This Is Our Warhammer Journey

Alex took a deep breath and pressed a hand to his chest.

‘Once I get back, I’m filing for retirement with the Departmento Munitorum.’

Maybe he was fated never to receive the glorious death he dreamed of. Maybe he’d just end up dying in shame, catheter in place, on a hospital bed.

That was the pessimistic thought running through Alex’s mind. He figured he might as well take a nap and think about how to physically “negotiate” with the Departmento later—when suddenly, there was a knock from outside.

It came at the worst possible time.

It was the emergency assembly signal unique to the “Broken Sword.”

Before Alex could even react, Kovek had already opened the door.

“Lieutenant, what is it?”

“The Astartes Brother requests your presence.”

“Also, five minutes ago, the Brother ordered all able-bodied soldiers to assemble at the plaza by the central lift corridor.”

A jolt ran through Alex’s chest, the fatigue in his mind instantly wiped away. Memories of Armageddon from over two centuries ago resurfaced.

“The Astartes requested me personally?”

He pressed.

“The Brother ordered all soldiers who are able to gather.”

The lieutenant replied.

“Take us there.”

Alex turned back into the room, and thirty seconds later, now bearing a few more medals on his chest, he returned with a serious expression.

Seeing the steel Aquila and the winged skull on his chest—along with that gleaming star-shaped badge—the lieutenant unconsciously straightened up.

“Yes, Commissar!”

Alex tidied up his uniform, placed his Commissar’s cap firmly on his head, and followed the lieutenant with determined steps.

The ones whose bodies had already mutated were beyond saving—but the remaining 169, those battle-hardened veterans who had survived this operation, were precious assets any Astra Militarum regiment would treasure.

They were the hope of rebuilding the Broken Sword.

Alex wanted to protect them as best he could, even if their worth before the Emperor was less than a fraction compared to the Astartes.

His hurried demeanor seemed to rub off on the lieutenant, who recalled other units that had mysteriously vanished after certain battles.

His steps hesitated for a moment.

“Don’t overthink it.”

Alex lightly patted the lieutenant on the shoulder.

“You are warriors proven by the God-Emperor’s trials!”

“But we...”

The lieutenant opened his mouth as if to speak, but swallowed his words. After a moment of inner struggle, he nodded and said, “We are loyal warriors of the God-Emperor.”

Alex silently withdrew his hand and picked up the pace alongside Kovek, heading for the transport lift plaza.

Dang—Dang—Dang—

“What is our duty?”

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

As Alex hurried after the lieutenant and entered the plaza, this was the first thing he heard: the soldiers' resounding response.

“What is the Emperor’s will?”

In the vast central plaza—large enough to hold an entire Cadian armored regiment—a towering knight in black armor questioned them.

He walked slowly among the soldiers, passing each of them like a predator in the woods, sniffing out the fear leaking from the weak.

Alex looked toward the plaza. The soldiers had been split into two uneven groups.

The larger group—clearly the weaker one—looked utterly worn out.

They stood in 26 rows, their conditions terrible.

Some had twisted limbs, and their exposed skin showed signs of rot, with abnormal appendages protruding from wounds.

Some had faces where the skin had fused together into an unhealthy dark purple hue, their mouths and eyes forcibly sliced open just to retain some semblance of humanity.

“Fight to the death.”

Everyone answered in unison.

As Alex took a few steps closer, a thick stench reached him.

It wasn’t a physical smell—it was the soul-deep disgust humans felt toward mutation.

“Why do you fight to the death?”

The knight slowly approached the end of the formation. Among the soldiers, thirteen Sisters from the Order of the Sacred Rose were chanting Ecclesiarchal prayers. Some faithful Imperial citizens among the ranks followed along softly with the chanting.

The cold white light from the ceiling bathed the warriors in a golden glow.

“For the Emperor!”

The knight noticed Alex’s arrival.

He gently supported a soldier who was about to collapse from exhaustion. Once the soldier stood firm again, he walked directly toward Alex.

“Can you fight for the Emperor?”

The solemn voice echoed across the plaza.

“Yes!”

All voices roared in unison.

Dang—Dang—

“Commissar Alex.”

A towering figure blocked the light, casting down a heavy shadow.

The knight was right in front of him. Every shift in his gaze let Alex glimpse the refined patterns beneath his gray robe—the kind of intricate detail that could take an artist’s breath away.

But most striking of all was the crimson glow in his helmet’s eyes—like a regal dragon locking eyes with its prey.

The knight asked,

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

“......”

Alex didn’t answer right away—he was stunned.

He’d expected to witness a brutal execution here.

He looked around at the young men he could barely recognize anymore.

These poor soldiers had come into contact with the deadly influence of the Warp. The outcome of such contact with that blasphemous realm was always the same.

Mutation, followed by a painful death. Even their souls wouldn’t be saved.

They were doomed to die. They were unstable elements, seeds of disaster—mutants tainted by the powers of the Warp, the kind of threat the Imperium could never tolerate.

Back on Armageddon, a regiment on the other side of the continent had been ruthlessly abandoned. They’d been gathered in one place, not for medals, but for extermination—lances of light from the sky had sent them to the side of the God-Emperor.

Alex had thought he’d made peace with that day. In this universe, sometimes a clean death was a mercy.

But—

Alex met the eyes gathering on him from all around. Bloodied eyes.

Even with blood pouring from their sockets, they kept their eyes wide open.

Even if screaming split open their wounds and the blood soaked through their pants into puddles—they refused to fall.

They rejected the help of comrades. Because in the presence of the Emperor’s Angels, in front of the Commissar and the Colonel, any sign of weakness was heresy.

Could you really say these warriors couldn’t fight for the Emperor?

Who could say warriors like this couldn’t fight for the Emperor!

Alex’s expression shifted.

He finally understood why the Emperor’s Angel stood before him.

He finally understood—these warriors would have a better ending.

“Yes, my lord!”

Alex lifted his head, then raised both hands, and solemnly gave the Aquila salute to the Emperor’s Angel.

“They can!”