On the wide landing pad, several private soldiers stood beside a crate near the transport aircraft's ramp, accompanied by a Tech-Priest who was continuously briefing Ana on maintenance procedures.
Further out, densely arrayed soldiers listened to the herald announcing The Senate's commendations for Sith and the 101st Regiment.
However, compared to the herald's ramblings, almost everyone's gaze was completely fixed on that set of master-crafted power armor.
It wasn't the simple, rigid look of assembly-line production. The entire suit of power armor emitted a dull silver glow, with intricate golden patterns inscribed on the plates.
A magnificent blue and gold cape hung from its back, along with a power pack painstakingly crafted by a master of the Adeptus Mechanicus from Alert Star.
The helmet was fully enclosed. Apart from external attachments, only a pair of red-glowing lenses were visible on the front.
Both shoulder plates were solid, their edges hung with several 'Purity Seals' used for warding off evil.
At this moment, even though Sith hadn't donned it yet, merely being placed there, it captured everyone's gaze, making it impossible to look away.
Especially as their peripheral vision caught the weapons beside the armor, everyone felt their two eyes were simply not enough to take it all in.
The matching weapons were a Bolter capable of effectively harming Astartes on one side, and an exquisitely crafted, ornate power sword on the other.
The Bolter was one thing, but that power sword... it was as if the nobles had so much money they didn't know where to spend it, actually commissioning the Adeptus Mechanicus to forge it like an ancient rune-glowing blade.
The polished adamantium blade not only bore intricate patterns but even shimmered with faint points of light under the daylight.
The crowd ignored the herald's commendations, their eyes only on this set of master-crafted power armor.
Only after the herald finished speaking, having made a fool of himself, did he turn to face Sith.
"My lord, before we depart, we need you to don the power armor so we can take a few photographs."
Hearing this, Sith looked at the herald with some confusion. The herald responded with an awkward, bitter smile:
"At this time, promoting your image is even more necessary."
"After all..."
The herald suddenly stopped here, his expression growing even more awkward.
Because the next promotional effort would either never happen, or it would only happen if Sith returned alive from the water purification station.
Even thinking this far, the envy the herald and the private soldiers felt towards Sith for possessing this armor diminished considerably.
In their view, even if Sith's combat power increased greatly after obtaining this armor, it would still be extremely difficult for him to climb the thousand-kilometer-high space elevator and recapture the water purification station.
Unless this suit of power armor suddenly experienced a machine spirit awakening, manifesting superhuman might not inferior to divine artifacts like Guilliman's 'Armor of Fate'.
"But..."
"Is that even possible?"
The herald inwardly scoffed, the envy in his eyes completely fading. At that moment, a crisp sound of alloy striking the ground reached his ears, accompanied by the deeply respectful expressions of the 101st Regiment soldiers ahead. The herald looked beside him.
Unnoticed, Sith had already donned his master-crafted power armor.
Even though he had already mentally categorized Sith as a dead man, upon seeing Sith standing before him clad in the power armor, he couldn't help but widen his eyes in astonishment.
The pursuit of beauty has always been a human instinct. So, when a tall, well-proportioned, and magnificently armored 'knight' stood before him, holding a gun in his right hand and a sword at his waist, the herald no longer cared whether Sith lived or died.
Even when Sith walked to the front of his own soldiers' formation, his left hand holding the Bolter, his right hand holding the regimental banner high, and the image was transmitted back, accompanied by the fervent cheers erupting from the soldiers below, the herald felt that if trading his own life could let him wear that armor for just a few days... it seemed... quite worth it!
The transport aircraft struggled back to Hyberia amidst a 'joyous farewell' of greenskins and Genestealers beneath its feet.
At the top of the Hive City spire, facing two thousand of his most elite veterans, Sith slightly rotated his arm, feeling the terrifying strength amplified a hundredfold by the armor. He raised his hand and extended a single finger:
"From now on, each of you must climb to the top of the spire... one hundred times a day!"
...
Hyberia Hive Sector.
Excited greenskins converged from all directions, howling and shrieking with fanaticism, launching attacks against the terrified Mortal soldiers before them.
For greenskins, the concept of defense is difficult to understand.
They only know that humans suddenly charged out to fight them, so they absolutely cannot stay put; they must charge forward and fight back.
Thus, this massive-scale offensive attracted the attention of more and more greenskins.
Simultaneously, in the Hive Cities where Genestealers gathered, relying on the tenuous air superiority maintained by the remaining fleet, Calgar dispatched numerous bombers to carry out indiscriminate bombing raids on these Hive Cities.
Even in some completely overrun Hive Cities, they began dropping small-scale vortex torpedoes for direct extermination.
This behavior enraged the Genestealers, whose strength had rapidly expanded.
In the various districts of the Hive Cities, in the chaotic underhives where no one ventured, more and more Genestealer hordes surged forth from unknown origins.
Amidst these internal and external troubles, Calgar's desk was piled high with accusations against Sith!
"Three months! For three months, the 101st Regiment has not launched any attack on the objective!"
A nobleman spoke indignantly. After all, if they could reclaim that priceless set of master-crafted power armor before Sith went to his death, it would be a prospect that made one's eyes burn with desire just thinking about it.
And after Calgar had launched his offensive for a full three months, Sith still hadn't initiated his attack. This became the point of attack for the nobles and even the Astra Militarum.
The nobles were creating obstacles, while the Astra Militarum genuinely couldn't hold out much longer.
Looking at the large number of reports about Sith delivered once again, Calgar, busy with command, had to divert some attention back to this matter.
Although Calgar had never expected Sith to succeed—this plan was essentially a measure to reduce population, eliminate enemy forces, and conserve water—
facing a plan he himself had devised, a mere Mortal regimental commander delaying for three months was something even Calgar had to take seriously.
Picking up the report and giving it a quick glance, Calgar's previously furrowed brows instantly smoothed:
"It's not a delay. Don't these reports all state that Sith's troops are training in climbing?"
Calgar tossed the report back indifferently. Although the nobles below knew Calgar's true purpose was to reduce water demand, they hadn't expected him to disregard Sith to such an extent.
Even though everyone had determined from the start that Sith's mission was a suicide run, the nobles still hoped Calgar would at least punish Sith for appearances' sake.
At least to reclaim that suit of power armor the nobles had gifted.
Seeing Calgar had already refocused his attention on the front lines, the nobles looked at each other and finally had to admit they had overestimated Sith's importance in Calgar's mind.
To Calgar, Sith wasn't even a piece on the board to be moved; at most, he was background scenery used to set the stage whenever grand strategic plans were made.
The nobles retreated speechlessly, and Calgar buried himself completely in command.
However, as the door opened once more, this time it wasn't a messenger delivering military reports who entered, but a Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
A cold electronic voice, its decibel level exceeding the threshold, turned sharp within the hall!
"The water purification station!"
"The recapture progress of the water purification station crossed the 50.01% mark one minute and thirty-two seconds ago."
The noisy hall fell silent instantly. Not only did the nobles and other Mortals all look at the Tech-Priest, even Calgar above, who had devised the entire operation to conserve water and divert conflict, for the first time completely withdrew his attention from the front lines.
His massive frame pausing slightly, Calgar slowly turned his huge head. His left red cybernetic eye flashed with light, its gaze falling heavily upon the Tech-Priest.
The Tech-Priest offered no explanation. He merely raised his hand, summoning two servitor skulls. As a blurred projection transmitted, the scene displayed made even Calgar straighten his entire body to face it squarely.
Inside the vast, circular interior of the space elevator, countless Genestealers continuously shrieked and plummeted from hundreds of kilometers in the air.
And before the dense torrent of endless Genestealers climbing downwards, was a group of 'fleas' whose climbing movements were terrifyingly agile.
Facing this swarm of frenzied, human-soldier 'fleas' madly devouring the Genestealers, Calgar's eyes could only be riveted to the '101' markings on the soldiers, utterly speechless.
Instead, it was an unknown junior officer in a corner who, with a face full of terror, voiced everyone's sentiment in a low whisper:
"A thousand kilometers..."
"They actually climbed up and fought?!"