One Week Later
Inside the Command Headquarters, Qin Mo sat at the holo-illuminated conference table, taking a break from his research to handle administrative matters.
Gathered before him were the Regimental Commanders and the Thunderborns, each standing in the stoic silence of trained veterans.
Klein stepped forward, his tone clipped with military efficiency as he reported the day's most pressing update.
"The new recruits have completed their initial training, one million troops in total," Klein announced. "Midway through the program, we adjusted the regimen based on the Cadian drill doctrines provided by Creed. I have to admit, the Cadians know their military craft. The 44th Regiment can now be reformed."
Qin Mo nodded, but in his mind, the number echoed hollow. One million soldiers, a figure that would have awed most commanders, felt woefully inadequate to him.
For a Hive World, a million troops was nothing.
Even Talon I, which was small compared to other Hive Worlds, boasted an undocumented but estimated population exceeding twenty billion.
One million soldiers drawn from a pool so vast was barely a whisper of the planet's potential might.
"We've been recruiting since we secured the Lower Hive. Now that the entire Hive City is under our dominion, the training is finally complete," Grey sighed, recalling how the Thunderborns had once followed recon drones into the choking dark of the Underhive, conscripting soldiers while construction teams installed bulkhead-sized water purifiers.
"Back then, we thought the new recruits would at least get to fight in the Hive War," he added, his tone edged with quiet regret.
"Do we have enough weapons and gear to arm this many soldiers?" Anruida asked with concern.
"More than enough," Qin Mo said with absolute certainty.
From the moment the AI Core and logistical drones had been created, their self-replication had never stopped.
With their integrated fabricators, they had relentlessly mass-produced war materiel, day and night.
Had Qin Mo not developed automated printing technology, even an endless workforce of drones would have struggled to supply power armor for every soldier, let alone ammunition, rations, and vehicles.
"When do we commence the assault on Talon II?" Grey asked thoughtfully.
"Once the fleet is assembled. Very soon," Qin Mo answered, the certainty in his voice brooking no question.
Grey gave a silent nod, his eyes narrowing as if envisioning the campaign ahead.
"Now that you're officially the Planetary Governor, shouldn't there be a grand inauguration ceremony?" Anruida asked. His tone was respectful, but insistent.
"The Governor's Ceremony?" Qin Mo echoed, arching an eyebrow.
As a former scribe of the House of Burr, Anruida's perspective was not purely military. He believed Qin Mo had overlooked some formalities, including the symbolic importance of a ceremony. While secondary to war, such rituals bound a ruler to his people.
The Imperium thrived on such traditions: gilded parades, vox-hailers blaring proclamations, and planetary oaths of fealty shouted beneath oceans of banners.
The common man needed symbols, something tangible to anchor their loyalty amidst a galaxy of horrors.
Qin Mo allowed himself a faint smile.
"We should focus on the war. Ceremony or not, I am still the ruler of this world."
"Of course, and you have earned it, but—" Anruida pressed, before Qin Mo cut him off.
"Our time is better spent on more pressing matters."
"Understood," Anruida said, bowing his head. He let the subject drop.
In the end, Qin Mo didn't need a ceremony to prove his authority, nor did he need to show his face to the people of the Hive. His rule was absolute, regardless.
"Does anyone else have something to discuss?" Qin Mo asked.
Silence fell upon the chamber.
"Then you're all dismissed."
The officers stood, saluted, and left, all except Grey.
Qin Mo watched him carefully, waiting for him to speak.
"Can Grot fight in the Talon II campaign?" Grey asked bluntly. "Not as a Thunderborn, just as an ordinary soldier."
"Yes," Qin Mo answered immediately.
Grey blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Really," Qin Mo affirmed.
After a brief pause, he elaborated.
"Civilian life is deteriorating his mental state. If he wishes to fight, let him."
"Good!" Grey grinned, eager to deliver the news.
Qin Mo patted his shoulder, considering whether to offer a warning but deciding against it.
Grey was not Yoan. He wasn't some Untouchable, untethered from the warp and blessed with the gift of clarity. Some truths were better left unspoken.
In this cursed galaxy, ignorance was often the only true shield.
Instead, Qin Mo simply said, "I'll assign him as a squad leader in the new 44th Regiment. He has combat experience. He doesn't need to start as a grunt."
"I'll tell him. Thank you, Governor." Grey saluted and departed.
....
Nightfall
Qin Mo lay his head on his desk, the chamber dark save for a flickering lumen globe. He rested, but not peacefully.
When his eyes opened in the dream, he found himself once again within the feverish, shifting realm of the Shapeshifter.
This time, the Shapeshifter had taken the form of a levitating boltgun, suspended in midair like some relic preserved in a stasis field.
"Long time no see," Qin Mo said dryly, seating himself before it. "So, what happened? Busy powering Necron generators? Or fighting their wars by proxy?"
"Do not joke about my suffering!" the Shapeshifter snapped, its form convulsing as it warped into the figure of a middle-aged man. His face twitched with repressed rage as he glared down at Qin Mo.
Qin Mo remained impassive, unfazed by its irritation.
The Shapeshifter sighed and got to the point.
"I have another ability. I can show you what transpires on the other two planets of the Talon System."
Qin Mo raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought you could only give cryptic riddles."
"How do you think I found you in the first place?" the Shapeshifter retorted, before its form dissolved into a glowing screen.
Then reality twisted.
Qin Mo suddenly stood adrift in the void between two planets, weightless, the stars cold and silent around him.
The Shapeshifter expanded the vision, pulling him down toward the surface of both worlds.
....
Talon II: The Traitor's Stronghold
As Qin Mo expected, the planet Talon II was the heart of the Cult of the Lord of Wisdom.
They were conducting heretical rituals without pause, clearly preparing for some grand scheme.
Great pyres of sacrificial flesh lit the skyline, smoke billowing into the heavens until the skies became a choking black shroud. Psychic energy bled into the air like steam from a ruptured boiler, twisting reality and painting the heavens with auroras of madness that writhed even beneath the sun.
However, not all of Talon II had fallen.
A massive resistance movement; numbering in the hundreds of millions, was hiding in the sewers, waging a desperate guerrilla war.
They lived in rot and rust, ambushing convoys, burning icons of heresy, bleeding the cult wherever possible.
During their most dire moments, Eldar warriors appeared, aiding their fight.
Striking with surgical cruelty and vanishing like ghosts before the enemy could react.
The planet's cities had become fortress-bastions, their silhouettes resembling orbital star forts. Gothic spires jutted like black knives, while macro-cannons bristled from battlements.
The largest metropolis was even protected by void shields, its monolithic silhouette visible from orbit. An iron cathedral of damnation, carved in planetary scale.
But it was Talon III that seized Qin Mo's attention.
....
Talon III: The Pit of Excess
Two Imperial frigates bombarded its surface in futility. The planet inhabitants lived deep underground, beyond the reach of orbital fire.
And their way of life… was a horror-show of unchecked excess.
Excess had become creed. Degeneracy, worship. Every moment was ritualized debauchery pushed beyond human limits.
A civilization of rot, lost to sensation and madness.
They held drinking contests, not to celebrate or forget, but to see who could rupture their organs first in front of a cheering mob.
Each splatter of blood was met with raucous applause.
But depravity was not the only infection here.
Talon III also harbored Orks and a Genestealer Cult.
And, hilariously, the Genestealers were fighting both the Orks and the Heretics simultaneously.
In one underground city, tens of thousands of cultists surged behind a flag-bearer, shrieking devotion to the Four-Armed Emperor as their , charged through heavy fire at all costs. Gunfire tore the bearer down, but immediately another seized the banner before it hit the ground, planting the four-armed Aquila in the city's heart as the mob pressed on, heedless of losses.
Smoke, spores, and screams filled the air as Ork mobs collided with chittering hybrids, while Heretic militias fired wildly into the melee.
Most of Talon III now belonged to the Genestealer Cult, its tunnels echoing with chittering hymns and blood-soaked sermons.
Qin Mo watched in stunned silence.
Then, after a long pause, he murmured grimly:
"This star system… is a small temple filled with big demons, and a shallow pond overflowing with monsters."