Crackle~ Crackle~
As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but blood and flames. Above the heavens loomed steel behemoths that blotted out the sky, and from their bellies bloomed splendid flowers of death that never ceased for even a moment.
Military boots stepped across scorched earth. The air reeked of metal and charred flesh.
Creak~
A reinforced concrete load-bearing pillar dragged out a long groan before snapping at its center. Unable to withstand the pressure above, it collapsed along with the surrounding buildings, kicking up a cloud of dust amid the hoarse shouts of his fellow townsman and comrade—"Danger! Scatter!"
Within the shattered ruins, pairs of eyes flickered with deep-seated hatred.
He knew... he was already an invader. The butcher who had destroyed their homes and slaughtered their families.
But, I had no choice.
Half-crouching, his iron-gray long military coat nearly brushing the ground, his gloved hands pulled back the bolt. He raised the weapon and aimed the muzzle of the 18C—35 Short-pattern laser rifle at the breach.
The helmet-mounted thermal imager scanned every inch of the building.
This was a battlefield. Even though his side currently held the upper hand, in the age of firearms, even a single cold shot from a child could make him pay dearly.
When the scanner swept across a patch of grass at the southeast corner of the building, the thermal imager finally reacted.
He saw a figure smeared with the mud of underground pipes darting past the wall.
Pew! Pew!
Two controlled shots in quick succession—first targeting the larger torso to halt the enemy, then in the instant they slowed from injury, a shot to the head if possible. If not, another round to the torso.
This time, luck favored him. At the moment the man fell backward, the shot struck the enemy's skull.
"Three o'clock. One down. High probability of additional hostiles." He reported to his squad.
"Same position. Fragmentation rifle grenades. Two rounds." The Servitor Army officer crouched behind a nearby wall issued the order.
Thoom! Thoom!
Boom! Boom!
Amid the steam-like detonations, the clatter of shrapnel was mixed with screams.
Forming into an indoor CQB tactical stack with his teammates, they advanced, stepping over bodies like broken sacks. He kicked open the rotten wooden door covering the entrance—
And what greeted his eyes was a mass of blood and mangled flesh...
The next instant—
"Ah—!"
Bang!
"Ow—tss... that hurts, that hurts..."
Rubbing his forehead, the man bent over as he sat up from the lower bunk of a field cot. Looking up, he saw the same familiar iron-gray metal ceiling.
A quick glance around revealed gray-green everywhere. Narrow field cots lined the cramped dormitory, twelve in total. He was still covered with a blanket marked with the number "11." Gently lifting a corner, he exposed the gray-green T-shirt he wore beneath.
"Hikigaya, had a nightmare? Pathetic."
"Fuck off..." He stood up and muttered with a quiet grin toward his bunkmate above. "Go back to sleep, you lazy bastard. I'm heading home soon. I miss my little sister. Get it?"
"Tch. Like you're the only one with a sister. I'm not jealous at all..." The bunkmate pulled the blanket over his head, making exaggerated sniffling sounds.
"You're disgusting."
Grumbling, the man named Hikigaya looked at the other comrades in the twelve-man barracks, all sleeping like the dead, and allowed himself a faint smile.
Who would've thought a shut-in loner like me would actually join the army—and crawl through hell on the battlefield and survive? Life really is unpredictable.
Being alive... is good.
Click~
He gently pushed open the dormitory door, walked down the long corridor of their section, and entered the washroom. Lowering his head, he splashed cold water over his face.
Staring into the mirror as droplets slid downward, the man was rather handsome. Coupled with the sturdy physique forged through military life, he exuded a certain masculine vigor.
Only those dead-fish eyes of his—like something rotten—were a major point deduction. Though in the army, those same lifeless eyes actually added quite a bit of intimidation.
Letting out a long breath, he picked up the towel soaked in cold water, wiping his face as he walked out of the washroom.
Passing a circular porthole, the ship suddenly trembled. Outside, the unchanging violet-red trans-spatial webway began to fade.
He knew.
The journey had reached its end.
His homeworld.
The Astartes Eighteenth Legion—Salamanders—Conquered World—No.11.
World classification: Tourist World.
It was one of the most renowned vacation worlds in the entire Holy Selene Empire.
Within the Imperial government, many bureaucrats chose the Salamanders Legion's Conquered World—No.11 as their holiday destination.
At the same time, Imperial butchers seeking fine cuisine and harmonious natural scenery—including but not limited to Astartes Legions, Imperial Auxilia, and senior Servitor Army officers—also selected this world as a place for themselves and their families to relax.
Among the Four Conscience Factions of the Astartes Legions, the Eighteenth Legion Salamanders were famed for their compassion toward ordinary humans, their masterful forging techniques, and their massive Titan Legions.
Their Legion Commander, the Lord of Drakes—Vulkan—beneath his taciturn and grim countenance, was universally acknowledged as a gentle giant.
As for the other three Conscience Factions—
The First Legion Dark Angels displayed their humanity primarily toward the Imperial Auxilia and those Servitor Army regiments deemed valuable, along with their homeworlds.
The Ninth Legion Blood Angels were too noble and too beautiful. To ordinary humans, they carried an almost unreachable sense of distance.
The Thirteenth Legion Ultramarines excelled at governance. They could always find a use for every mortal, turning each into a screw fitted neatly into the vast machine called the Empire. Their administrative efficiency was astonishingly high—but accordingly, they loved to speak in official jargon.
The more he learned, the more Hikigaya Hachiman felt fortunate.
To think I ended up under the banner of the Lord of Drakes.
If I had served under the Executioners or the Night Lords... I probably would have died long ago on some brutal battlefield.
Thanks to star gate transit at the spaceport, in less than a month the Servitor Army soldiers of the Salamanders Legion's Conquered World—No.11 had returned from the Great Crusade frontlines of the Eighteenth Legion to their homeworld.
Because No.11 was a tourist world, its Servitor Army regiment was considered one of the weaker formations across the entire Imperial domain.
It could be said that a single regiment from certain powerful Servitor Army formations was larger than their entire legion.
However, thanks to the Eighteenth Legion's superb forging craftsmanship and mindset, even the equipment issued to the Servitor Army was far from inferior.
Beep!
"Attention all departments. The star gate spaceport has been reached. Conquered World—No.11 Tourist World has been reached. Please observe traffic regulations and enter in orderly fashion. Violators will bear the consequences..."
Following the guidance signals from the spaceport command platform, these military transport ships—modest in tonnage by Imperial Navy standards—flew along one of the many deep channels carved into the surface of the artificial honeycomb-like starport.
From a distance in space, these deep channels looked insignificant. Only upon approaching did one realize that even the smallest passage exceeded five kilometers in diameter.
"We're back... It's changed a lot."
"But... aren't there a few too many Astartes angels here? The defensive forces look several times stronger than last time. Did something happen?"
...
After entering the industrial age, humanity increasingly advocated science and rationality, denying the existence of religion and gods. Nonbelievers and atheists grew ever more numerous.
But on that day, humanity finally remembered the fear of being dominated by divine power.
My name is Hikigaya Hachiman.
I clearly remember that day—March 18, 2011. It was bright with spring sunlight, the day I officially graduated from middle school and stepped into high school.
For some reason—maybe my brain short-circuited or something—I nearly got hit by a car while trying to save a dog.
And why do I say nearly?
Because on that day, an angel descended by my side.
He would never forget that moment. Holding the dachshund in his arms, watching the Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornament on the Rolls-Royce grow larger and larger in his vision—then came a thunderous crash.
When he turned his head, his entire body was already enveloped in a massive shadow.
Under the brute strength of a giant, the car stopped barely ten centimeters from his nose—unable to advance even a fraction further.
The giant who blocked out the sunlight cast a shadow like a dark cloud, completely engulfing the boy. Within that shadow, the luminous yellow lenses of his visor gleamed like gemstones.
"Oh? Let me see here—a brave young man with a compassionate heart!"
The giant clad in green armor released the enormous power hammer in his hand, letting it crash into the dust. Then he stepped forward slowly, his voice like an iron tower, like rolling thunder.
The overwhelming sense of oppression made those who had never seen such a towering being tremble.
Soon after, as more violet light flickered around them, more green-armored giants appeared one after another. The one who had saved him left just as swiftly.
Later, I learned that the purple rings of light were the effect of trans-spatial tactical teleportation—and that they were Astartes angels, the Angels of Death of the Imperial Empress Selene.
Their movements were swift as lightning. To ordinary people, they were nothing more than fleeting green blurs—impossible to see clearly.
Only he remained, clutching the dachshund, along with the dog's owner and the wealthy sisters who had stepped out of the Rolls-Royce, all standing there in stunned silence.
After that—when steel behemoths blotted out the sky, when drop pods, destroyers, and assault craft fell like meteors from orbit—what school? To hell with school.
Where you came from, go back there.
After tossing the dachshund back to its owner, I ran like mad, shouting my sister Komachi's name at the top of my lungs. Back then, truly, my only thought was that even if I died, I would die together with my sister and my family.
Now that I think about it... tsk—ahhhhhh! So embarrassing! Running through the streets crying out my little sister's name at the top of my lungs.
In the end, after spending a tense day with my family inside a Chiba earthquake shelter, we received the news.
Japan had changed its flag peacefully.
The sky above us had changed.
Two days later, the entire world welcomed its new ruler.
All previous meanings of the planet were erased. In their place stood the Astartes Eighteenth Legion Salamanders—Conquered World—No.11.
World classification: Tourist World.
Within the Japanese archipelago, the cabinet stepped down, the emperor was abolished, and even the name "Japan" was wiped away entirely—of course, the same fate met other countries as well.
People of District 11 on World No.11—that became our new designation.
Four "1"s. Embracing the spirit of self-comfort, it didn't sound too bad.
Of course, there were those who resisted fiercely...
But their outcomes required no elaboration. Collective punishment. Extermination of three generations.
And that, it was said, was already the result of the Salamanders' angels arguing vehemently on our behalf. Otherwise, the bloody butchers of the Inquisition had wanted to escalate the purges further—nothing less than extermination of nine generations would have satisfied them.
"Hey! Hikigaya, what are you thinking about? Missing your sister again? Hey, buddy, we're almost there. What's the rush? Get your gear sorted—preparing to dock. If you don't want that damn bear chewing you out, move it!"
Sigh. In their company, Hikigaya Hachiman's reputation as a sister-obsessed freak was already well known.
Covering his face, Hikigaya gritted his teeth. "That loudmouth Zaimokuza..."
Under the docking announcement, the barracks compartment in Hikigaya's ship section suddenly came alive. A large group of men in gray-green T-shirts rushed out in a flurry.
They varied in age—from freshly adult youths to veterans in their thirties and forties. Some looked green, others weathered. But without exception, they were solidly built. Some bore skin crisscrossed with scars.
It was obvious—everyone was excited.
After all, returning alive instead of as ashes in a coffin was already a blessing. And soon, their accumulated merits would be converted into tangible rewards—benefiting both themselves and their families. How could they not long to return home?
"No rush, no rush. I'm already done." Clearing his throat, Hikigaya turned around, spread his hands, raised an eyebrow, and spoke in an annoyingly smug tone.
"Tch." A blond, blue-eyed Germanic white man spat disdainfully and flashed an internationally recognized gesture.
Just then, from the corner of the corridor—
"Holy shit, move it! The bear's coming!"
The next moment—
"You've got three minutes! Move it!"
With a roar like a lion, a tall, broad-shouldered middle-aged officer strode into the corridor, a riding crop swinging in his hand. His uniform was stretched tight over bulging muscles.
Around thirty-five years old. Long face. Short brown hair. Gray eyes. A neatly trimmed beard.
"Inside the spaceport are merchants from various Legions, delegates from different worlds, and even trade magnates and high officials from the Imperial Capital itself. You little brats, listen up! At the triumph ceremony, I don't want a single one of you embarrassing our regiment. Understood?!"
"Understood—!!!"
...
Salamanders Conquered World—No.11. Star Gate Spaceport.
Led by an attendant, Selene—dressed in a white fur coat ensemble made from high-grade pelts—held Arisa's hand. Both were dressed casually, blending in like ordinary tourists as they entered a lavish reception hall.
At the center of the hall was a garden encircled by beautiful flowers and plants, where a crowd of several hundred people had gathered—men and women of varying appearances. At a glance, at least one-fifth of them only roughly resembled humans.
Some had pointed ears. Others bore beast ears and tails.
No need to guess—they were the attendants and slave servants of the tourists.
"Milady, please wait a moment. In approximately three minutes, the direct near-orbit elevator to District 11 will arrive."
"Mm. Thank you." Selene accepted a glass of champagne from the server's tray and inclined her head slightly.
"I want some too—" Bonk!
Pressing down on Arisa's head, Selene took a small sip of champagne and said calmly, "What are you drinking alcohol for? You're a child." Then she glanced at the attendant. "Bring her a bottle of yogurt."
"Yes, Milady."
Walking to the reception hall's floor-to-ceiling window, Selene gazed out through the spotless glass.
From within the station, one could see the vast, thriving metropolis sprawled a thousand kilometers below—governed by the Salamanders, vibrant and full of life.
"Vulkan... I would call him Roboute the Second."
Drawing her gaze closer, Selene caught sight of an Imperial Navy warship entering port.