This Is Our Warhammer Journey

"......"

Everyone exchanged glances, their expressions grave.

They’d come 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.

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 compartments with the Astra Militarum troops.

A Commissar—this role served as the morale backbone of every regiment, but also as the Departmento Munitorum’s ever-watchful eye.

Every operation by the Astra Militarum would ultimately be reported in detail by the Commissar to the Departmento Munitorum, whose decision-making relied on it. The quality of that report often decided the future of the regiment.

“...Just hope the Departmento won’t press charges this time 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 document 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 flame.

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 some Administratum officer’s face while fighting for better supplies for his regiment. But now...

The Commissar looked away from the flame.

A grating hum gnawed at his cerebral cortex, and the sizzle of the wax in the promethium flame 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 augmetics—looked dazed. The Commissar let out a long breath, as though finally able to let go of something, then signed his name on the envelope.

Alex Kane.

He spread the remaining wax across his name, stood up with the letter in hand—clearly having made some 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, me, 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 Departmento 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 Departmento 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 time. From Armageddon, to Cadia, to the Maelstrom, to Watch Fortress—you always say the same thing. Always leave me behind.”

It was hard to believe this was the same Commissar known for his stone-cold demeanor.

“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 treatment 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 some ordinary family, the Colonel looked a little lost.

“I grew up hearing stories about you. My father served in the regiment 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 same expression as if to say, figures. Like he’d had this conversation far too many times before.

“......”

Kovek didn’t answer. He just stared at him stubbornly.

“Fine. Fine! I promise you—this is the last time.”

In the choice between dying alongside the soldiers and helping put their affairs in order, Alex, after a brief moment 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?