Chapter 9: Choose Your Enemy and Fight (Part 1)
The soldiers buzzed with talk—Sergeant Taylor had a black eye, a rare sight that stirred whispers.
He had faced a terrifying cult wizard head-on, a gruesome creature with four arms, facial wounds, and rotting flesh—and not only survived, but emerged victorious.
To his brothers, slaying such a beast required immense courage. Few doubted Taylor's valor or that nightmares must haunt him.
Yet Taylor knew differently—his true fear was the knight he'd seen yesterday.
Don't judge by his battered appearance. When he first enlisted, he was dropped directly into the inferno: the battlefield's blazing chaos, the crackling of Hydra anti-aircraft fire.
He'd seen cultist human bombs, madness unleashed, and learned the bitter lesson of survival.
To Taylor, war was a source of pain and confusion.
Now, swept into apocalyptic conflict, he dreamed of countless Knight Titans and green-skinned mechs tearing through each other.
Among giants, he was a speck—trampled and scattered by friend and foe alike.
He stirred the lunch made by Lightling—rich brown stew with complex flavors, though ingredients blended into one.
Paired with bread and strong Reka coffee, it revived his spirits.
Nearby, Corporal Katie devoured her meal, remarking, "Boss, you look like you fought a monster."
Taylor yawned. "The beast inside me. A terrifying thing."
Half in jest—but all believed it.
The brothers' pity was clear. Veterans like Taylor bore scars deep and unseen—haunted by lost comrades or battlefield ghosts.
Taylor hadn't noticed the shift in mood—only felt the day's heat drying his mouth.
"Any Karantis sparkling water left? I recall we brought plenty," he asked.
Machine Gunner Roland answered, "Boss, they were destroyed in the last cult raid."
Lightling offered, "I have some, but the conditions here aren't great. Boss, how about flat sparkling water?"
"Then I'd rather die," Taylor shot back, sweetening bitter coffee with milk and sugar.
Supply here was adequate. Unlike bleak Hive and Forge Worlds, here eggs, milk, fresh meat, and bread were plentiful.
Suddenly, a heroic voice rang out.
"We're out of eggs and bread!" Freeblade shouted, brandishing her tactical knife.
The battle-ready noblewoman continued, "The orks cut off our supply lines—southern routes shattered. To keep meat and bread, we must break their lines!"
Her happiness puzzled Taylor. Beans weren't so bad. Normally, the Guards chose defense.
"Defense yields greater benefit than risky attack," Taylor said. "But what if the blockade is orc bait?"
"If we abandon this ground, our flanks fall to orks, and we'll be swiftly crushed," Freeblade replied.
"Most local troops lack strength of the Imperial Guard."
"It'll be tough even for elite Guards to break through. Without infantry, how can two Knight Mechs win?"
She glanced at Taylor, still her servant.
The proud battle queen said, "Didn't expect such words from you."
"You rejected my cousin yesterday. I thought you loyal, but now you challenge me."
"Think you're the better war strategist?"
Taylor seized his chance.
"Try me. I'll bet on it."
"I can hold camp with few soldiers and makeshift defenses."
"You lead your forces on raids to fulfill visions."
"In the end, we'll kill more orks than you plan."
Freeblade smiled wickedly. "A bet?"
Taylor nodded. "Yes. My respect is the stakes."
"You sense I'm still a rebel, right?"
"Right? It's unfair—I defend. How can I kill more orks than you?"
Freeblade shrugged. "Your respect may be worthless, but this is intriguing. A man willing to bet away honor."
She grinned. "Win, and you'll always be my master."
Servants and knights shuffled nervously.
"Sir, you honor your house," one said.
"Enough! How can you ignore this? Right, Taylor? You're one of few who understands me!"
Taylor's sly smile masked confusion—he just wanted peace.
With the Freeblades gone, orks had no reason to attack here.
Aside from scarce food and the weak, greenskins had no brains to strike here.
All Taylor had to do was remain, rest.
His honor?
Could that buy food?
Taylor gave the Freeblade a smile, though others saw confidence.
Whispers spread of the outsider Knight, challenging Freeblade with only his mortal body and a ragged camp.
It was an impossible feat—no one believed he'd succeed. Not even Taylor.