Ross Vance and his group walked down the corridor and arrived at the largest warehouse on the east side of the base.
The place had originally been piled high with rusted shipping containers and worn-out tires.
Griffin and his men had spent two days clearing it out to get it clean.
Walking in now, Ross was taken aback.
Non-slip mats covered the floor, and a row of brand-new gym equipment was lined up against the wall.
Dumbbell racks, bench press stations, pull-up bars, and even a few reaction targets—it had everything.
Hanging from the concrete pillars were flags bearing the Imperial Aquila, their grey-blue fabric looking exceptionally solemn under the fluorescent lights.
“Griffin, you work fast,” Ross said, voicing his genuine admiration.
“Reporting, my Lord, we put this together yesterday with the help of the new brothers,” Griffin replied.
“It’s an Astra Militarum tradition.
No matter where we go, we set up a training ground first, or our hands get restless.”
The warehouse was a hive of activity, with dozens of people training.
Some were lifting dumbbells, others were sparring, and a few crouched in the corners, stripping and reassembling lasguns.
The moment Ross and his entourage entered, everyone stopped what they were doing.
The sharp, rhythmic thud of combat boots echoed through the room.
Fifty Astra Militarum veterans snapped to attention in unison, striking their chests with their right fists in salute.
Their faces beneath their helmets were varied—some young, some weathered with age.
There were no rank insignia on their grey-blue greatcoats, but the murderous aura radiating from each of them was impossible to hide.
It was a presence that could only be forged by surviving a real warzone.
On the other side of the warehouse, sixteen Battle Sisters stood in a neat formation.
They weren’t wearing their power armor, clad instead in their black convent habits.
A sister with short, silver-white hair stood at the front of the line.
Every eye in the room was fixed on Ross.
Ross paused in his tracks.
To be stared at by nearly seventy people with that kind of intensity—it would be a lie to say he didn’t feel a little self-conscious.
But he showed no sign of nervousness on the surface, stepping forward with a calm smile.
“All right, ease up, everyone.
No need to be so tense.”
He walked to the front of the formation and waved his hands down in a placating gesture.
“I’m not here for an inspection today.
I just wanted to drop by and introduce myself.”
No one in the ranks laughed, but the eyes of several veterans visibly softened.
Griffin stepped out from behind Ross and nodded to a burly man standing at the very front of the line.
“My Lord, this is the sergeant major I mentioned to you earlier.”
The heavy-set man strode forward, his combat boots thudding heavily against the floor.
He came to a halt in front of Ross.
Standing at 1.9 meters tall, his shoulders were as wide as a barn door.
His grey-blue greatcoat was stretched tight across his massive frame.
Several old scars crisscrossed his face.
The most prominent one ran from his left eyebrow down to his right jawline, slicing his face diagonally in two.
It looked like the claw mark of some monstrous beast.
Stopping before Ross, he struck his chest with his right fist.
His voice was as loud as thunder:
“Cadian 8th, First Company Sergeant Major, Karl Urian, reporting for duty, sir!”
Ross looked up at the giant of a man, who stood nearly a head taller than him.
After a brief silence, he extended his right hand.
“Sergeant Major Urian.
Griffin told me about you.
He said you led companies on Cadia, that you’re a true Cadian veteran.”
Urian looked down at Ross’s outstretched hand, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then grasped it.
“You flatter me, sir.
On Cadia, there is no young or old, only the living and the dead.
I simply lived a little longer.
Nothing more.”
Ross raised an eyebrow.
That was a grim, hardened sentiment.
He withdrew his hand and swept his gaze over the neat formation before him.
Fifty Astra Militarum soldiers, sixteen Battle Sisters.
Along with Griffin’s original twenty-three men, he now had nearly ninety personnel under his command—and that wasn’t even counting the seven scientists.
He did a quick mental tally and felt a sense of satisfaction.
“All right, Sergeant Major Urian.
Let the men get back to training.” He patted Urian on the shoulder, only to find the man’s shoulder as hard as an anvil, making his own hand throb.
“I’m just here to put names to faces today.
Carry on, everyone.”
Urian struck his chest in salute, turned to the ranks, and barked, “Dismissed!
Back to training!”
The Astra Militarum soldiers resumed their routines.
The clank of iron weights and the rhythmic thud of combat boots filled the warehouse once more.
But on the other side, the sixteen Battle Sisters did not disperse.
They marched forward in lockstep, led by the silver-white-haired sister, stopping right in front of Ross.
Then, all sixteen of them dropped to one knee in perfect, flawless unison.
Ross stood before them, looking down at the sixteen kneeling Battle Sisters.
He knew this was different from the Astra Militarum.
To the Astra Militarum, a salute or snapping to attention was military protocol—the obedience of a subordinate to a superior.
But when the Battle Sisters knelt, it was not merely protocol.
It was an act of faith.
In the universe of Warhammer, the sisterhood’s devotion belonged to the Emperor himself.
They worshipped him as a living god, not just the leader of the Imperium of Man.
They prayed, chanted, and sacrificed their lives entirely for his glory.
And now, in this alien world devoid of the Emperor, they had transferred that devotion to him.
Ross—an ordinary doctoral student who, not long ago, had been stressing over his graduation thesis—was now the representative of a god in the eyes of these fanatics.
To be honest, the feeling was incredibly surreal.
Yet he didn’t panic, nor did he put on arrogant airs.
He knew that if he faltered or said the wrong thing now, it would deal a devastating blow to these sisters.
Their faith was harder than steel, but also as fragile as glass.
“Rise,” Ross said.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly.
He didn’t adopt some grand, solemn tone; he spoke in his usual manner, with a touch of casual warmth.
The sixteen Battle Sisters rose in perfect unison.
The silver-white-haired leader took a step forward and struck her chest with her right hand.
“My Lord.
Sister Superior Erika von Straben, 43rd Mission of the Order of the Ebony Chalice, reporting for duty.” She paused, her grey-blue eyes locked onto Ross.
“Sixteen Battle Sisters await your command.
May the Emperor’s fire, through your hand, purge all heresy from this world.”
The fifteen sisters behind her chanted in unison, “For the Emperor!”
The absolute piety radiating from the depths of their souls seemed to make the very air in the warehouse vibrate.
Ross looked into Erika’s grey-blue eyes and nodded.
“Sister Superior Erika, welcome.” He gestured to their surroundings.
“The accommodations are sparse for now, so you’ll have to make do.
Once we get through this busy stretch, I’ll find a proper place for you all.”
Erika’s expression shifted slightly, though it was almost imperceptible.
“My Lord, we have endured far worse conditions.
This is already more than suitable.”
Ross let out a soft chuckle, thinking to himself that Battle Sisters really were ascetic monastics through and through.
“Good.
We’ll leave it at that for now.
I’ll have Griffin assign you your specific duties later.
We need your help analyzing the intelligence on The Hand.”
“Understood.”
Erika struck her chest and turned, leading the fifteen sisters back to their area to continue maintaining their gear.
Ross stood at the warehouse entrance, taking in the bustling scene.
Dozens of Astra Militarum veterans were working up a sweat in the training area, with the clattering of metal and the thuds of heavy boots echoing constantly.
With the grey-blue and black uniforms intermingling, the entire warehouse felt like a fully functioning war machine.
Though they were technically ordinary humans without superpowers, Ross knew better.
These people were the absolute peak of humanity.
The Astra Militarum were battle-hardened veterans who had crawled out of the blood-soaked trenches of Cadia.
The Battle Sisters were zealots who pushed their bodies to the absolute limits of human capability through sheer, unadulterated faith.
Put them on Marvel’s Earth, and any single one of them could easily obliterate the world’s most elite special forces operatives.
They would be more than enough.
“Griffin,” Ross said, slipping his hands into his pockets with a faint smile on his lips.
“Let’s go meet our new scientists.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Griffin stepped aside to clear the path, speaking as they walked.
“I’ve settled them on the floor right above the Battle Sisters.
This way, we can guarantee their safety without disrupting their research.”
Ross cast a glance at Griffin, slightly surprised.