While the human forces fought bloodily on the planet's surface, new developments were occurring in orbit above the Plantium system.
It wasn't a major event, but at a Mandeville Point far from the main battle, the void rippled, and several ships bearing the insignia of the Imperial Navy, yet of a more archaic and solemn design, slowly emerged from the Warp.
They did not join the battle fleet but immediately sent a communication request, being completely transparent about their origins and purpose.
They were officially dispatched Imperial Commissars from Holy Terra, sent by order of the High Lords of Terra to assist a newly rising Astra Militarum unit called the "Helldivers."
The stated reason was to "strengthen faith and discipline, ensuring these loyal warriors fight valiantly under the light of the Emperor."
The communication request was forwarded to Marneus Calgar's command chair. Looking at the stern faces on the screen, even the Chapter Master of the Ultramarines couldn't help but feel a subtle irritation.
It wasn't just him; even a man of the Imperial Fists would understand the High Lords' intentions with a moment's thought. Although he, the Lord of Macragge, had made numerous overtures expressing the Ultramarines' loyalty to the Imperium, the High Lords clearly could not simply do nothing, or they wouldn't be High Lords.
The current situation was that the Helldivers, a "mortal" force, were fighting side-by-side with the Ultramarines, their relationship growing ever closer. Once this war ended, the Helldivers would undoubtedly become the Ultramarines' most staunch allies.
How could the High Lords tolerate a new mortal armed force becoming so intimately connected with a Space Marine Chapter that essentially possessed its own private Imperium?
This move was clearly intended to dillute control and irritate the Ultramarines.
Why else would they arrive now, when the conflict was at its peak and the two forces were coordinating seamlessly, and not just one, but several shiploads of Commissars?
Of course, given the nature of Warp travel, the possibility that it was all just a coincidence was not insignificant.
In any case, the Ultramarines could not obstruct these Commissars. Their documentation was complete, their orders came from Terra, and the procedure was entirely compliant.
If the Ultramarines dared to stop them, the nature of the act would change, effectively confirming suspicions that they were building their own power base and harboring rebellious intentions.
The Ultramarines certainly had many ways to delay them. For instance, they could enthusiastically offer a "welcome dinner," then use excuses like "cross-referencing documentation" or "consulting relevant departments" to stretch the process indefinitely.
If all else failed, they could cite "the urgency of the current planetary war, and the inability to land temporarily for everyone's safety," leaving them stranded in orbit. A full combo of maneuvers could easily stall things for two or three years.
However, Calgar did not take this route.
They had no rebellious intent, and the Chapter Master had never sought to fully control the Helldivers.
This unique force was an asset to the Imperium; as long as they obeyed orders and fought cooperatively, that was enough.
After confirming all documents were authentic and valid, the Ultramarines quickly granted them clearance.
And at this moment, the newly graduated Commissars, filled with excitement, joy, and anticipation, dreaming of achieving great feats and building their careers in an elite unit, had no idea what they were about to face…
Commissar Frederick gripped his commission firmly in one hand and rested his other on the bolt pistol holstered at his hip. Looking at the scene before him, he couldn't help but wonder: had he come to the wrong place?
The shuttle dropped him at a temporary rear-line camp of the Helldivers.
According to his instructions, he was to meet with the unit's commanding officer here first. But the sight before him was drastically different from the elite force he had imagined, one capable of fighting alongside Space Marines.
For one thing, the sentry at the camp gate was actually dozing off, his head bobbing as he leaned against the metal frame of the sentry post! His carapace armor was brand new, but his slack posture was an insult to the uniform!
This was far too lax, no matter how you looked at it! What if the enemy crept up on them?!
Frederick frowned, walking with a measured stride toward the sentry. He extended his gloved hand and knocked on the metal bar of the post.
"Clang, clang."
The sentry jolted, reluctantly opening his sleep-filled eyes. He looked Frederick up and down, taking in the brand-new, sharp black uniform, and mumbled in a less-than-friendly tone, "Who're you?"
Frederick suppressed his anger and simply handed the commission to him: "See for yourself."
Frederick fully expected to see the Helldiver's expression change in sequence: from suspicion, to disbelief, and finally to fear and reverence.
This was the normal response. The stereotype of the cold and ruthless Commissar had spread throughout the galaxy, and it was likely intentionally cultivated by Frederick's predecessors—it helped establish authority immediately upon joining an unfamiliar unit.
With this stereotype established, the timely display of concern for the men's welfare could then more smoothly earn the trust of the rank and file.
Dispensing both severity and kindness, the carrot and the stick, a beating followed by a sweet reward, feeding them both filth and honey simultaneously… this was the art of command taught at the Schola Progenium, and Frederick held firm faith in it.
The sentry first rubbed his eyes, appearing disbelieving at the word "Commissar" on the commission—up to this point, it aligned with Frederick's expectations.
But then, his eyes shot wide open, and the expression on his face was one of ecstatic joy.
This greatly surprised Frederick. Could it be… that the Helldivers genuinely welcomed the arrival of a Commissar?
Simply put, under "normal circumstances," they absolutely would not, but this time, Frederick had encountered a "special circumstance."
The sentry did a nimble kip-up, flipping out of the post. Before Frederick could react, he turned and bolted into the camp, yelling at the top of his lungs: "Commander! The Quest NPC is here!"
Although he didn't fully understand the phrase, Frederick guessed this was the way to notify their commanding officer of his arrival, so he stayed put, straightened his collar, and prepared for the upcoming meeting.
A little later, Frederick saw a large, bustling crowd emerge from the camp. Thankfully, most of them wore the Helldivers' full-coverage helmets, so Frederick couldn't see the curious glint in their eyes; otherwise, he would have felt very uncomfortable, like a monkey being gawked at in a zoo.
Frederick inwardly guessed that the Helldivers' Commander was trying to intimidate him with sheer numbers.
But… he was overthinking it. These players had simply heard a new NPC had arrived and were purely there to watch the show.
The man leading the group stepped forward, took the commission, checked it against the portrait, then carefully put it away.
He cupped his hands in a theatrical gesture and spoke to Frederick in a very casual tone: "You must be Commissar Frederick, correct? I've heard much about you, sir. I am Gordon Freeman."
Frederick understood this was likely some sort of ceremonial greeting, so he politely replied, "Commander Freeman, it's a pleasure to—"
Before he could finish, he was cut off by a Helldiver standing nearby: "Son of a bitch, do you have no shame? Freeman? Are you worthy? Hah—ptooey!"
That Helldiver then immediately turned to Frederick and spoke at a rapid-fire pace: "Commissar Frederick, don't listen to his nonsense. Our Commander has been delusional for a while. I'm the Deputy Commander, and if you need anything in the future, just ask me. Don't be a stranger, just call me by my name, Yujiro Hanma."