"Doctor."
Dorn's gaze swept over Halsey and the more than a hundred young, yet impressively tall "kids" behind her, then shifted to the containers—now being transported by the mobile Terminators and Hunters to other zones—and he continued,
"Glad to see you again."
Halsey's face broke into a smile laden with unspoken meaning. "Likewise. I never imagined that you and your legion would grow even more imposing. And I must congratulate you as well," she said sincerely, with little teasing in her tone. "Word is that after the Empire consolidated the Star Wars universe, you're set to marry that elven royal—congratulations, congratulations."
At those words, a subtle, almost imperceptible pause crossed Dorn's features. His eyes held a tinge of complexity as if he were contemplating the deeper meaning behind Halsey's remark. However, he did not respond immediately. Instead, Arroi—seemingly accustomed to such encounters—stepped forward with her usual calm demeanor and a voice as steady and refined as ever:
"Arroi here thanks you for your kind wishes, Doctor."
Her gentle expression seemed intent on defusing the awkwardness in the air. Then her eyes turned to the group of youngsters, all averaging over two meters in height, and with a note of curiosity and expectation she inquired,
"Are they the product of your long-cultivated team of Spartans?"
At her question, Halsey's attention quickly shifted from Dorn's "wedding talk" to confidently introducing the young recruits. "Exactly—they are the first members of the Spartan program!" Halsey couldn't hide her pride. "After years of rigorous training and genetic modifications, they now possess combat abilities and adaptability far beyond the norm. Their physical prowess, reaction times, and tactical acumen have reached entirely new heights."
She paused, scanning every face in the room before continuing, "I'm confident they will play an irreplaceable role in upcoming missions. That's why, during the Empire's current unification war, I've decided to have these kids join the fray. It's not only to gather invaluable combat data for future mass production plans but also to help them acclimate more quickly to today's pace of warfare."
"Come on, John."
Halsey turned and raised her hand, calling a Spartan forward. As soon as she finished speaking, a buzz-cut teenager answered, striding steadily to her side. Though no more than fifteen or sixteen, John's demeanor and piercing gaze betrayed a maturity far beyond his years. His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, as if capable of seeing through everything, and his stance was like a drawn sword, ever ready for combat.
The moment Dorn laid eyes on John, he couldn't help but admire him internally. Despite having long heard rumors of the Spartan program, witnessing these enhanced warriors firsthand still left him somewhat "awed." Every move John made exuded strength and precision, as though his body were perfectly fused with combat instinct. With chiseled muscles and skin that even hinted at a metallic gleam—a result of high-intensity modifications—it was clear he was engineered for battle.
"Admittedly, just by their appearance and aura, these Spartans utterly outclass ordinary support troops," Dorn thought silently.
The existence of the Spartans was a complete subversion of the traditional notion of a "soldier." Their austere expressions and the confidence and authority in every gesture imposed an undeniable sense of dominance. Yet for Dorn, John's presence posed no real threat. As a battle-hardened veteran, he had grown used to facing formidable opponents, and although the young man carried an extraordinary aura, he still failed to disturb Dorn's inner calm.
John, for his part, remained silent and impassive, like an iceberg—his face showing no trace of emotion even in the presence of a veteran such as Dorn. Even when standing so close to a seasoned fighter, John did not display any signs of excitement, agitation, or fear; his gaze remained cool and steady. This remarkable composure only deepened Dorn's admiration for him.
He began to mentally calculate how best to integrate this hundred-strong Spartan unit—especially John—into the Empire's Fist.
Dorn knew full well that if he could harness such an elite force, it would become a formidable blade in the Empire's arsenal, ensuring his unchallenged dominance on future battlefields. This realization only increased his respect for the opposing side, and he started plotting how to permanently bring the Spartans—and John in particular—under the Empire's command.
Halsey, seemingly oblivious to Dorn's ulterior thoughts, continued to focus on John. Patting his right arm with a mixture of pride and maternal tenderness, she said,
"John is the commander of this Spartan unit, codename 117, and my finest 'creation.' Dorn, do not underestimate them—especially John."
Turning her gaze to Dorn with a note of pride, she added, "I can assure you that when the toughest tasks arise, you can entrust them entirely. Provided, of course, that their involvement doesn't disrupt the overall pace and success rate of the battle."
"Understood."
Dorn nodded slightly, clearly in agreement with Halsey's arrangement. After a brief pause, he surveyed the assembled Spartans before asking, "How long are they slated to operate alongside the Empire's Fist? And how much combat data will suffice for your needs?"
Without hesitation, Halsey replied in a matter-of-fact tone, "Until the unification war is over. In any case, be sure to push them to their limits—I need to know just how much potential they can unleash under the most extreme conditions."
Dorn nodded once more. There was a hint in his response that not only did he view this as a way to test the Spartans' boundaries, but also as a glimpse into the future of humanity. After all, the Spartan program also involved protocols for "permanently enhancing the physical fitness and mental resilience of all humankind."
Thus, the Spartan program was not merely about nurturing a batch of super soldiers—it was an exploration of the human limits under genetic modification and technological enhancement.
"Understood. I'll assign them the most arduous missions to ensure their abilities are thoroughly tested," Dorn replied.
With that, his attention shifted to another area. There, the final batch of containers—delivered via gravity well—were descending slowly, accompanied by the low, metallic clang of colliding metal.
"And I see from the shipping list that the equipment provided by your research division includes a set of Terminator armor?"
"Correct," Halsey answered succinctly, her tone noticeably less enthusiastic about the Spartans. While she methodically organized data on her handheld panel, she explained, "This Terminator armor is fitted with a short-range instantaneous teleportation device with a maximum range of 40,000 kilometers. After numerous tests by Grade D personnel, its precision is nearly flawless; however—" Halsey paused for emphasis and added, "I advise against attempting teleportation into areas with extremely complex terrain, as every technology has its limitations."
Short-range instantaneous teleportation? A maximum range of 40,000 kilometers??
At these key words, Dorn's eyes lit up. This was tactical-grade weaponry—a properly deployed asset could instantly turn the tide of battle. Yet, to Halsey, it seemed rather mundane.
Barely finishing her explanation, she and several research team members turned and walked briskly toward the gravity well's lift. Their hurried steps made it clear they had even more pressing matters to attend to. Over her shoulder, Halsey added, "For now, these kids will be your responsibility. I must return to the Halo Universe to get back to work."
Dorn watched Halsey and her entourage disappear until they were out of sight.
The equipment depot soon returned to its usual state, the only sounds being the low hum of machinery and occasional metallic clinks. Yet, as Dorn observed Halsey's receding figure, a trace of uncertainty flickered across most of the Spartans' faces. They followed her silhouette until it vanished into the lift, as if they had lost an essential pillar in their lives.
These young warriors had been taken from their families at an early age, subjected to the harshest training and modifications. Although their parents occasionally visited before holidays, most of the time Halsey had been both their mentor and emotional anchor—a mother figure of sorts.
Separated for so long from "normal" society and having their lives consumed by training, combat, tests, and missions, a few among them now revealed the fragile vulnerability and uncertainty of mere children, suddenly thrust into an immense and unfamiliar world.
Just as this subdued atmosphere began to spread, John stepped forward. With crisp, decisive movements and his ever-imperturbable expression, he seemed completely unfazed by Halsey's departure.
Advancing one step, he raised his hand in a crisp military salute to Dorn, his voice steady and commanding:
"Sir, Spartan 117 reporting for duty."
John's clear, refreshing tone immediately broke the heavy silence in the depot. The other Spartans snapped to attention, their eyes now fixed on John and Dorn, as if they had found a new purpose.
"Hmm," Dorn murmured, nodding in approval. Then he turned to his side, addressing Petro, "Bomir, I'm assigning the Spartans to your command. Get them settled into their bunks and brief them on the operational areas and procedures for wartime."
"Yes, sir."
Immediately, Bomir responded before turning to address the entire unit. His gaze swept over each young face as he spoke in a tone blending warmth with authority, "Follow me, everyone."
"Yes, sir."
The Spartans responded in unison, as if their disciplined training had been instantly reactivated. They swiftly organized their backpacks and personal gear with the efficiency honed through years of training. Leading the way, Petro marched ahead, guiding the young warriors toward the living quarters of the Eternal Crusader, their footsteps echoing rhythmically on the metal floor. Their shadows stretched long under the corridor's lighting, appearing both resolute and determined.
Soon after, Dorn and Arroi walked side by side, trailed by several Templar knights clad in black and gold armor. The crisp sounds of their metallic boots clashing with the floor resonated through the empty corridor, while Dorn's own armor shimmered under the lights, the emblem of the Empire's Fist on his shoulder plate standing out prominently.
They made their way toward the train platform, where crew members and soldiers paused their tasks to salute Dorn. He acknowledged them with a slight nod, without slowing his pace. Meanwhile, Dorn issued orders via his armor to the bridge, directing the Eternal Crusader to rejoin the fleet formation and proceed through the spatial gate toward Yaven IV in the Star Wars universe.
For this mission, he only brought his direct command—amounting to roughly three company-sized units, a configuration robust enough to handle most contingencies without drawing undue attention. The remaining companies were left in their respective sectors and universes, continuing their routine patrol and defense operations.
Dorn was fully aware that until he received direct orders from his father—the Emperor—he had no intention of letting the Empire's Fist compete with other legions, particularly the two newly established ones, the Whisperers and the Midnight Lords, for glory or accolades. While honor and glory were crucial for legions and Astartes soldiers alike, Dorn placed greater importance on overall strategic planning and the long-term interests of the Empire. He was determined not to upset the balance among the legions with petty rivalries, nor to provoke unnecessary conflicts. Allowing the two new legions to flourish might even help draw them closer to the Empire's Fist.
Moreover, Dorn did not wish to upstage anyone. After all, the unification war was primarily being led by the Scarred, and there was also the eccentric Petrab, who was commanding the Steel Warriors in reinforcement. In Dorn's view, true honor did not stem from outshining others but from unwavering loyalty and dedication to the Empire and the Emperor.
Once everyone was aboard the designated train and the doors closed, Dorn gazed out the window at the maglev track and fell into a brief silence.
"Dorn, are you hoping to leave those kids behind?"
Suddenly, Arroi's inquiry broke his reverie and she continued with a suggestion: "After all…"
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Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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