“Important women?” Peter asked, sounding intrigued. “The mae spirit doesn’t care about rank ender, Captain.”

  “One of them,” Kayvaan hissed, “is an inquisitor. And her escort sists of a squad of Sisters of Battle.”

  There was a loud thunk from the cockpit. “What was that?” Kayvaan barked.

  Edmund’s panicked voiswered. “Captaier fainted. I’m flying now. We’ll nd shortly.”

  “Good,” Kayvaan said ftly. “We’re going to have a very long discussion once we nd. Now take us to the drop site.”

  The Iron Hawk skimmed the opy, its engines droning like a chorus of engines whispering prayers to the Omnissiah. Suddenly, with a hiss, the side hatch slid open. A rush of wind tore through the , though no one jumped and nothing was deployed. The door closed again after a moment, leaving Darius bewildered. “What was that?” he asked.

  Kayvaan shrugged. “Just getting some fresh air.”________________

  The Cadian 101st Regiment was once a proud and renowned unit. Its soldiers were just ordinary people who had undergorous military training. They weren’t geically enhanced like the Space Marines, nor did they possess the fanatical zeal of the Adepta Sororitas. They didn’t receive the God-Emperor’s blessings, nor did they wield devastating psychic powers. They were simply human.

  Before enlisting, these soldiers came from all walks of life. Some were hardw farmers, others were miners b deep underground, and a few were fresh-faced scho graduates ready to step into society. But there was ohing that set them apart—they were from Cadia. Growing up on Cadia was a different experie was often said that Cadian children could disassemble and reassemble a sgun blindfolded by the age of five. Their first books were military manuals, and they were taught bat drills before they could even roperly. Cadia didn’t just raise citizens; it raised warriors.

  Now, uhe banner of the God-Emperor, these ordinary people left their previous lives behind. Farmers put dowools, miners left their shafts, and graduates abaheir dreams. They picked up their ons, marg together uhe fg of the Cadian 101st Regiment to fight for humanity’s survival. And then they were defeated.

  It happened on a lush, picturesque world. Marlbh, the regiment’s deputy ander, remembered it vividly. It ring—bright and peaceful, with fresh rain that nourished the nd. But this tranquility was shattered by an uing nightmare: the green-skinned Orks.

  The Orks weren’t a metaphorical pgue; they were a literal one. Like fungal growth after rain, they emerged from the ground, spreading across the nd. Every soldier in the 41st millennium knew about Orks. These creatures weren’t born like humans. Biologis theorized that Orks were an unnatural hybrid of animal and pnt matter, allowing them to grow directly out of the soil. Their green skin came from chlorophyll, enabling them to photosynthesize like pnts.

  This wasn’t just terrifying—it was absurdly unfair. Bury an Ork in winter, and by spring, aire warband might sprout in your backyard, ready to wreak havoc. How could such abominatio in the Emperor’s universe? Yet, here they were: violent, ing, and impossibly durable. Orks were the embodiment of war. Strohan bulls, craftier than vermin, and tougher than a pgue of cockroaches, they were destru inate. For them, fighting wasn’t just a y—it was their purpose.

  The Cadian 101st had beeo front this menace, but due to an intelligence failure, they arrived too te. The Orks had already grown into a massive horde. From the moment the first shots were fired, the regiment found itself locked in a brutal, uing battle. The soldiers’ sguns were pitifully underpowered against the Orks' sheer resilience. A single sgun shot rarely did more than scor Ork’s hide; it often took three to five direct hits t one down. Against the rger, tougher Nobz, even more firepower was he regiment fought valiantly, but it was like trying to stop a green avah pebbles.

  The battlefield became a sughterhouse. The Orks charged with reckless abandon, turning the flito a grinding war of attrition. The Cadian 101st was hopelessly outmatched. Their regimental ander, a man Marlbh deeply respected, was killed in a gruesome manner. An Ork wielding peared to be a rusty cleaver—Throne knew where it found one—split the ander’s skull in half, exposing a grotesque cross-se of his brain.

  The political issar fared er. He executed over a dozen soldiers during the battle, g they had shown signs of cowardice. Yet many suspected that these “cowards” were simply victims of the issar’s paranoia. Regardless, the public executions did boost morale for a time. However, when the regiment began its retreat, a sbolt from the rear struck the issar, melting his knee. Perhaps it was a stray shot, or perhaps it wasn’t—Marlbh couldn’t say. Still, the issar stoically volunteered to cover the retreat, limping back toward the advang Orks. His defiant shouts and the sound of gunfire echoed into the night until they were silenced forever.

  By the end of the battle, the regiment was shattered. Half of its soldiers were dead or missing. All heavy onry had been abandoned during the retreat. The Cadian 101st was no longer a fighting force; it was a broken shell of its former self. With no choice left, the remnants of the regiment were reassigo a desote border fortress, far from the frontlines.

  The soldiers of the Cadian 101st Regiment were supposed to have some well-deserved rest and recovery time. They were ordinary men and women. Soldiers who had just endured fierce battles ime to heal their physical aional wounds, catch their breath in a safe pce, and prepare themselves for whatever new challenges awaited on the battlefield.

  But fate had other pns. Just as they were trying troup, they entered an Eldar Ranger—a sniper of elite caliber. For any army, entering a sniper is among the most difficult sarios to deal with. Snipers are ghosts, striking fear and chaos into their targets. There are typically only two ways to deal with them: one is to send out a sniper of your own to hunt them down, and the other is to use artillery to obliterate the area where they’re hiding. A bombardment might ck accuracy, but it ensures no sniper, no matter how skilled, remain hidden.

  Unfortunately for the 101st, they had her option. They’d lost all their heavy ons i e, and the fortress’s arsenal had been sabotaged—the guns rendered useless. Even their sharpshooters had been casualties of war. Morale was at ro, and this battered half-regiment of over 500 soldiers had no choice but to cower behind the thick walls of Faln, calling desperately for reinforts.

  When the rescue finally arrived, the sight oarmac didn’t inspire much hope. The soldiers who weren’t on duty stood in two rows, f a half-hearted weling party. Deputy ander Marlbh was among them, silently praying that only the Astra Militarum reinforts had e. Anything but a political issar, he thought. The st thing they needed was someone passing judgment on their sorry state, perhaps even carrying out summary executions for cowardice.

  But when the airship’s doors opened, Marlbh’s heart sank further. The passengers weren’t issars—they were far worse. Inquisitors and Adepta Sororitas in full power armor stepped out, their presence radiating authority and intimidation.

  Marlbh’s nerves betrayed him. He blurted out a question he’d regret ter: “Why are you here? Aren’t you with the Militarum reinforts?”