The provisional command post of the Phoenix Infantry Regiment was little more than a shack built from coat-reinforced canvas and metal struts.
It was crammed with cluttered parchment files, while several old cogitator arrays spat out strips of punched paper tape.
Cold white luminescent tubes hung from the ceiling, flickering rhythmically and bathing the cramped space in a ghastly paleness.
Kaelen strode across the threshold.
The two guards with loaded weapons at the door raised their rifles to block him, only to be shoved aside by the two mountains of muscle squeezing in behind him.
“Sergeant!
You damn well better have a reason to convince me not to send you to a court-martial!” Behind the desk, the commissar of the Phoenix Infantry Regiment looked up, slamming his quill onto the tabletop.
The man had high cheekbones, wore a crisp black greatcoat, and had his chest covered with medals of honor of various sizes.
Dogma and fanaticism had honed his features like raw pig iron.
Kaelen leaned both hands on the desk and pressed forward.
“Sir, to put it plainly: something terrible is about to happen at Landing Pad Three.
I strongly advise raising the highest alert immediately and having all nearby units train their guns on that pad.” The commissar looked at him like he was insane.
“Have you lost your mind?” “The Volscani Cataphracts are traitors,” Kaelen said rapidly and clearly.
“They have turned to Chaos.
The review ceremony right now is about to become a one-sided slaughterhouse.” As soon as the words left his mouth, a deathly silence fell over the command post.
Several Vox-operators froze, staring at this big-mouthed recruit as if he were already a corpse.
It was an utterly absurd scene.
A recruit who hadn’t even gathered a complete set of uniform was pointing his finger at the most elite armored regiment in all of Cadia—and the entire sector—and slapping them with the brand of heresy.
In the Imperial bureaucracy, the more prestigious and decorated a military unit was, the higher its political immunity.
Nobody wanted to believe that yesterday’s heroes would become today’s traitors.
The commissar’s chest heaved violently.
He didn’t sound the alarm; instead, his rage turned into a cold, angry laugh.
“The Volscani Cataphracts?
The Glorious Wall of the Imperium?
The elite regiment personally awarded the Astra Militarum Cross three times by the Governor?” The commissar stood up, brushed aside the hem of his greatcoat with one hand, and stepped around the desk.
“You—a newly enlisted recruit, a rookie sergeant who hasn’t even seen what the front lines look like—barge into my command post to slander an honored force battle-tested in a hundred warzones?” Kaelen didn’t back down.
“Sir, caution works to our advantage!
If we wait until the traitors shove their cannon barrels down the command hub’s throat, the consequences will be more than either of us can bear!” “I request an immediate investigation into the Volscani Cataphracts!” “Shut up!” Without the slightest hesitation, he drew his gun.
The dark muzzle of a bolt pistol slammed hard against the center of Kaelen’s forehead.
The cold metallic press sent a shiver down his scalp.
With just a slight squeeze of the finger, Kaelen’s head would instantly burst like a squished red flower.
“This is utter heresy.
Undermining morale, defaming allied troops.” The commissar’s face contorted; at this close range, Kaelen could clearly see the crisscrossing red veins in his bloodshot eyes.
“In the name of the Emperor, Sergeant Kaelen—retract your insane words this instant, then go kneel before the Volscani Cataphracts to atone!
This will be your last chance.” The gun barrel jabbed forward, pressing a red mark onto his skin.
Notably, the very second the commissar drew his pistol, the air behind Kaelen shifted with a subtle motion.
Cullen’s patience had stretched past its limit.
He could not tolerate a mere mortal commissar pointing a gun right under his nose—especially when Kaelen was the very person the Emperor had specifically named in the dream revelation to protect.
His right arm, swathed in thick canvas, silently rose, his massive hand already locking onto the commissar’s cervical vertebrae.
Snapping a mortal’s neck was easier for an Astartes than snapping a chopstick.
“Don’t move.” A deep voice dripping with absolute authority sounded right beside Cullen’s ear.
A massive hand silently rested on Cullen’s shoulder.
The force was staggering, pinning the Astartes’s erupting killing intent dead in its tracks.
It was Horus.
Through his mask, the Wolf God watched the farce with cold eyes.
If they moved now, the infantry regiment would explode on the spot.
Before any external enemy attacked, they would be locked in an internal battle royale.
Reveal a Primarch’s identity?
On Cadia, a land already gripped by pre-war frenzy, the appearance of an uncorrupted Lupercal would spark panic and chaos far exceeding that of a minor rebellion.
They would be enveloped in endless barrage fire, and their original plan to intercept the traitors would dissolve into dust.
Rationality.
Restraint.
These were precisely the qualities most praised in the Warmaster during the Great Crusade.
Horus believed there was still room for maneuver.
He trusted Kaelen could handle it, and if the commissar truly meant to pull the trigger, he was confident he could save Kaelen in time.
Kaelen’s palms were soaked with sweat.
Being held at gunpoint by a loaded bolt pistol, claiming he wasn’t scared would be absolute nonsense.
His mind raced at top speed, cycling through various solutions.
Time to gamble.
Judging by the time, the point of betrayal was due any second.
“Sir,” Kaelen said, staring straight down the black barrel without backing away.
“Since you’re so confident in the Volscani’s loyalty, why don’t we listen to what’s happening outside?” “What?” The commissar scoffed.
“You cowardly slanderer, trying to buy time…” Before he could finish his sentence— The soaring ceremonial welcome music instantly shifted tone.
Immediately following was an ear-shattering, earth-shaking roar!
That was no blank round used for greetings—it was the unmistakable, live thunder of heavy artillery!
The piercing shriek of high-yield lasers tore through Cadia’s air defense grid.
Through the half-open curtain of the command post, everyone saw it clearly.
Far in the distance over the landing pad, a small blood-red mushroom cloud slammed outward with a violent shockwave.
Towering flames tore into the sky, completely leveling surrounding structures.
The blast wave crested like a mountain-flattening wave.
The whole shelter shuddered violently, light tubes flickering wildly.
Dust poured down from above, showering the commissar head to toe.
This resounding slap from reality landed squarely across the commissar’s face.
The commissar froze in utter shock.
A second ago, his face had been full of righteous indignation; now, it was contorted into a ridiculously comical expression of horror.
*Clatter.* The bolt pistol slipped from his hand and heavily landed onto his combat boot.
No one spoke.
Aside from the continuous explosions and screaming outside, the command shack held only the hum of idling cogitators.
Just then, a harsh red light flared on the vox-console’s broadcast channel.
Accompanied by heavy electromagnetic static, a desperate, cracking shriek tore through the speaker: “Treason!
They’ve opened fire!” “The Volscani Cataphracts are traitors!
They’ve bombarded the viewing grandstand!” “The Lord Castellan and Sub-Castellan are down!
Everyone’s dead—” *Krrrsh—* Harsh static crudely cut off the commissar’s last lingering delusion.