The Indomitus Crusade Fleet.
Imperial officers, high-ranking officials, the Martian Mechanicum, and others, gathered together.
They were arguing over the world Dracolin.
The reason was simple: the goal of the Indomitus Crusade was to reclaim territories in the Dark Imperium seized by Chaos, not to engage in an 'Apocalypse'-level battle with Chaos for the sake of an individual or a worthless star system.
Just now, they had received a communication from Dracolin, bringing terrible news.
The Chaos Gods had personally descended, declaring the coming of the 'Apocalypse'.
As these high-ranking Imperial officials were still debating whether they should participate in this terrifying war for the Dark Angels and Blood Angels.
The adamantium-forged door of the council chamber, over half a meter thick, suddenly opened.
A figure over three meters tall stepped into the council chamber.
Just the act of stepping in caused the noisy, chaotic crowd to instantly fall silent.
There was no other reason.
Entering the council chamber was the Regent of the Imperium, the son of the God-Emperor, a living myth walking among men—Robert Guilliman!
Including Karlgar and the other Chapter Masters, as well as Imperial Navy officers, Astra Militarum generals, Battle sister Canonesses, Ecclesiarchal priests, and the Archmagos sent by the Martian Mechanicum—these elites of the mortal realm, these warriors adorned with countless medals of honor, felt as if they had been struck head-on by an invisible wave of air, a suffocating pressure seizing their throats.
In this extremely grand council chamber stood a statue of the Emperor wielding His sword.
But, at this moment, the presence of the Primarch made the space seem cramped and small, his vast aura like a tsunami, filling every corner of the council chamber.
Guilliman's 'Armor of Fate', crafted by Krast, moved like a blue-gold mountain, its cold and sacred luster flowing, ancient golden runes etched upon it, slowly moving across the armor's surface like living dragon scales.
The Primarch's height made even a Primaris Space Marine look up to him.
As everyone watched in silence, Robert Guilliman took his seat at the head of the council chamber, his deep blue pupils seeming to contain scorching stars, yet radiating a coldness capable of freezing space, as he scrutinized the Imperial high-ranking officials present.
His massive hand, wearing the 'Gauntlet of Power', casually rested on the command console.
Then, the Primarch spoke.
"Reinforce Dracolin at all costs, this is an order… it is not to be refused."
His voice was low, yet it contained a strange, inhuman penetrative power; each syllable was like a heavy hammer, striking directly into the souls of the high-ranking Imperial officials who had been fiercely debating moments ago.
"Now, report on the situation at Dracolin."
Karlgar, who knew the Primarch best, detected a strong anxiety in the seemingly calm tone of that sentence.
"According to the results detected by the forward fleet… the entire Iconoclast system is enveloped by a Warp energy field with a diameter of 120 billion kilometers." Karlgar took a deep breath and reported the situation truthfully.
"Communication is currently extremely difficult, and the exact location of Dracolin cannot be determined… Even if our fleet enters this area, it will be very difficult to reach."
Robert Guilliman fell silent.
This situation was too similar, as if it stirred up unpleasant memories deep within the Primarch's mind.
The atmosphere and air in the council chamber grew increasingly heavy and thick, as if they were at the bottom of the sea, an invisible pressure squeezing their lungs.
The last time… it was like this too!
During the Siege of Terra, he had led a fleet of three thousand two hundred warships, arranged in a massive offensive formation, with a battle line width exceeding six thousand kilometers—to describe it as blotting out the sky would be no exaggeration!
A quarter of a million Ultramarines were on standby, ready for battle.
Yet, such a formidable force, capable of overturning the entire battlefield, never reached Terra until the very end of the war.
He could not prevent the Emperor's duel with Horus, nor could he save Sanguinius' life.
As that painful memory surfaced, the Primarch's breathing became heavy, and the Gauntlet of Power unconsciously tightened, digging deep into the mechanical control console; the adamantium-forged surface actually groaned under the strain.
The blue light from the holographic projection illuminated the Primarch's face.
However, on this face, as perfect as a classical hero's statue, with hard lines carved by ten thousand years of bloody war, a rare expression of fear and worry was reflected, but even more so, anger.
He was afraid.
But what he feared was not Chaos, nor the impending war.
What he feared was the tragedy of ten thousand years ago… playing out once again before him, and he was powerless to save it.
"Switch the main gun's energy supply to the communication array amplification!"
Guilliman broke free from his memories, but his emotions became somewhat agitated, no longer his usual calm, as if fearing that past history would repeat itself.
"It doesn't matter if the backup units burn out, at all costs… contact Dracolin for me!"
Finally, under the operation of thousands of Tech-Priests, a distorted holographic image, interfered with by bloody energy, painstakingly appeared. The image was violently shaking, with deafening explosions in the background. Vaguely visible were organized legions of Iron Men battling against daemons that blotted out the sky, while the figures of Dark Angels and Blood Angels seemed so insignificant in such a brutal war.
And what worried the Primarch most was that he saw the white-haired Lion!
Lion El'Jonson, the Lion, was wielding his power sword, clashing with the blood-red 'Red Angel', their swords and great axes colliding, kicking up swirling grit and fire, each impact like an exploding shell, blasting deep craters into the ground.
"Emrys!!!"
Guilliman's voice suddenly rose, his massive figure abruptly standing from his seat.
"Regent… we… quick!!!"
Emrys had no time to respond; he too was surrounded by daemons!
The holographic image suddenly distorted, the proportion of the bloody shadow increasing, clearly indicating that the Warp's influence made it difficult to maintain communication.
"Give me nine hours! I only need nine hours!"
Robert Guilliman's figure abruptly leaned forward, carrying an unshakable will, like a heavy hammer smashing into the Warp communication.
"Do you hear me?! Emrys, I don't care what method you use, hold on for nine hours!"
But this brief Warp image began to flicker wildly!
Emrys' figure became indistinct; he was shouting with his mouth wide open, seemingly trying to convey some message to him, but his voice was completely drowned out by the noise of Chaos, and more importantly… he seemed to see a cold warning glance from the white-haired Lion El'Jonson in the distance.
That gaze, like a sharp blade, pierced Guilliman's heart.
The Lion's gaze seemed to question him, why he had been nine hours late that time? You should have, you could have saved everything!
Karlgar saw with his own eyes that this Primarch, always as resolute as steel, at this moment seemed to slump.
"Nine… no, seven hours!"
"Seven hours will do, you only need to give me seven hours!"
"Hold on, you only need to hold on for seven hours… my fleet will cleave through the gloom of Chaos!"
Guilliman's bloodshot, deep blue pupils were filled with an indescribable madness.
He roared with all his might, filled with the regret of ten thousand years ago and unimaginable agony.
"In the name of Ultramar! In the name of the Emperor! In the name of the one hundred and twenty thousand souls of Calth! This time… I will not be late again! I will not let the Tragedy of Terra repeat!"
Initially, Emrys thought they still had time for detailed deployment, even enough to perfect the firepower layout of every trench and fortress before the Chaos Legions' main assault arrived.
But soon, he realized just how 'naive' his idea was.
Ample time?
Perfect formations, detailed deployments?
No!
That Chaos God, roaring with wrath and savagery, symbolizing war and slaughter, proved his resolve with the most direct action!
War, or rather, the apocalypse, descended abruptly upon this world in an extremely terrifying form!
The Warp's foul storm, sweeping with torrents of crimson lightning, like a raging monarch, roared and tore apart the skies of Draconys!
Twisted Nebulae, like festering scars, oozed sickening dark red light.
Khorne's banners, the cries of the Skull Lord, mixed with undisguised greed and surging malice, burst forth from the festering, oozing scars of the real universe!
"They're here!"
grandmaster Azrael of the Dark Angels gripped the "Sword of Secrets," his voice almost a hoarse roar of gaffe, breaking through the deafening din into the comms channel.
"Dark Angels—prepare to engage! For Lion! For the Emperor!"
The sky churned with sulfurous smoke and the exhaust of daemon engines; countless daemons, obscuring the sky, converged into a crimson torrent, like the Hammer Skulls of the Skull Lord, cleaving the heavens!
On the distant horizon, the Earth groaned and cracked, spewing forth lava-like crimson magma.
The veil and barrier between reality and the Warp seemed to become extremely fragile at this moment, and the wails of tearing echoed!
No probing, no formations.
Only destruction and war, these abstract concepts, materialized into a scarlet frenzy!
Countless world Eaters Berserkers, clad in power armor overgrown with twisted spikes and rotting flesh, their eyes burning with insatiable bloodlust, charged like a crimson steel torrent.
They were followed by an even larger, overwhelming tide of lower-tier daemons, Bloodletters, and Flesh Hounds, covering the mountains and plains like a red tsunami, roaring the praises of 'Blood for the Blood God, Skulls for the Skull Throne' as they launched their first assault towards their location!
Billions of chainaxes and bolters emitted a bloodthirsty hum, merging with the shouts to form a blasphemous hymn dedicated to the Skull Lord!
Holy sh—!
Only at this moment did Emrys finally truly experience what an apocalypse-level war truly meant!
This was by no means a 'feast' that could be satisfied by one or two legions, a million or two million people, or even hundreds of millions or billions of people.
Once the apocalypse began, then an end would become a luxury; no one could stop the killing until this bloodthirsty behemoth named 'Feast' was satisfied.
"Armored corps, load and fire!!!"
Emrys shouted the order hoarsely.
Now, he had no time to hesitate, no time to stop; he had to block Khorne's legion and buy time!
"Find a way to contact the Regent!" He turned to look at Ezekiel; now, only this Chief Librarian might be able to break through Draconys' Warp blockade and transmit their message outwards.
"I will."
Ezekiel nodded solemnly.
He immediately turned and called upon the Blood Angels psyker, who was also a Chief Librarian; together, they might have a chance to break through Draconys' Warp blockade.
As long as they could contact the space fleet, and then use the amplifying effect of the communication array, they would be able to contact the Indomitus Crusade fleet and the Regent.
"Cybertron Legion, attack!"
Artillery fire alone couldn't stop the Chaos Legions' advance. Emrys immediately ordered Optimus Prime and Megatron to lead the air and ground armies, respectively, to cooperate with the Dark Angels and Blood Angels in organizing an offensive.
Meanwhile, the Holy Terra Auxiliary Army on the front lines took on the role of solidifying the defense for the two Space Marine Chapters.
They were the first-line warriors, facing the terrifying, mountain-and-sea-filling daemon legions directly!
"For the Emperor! Hold the line!"
Commissar Lund was a member of the 117th Infantry Regiment of the Holy Terra Legion, but he could swear to that damned God that he had never seen so many "Heretics" in his life!
He really wanted to go back, grab that instructor from the Schola Progenium, punch him hard, and demand.
"You never said that a newly graduated commissar would be assigned to a war like this, and besides, this isn't like what's in the textbooks!"
But unfortunately, he probably wouldn't get the chance.
"Bite down on your dog tags!!!" Although Commissar Lund was also terrified, as a rookie commissar freshly assigned to the 117th Regiment, seeing such a horrifying scene inevitably made his legs turn to jelly.
But in the end, he gritted his teeth, mustered his courage, drew his bolter, and was the first to charge out of the trench.
Facing the Bloodletter with its ferocious fangs and corrosive saliva dripping from its teeth, he almost subconsciously integrated the skills learned at the academy into his body's instincts.
Bang!!!
The bolter spat out a searing fire, and a bolt round pierced the Bloodletter's skull, shattering that blasphemous head.
"I—I killed it?"
Just as Lund was still in shock, the next second—even more daemons, without any mercy, trampled over the bodies and remains of their comrades, surging onto the temporary trench they had constructed.
"fire! fire!"
Lund ducked, dodging an incoming crimson beam; cold sweat dripped from his face, but there was no time for fear, or rather… he didn't even have time to be afraid.
"Block the line for me! Not a single daemon must get through!!!"
The soldiers in the trench held their lasguns, weaving a dense net of fire in formation, evaporating the Flesh Hounds charging at the front into foul-smelling steam.
The main cannon of the super-heavy tank 'Emrys' roared furiously at the Chaos Legions; the white beam plowed a crimson fog directly through the charging ranks of Chaos daemons, instantly vaporizing the Berserkers in its path and leaving a deep, high-temperature trench in the ground.
However, no matter how many tanks or how much artillery fire, they couldn't stop the Chaos Legions' charge!
Soon, the Holy Terra Legion on the front lines encountered problems.
They were elite warriors selected from Worlds like Transformers, Resident Evil, alien, and The Wandering Earth, but compared to the Astra Militarum, they were ultimately inferior.
"Too many! Too many!"
"Officer! Our flank is collapsing!"
Screams of collapse came through the comms channel.
Lund looked back, only to see an ocean of cannon fodder, composed of mortal cultists and mutated daemon monsters, filling their trenches and minefields with their flesh and blood!
Lund despaired.
Could humanity truly win such a war?
"Cybertron Legion, attack!"
"The 117th, 118th, 131st, and 179th Regiments were all annihilated." The communications officer's heart constricted, and he swallowed, his pupils trembling.
He tried to report the battle situation to the rear command post in a steady tone.
However, the response he received was a very simple three words—Got it.
With just the first wave of impact, dozens of regiments of the Holy Terra Legion on various defensive lines were completely wiped out.
Those simple three words, however, contained the passing of tens of thousands of lives, and this was only within the first few minutes of the battle, or even just contact!
More infantry regiments were sent to the front lines.
Their orders were simple: hold the second line of defense at all costs, to buy time for the subsequent Transformers and Astartes.
Emrys also needed time.
He needed time to mobilize the Worlds in the rear to enter a full state of war, and at the same time, to allocate more troops, supplies, and awaken the dormant war fortress, 'Jinn'.
Just as the Holy Terra Legion's defenses were on the verge of collapse under the impact of the Daemon Engines, the Dark Angels and Blood Angels finally completed their flanking maneuver.
"For the Emperor! For Holy Terra!"
One black and one red, like two sharp knives, plunged deep into the Chaos legions, like lightning tearing through the battlefield, with irresistible power and precise tactical coordination, instantly ripping a gap in the surging tide of daemons, creating an opportunity for the Holy Terra Legion to breathe and regroup.
"Purge the heretics! Exterminate the evil daemons!"
The voice of Supreme grandmaster Azrael, amplified through the loudspeakers, resounded across the battlefield, like a powerful shot in the arm for desperate souls!
Terminators and Dreadnoughts marched side by side, taking heavy steps, picking their respective enemies on the battlefield—Chaos Dreadnoughts, Daemon Engines!
Buzz—rumble!!!
The assault cannons mounted on the arms of the ancient Dreadnought spewed fire furiously, creating a series of dazzling sparks on the brass behemoth.
The blasphemous heretics also shouted "Khorne," smashing their huge chainaxes into the crowd!
In an instant, flesh and blood flew everywhere!
And the Chaos Dreadnought, drenched in gore, seemed even more excited; its giant axe swept horizontally, forcing back the Terminators and Dreadnoughts who tried to stop its slaughter.
However, this was the Apocalypse.
The tide of Khorne was endless, and the meat grinder was still devouring lives and souls in great gulps!
The Warp rift, far from shrinking, grew larger, more terrifying, and more sinister, nourished by the slaughter!
More and larger Daemon Engines flew out of the rift; the sky was occupied by Khorne Daemon Princes and blasphemous fighter jets that blotted out the sun, dropping not bombs, but living, terrifying spores that released Flesh Hounds upon explosion.
The Holy Terra Legion's defensive line, under the endless crimson tide and layers of heavy pressure, gradually began to disintegrate and collapse.
Regiment after regiment was crushed by the organized Khorne Daemon legions, and the speed at which lives disappeared far exceeded Emrys' expectations.
A super-heavy tank could only survive a few minutes on the battlefield before being swarmed by a large number of lesser daemons, its heavy armor torn apart, and utterly destroyed!
Finally, Emrys completed his preparations.
He immediately summoned the giant war fortress 'Jinn', connecting the combat command system to every Transformer, Astartes, and Holy Terra Legion member, establishing a complete communication and combat command network.
The sudden appearance of the giant war fortress 'Jinn' on the horizon was a huge boost to their morale.
And soon, Ezekiel also brought good news: it was Guilliman; they had successfully broken through the Warp blockade, contacted the Indomitus Crusade fleet, and reported the situation here.
"Guilliman… you must make it this time!"
Emrys had already prayed silently in his heart, hoping that His Highness, the 'Regent,' would arrive in time.
He desperately hoped he wouldn't be late again, like during the Defense of the Imperial Palace on Terra, when he was nine hours late.
Why say that?
Because while the Ultramarines were strong, they had a flaw… they were always late.
The Ultramarines must be on time for once, right?
"Hey, wake up!"
Suddenly, a voice roused Lund.
He opened his eyes in confusion and saw a medical officer, who asked, "Judging by your epaulets, you're a commissar, right? Which regiment are you from?"
"Am I—still to live?"
Lund spoke hoarsely, but the intense pain made him cry out, and his missing memories returned to his mind.
Yes, his 117th Infantry Regiment lasted less than three minutes in the first engagement with the daemons before being completely annihilated!
He was both lucky and unlucky; an artillery shell blew him away, and he fell into a trench filled with bodies, miraculously surviving.
"Where is this?" Lund's voice was hoarse because his throat had been cut by shrapnel, he was missing an eye, and his spine was severely damaged.
"I am the commissar of the 117th Infantry Regiment. Is the 117th Regiment—still there?"
The medical officer was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
"I'm sorry, to my knowledge—almost all regiments within the 200 series have been killed in action. You are the only survivor—you are truly very lucky. An Astartes medic on the front line found you and rescued you."
…Lund clenched his fists, his teeth grinding.
Although he had only recently joined the 117th Regiment, those people had taken good care of him!
He even remembered the sight of his company commander leaping to cover him after he was blown away, and his comrades dying tragically under the daemons' iron hooves, reduced to pulp.
"Congratulations, you're a veteran now."
The medical officer said with emotion.
"To be honest, I don't have many people who need treatment. This is the first time I've seen such a brutal war—there are very few casualties, too few."
"Thank you."
Lund thanked him and asked, "How are things outside?"
"You're welcome." The medical officer sighed.
"I should be thanking you, for giving me something to do in this terrible place. I'll fit you with prosthetics. I can't guarantee they'll be better than the originals, but at least they'll let you stand up. If you wish, I can also apply for you to rest a bit longer. Believe me—it's worse out there than you can imagine!"
"No."
Suddenly, Lund's eyes gleamed.
"I don't need rest. Please restore my combat capability as quickly as possible. I want to join the battle!"
"You—aren't you afraid?"
The medical officer was stunned.
"After experiencing such a brutal battle, you actually want to go back?"
"Of course!"
Lund gritted his teeth, veins throbbing on his forehead.
"Of course I want to go back! How else can I slaughter all those damned daemons?!"
In a trance, the medical officer seemed to see a burning gold in the young commissar's eyes!
Biological modification surgery is not uncommon within the Imperium; many commissars of the Astra Militarum have android implants to ensure they can continue to serve the Emperor.
Normally, even with android implants, it takes a long time to adapt to achieve the original effect.
However, the method Lunde chose was the most brutal: forcibly installing prosthetics without deep anesthesia and simultaneously debugging them!
This method requires extremely strong willpower!
Otherwise, if one's spirit collapses midway, the recipient would be tortured to death or go mad from failing to adapt to the mechanical implants.
Despite the medical officer's many persuasions, Lunde insisted on using the second implantation plan.
The reason was simple: he wanted to return to the battlefield as soon as possible!
The entire implantation process went smoothly; a Tech-Priest and the medical officer jointly presided over the implantation of a brand-new android eye for Lunde, while also replacing his shattered spine with super-alloy.
Even the Tech-Priest marveled that this man was like an iron man, not uttering a sound throughout the entire process.
However, only Lunde himself knew the pain involved; he nearly fainted from the agony several times, but whenever this happened, the faces of the 117th Regiment's company commander and his brothers would appear in his mind!
Logically speaking, he had only recently graduated and joined the 117th Regiment, so he shouldn't have developed deep feelings for these people.
But Lunde couldn't close his eyes.
Whenever he closed his eyes, the tragic sight of his comrades being trampled into mud by daemons seemed to appear before him, and his ears were filled with the wails of his comrades and humanity!
The grinning, twisted, and blasphemous faces of Chaos daemons, and the hot sulfurous breath they exhaled, wrapped around his heart like a nightmare.
Only at this moment did Lunde finally understand.
The descriptions of daemons in the Schola Progenium textbooks were not exaggerated at all; if they lost the war, these terrifying beings would invade their homes.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on Lunde's forehead; he was suppressing the intense pain and discomfort after the mechanical implantation.
"Thank you, Medical officer."
He pulled out the IV drip, his voice extremely hoarse.
"Aren't you going to rest for a bit?" The medical officer was shocked; from the time of the android implantation until now, this young commissar had rested for less than three hours.
"No."
Lunde put on his blood-stained, damaged commissar uniform, adapting to his newly implanted android eye, his hoarse voice sounding like a sharp object scraping a smooth surface, extremely unpleasant.
"What I need now is not rest, but the blood of these scum!"
A photograph fluttered from his pocket.
The medical officer, quick-witted, caught the photo and saw a blonde girl on it, probably only seven or eight years old, very cute.
"Is this—your daughter?"
"She—"
Lunde's pupils trembled slightly, and he bit his lip tightly, then took the photo from the medical officer's hand.
"She is—Captain Fischer's daughter. Captain Fischer—always told us how cute his daughter was, and that after the war, he would take us to see her—."
If pain had a delay, then at this moment—Lunde's heart felt as if it had been stabbed by a sharp knife.
This was hundreds of times more painful than the android implantation, even making him feel suffocated.
"I'm sorry—"
The medical officer sighed and patted the young commissar's shoulder.
"War is like this, you have to get used to it—I once followed a High Councilor and participated in Vigilus Campaign. At that time, the Legions of Holy Terra were far from as strong as they are now. I only remember that many people died; the entire logistics and medical department was filled with dead people, and those who hadn't died yet."
"You participated in Vigilus Campaign?!" Lunde looked at him in shock. This was a campaign recorded in the Schola Progenium textbooks; he never expected to meet a living "Legend"!
In Vigilus Campaign, the Legions of Holy Terra suffered over fifty percent casualties. With the strength of just one world, they resisted Chaos and the Tyranids, truly making them Heroes!
"Yes—.."
The medical officer gave a bitter smile.
"But this time—I'm afraid it's hundreds of times harder than Vigilus. I've never seen—Legions, or even those demigods, wiped out in entire companies and regiments in a campaign, while the rear medical camps don't even have a single wounded soldier."
The empty medical camp could only prove one thing—the intensity of the front line was such that there were no wounded soldiers at all.
"Precisely because of this, we are needed!"
Lunde's eyes burned with fierce fighting spirit, and he gritted his teeth.
"If we don't stop these daemons outside of our world, they will trample and slaughter our world, just as they did here!"
"I should go."
Lunde took his bolter and chainsword, one by one, then strode out of the tent.
"Young man, tell me Your Name.
The medical officer looked at the young man, his heart inexplicably touched, and couldn't help but shout.
"At least—at least let me write down Your Name!"
Lunde stopped but did not turn back.
"Lunde Alvarez, assigned to the Legions of Holy Terra, Ninth Army, 18th Division, 117th Regiment Commissar!"
"Ninth Army, 18th Division, 117th Regiment Commissar, Lunde Alvarez, reporting to the Astra Militarum, requesting to return to the front line!"
Lunde found the command post.
However, the Astra Militarum at the command post looked at him and remained silent for a moment, then softly said with an indescribably tragic tone.
"There is no Ninth Army anymore—."
Lunde was struck by lightning.
"You, what did you say?!"
"The Ninth Army, two hours ago, was ordered to block the charging offensive of the Chaos forces head-on. It has been completely annihilated, with no survivors."
The eyes of the Astra Militarum personnel were bloodshot.
The Ninth Army was completely wiped out?!
This was only in a short three hours!
A full hundred thousand men, a Legion-sized Ninth Army, just like that—completely wiped out?!
Lunde stood stunned, his mouth agape, unable to speak, his heart feeling as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, the air gradually deprived, as if suffocating.
"If you want to go to the battlefield, you can go to the Eighth Army." The Astra Militarum personnel quickly composed himself and said.
"Your original position was a regimental commissar; I can assign you to the 113th Regiment. The only problem is—this regiment has a few minor issues, but believe me, this is one of the few regiments we currently have with a relatively large number of personnel and a relatively complete structure."
"Good, I'll go!"
Lunde chose to join the 113th Regiment without hesitation.
Of course, if he had known the situation of this 113th Regiment afterward, he would probably have slapped himself twice, wondering why he didn't go to other regiments.
"Well, there's one thing you need to be careful about."
The Astra Militarum personnel hesitated for a few seconds, then said.
"The people in this regiment have some issues."
"No problem!"
Lunde thumped his chest, a serious expression on his face.
"I am an excellent commissar who graduated from the Schola Progenium. No matter what kind of problematic regiment it is, once it's in my hands, I believe I have the ability to lead them to achieve glory for the Emperor!"
Well..—
Seeing his confidence, the Astra Militarum couldn't bear to discourage him and could only give a dry laugh.
"Then—good luck, Commissar Lunde!"
Bang!
The steel stamp fell.
Commissar Lunde Alvarez was officially transferred to the Eighth Army, 113th Regiment Commissar.