Chapter 5: Birds of a Feather Flock Together
Once again, Taylor relied on his intelligence and talent to find a way out. No matter what others thought, this was survival—and Taylor answered only to one master: the Emperor of Mankind.
For the Emperor's sake, he lived.
His greatest dream was simple: retire as an Imperial Guardsman, enjoy a pension, and take an officer post assigned by the Ministry of Military Affairs in his hometown of Skadi.
He imagined marrying a fair-skinned Nest City beauty, preferably noble, someone who would bring him joy.
He pictured bringing his soldiers home, letting them do the rough work under the pretext of cultivating endurance.
When his hair grayed, he would find old comrades who retired alongside him and play elegant games like regicide chess.
Yes, to spend old age in peace.
Such a noble wish—one everyone desired, even in Taylor's harsh hometown.
But first, he had to survive the relentless pursuit of aliens and traitors.
Lost in thought, Taylor quickened his pace; mud and filth no longer slowed him.
Gradually, sunlight faded as a cool drizzle stole the day's warmth.
Taylor tightened his windbreaker as they pressed toward the nearest town. The sky darkened imperceptibly.
They hadn't walked far when rain fell on Taylor's skin, and he grumbled, "Katie, how much farther? This weather reminds me of parading in the hive."
Katie studied the map, consulted Roland, then set a route.
Lightly equipped, Taylor declined the 50 militia offered. He came here on a break—not to be monitored.
Lady Freeblade admired this, and most praised Taylor for his courage and selflessness—though none could read his hidden thoughts.
After minutes of discussion, Katie pointed west. "There's a farm five clicks ahead. Seems suitable."
"Boss, what do you think of this?"
She waved a lush branch—a rare treasure in her eyes.
But such young trees should be left unbroken; the branches looked hacked, perhaps by blade or bulldozer.
Taylor muttered, "I'm here to rest... no more job sickness."
He glanced at lovable, naive, slightly paranoid Katie, who had learned the meaning of raindrops and now applied that knowledge obsessively.
When she realized moist soil and thornless trees were free gifts, she began hoarding them, looking messy—until Taylor stopped her.
As they marched, Katie asked, "Boss, why does rain remind you of that parade?"
Taylor looked down at muddy boots soaking his toes.
"The smell of mud. Because it smelled like mud." He covered his face, unwilling to recall. "I wasn't parading on a Leman Russ tank—I was strapped to the front armor plating, next to two dead Genestealers. The smell was the same."
"Maybe they all share similar plasticity."
"Don't ask why. Let me tell you first: the Genestealer ate Commander Nord, and I was the one who led those creatures into the command room."
Rain thickened as he spoke.
Taylor grumbled about lacking a vehicle—impossible to navigate this mud.
For speed, he carried his shortest soldier—the plump, cinnamon-scented girl from Lightling.
Her wet clothes clung to her curves as she rubbed against him.
"Stop that! One more time and you'll be court-martialed tonight."
The military doctor, cook, and sniper giggled, "Please step on my cheek before punishing me~"
Taylor handed her over to the Roland brothers, regretting his kindness.
Dark clouds thickened, rain becoming an unyielding adversary.
Katie cursed, drenched to the bone.
If not for thick armor and gloomy weather, she might have glimpsed a beautiful view.
She cautiously looked up, pointing into the distance, and shouted, "Fire!"
Amid gloom, that ray of civilized light was a dream.
Taylor beamed. "Good scout, ma'am!"
He picked up his pace, strength renewed by thoughts of warm stew, bed, and shelter.
At the farm, a two-story wooden building, reinforced with iron rivets, glowed with warm firelight.
But Taylor caught a foul scent mingling with rain and soil.
At the gate, strangers in black robes stood holding machetes, knocking on the door.
Seeing the Imperial Guards, they fled.
Taylor did not order pursuit—not his battle to fight.
He preferred mingling with locals over chasing thieves in the rain.
He smiled his signature friendly smile and pushed open the door.
A beautiful peasant woman rushed out, screaming sharply.
She embraced Taylor like a heroine from a cheap stage play.
Her skin smelled faintly of oranges; brown hair framed freckled cheeks.
Despite rough linen, her figure was charming—and all eyes lingered on her.
Only the two girls in the Imperial Guard gave her disdainful looks.
Taylor held the woman knowingly, savoring her embrace.
In a tone worthy of drama, he said, "Oh my God! What an embarrassing sight Sergeant Taylor sees. Ma'am, don't fear—I've chased those criminals away!"