After applying for an Ogryn identity certificate for Cullen, Kaelen began preparing for their upcoming enlistment in the Astra Militarum.
“System, filter out hard currency that low-to-mid-tier Departmento Munitorum bureaucrats find impossible to resist.
The rarer, the better.” Inside the shelter, Kaelen sat cross-legged on discarded cables, his two fingers rapidly swiping across a virtual panel invisible to others.
Points were something to save when possible and spend when necessary without holding back.
The journey to Cadia was long; if he truly crammed these two three-meter-tall transhumans into the crowded lower deck of a troop transport like ordinary recruits, they would be exposed in under three days.
A box of high-end hand-rolled cigars from Planet Skaer, plus two bottles of Andromeda Amber Liquor containing golden spirits, deducted a total of fifteen hundred points.
Kaelen stepped out of the small room with these items.
The faint light reflecting off the liquor bottles flashed in Cullen’s eyes as he spoke with Horus.
“You intend to use those to bribe mortal officers?” When the veteran saw clearly what was in Kaelen’s hands, his tone turned sour.
The honor of the First Legion filled him with deep distaste for such scheming tricks.
“When in Rome, old Knight,” Kaelen said with a shrug, tossing over two oversized heavy industrial dust suits to them.
“This is how the Imperium operates now.
Without a few tricks, how else are we getting off this planet?” Kaelen stuffed the liquor and cigars into a worn backpack and stood up, clapping his hands.
“Listen up.
I’m going over the script only once.
From the moment we step out of this shelter, you two are premium Ogryn abhumans who’ve been digging ore in Planet Rhys’s underground mines for thirty years.
Toxic gas ruined your vocal cords—you are stone mute.” Kaelen pointed to his throat.
“Low IQ, violent tempers, but fiercely obedient.
Anyone comes close, glare at them and look like you’re going to break their face.
Not a single word out of your mouths.
Got it?” Cullen stared at the greasy, foul-smelling canvas coveralls in his hands, gritting his back teeth so hard they creaked.
Forcing him, a proud Astartes veteran, to pretend to be a dim-witted mutant was practically worse than death.
“If you strut around in that signature power armor of yours, believe me, the Unforgiven from your Legion will smell you out in no time.” Kaelen tossed the sentence out casually.
The veteran’s cheeks twitched.
Swallowing all his curses, he roughly yanked the coveralls over himself.
Horus, on the other hand, adapted remarkably fast.
In a few quick moves, he wrapped himself tightly, even snapping the wide dust mask onto his face so only his eyes showed.
“Let’s go.
Time to meet these contemporary Imperial bureaucrats.” The Wolf God kept his voice low in his chest.
Three hours later, in the mid-spire region of Planet Rhys, in an alley behind the 3rd Astra Militarum Recruitment Station.
The Departmento Munitorum factor in charge of supply allocation and troop muster was a greasy, middle-aged man with a beer belly and a low-grade bionic eye fitted over his left socket.
He had initially blocked Kaelen at the back door with utmost impatience, but the moment Kaelen unzipped his backpack and pushed the box of Skaer cigars and a bottle of Andromeda Amber Liquor over, the bureaucrat’s remaining organic eye flared as brightly as a searchlight.
“Fine stuff…
absolute finest stuff.” The factor’s rough fingers stroked the delicate gold foil embossing on the cigar box, swallowing his greedy saliva with a loud gulp.
“Long story short, sir,” Kaelen lowered his voice.
“I want to enlist.
I need three slots on the next transport bound directly for Cadia.
I also need an isolated, closed cargo bay, plus an allocation for two standard shipping containers to store some personal mining equipment.
Supply standards set to the highest tier.” The factor pried his eyes off the bottle, sized Kaelen up and down, and let out a cold snort.
“Quite an appetite.
It’s true the Cadia front is starved for bodies, but why should I approve an isolated cargo bay just for you?
You think this is a vacation cruise…” Before he could finish, Kaelen took half a step to the side.
In the shadows of the alley, two massive figures standing fully over three meters tall, wrapped in heavy industrial canvas, stood silently.
Old dust masks covered their heads, their breathing echoing through the filter grates with a heavy rumble like engines on the verge of exploding.
No further explanation from Kaelen was needed.
Two living, four-limbed “Ogryns” whose frames were a full circle larger than ordinary Ogryns.
The factor’s breath faltered.
Premium heavy-assault units capable of tearing through enemy defenses under concentrated fire were hot commodities across the entire sector.
Whoever funneled troops like these to the front line would be guaranteed commendations and promotions from the Departmento Munitorum.
What’s more, this fellow knew the rules of etiquette.
The factor nimbly snatched the backpack into his arms, the flab on his face bunching into a beaming smile.
“Easily done, easily done!
These two servants of yours…
look like top-tier warriors of the Emperor.
Don’t worry about registration paperwork—I’ll handle it personally.
Follow me, we’ll take the special passage.” The efficiency of business conducted through bribes was extraordinarily high in any era.
Guided personally by the factor, the trio strode right through the recruitment station’s side entrance.
The tens of thousands of emaciated hive dwellers crammed together on the front plaza awaiting registration belonged to a completely different world.
Entering the administrative area, the first checkpoint was identity verification.
The factor had already prepared a set of blank documents stamped with the Departmento Munitorum seal, passing a temporary ID chip to the clerk.
The machine chimed *beep*.
No one questioned Kaelen’s past as a scavenger, nor did anyone verify if his name was real.
The second was physical examination and psyker screening.
Several drowsy Ministorum priests and army surgeons sat in the hall.
The factor walked over, subtly slipping an ingot of high-purity industrial silver into the lead priest’s palm.
The priest felt the weight of the ingot and raised his eyes to glance at the two tower-like mountains of flesh standing by the entrance.
“No need for checks.” The priest pulled over the screening forms, flipped through the two ‘Ogryns’ ID files for a moment, and slapped a bright red “Approved” stamp onto them.
These days, everyone shared a tacit understanding.
Ogryns were notorious abhumans with dim brains and sky-high psychic resistance; wasting time running psychic scans on them was a pure waste of power.
The third checkpoint was the recruit obedience test—the only phase where they actually had to show their faces before a recruitment officer.
In a spacious indoor training field, several mortals pressed into conscription were huffing and puffing as they hauled sandbags.
The recruitment officer was a grim-faced retired veteran ranting over a muster roll.
The factor leaned in and whispered a few words.
The officer looked suspiciously at Horus and Cullen, who were wrapped up tight like dumplings.
“Mutes?
Can they even understand commands?” The recruitment officer tapped his slate against the desk.
“If they run wild at the front, they’ll be worse than cannon fodder.
You—go bring that one-ton munition crate at the door over here.” Kaelen turned and casually pointed at the long, rusted iron box.
“Pick it up.” Without a word of fluff, Horus and Cullen strode over.
A two-meter-tall transhuman walking side by side with a three-and-a-half-meter giant—the suffocating pressure emanating from their very bones forced the surrounding mortal recruits to part to either side.
Cullen bent down.
He intended to use both hands to lift one end, but the instant before he acted, he caught sight of Horus beside him.
The Wolf God simply extended his right hand, locking five thick fingers into the slot along the crate’s edge, and flicked his wrist.
The half-ton munition crate, weighted base and all, was yanked up effortlessly with one hand.
No grunt of exertion, no tremor in his legs.
The movement was as casual as lifting an empty lunchbox.
Taking this in, Cullen didn’t hesitate either.
He grabbed the other end with a single hand and lifted it right up.
Just like that, one on each side, they carried the one-ton crate with one hand each, walking back to the desk with steady steps.
*Thud!* The iron crate hit the floor, causing the floor tiles across the entire story to shudder.
The recruitment officer froze on the spot, his slate nearly slipping from his hands.