
The retort silenced the youth, but Zhang Ge continued:
"Those who trust — myself included — will die before you do. That's why I dare declare victory. If we succeed, you'll live to enjoy it. If we fail, we'll already be halfway to the Golden Throne. You won't catch up to demand answers then."
A pat on the shoulder signaled dismissal. Truthfully, "victory" had always been a problematic concept — especially under these circumstances. This youth wasn't the only one harboring such doubts. Fortunately, Zhang Ge needed no concern for their perceptions. Victory? Wait until I'm dead — then you'll have your triumph. Just stay out of the way.
Yet as the youth was being escorted away, he suddenly twisted around, middle finger thrust skyward:
"Lying bastard! I'll reach the Throne first and wait for you! If you show up admitting defeat, I'll beat you senseless! Let go! I can walk myself!"
The surrounding Astra Militarum erupted in laughter. Though the words were hostile, the atmosphere turned markedly friendlier. When the youth returned to his group, a guardsman playfully kicked his backside. As the enraged youth charged, the soldier deftly sidestepped and tripped him — only to grab his shoulder before he fell.
The guardsman removed his own flak helt and jamd it onto the youth's head, grinning:
"Take this. Rember to throw an extra punch for later."
Amidst the mingling laughter and distant screams, the tension montarily lifted. Zhang Ge shook his head faintly.
The brief commotion drew the hall's attention. Gradually, the murmuring crowd realized the frail-looking man being supported was none other than the proclaid leader. Silence spread like oil across water.
So watched mockingly, others with desperate hope, many simply seeking montary distraction from the tension — all awaited his next words.
Surveying the assembly, Zhang Ge declared:
"As you've witnessed, their warship's bombardnt proved no deadlier than lasfire. Seems they'll need heavier ordnance to kill ."
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