The not-so-bright sunlight shone upon the towering spire's peak.
Above was the somewhat profound daytime starry sky; below was an endless sea of pitch-black clouds.
In a cluster of towering buildings near the center, a group of figures walked briskly at the feet of the majestic Gothic structures.
The buildings were so tall that the figures at their base resembled a cluster of ants.
"My lord, the refugee quarter is just ahead."
Bruno led the way, surrounded by the most elite veterans, with Sith at the center.
Sith looked up at the surrounding tall, sacred buildings.
As the residential area for the Hive City's top echelons, the construction here was extraordinarily grand and spectacular, almost regardless of cost.
The road beneath his feet was already hundreds of meters wide, like walking across a vast, flat, uniformly-colored football field, yet in the presence of these structures, it still felt narrow and cramped.
He withdrew his gaze, ignoring the panicked eyes behind a few windows high above, and looked in the direction Bruno pointed.
There stood a large, expansive Ecclesiarchy church. The broad plaza before it was empty, with only the high-altitude cold wind blowing, stirring up swirls of dust and sand.
Then the dust and sand blew towards the Emperor's statue, covering his majestic form.
Looking past the statue, behind the Emperor, the church doors swayed slightly. A frightened figure slipped into the crack behind them.
Bruno's expression turned slightly awkward:
"They've kept the doors tightly shut. We've visited several times, but they never open."
After all, this was the spire's peak and the domain of the Ecclesiarchy. Even Bruno dared not show the slightest disrespect here.
He could only make several polite visits.
Sith, however, scanned the area and, under the fearful gaze from behind the door, suddenly strode towards the church.
Bruno and the others moved to follow, but Sith raised a hand:
"You stay here."
As he spoke, Sith also publicly removed his sidearm and bayonet, handing them to Bruno.
Then, Sith approached the Emperor's statue, removed his gloves, picked up a nearby cleaning tool, and disregarding the severe cold at this height, used his bare hands to break the ice on the water. He wiped the dust from the Emperor's body.
This sight made the veteran soldiers behind him, including Bruno, momentarily stunned. The respect they held for Sith now gained an added layer of piety.
Although the Emperor Himself might not favor it, faith remained a crucial pillar sustaining the Imperium to this day.
Even with his body enhanced a hundredfold, such severe cold still turned Sith's hands bright red.
When the last bit of water was used, the statue, dust-covered for who knows how long, finally looked pristine again.
Afterwards, Sith stood silently before the Emperor's divine image in wordless prayer, until Bruno and the others grew increasingly devout, and the pairs of eyes behind the door were no longer filled with such fear.
Sith opened his eyes and then walked alone towards the church.
This time, as Sith's face—free of any mutation—was clearly displayed, the long-closed doors finally opened a crack.
An elderly man in priestly robes gathered his courage and stepped out.
"Has the God-Emperor answered our prayers and sent you to take us away?"
The elder spoke with hope. Sith looked past him, into the church now brightened by the sunlight streaming in.
Gazing at the crowded masses beneath the majestic dome, Sith looked back at the priest and slowly shook his head:
"The Emperor requires your service."
...
Three days later.
With the church as the center, numerous surrounding buildings were filled with refugees.
And even more refugees converged from various areas of the spire's peak, streaming along the broad avenues.
A few meager bonfires were lit, with huge iron pots atop them boiling steaming water and starch.
Countless refugees formed an almost endless line, wrapping themselves in coarse cloth against the cold wind, waiting for the thin gruel where starch granules were barely visible.
A group of soldiers in black uniforms maintained order around them.
The soldiers looked vigilant, fearing someone might try to snatch the food. It wasn't until several figures approached the church from a distance that these black-clad soldiers suddenly snapped to attention and saluted:
"Regiment Commander!"
Returning the salute casually, Sith's pace didn't slow in the slightest. He merely glanced at the soldiers' black uniforms, somewhat puzzled:
"Where did Ana find so many black uniforms?"
Sith's frenzied mobilization, coupled with the nobles taking almost all supplies when they abandoned the spire's peak, meant that even uniforms couldn't be issued to every soldier.
Yet for Sith, uniforms were absolutely necessary. Only by wearing a unified uniform could a civilian be most directly transformed into a soldier.
And upon joining the collective, they would gain a bit of morale, the currency of the Emperor.
Facing the various monstrous heretics and warp entities soon, Sith wouldn't let slip any method to boost his soldiers' fighting spirit.
But even Sith was curious how Ana had produced these uniforms, and why they were black.
Bruno wore a somewhat helpless expression. He carefully checked that Ana wasn't nearby before speaking with exasperation:
"These aren't uniforms at all. They're civilian clothes collected for being somewhat similar to uniforms."
"Ana just mixed up several dozen vats of promethium-based liquid fuel, dyed these clothes black, and issued them."
As he spoke, Bruno specifically lifted the hem of his own 'brand-new uniform,' revealing the skin on his wrist stained black underneath.
Sith was taken aback.
Wasn't that basically smearing 'oil' on themselves?
He wanted to show some exasperation on his face too, but looking at the uniformly black-clad soldiers around him, and their somewhat more formidable appearance in the unified attire, he pursed his lips and held it back.
Because in just these three days, Sith had expanded his forces by a hundred thousand—a full twenty infantry regiments. Managing to outfit them at all was already an extreme challenge.
Although in this apocalyptic-level melee on Vigil Star, twenty infantry regiments weren't really that many.
But Sith only had two thousand veterans. A one-to-fifty ratio was the limit the veterans could manage, even by shouting themselves hoarse.
Not to mention how to arm them without a logistical supply line.
After all, even the spire's armory had been stripped clean when the noble lords evacuated.
Sith didn't join in Make complaintsing the 'promethium uniforms.' Instead, passing by the gruel pots and seeing the starch-thin, clear soup, he changed the subject:
"Are the soldiers' rations sufficient?"
Bruno's expression grew even grimmer:
"Barely enough, by the minimum standard."
"But the training intensity is high. Soldiers often wake up hungry in the latter half of the night."
Then, Bruno looked at the bustling soup distribution around them. After a thought, he lowered his voice:
"Should we requisition a portion from the civilians' rations?"
Bruno didn't dare to be too direct, because even the current food supply came partly from the supply depot they brought and mostly from the Ecclesiarchy's stores.
Providing the vast majority of the food to Sith was already the Ecclesiarchy's limit.
After all, you couldn't truly expect faith in the Emperor to be edible!
Sith didn't voice his thoughts directly, but the glare he shot over said it all.
As for another, more direct and efficient option...
Sith looked at the soldiers training intensively. The thought had barely risen before he forcefully suppressed it.
Among the refugees were many family members of the soldiers.
Helplessly, he withdrew his gaze from the new recruits. After a brief silence, Sith's eyes suddenly turned towards the deep passageways leading into the depths of the Hive City.
"The heretics can feed so many people. The supplies in their possession..."
"...probably aren't few!"