Leticia walked towards the pitch-black entrance of the mine.
She did not give any orders, nor did she even look back.
But the battlefield behind her came to life instantly because of this one simple action.
The Astra Militarum Soldiers, who had just been pulled back from the brink of death, their souls and bodies reshaped by miracles, moved immediately, almost out of a beast-like instinct.
They picked up their weapons, no longer to execute the cold imperial codex, but to protect the only, true Hope before their eyes.
The formation quickly reorganized in silence.
The most elite veterans automatically took the lead, forming a sharp spearhead. The flanks were occupied by experienced marksmen, who held their lasguns, vigilantly scanning for any threats that might exist on either side of the mine tunnel.
A temporary, yet fervently faithful guard unit formed in just over ten seconds. They followed closely in Leticia's footsteps, each step taken firmly and heavily, as if participating in a sacred procession.
Fogremia's tall, slender silhouette remained exactly one step behind Leticia to the left. Her pale purple silk dress remained spotless in the filthy air of the mining area. She held the hilt of her sword, her purple pupils devoid of any relaxation, like the most loyal, proud, and deadly guardian knight, ready to cut through all thorns for her goddess at any moment.
Terrania's small hand was tightly clutching the corner of Leticia's black robe.
Her pale little face was slightly upturned, and her bright golden eyes were filled with fear and disgust at the ominous aura deep within the mine tunnel. It was a rejection originating from the deepest part of her soul, as if something was defiling her purest perception. Only by clinging tightly to Leticia could she feel a sliver of insignificant safety.
And so, everyone moved.
The goddess, the knight, the Emperor, and the fanatical Mortal Legion.
They formed a torrent, rushing without hesitation toward the entrance of the abyss that exuded an aura of Decay and blasphemy.
Only one person was left behind.
Valerius.
He knelt there, like a forgotten, cracked statue.
Behind him was the battlefield of corpses and blood that had just ended.
In front of him was the army that was moving away from him, led by a heretic, and which should have been under his command.
He had been abandoned.
Abandoned by his former subordinates, by the duty he had defended with his life, and it seemed, abandoned by this rapidly changing world, left behind completely.
Is he to return to the surface, contact the sector headquarters, and report everything that happened here?
Or... follow them in?
His brain, that once cold and precise machine armed with the codex, was operating at high speed with unprecedented chaos, almost melting down due to overload.
Duty...
A voice screamed in his mind.
Imperial Infantry Tactics Manual, Volume 3, Chapter 7, Article 12: Any Political Commissar who encounters an unauthorized powerful Psyker entity, their primary duty is to assess its threat level, immediately report to the highest military command, and await the intervention of the Inquisition or the Astartes chapter!
This was the iron rule he had branded into his marrow over forty years of life.
He should leave immediately, compile everything that happened here, the existence of that woman, into a highest-priority encrypted report, and send it to the Inquisition fortress far away in the sector capital.
This was the only correct choice that complied with imperial law.
But... report what?
Another voice, a voice he felt strange to himself, asked back deep in his soul.
Report a mysterious woman who appeared out of thin air and blocked an entire platoon's volley with a flick of her finger?
Report her companion, who slaughtered hundreds of armed Cultists with a sword in the time of a single breath?
Report that she showered a rain of light, bringing the dead back to life, regrowing severed limbs, and purifying the entire land polluted by Chaos?
Valerius could imagine the result after that report was submitted.
In the best case, he would be treated as a lunatic who had lost his mind on the battlefield, stripped of all duties, and sent to a sanitarium to spend the rest of his life.
In the worst case, he would be treated as a sympathizer of heretics, or even a corrupted traitor, and in the dungeons of the Inquisition, some hooded Inquisitor would pry open his brain with various instruments to verify the purity of his soul.
Either way, he would lose all meaning as a Political Commissar.
He would become a joke.
No.
He could not accept that.
His fingers uncontrollably touched his own back.
The wound there, once cut open by a Cultist's claws, deep enough to see the bone, was now as smooth as new, without even a trace of a scar left. That warm, life-filled sensation seemed to still linger on his nerve endings.
That was not Chaos.
He used his last bit of reason to repeat this conclusion to himself.
He had seen the power of Chaos. He had personally executed those corrupted by Chaos. That power was full of distortion, madness, blasphemy, and pain.
And her power...
In Valerius's mind, the faces of the soldiers, mixed with tears and ecstasy after being healed, involuntarily emerged.
That was a kind of... Hope.
A kind of Hope so pure that it made him, a man whose heart had long been dead, feel his soul tremble.
What if... what if she was sent by the Emperor...
This thought, like the most dangerous heretical idea, was ruthlessly extinguished by him the moment it appeared.
Absurd! The Emperor sits upon the Golden Throne, and His will is proclaimed to the world through the Ecclesiarchy and the codex! He would never appear in such... such an incomprehensible way!
His heart was in a fierce battle.
Duty and Truth, like two violent beasts, were tearing at each other in his soul, almost tearing him in half.
Time ticked away, second by second.
The team ahead had reached the edge of the mine tunnel and was about to be swallowed by the darkness.
He had to make a choice.
Just then, a glimmer of light suddenly flashed in Valerius's gray eyes.
It was not hesitation, nor surrender.
But a kind of... cold, clear-headedness belonging to a Political Commissar, having found a logical closed loop.
He had found a perfect, impeccable reason for himself that complied with the imperial codex.
Imperial Administration Regulations, Appendix, Article 3: When encountering a Psyker entity or xenos unit that cannot be immediately purged and possesses a high potential threat, provided that one does not expose oneself, a Political Commissar has the right to conduct continuous surveillance and intelligence gathering until the threat is adjudicated or purged.
He slowly recited this regulation, which almost no one would notice, in his heart.
That's right... I am not following a heretic.
He told himself, his voice not loud, but resolute.
I am fulfilling my supreme duty as an Imperial Commissar.
The power displayed by this Psyker, codenamed Black-Haired Lady, has far exceeded any known Psyker level. She is extremely dangerous, her purpose is unknown, and her methods are strange. Her mental control over imperial soldiers has even reached the A-level threat standard.
I, Valerius, Political Commissar of the Griffin IV garrison, must stay by her side, use my own eyes to record her every word and action, to analyze the essence of her power, and to find out her ultimate goal.
My records will become the most critical and irrefutable evidence when the Inquisition makes its final judgment on her in the future.
I will become the eyes of the Empire, lurking beside the most dangerous heretic. This is my mission, and it is my glory.
This reason was so perfect.
It turned him from a failure whose faith had collapsed after being shocked by miracles back into that solitary, high-minded... loyal servant of the Empire, shouldering a sacred mission, lurking in the darkness.
His spine, which was about to collapse, straightened again.
Valerius slowly stood up.
He put away his bolter pistol, which was still smoking, and inserted it firmly into its holster.
He reached out and meticulously straightened the blood-stained peaked cap on his head.
He straightened his tattered black uniform and brushed the dust off his shoulders.
His face regained that cold, resolute, emotionless expression, like a steel mask.
As if all the previous wavering and struggling had never happened.
Then, he took a big step.
He caught up to the end of the team, but deliberately kept a distance of about five meters from the last soldier.
This distance highlighted his difference.
He was not one of them.
He was the observer.
His joining did not attract anyone's attention. The fanatical soldiers had only Leticia in their eyes. All of Fogremia's attention was also focused on guarding Leticia.
Leticia did not even look back.
It was as if she had known he would follow.
Thus, a team composed of a goddess, a Primarch, the Emperor, a Political Commissar, and mortals, arguably the most bizarre and impossible team in the history of the galaxy, was officially formed.
Together, they walked into the bottomless darkness.
Inside the mine tunnel, it was cold and damp.
The air was filled with a thick, fishy stench mixed with rust, saltpeter, and the rot of some unknown creature.
On the walls, twisted, blasphemous Chaos runes were carved everywhere. In the darkness, they seemed to be pulsing slightly, emitting disgusting psychic pollution.
The tracks underfoot had long been abandoned, the sleepers were rotten, and gravel was everywhere.
With every step deeper, that corrupting aura grew stronger.
Gradually, a sound came faintly from the deepest part of the underground.
It was not a sound that humans could make.
It was a mad, viscous chant, recited by countless throats in a language that did not belong to this world.
The sound seemed to carry weight and temperature, squeezing everyone's eardrums and drilling into everyone's marrow.
The soldiers began to feel difficulty breathing, and some weak-willed ones even began to experience auditory and visual hallucinations.
Steady your minds!
Valerius's cold voice rang out like a sharp sword, temporarily dispelling the fear in the soldiers' hearts.
Although he kept his distance, he had already naturally begun to fulfill his duty.
They were getting closer and closer to that evil source.
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