"......"
Everyone exchanged glances, their expressions grave.
They’d co into contact with Chaos, suffered heavy mutation, and were now about to interact with other forces of the Imperium.
Given how paranoid the Imperium is, the ending awaiting the “Broken Sword” was self-evident.
“Lead the way!”
Arthur stood up.
The Imperium might not be worth saving, but its soldiers and civilians were.
Sha-sha-sha—
The pen scratched against the draft paper, making a faint sound.
In a clean and tidy little room, the Commissar was gripping a pen, head lowered as he wrote under the light of a prothium lamp pried off the corridor wall.
After Arthur and the others had cleared out the heretics and guided the barely-holding-together ship out of the Warp, the Commissar was finally able to divert what little energy he had left toward writing the mission report for this operation—after sealing off the compartnts with the Astra Militarum troops.
A Commissar—this role served as the morale backbone of every regint, but also as the Departnto Munitorum’s ever-watchful eye.
Every operation by the Astra Militarum would ultimately be reported in detail by the Commissar to the Departnto Munitorum, whose decision-making relied on it. The quality of that report often decided the future of the regint.
“...Just hope the Departnto won’t press charges this ti for my absence, considering I’ve been serving for nearly three hundred years.”
After carefully double-checking the star system noted in the report and making sure there were no errors, the Commissar smoothly copied the report from the draft to the official docunt paper. Then, he retrieved a piece of solidified sealing wax from his powder-streaked robes.
Pa-da—
He snapped the wax, lifted the lamp’s cover, and dipped a spoon into the white-hot fla.
That pale, ghastly light fell across the Commissar’s face, casting deep shadows and highlighting the white hairs at his temples.
In the past, he could fight on the front lines for seven days straight without batting an eye, and still spit on so Administratum officer’s face while fighting for better supplies for his regint. But now...
The Commissar looked away from the fla.
A grating hum gnawed at his cerebral cortex, and the sizzle of the wax in the prothium fla sounded like thunder.
If not for the drugs still stimulating his nerves, he was sure he would’ve passed out already.
He withdrew the spoon, poured the wax onto the envelope seal, then pressed his signet ring onto it. The Commissar rubbed his forehead with his ink-stained fingers, leaving a black smudge across his brow.
A voice echoed in his mind.
You're old.
A sad, inescapable truth.
I’m finally old.
His face—still not covered in augtics—looked dazed. The Commissar let out a long breath, as though finally able to let go of sothing, then signed his na on the envelope.
Alex Kane.
He spread the remaining wax across his na, stood up with the letter in hand—clearly having made so kind of decision.
He had served the Imperium for over two centuries, experienced countless farewells. But now, he didn’t want another.
He opened the door. Colonel Kovek of the “Broken Sword” had been waiting for a while.
“Commissar Alex.”
The Colonel held out a lit cigarette.
“Thanks.”
Alex reached out, took it, and bit down on the end.
“How many left?”
He asked through gritted teeth.
“One hundred sixty-nine.”
Colonel Kovek exhaled a puff of smoke.
“Counting you, , and the Ogryn.”
“One hundred sixty-nine.”
Repeating the number, Alex leaned heavily against the cold wall.
“How many survivors?”
“Two thousand six hundred. Not more, not less.”
Colonel Kovek’s expression was unreadable.
“Thanks to the Emperor’s Angels, the raid went incredibly well. Barely any losses.”
“Heh. I’d rather they died on the battlefield.”
Alex took a deep drag.
“Yeah, death would've been better.”
The Colonel looked up, blinking.
“If they were all dead, like those damn Saffra chem-dogs on the lower deck, the Departnto wouldn’t have to track every grieving family, and we wouldn’t be stuck like this—winning yet another victory for the Imperium, only to end up with zero glory—”
“That girl on the Tidal Planet of Titania...”
The Colonel lowered his head and muttered, “Jack liked her.”
“This is the mission report.”
Alex handed the envelope to the Colonel.
The stern Commissar didn’t seem to care about the borderline treasonous words.
“The Departnto in the Maelstrom—they’re supposed to be really efficient.”
The Colonel shoved the letter back into Alex’s chest.
“Kovek?”
Alex asked.
“You’re going.”
The Colonel dropped his cigarette butt to the ground.
“I’m staying with them.”
The Colonel was strong. Alex struggled briefly but could clearly feel himself losing ground.
“Heh, fine. Fine.”
Alex’s hand trembled. He instinctively wanted to clench his fist, but afraid of ruining the report, he tucked it into his inner coat first—then clenched his hand, furious.
“You lot say this every damn ti. From Armageddon, to Cadia, to the Maelstrom, to Watch Fortress—you always say the sa thing. Always leave behind.”
It was hard to believe this was the sa Commissar known for his stone-cold deanor.
“I’m three hundred years old, kid. Can’t you let an old man, who should’ve been buried long ago, fulfill his last wish? I never should’ve taken that f***ing rejuvenation treatnt just for the damned pension—my grandson’s already died of old age.”
“I want a death. I need a death, do you get that? Even if it’s in the Warp, I’d rather die than slink back alone again after leaving everyone behind.”
“...I don’t trust those bureaucrats.”
Watching Alex throw a fit like an old man bickering in so ordinary family, the Colonel looked a little lost.
“I grew up hearing stories about you. My father served in the regint you once led. I can only trust you.”
“There it is again. Three centuries, and you don’t even bother changing your script...”
Hearing this, Alex wore the sa expression as if to say, figures. Like he’d had this conversation far too many tis before.
“......”
Kovek didn’t answer. He just stared at him stubbornly.
“Fine. Fine! I promise you—this is the last ti.”
In the choice between dying alongside the soldiers and helping put their affairs in order, Alex, after a brief mont of hesitation, had to give up once again on the death he so desperately longed for.
If they couldn’t trust him, who else could they trust?
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