"For the Savior," Oris said softly.
After offering up a devout prayer, the fear in his heart gradually faded, and his gaze turned resolute.
The Will family had received the Savior's grace. No child of that house could shrink from responsibility.
Otherwise, even if he escaped alive, he would still face harsh punishment from the family and be cast out.
"Since there's no road left to retreat on, then we fight to the final moment and do not disgrace the blood of our house!"
Oris gritted his teeth.
He would keep fighting until the family went bankrupt, until every round was spent, and then die together with the enemy if he had to.
As one of the New Imperium's major rogue trader houses, the Will family did not belong to the Imperium's official military or armed hierarchy, but that did not mean they were pushovers.
"Imperial reinforcements won't be arriving anytime soon. At the very least, we have no confirmed word. Most likely Holy Terra is under Chaos siege as well."
Once Oris made his decision, his emotions steadied. He turned and spoke to his steward.
As an outstanding rogue trader educated through the Schola Progenium, he could judge the state of this demolition site clearly enough.
The Chaos rifts had spread across the Solar System. That meant this place was not the only one under attack. It was likely a full-scale Chaos offensive.
This was not a major defensive line. The odds of receiving support were slim.
Especially if Holy Terra itself was under pressure. In that case, the Imperium would naturally prioritize protecting the Throne over sending forces here to save them.
"Savior above... what a disaster. Holy Terra..."
The white-haired old steward heard this and his pupils contracted. For a moment, he was left speechless.
He understood exactly what it meant.
If Holy Terra fell, the New Imperium would suffer a terrible blow, and the days ahead would become unimaginably harsh.
More importantly, the Will family had invested its entire fortune here. Without reinforcements, all of it would likely be reduced to ash under the Chaos assault.
And they would die here with it.
"Holy Terra will not fall. What matters more is how we fight this battle, and how we win glory for the Will family."
Oris fixed the steward with a hard stare.
"We hold nothing back. We offer our lives. No one is exempt. No one is allowed to run from the fight!"
He did not want the family to start thinking about escape.
That would be shameful, a kind of weakness that could never be forgiven.
It also ran directly against everything he had been taught.
"Lord Overseer, your decision is the correct one. It is my honor to serve you and the Will family."
The old steward looked at Oris's determined expression, and the lines in his brow finally eased. The heir had unquestionably made the right choice.
It protected both the family's interests and its honor.
In a situation like this, as the heir of House Will, Oris could never flee the battlefield.
He had to fight bravely.
Even if he died here in the end, he would still earn honorable military merit. That alone would ensure that when the family in the rear finally went bankrupt, it would not decline into complete ruin, and might still have a chance to rise again.
The New Imperium was so united and so strong not merely because of faith, but because of a functioning system and shared interests.
If one prospered, all prospered. If one suffered, all suffered.
That all who sacrificed for the Imperium could benefit from it, that was the true foundation of the Imperium.
Not like before, when every faction, creed, and warlord carved out their own little domain, each one governing itself and thinking only of survival.
The old steward bowed and said firmly, "Please issue your orders. Every member of the Will family is waiting for your command."
"Gather every family guard we have. Come with me to the front line and drive back the unclean!"
Oris cast aside his ornate cloak, revealing a body of hard, powerful muscle beneath. He had clearly undergone a considerable degree of augmentation.
The Savior had granted gene-enhancement technology to the faithful.
It was not comparable to a Space Marine's transformation, but it could still elevate the recipient's body far beyond normal human limits.
This was an optimized form of the Grant Guard enhancement procedure, able to strengthen the human body at much lower cost.
Over the years, most of the Will family's core members had undergone the treatment, including their household guards.
Once armed, Oris donned his masterwork armor and headed to the very front of the line to fight in person.
At present, there were roughly tens of thousands of Will family guards at the demolition site, all equipped with power armor and weapons.
In addition, there were over two hundred thousand workers equipped with construction-model personal exoskeletons, backed up by more than a hundred thousand low-grade automata.
That was a respectable fighting force.
At the very least, they would not collapse at the first impact.
Oris immediately abandoned the outer defense platforms and gathered all troops and workers at the Wall of Arat's main platform.
Without reinforcements, they had no chance of holding every platform anyway. Better to concentrate their strength and inflict as much damage as possible on the plague host.
In truth, if not for the Savior's reforms over the past few decades across every region of the Solar System, and the sanitation engineering systems he had installed throughout those areas, the plague creatures' rain, fog, and swarms of carrion flies would already have turned the workers into walking corpses on a massive scale.
Boom, boom, boom!
Once the personnel had withdrawn, the large torpedoes installed on the outer platforms were detonated, especially the ammunition depots packed to the brim.
The entire outer zone was blasted apart. Dozens of kinds of light, electrical arcs, and radiation spread across the void.
The chain explosions nearly lit up the whole sector, forming dozens of blazing fireballs in space.
The plague troops on the outer platforms suffered grievous losses, reduced to charred flesh. Those who survived could do little more than drift helplessly through the void.
They were combat ineffective.
"They dared reject Grandfather's blessing..."
Standing atop a rotten void-whale, Mortarion stared at the flames spreading in the distance, anger flashing across his eyes.
His face somehow seemed even greener than before.
He was not furious because of the plague host's losses. At most, he had lost some vanguard forces.
That meant little to the legion as a whole, especially since the plague host's true main force had not yet been committed to the platforms.
What enraged Mortarion was something else entirely. He had deployed with such care, advanced so methodically, and what he met was not the Savior's elite.
It was a bunch of Imperial laborers.
As fresh reports continued to arrive, he finally grasped the enemy's true situation. There were no Imperial garrison troops on those defense platforms at all, only human workers assigned to dismantle them.
The mighty Death Lord had actually been played by Imperial workers.
Not only that, the plague host's vanguard had been held back by those same workers and had taken considerable damage.
What humiliation.
Mortarion raised a hand and summoned a swarm of flies, forming a buzzing mirror. Within it appeared the image of a Death Guard captain whose body was covered in foul-smelling boils.
That was the commander of the vanguard, known as the Maggot Messenger.
"My lord, what are your orders?" the captain asked in a humble tone, clearly aware that the Death Lord was dissatisfied with him.
Mortarion stared at him in silence. The sound of his respirator rasping in and out was so oppressive it was almost suffocating.
After several long breaths, he finally spoke.
"The bell will toll seven times. When the seventh toll is over, I do not wish to see a single living human left there.
This is your only chance to retain Grandfather's favor."
With those harsh instructions, the Death Lord delivered his ultimatum to the vanguard commander. Once the giant clock had tolled seven times, either every human on the main defense platform would be dead, or the commander would be stripped of all power.
He would become a pitiful living corpse.
Mortarion was giving him a chance to restore the Death Guard's honor, rather than punishing him on the spot.
"As you will."
The Death Guard captain, commander of the vanguard, showed little surprise. He dropped to one knee and accepted the order.
The moment he finished speaking, the giant clock beside the Death Lord sounded, while the souls trapped beneath the glass dome atop it shrieked in agony.
The toll of the clock seemed to transcend time and space itself, echoing clearly around the Death Guard captain and spreading deep into the main defense platform.
It made men's souls tremble whether they wanted them to or not.
It marked the beginning of the vanguard's slaughter, with no restraint and no mercy.
After that, Mortarion remained at the edge of the fungal abyss in silence, observing the battle and waiting for the vanguard to finish butchering and corrupting the humans.
Before that was done, he had no intention of committing more plague troops, more great daemons of Nurgle, or going to the main defense platform himself.
At this point, if even a mere pack of laborers required the plague host, or worse, the Death Lord himself, to attack in person, the disgrace would be unbearable.
It would prove nothing but the Death Guard's weakness and incompetence.
And if that were the case, how could Mortarion, a fallen primarch and Death Lord, still face his other fallen brothers?
He could not afford to lose that much face.
Mortarion believed his vanguard could complete its mission. Once the seven bells had rung, every human would be dead, or transformed into living corpses of torment.
Then they would endure eternal sickness and suffering, trapped in agony worse than death.
That was the punishment for insulting the Death Lord.
...
The Wall of Arat.
Outer harbor.
After receiving the order, the Death Guard captain and vanguard commander grew even more vicious.
Those workers had played them, blowing up the outer platforms and making his vanguard pay dearly for it.
But that was all.
Those pitiful rabble could not possibly stand against true plague warriors.
The captain snatched a rotting maggot from his breastplate, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed as he strode toward the collapsed defensive wall.
His voice rasped like insects skittering over stone.
"The maggots have told me everything.
Those lowly workers are gathering, deluding themselves into blocking plague's advance. Let them rot away to nothing!"
He was quite pleased with the workers' choice to mass their defense. It would make it much easier for the vanguard to exterminate every human and fulfill the Death Lord's command.
Behind the captain, plague marched.
Blight-track war engines and decay engines rumbled forward, leaving trails of slime in their wake.
Overhead, plague aircraft and plague drones swarmed through the air.
Behind them came lurching plague heralds, plague automata, and beasts of Nurgle, each step scattering strips of diseased carrion and filth.
This terrifying plague vanguard had already broken through the outer armored wall and was now advancing toward the rebels, toward the workers' last line of defense.
Arat Cathedral Grand Plaza.
This huge zone of over ten square kilometers had been turned by the Will family into their final stronghold.
At the center stood a hundred-meter statue of the Savior, blazing with light.
Huge amounts of supplies and engineering equipment had been piled into makeshift trenches, reinforced with all manner of artillery and defensive weapons gathered from the outer platforms and ammunition stores.
The guards and workers crouched in the trenches gripping their weapons and wearing gas masks, while the low-grade Iron Men automata held heavy weapons at the central defensive hubs.
They were not regular troops, but under the organization of the old steward, a retired officer from the Storm Group Army, they had begun to resemble a real army.
In terms of firepower, they even surpassed elite Astra Militarum units of the Old Imperium.
"Everyone, there is no road left but to fight to the death!"
Standing at the very front of the line, Oris turned and shouted to the workers through a vox-amplifier.
"In the name of House Will, I promise you this. No matter whether we win this battle or lose it, you will be compensated by the Will family.
His Majesty the Savior and the Imperium will not fail you either!"
This was the promise House Will made to the laborers it had hired.
Every participant, and their family as well, would receive a generous permanent employment contract that included every kind of insurance and protection.
So long as House Will endured, that contract would remain in force.
It was a desperate gamble.
Of course, any great house would want a cadre of hired hands who had shared life and death with it. That too was a precious asset.
And beyond that, these workers who fought bravely would also be rewarded by the Savior and the Imperium.
Depending on their military merit, their citizen rank would also rise.
The generous pledge made by Lord Overseer Oris Will sent the morale of the whole force surging.
If they were going to die anyway, then why not leave behind honor and a greater inheritance?
Even Oris himself thought that way. He intended to frame the glory of House Will in sacrifice and loyalty to the Savior.
To make its banner shine all the brighter.
"For the Savior!"
The people roared, tightening their grip on their weapons and aiming them at the yellow abomination-army rolling toward them.
Even if they died, they were going to take some daemon spawn with them.
Szzzt!
From within the yellow fog came the sudden launch of reeking plague artillery. Shells smashed countless positions apart, workers and all.
The gas that followed left the men nearby covered in boils, writhing and screaming.
A tremor of fear passed through the defenders.
Then, under Oris's command, they opened fire on the plague vanguard.
The battle had begun.
Point-defense guns, heavy artillery, and countless machine guns and beam weapons blanketed the plague lines.
The sheer volume was staggering.
For a brief instant, it actually suppressed the plague vanguard's advance.
"Damn it! Why do these lowly workers have artillery fiercer than the Imperial Army's?!"
The Death Guard captain flew into a rage and realized he could no longer rely on his old experience.
The harder he pushed, the more alarmed he became.
Across that position, engineering machines and heavy dump trucks were crushing living corpses and daemons under their treads, causing destruction on par with armored war vehicles.
The construction machines were practically built to military standards.
Then the ground shook, and four or five engineering Titans strode out from both sides of the cathedral, trampling everything in their path. Even the vanguard commander was stunned.
Anyone seeing this without context would think they were facing an elite Imperial field army.
Large numbers of plague daemons were dying, or simply being crushed to pieces.
The only comfort was that those engineering Titans carried construction equipment rather than actual battlefield weapons.
Otherwise they would have inflicted far worse damage on the plague daemons and the Death Guard alike.
Dong!
The toll of the giant clock rang out.
That was the third bell, and another warning from the Death Lord.
"Even so, a force of this level still cannot stop the Maggot Messenger's march!"
Hearing the bell, the Death Guard captain's fury only intensified.
He unleashed his power.
Endless maggots poured over the battlefield, burying one of the engineering Titans alive and corroding its mechanical internals.
Then more plague sorceries erupted, wreaking terrible destruction.
They carried Grandfather Nurgle's blessing. They did not fear even the Imperium's elite, much less some worker militia.
The engineering Titans had no dedicated psychic defenses. They quickly collapsed under the corruption, smashing several trenches flat as they fell.
The plague vehicles and Chaos engines answered with their own counterattack, destroying still more construction machines.
Plague automata and beasts of Nurgle also plunged into the ranks of the low-grade Iron Men automata, slaughtering freely.
The plague vanguard surged forward at terrifying speed, all but annihilating the foremost engineering vehicles and defensive lines.
Oris and the others lost the foundation of their defense. Forced back, they retreated with their troops until they reached the rear of the Savior's statue.
As a civilian force, they simply could not withstand the full assault of the plague vanguard, especially with Grandfather Nurgle's blessing behind it.
All the people could do was watch helplessly as their comrades threw themselves together with daemons using melta grenades, or were corroded by plague toxins into living corpses.
The plague abominations rampaged unchecked, tormenting the workers.
Any commander could see it. The force assembled by House Will was on the verge of collapse.
Before long, it would be wiped out completely.
No one would survive.
"Savior, we beg you, save your loyal people. Grant us courage. Grant us strength..."
The workers had long accepted that they might die in loyal service, but the ravages of plague and the horrors of slaughter still filled them with a trace of despair.
The plague was assaulting their immune systems. Disease after disease was breaking out in their bodies.
They could not help looking up at the statue in the plaza, praying in silence to the Savior and hoping for deliverance.
"Tch. What laughable, pitiful faith. Your so-called Savior can barely save himself."
Seeing their actions, the Death Guard captain mocked them through the mouths of his maggots.
That Savior, that Emperor of the Imperium, was trapped in the warp and could not return. And even if he did return, he would only be crushed under the Death Lord and his brothers.
More importantly, the Chaos Gods would never let him go.
The Savior was not the False Emperor. He lacked both the right and the power to protect his followers.
Wasn't worshiping that man a joke in itself?
Endless maggots burst into wild laughter at his command, ridiculing the workers in a way that made the skin crawl.
"Destroy that pathetic statue. I'm going to snuff out their final shred of hope!"
The Death Guard captain looked up at the Savior's statue and spat a gob of green phlegm at it.
Then the blight-track war engines and plague engines swung their guns toward the giant stone figure.
Malicious artillery fire drowned it in explosions.
But when the smoke cleared, the statue of the Savior stood untouched. Layer upon layer of force fields had risen to protect it perfectly.
"How is that possible?"
The Death Guard captain stared at the scene in disbelief.
So much firepower, and it still could not break a mere stone statue of the Savior. And this many force fields had been dedicated to protecting it?
If defenses like those had been installed at the outer defensive hubs, breaking in would never have been this easy.
There was no helping it. The New Imperium's standards for protecting statues of the Savior really were that strict.
The force fields on this main defense platform may have been old, but when the Department of Sacred Statuary built a Savior statue, they always used the latest high-grade shielding.
They had even installed an additional power core for it.
Regulations were regulations. Strict compliance. Guaranteed quality.
Even though this platform was scheduled for decommissioning, the Department of Sacred Statuary had still built the statue with complete seriousness, all so the workers here could always look upon the great Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium.
It could honestly be said that the strongest shielded area on the entire platform was this statue. It could probably withstand several heavy ship-gun strikes.
Then the plague bombardment seemed to trigger the statue's internal retaliation system.
Its eyes and hands fired terrifying melta beams that swept across the battlefield, destroying plague vehicles and daemons all along their path.
It was like the Savior's wrath descending in thunder.
"Praise the Savior!"
That response from the Savior's statue ignited even fiercer devotion among the workers, leaving them exhilarated.
On the other side, the Death Guard captain threw himself aside in a panic, barely avoiding the lethal melta beam.
He was terrified.
Hummm...
Before the Maggot Messenger had even recovered, the statue changed again, and violently.
The Savior's statue suddenly erupted with dazzling golden light. Under that radiance, the workers themselves seemed to start glowing.
Then the giant statue began to tremble.
???
The Death Guard captain looked up, completely numb.
"Grandfather... could it be...?"
(End of Chapter)
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