Chapter 24: Some Things Are Not Ours to Ponder

"So, what's the verdict? Are we still going ahead with that safe house?"

After leaving the warehouse, the four of them found a quiet corner to finalize their preparations.

"I believe that, expensive as it may be, it is ultimately a means to protect humanity. Until we find a more cost-effective method, we have to use it."

Just like many engineering projects they had encountered in the past, it was a loss on paper in terms of construction costs, but it had to be built for the sake of the people, because human life cannot be defined by mere value.

Romulus thought for a moment.

"Let’s do this: from here on out, we will set aside five percent of all the souls we acquire to expand the safe house, until it can accommodate the natural death toll of an entire hive world at once."

They were ambitious. Once they secured their first pot of gold, the next step would be sorting out their identities, and once that was resolved, they would head off to find a recruitment world to establish their own base of operations.

After all, with their current abilities, they weren't lacking in equipment or production capacity; what they lacked were large-scale carriers like Void Fleets and the personnel to operate such gear. Therefore, a stable world, free from the ravages of Chaos, was exactly what they needed.

"Fair enough. You’re the one managing the books, anyway." Ramses agreed.

"In that case, I’ll head into the Warp to monitor the astropathic communications. I’ll take responsibility for harassing the Old Man, and I’ll find a new spot to set up a nest for the daemons. Even if I can’t reach the Old Man, I can try stuffing the daemons in there instead. I’ll update the bestiary as I go... why does it feel like I’ve got so much to do?"

"Well, Ramses, your task is the heaviest, so we’ll have to trouble you with these things."

"It’s fine, I’m actually quite happy to do it."

Currently, Ramses was the only one in contact with the Warp. Until they determined the extent of the risk it posed, there was no need for a second transmigrator to share that burden. This was the consensus among the four of them.

"I’ll be responsible for the group's operations and diplomacy, as well as familiarizing myself with battlefield command," Arthur said. "You take charge of frontline combat and squad command, as well as studying the professional knowledge of the Space Marines. Also, focus on developing your combat talents. Leave the theoretically risky stuff to us; your job is to keep an eye on every one of us at all times."

Arthur had always been the steady one, and he took victory and defeat seriously, so his thinking wasn't prone to wild leaps. In the past, when they played games together, Arthur was usually the one cleaning up the mess whenever the others were busy pulling stunts.

And now—Romulus glanced at Ramses, who seemed to be hatching another bunch of wild ideas—it was even more necessary.

"Understood." Arthur nodded.

The hidden risks currently facing them were their own abilities and their contact with the Warp. Until the safety of these two factors was verified, he truly had no interest in getting involved. He certainly couldn't learn Ramses's flashy, risky maneuvers.

"So, am I free to wander?" Karna asked, seeing there was nothing for him to do at the moment.

"Sure, go ahead." Romulus didn't mind.

Karna wasn't exactly doing nothing. As someone who operated from a spectator's perspective, he needed to gather information from angles others ignored and then participate in the post-action reviews. Back when they acted as military advisors to help their roommates chase their girlfriends, it was always Karna who gathered the intel from the sidelines to plug the gaps.

"We have thirty minutes of free time to get familiar with things, then we officially start work," Romulus said, clapping his hands after arranging their respective tasks. "Alright, dismissed!"

"Acknowledged."

The group scattered, quickly slipping into their roles, looking quite professional. In truth, this wasn't difficult for them. In the past, they had done this to live better; now, they were doing it to survive.

***

In the spacious cabin, the three of them finally calmed their nerves and began to carefully inspect the weapons.

None of them felt embarrassed about picking through the armory first. The Imperium explicitly stated that officers at the regimental level and above held the right to dispose of spoils of war in the absence of orders from superior officers. After all, everyone knew how the Departmento Munitorum’s logistics worked; if they didn't have these rights, half of the Imperial Guard would starve to death, and the other half would likely be fighting with nothing but bayonets.

However, after a careful inspection, they fell into a state of deep self-doubt. Were these weapons really something they were worthy of?

"These weapons... they are truly extraordinary." Kovek swallowed hard as he picked up a power weapon.

Although they lacked the religious seals that had been widespread throughout the Imperium since the Age of Apostasy, the exquisite classical decorations and engravings... most of the planetary governors he had met in his time couldn't even afford a sword like this.

"Extraordinary? To use such a word to describe them is practically blasphemy."

"My apologies, Reverend Mother."

"It is of no consequence." Arabella shook her head slightly. She was not one of those fanatical relic-guardians like the Sainted Sepulcher guards; she simply intended to correct the error in terminology.

The loyalty and bravery of the Cadians were worthy of her respect. Not every mortal could react so quickly when faced with a sudden alien daemon assault after losing all their heavy weapons, tearing a breach between the two, and holding the central elevator until the Astartes arrived. As for the consequences of weakness, the Savlar Chem-Dogs, now reduced to decorations for the lower decks, were the best example.

"They are holy relics, a legacy left to the present from the most glorious era of the Imperium."

Arabella approached the supplies the Angels had prepared for the Sisters. She recognized the gear, which resembled the power armor with haptic feedback used by the Sisters of Battle, and knelt to pray with reverence, describing the origin of these items as she did so.

"The God-Emperor is guarded by the golden-armored Custodes, but few know that at the sides of the Custodes, the Silent Sisters stand mute, solely to drag any encroaching horrors into the abyss of silence."

"But I have never seen them." The Commissar recalled his time reporting for duty back on Terra.

The Emperor's Custodes were not actually hard to see; one could often spot their noble, towering figures in front of the Imperial Palace gates. Only... the Commissar's expression was a bit strange. Honestly, he had very complicated feelings about the Custodian who had made him recite his full Terran name before the palace gates.

"Of course, you could never have seen them." Arabella stroked the holy silver armor, her usually rational and flat eyes showing a rare trace of fanaticism. "When they fought for the Imperium, He still walked among men."

After hearing the Reverend Mother’s story, Kovek seemed to realize something. He approached a set of armor and began to inspect it carefully, only to find that all information indicating its age had been erased. He widened his eyes.

"Kovek, do not think too much." A hand pressed down on his shoulder, and Alex’s steady voice reached him. "Take the equipment, obey orders, and fight to the death; that is our mission."

Alex the Commissar drew a master-crafted power sword from the armory, looked at the area where the serial number had been deliberately erased, and unceremoniously tucked it into his belt.

"Some things are not for us to ponder."