Rainwater dripped down Griggs’s stubbled chin.
The veteran looked left and right, confirming there was only the endless sound of rain around them, then lowered his voice.
“About this ‘Emperor’s Chosen’ thing…
listen to your uncle’s advice.”
He wiped the rain from his face.
“We common soldiers, whose lives were rolled out of the same trench, can call you ‘Emperor’s Chosen’ in private.
That means we respect you.
It means in our hearts, we see you as that one straw keeping us from drowning.
Everyone understands this without saying it.
No one will take it too seriously.”
Griggs paused, lowering his voice even further.
“But if that title spreads too loudly and draws over those Ecclesiarchy zealots…
or even those filthy things from the Inquisition…”
When he said those words, his whole face wrinkled together, and he spat hard onto the ground.
“Bah!
If those bastards come, they won’t be handing you medals.
It’ll be endless verification, testing, investigations…
If they think there’s something wrong with you, or even if they simply don’t like the look of you, the whole regiment could get dragged in.”
“Making the camp a mess would be the light version.
They really can lock down an Astra Militarum regiment in the middle of a war for investigation, even if the planet below is already being overrun by the enemy.”
“To them, purity matters more than victory.
But to us, that means death.”
Rod listened and nodded silently.
True.
If the Inquisition really saw his system, forget explaining.
He probably would not even get the chance to open his mouth.
Being executed on the spot would count as leniency.
Although he did not believe in Chaos Gods or any of that nonsense, his system panel had nothing to do with the Imperium’s sacred texts either.
Unless he developed to the point where he could swallow an Exterminatus order and burp afterward, then…
Keeping a low profile and growing quietly was the true path.
Griggs saw Rod silently thinking and assumed the young man was upset that he could not enjoy the limelight.
He stretched out a palm-sized hand and patted Rod heavily on the shoulder.
“Enough.
Don’t pull that long face.
Your achievements won’t disappear.”
The veteran’s tone softened a little, carrying the comfort of someone who had been through it all.
“The battle report was submitted long ago.
With this damned weather and our cursed communication efficiency, it might take a while to go back and forth, but once it’s confirmed…
Heh.
Your rank might end up higher than mine.
When we meet then, I might have to salute you.”
“Rank, huh…”
Rod muttered.
If he had gotten that earlier, maybe Karl would not have…
Thinking of the man who had stuffed his last piece of chocolate into his hands, Rod’s eyes chilled slightly.
Immediately after, another name surfaced in his mind like a thorn.
Sebastian.
That so-called acting captain of Fourth Company.
That “petty noble” who had stolen the battle merit from Rod’s first boss kill.
A cold smile curved Rod’s lips.
He would remember that debt.
Once he made it big, he would find a chance to have a good talk with that noble lord.
“Come on!
Stop thinking about useless crap.
First, let’s draw enough tools for eating!”
Griggs’s loud voice interrupted Rod’s thoughts.
The veteran waved and led him through the muddy path, heading straight for the half-buried armory.
Since this was a “special mission,” and since they had to operate independently from the main force, those miserly logistics people were rarely generous for once.
Rod stood before racks packed with ammunition crates, and his eyes instantly lit up.
Since there was no limit…
“This one.
That one too.
This crate…
and those two crates…”
Rod loaded heavy crates of solid ammunition, rows of bolt rounds, and even two crates of grenades onto himself all at once.
The backpack on his back bulged so much the zipper nearly burst, and his chest rig was covered in magazines.
That still was not enough.
He carried a large bag filled with drum magazines in each hand.
The canvas handles were stretched straight in his grip, creaking as if they might snap at any second.
This load had to be at least two or three hundred kilograms.
Rod rolled his shoulders and turned around.
“Looks good to me.
Let’s go?”
Griggs, who had been smoking at the entrance, stared dumbfounded at the humanoid walking armory buried under ammunition.
The corners of his eyes twitched several times.
“I told you that you could take a little extra…”
The veteran swallowed, and in the end, could only squeeze out one sincere compliment.
“You kid…
You’ve got beast strength.
You can carry more than a horse pulling artillery.”
Rod only grinned.
For now, these bags looked huge, but most of them could be stored in the storage box later.
The two walked one after another through ankle-deep muddy water and returned to the temporary camp of Seventh Company’s heavy weapons squad.
It was a small camp made from several pieces of joined rainproof canvas.
Wooden boards had been laid on the ground to keep out water, and several dim yellow lamps swayed in the wind and rain.
“Stop what you’re doing!
Let me introduce a new comrade!”
Griggs lifted the curtain and shouted loudly.
Inside the tent, several soldiers gathered around a smokeless stove immediately stood up.
Griggs pointed at a tall, thin man holding a thick mortar tube and wiping it down.
“This is Old Ghost.
Mortar man.
His skill is solid.
If he points at something, it gets hit.”
The man raised his head.
His eyes were gloomy.
He only nodded at Rod and said nothing.
Then Griggs patted a young man beside him, who was built like a calf.
“This is Hammer.
Autocannon gunner.
Strong, a bit simple in the head, but absolutely reliable.”
The young man grinned, showing an honest smile, and gave Rod a crooked military salute.
“Focus on protecting these two treasures.
They’re our technical arms.
If either one is missing, our firepower drops hard,” Griggs reminded him.
Rod swept his gaze over these future teammates.
Mortar.
Autocannon.
Add the stubber and Griggs’s command.
This loadout was practically luxurious.
“Third Company, Third Platoon, Private Rod.”
He gave his name simply.
Then he released his grip.
Thud!
The heavy ammunition bags smashed onto the wooden floor, forcing muddy water to seep up through the cracks.
Old Ghost, who had been wiping the mortar, suddenly froze.
Hammer was so startled he took a step back.
Silence lasted for two seconds.
Then the young man called Hammer seemed to suddenly realize something.
“Rod?
That…
that Rod who tore apart the Ork Nob?”
In an instant, the gazes that had originally been measuring and curious turned into undisguised admiration.
Even gloomy Old Ghost now had a hint of fear in his eyes when he looked at Rod.
On this cruel battlefield, strength was truth.
And a strong man who could smash an Ork Nob’s head flat was a living legend.
“All right, all right!
Stop acting like you’ve never seen anything!”
Griggs cursed, but the pride on his face could not be hidden no matter what.
“Hurry up and pack!
Once the truck arrives, we move!”
While the others hurriedly organized equipment and wrapped the heavy weapons in waterproof cloth, Rod silently carried those large bags and slipped into a dark corner piled with junk.
Using his body and the pile of debris as cover…
Storage box, collect!
The backpack and hand-carried bags that had been making him uncomfortable instantly deflated.
Crates of ammunition and the weight that could crush an ordinary person disappeared into thin air as if by magic, leaving only a few bags of rations and some spare magazines.
Rod rolled his neck, producing a crisp crack.
Much better.
When he walked out again, the rumble of an engine sounded outside.
A six-wheeled Achilles truck, mottled with peeling paint and even showing several rusted-through holes, stopped at the camp entrance while belching black smoke.
This was a vehicle produced by this poor agricultural planet.
Although it was ugly as hell, it was said to be tough, durable, and able to run on almost any kind of fuel.
“Mount up!
Mount up!
Move your asses!”
Amid Griggs’s roar, Rod pushed himself up with one hand and lightly flipped into the muddy, straw-covered truck bed.
He found a spot by the side and sat down, his eyes looking through the curtain of rain toward the pitch-black wasteland.
“Greenskin bastards, I’m coming…”