Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 47: May All the Emperor Sees Be Our Deeds!

WHOOSH—

The black sword swept upwards, catching the Inquisitor's rosette on its tip.

Almost everyone present thought this was a veteran's intolerance for cowardice.

VMMM—

The tip of the blade drew near, and the rosette was held steady, directly in Aglaia's line of sight.

"What is this?" a majestic voice tore through the gray twilight of her despair.

The cold light from above reflected off the matte black blade, making the golden rosette shine with brilliant light.

The Inquisitor stared, stunned. As her eyes fell upon the symbol, her turbulent, boiling mind felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over it, and in an instant, she was calm.

She spoke in a low voice. "...This is the duty the Emperor has given me."

"And what is thy duty?"

"...To act as the Throne's agent."

"And by what means shall thee act as the Throne's agent?"

The voice was like a low rumble of thunder, waking one from a nightmare.

'The Throne's agent. Yes, I am the Throne's agent.'

Aglaia looked at the golden rosette before her. It was the symbol of the authority the Emperor had granted His Inquisitors, but it was also a heavy burden of responsibility. And at this moment, it hung from the neck of a weakling. Hysterical, so consumed by fear that she had forgotten why she was even here.

"..."

She reached out and grasped the rosette, letting out a long breath. This symbol had not been given to her so that she could whine and waver in the face of difficulty. She was meant to solve the problem!

Arthur silently withdrew his sword and stood ramrod straight.

Karna, having procured a grape from somewhere, popped it into his mouth, his deed done and his name hidden.

"My apologies, Lord Romulus," Aglaia said. She had lost her composure completely.

Romulus shook his head slightly, signaling that it was of no consequence.

Rubbing her face, Aglaia composed herself, her expression hardening with a newfound resolve. "My Lords, in the name of the Inquisition, I command you to provide me with one vessel and an unlimited number of psykers. Afterward, you may decide for yourselves whether to stay or go."

She had regained her stern demeanor, her voice filled with an unprecedented firmness.

"And what will you do?" Romulus asked.

"As a member of the Ordo Originatus, I will go to Pierdra myself and record this sorrowful history. Should we require greater military strength, then, I believe you will need this intelligence."

Aglaia held her head high and met his gaze. Romulus saw in her eyes a profound sense of mission.

If you cannot prevent a disaster, then you must record it as a warning to those who come after. No matter what fog obscures history, you must trace it back to its source.

This was the mission the Emperor had given the Ordo Originatus.

Say what you will, these Inquisitors had a professional ethic. At least now that she'd recovered, she hadn't backed down.

Everyone present instinctively looked back at Romulus, waiting for his decision. A flawless command performance and an identity that many had secretly guessed at had made the warriors instinctively look to the transmigrators as their core.

"Is there any need for us to wait?" Romulus asked the group. "Or rather, if we send out a distress signal, can we acquire a force capable of turning the tide within three months?" Three months was the absolute maximum. Waiting around wasn't an option.

"Pierdra is classified as a remote sector in Imperial records, enjoying a high degree of autonomy," Arabella said diplomatically.

"Meaning help won't arrive?"

The silence from the others was a tacit agreement. Right, it seems everyone understands how efficient the Imperium is.

Romulus had thought he was already overestimating the High Lords, but in these remote sectors, were people just expected to use their own initiative when things went wrong? The others could see that this elder was not pleased with the current Imperium's efficiency. This made the Black Templars even more suspicious. After all, they were used to it. They had no expectations for the Administratum's efficiency, so they never even considered asking the Imperium for help when planning.

'What's the call?' Romulus asked in the transmigrator channel.

'You're the brain. You decide.'

'Then we go?'

'Let's do it.'

For the transmigrators, a crisis was both a challenge and an opportunity. They had planned to get involved in major events to level up anyway. If they wouldn't even dare to go to a remote sector with allies at their side, how could they talk about charging the Great Rift in the future?

The four of them had a brief discussion and made their decision.

"Then we go together," Romulus said simply.

"That is the Void Father's property. We cannot let it fall into the hands of Chaos," Tyberos added his support. As long as it was for the Emperor, the Carcharodons would fight anywhere.

"A Black Templars crusade never ends without victory," the Chaplain declared, speaking before his Marshal could.

In that same instant, the three Astartes Chapters reached a consensus. Then, they all looked at Cawl. The Archmagos, who had not said a word since the interrogation began, commanded a fleet that would, without a doubt, be the main force in any void battle.

"The Explorator fleet will proceed to the Pierdra Sector, but the Ark Mechanicus will not accompany you," Cawl stated. The moment his fleet had begun to move towards Pierdra, he had felt a great resistance, as if the Warp itself were trying to prevent him from reaching that planet. It seemed even the Dark Gods did not wish for him to complete his ten-thousand-year-long research. The secrets aboard this Ark were enough to change the future.

But—why give up just because of an obstacle? Chaos was trying so hard to stop him, and the Omnissiah was supporting him. Shouldn't that be even more reason to go?

Cawl looked at Romulus. His reasoning was simple. Whatever these mysterious veterans chose, that would be his answer. Because he believed this was the guidance of the Omnissiah. Cawl knew what the Omnissiah truly represented, and what the man who had given him this unprecedented mission ten thousand years ago was. That was why he was so certain this was the Omnissiah's guidance.

Having received the final answer, the united group once again turned their gaze to the holy warrior at their center. The Black Templar Chaplain's eyes burned with an unconcealed fire as he looked at the solemn champion.

No one feared death. No one would back down from a challenge against the great enemy of Chaos.

The transmigrators couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. They might often complain about the trash-heap that was the Imperium, but when it was time to fight, there was never a shortage of heroes willing to throw themselves into the breach.

And what could the transmigrators do? What should these ancient heroes, upon whom their descendants had placed infinite hope, do?

'It's your turn.' Karna glanced at Arthur. He was born for moments like this.

Arthur's posture was solemn as he stepped before the assembled warriors.

In the ancient past, warriors going to war would cross their blades to declare their intent. Strangely, though the civilizations of Old Earth were scattered, they all shared such a ritual.

And in this world, the first blade to be raised for war was likely lifted by the Emperor Himself.

His sword began to glow with a crystalline light. The champion held the hilt in a firm grip and raised it high.

Everyone finally saw the magnificent patterns and deep engravings that had been hidden beneath the dark coating. The faint golden traces in the metal made one want to seek out the meaning they held. Under the glow that touched the soul of every person there, though they could not understand the meaning of the words on the blade, their hearts instinctively called out for victory.

SHIIING—

Spontaneously, the warriors raised their own weapons.

CLANG—

The blades crossed, a bright light passing between them, a clear, ringing echo filling the hall.

"In the name of the Emperor's warriors, we shall know no fear."

"By our sacred loyalty we swear, we shall make a pact with victory."

"In the supreme glory of the Imperium—" the champion intoned the benediction.

"May all that Creation sees be our deeds!"

(End of Chapter)