Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 461 Engraving
After the bandage was finished, Figsin raised his head.

The gaze behind the helmet visor pierced through the visor, looking directly into the mutant's wide eyes, which were staring in agony at the unbelievable scene before him.

Her voice came through the speaker, still carrying a metallic, hard quality, but the cold aloofness that once regarded the other as an absolute outsider had been tempered by the flames of fighting against chaos together: "Your actions... uphold the teachings of the Holy Word."

Her words were clear and powerful, quoting the essence of classical texts: "'Though dwelling in darkness, one's heart is turned towards the Emperor's light; courageously rebuking the wicked, one's loyalty is thus revealed.'"

This statement is like a boulder thrown into still water!

It means that Figueisen, the battle nun known for her iron will and burning faith, quoted the Book of Word to affirm the mutants' actions in protecting their home!

This was tantamount to declaring that, on the battlefield against chaos, their actions, at that moment, briefly intersected with the core spirit of the Empire in defending order!

The burly, scaly male mutant, who was injured, froze completely.

The immense shock, like an invisible hammer blow, instantly overwhelmed the burning pain in his arm.

Beneath his scaly skin, his muscles were taut, and his cloudy eyes were wide open in disbelief, his gaze fixed on Figsin's expressionless helmet.

His lips opened and closed in vain, but no sound came out.

The surrounding mutant residents fell into a heavy, chilling silence.

The heavy breathing seemed to have been sucked away, with only the crackling of embers deep inside the pipes echoing hollowly.

Every pair of eyes—cloudy, wary, and weathered—was fixed on Figesin and his bandaged companion.

The hunched figure of the "old lame man" leaned slightly forward, and a complex light flickered intensely in his cloudy eyes: the deepest shock, lingering doubt, and a trace of...

The almost dizzying feeling of being treated with "approval" rather than "elimination" by this warrior who represents absolute order and power.

Ultimately, that light settled down, transforming into a profound and complex feeling he had never experienced in his long and arduous life—a sense of unexpectedness that had been incorporated into the imperial standards of measurement.

Figueir landed and stood up, his joints making a slight popping sound as they reset.

Her stern gaze swept across the scene, not lingering too long in the direction of the mutants, and she gave the nun beside her a clear and unquestionable order: "Send him to the medical station immediately and give him priority treatment."

This order was swift and decisive. It was both a necessary measure to treat the wounded and an invisible boundary that confined the astonishing "certainty" from earlier to the framework of battlefield aid—the rules remained clear, and duty was paramount.

Her gaze then turned to the still-rising embers at the B-7 junction, her voice steady and carrying an unquestionable authority: "Clear the battlefield thoroughly to ensure no remaining threats. Maintain order in Sector D-7 as it is, awaiting further instructions."
-
Several days later, the stark white lights of Sector D-7 came on precisely on time. As usual, the mutant residents walked toward the cold metal wall sprayed with Imperial maxims, preparing for their routine dawn prayer.

However, they all stopped in their tracks as they approached – the view below the wall had been completely transformed.

The makeshift platform, crudely welded from a scrapped repair cart tray, is gone.

Instead, a brand-new, stable small state religious altar was erected.

The altar base is welded from thick metal plates, with sharp edges and corners, exuding an undeniable sense of solidity.

Most striking is the top of the altar: the faded, old canvas bearing the Imperial double-headed eagle has disappeared, replaced by a genuine Imperial Skyhawk emblem cast in cold, hard brass.

Though small, its lines are clear and sharp, gleaming with a heavy metallic sheen under the light, silently exuding an inviolable majesty. Right in front of this brand-new altar base stands a metal plate about half a person's height.

The board is solid, with finely cut and polished edges, and a smooth and flat surface.

At this moment, Sister Figueisen stood solemnly in front of the metal plate, holding a portable laser etching pen in her hand.

Under the watchful eyes of countless gazes, a mixture of surprise, confusion, and ultimately, silent anticipation, she activated the etching pen.

A thin yet sharp blue beam of light was precisely focused on the surface of the metal plate, emitting a slight hissing sound, accompanied by a fine mist of vaporized metal.

Her movements were steady and focused, her armored fingers precisely controlling the beam of light, as if performing a solemn ritual.

As the beam of light moved, lines of clear high Gothic letters were permanently etched out—the names of three mutant residents who sacrificed their lives the previous night during the Chaos Remnants' attack to stop arson and protect their fellow mutants and facilities in Sector D-7.

Figueir did not stop when the last letter was engraved.

She moved the beam of light and, below the name, began etching another line of text in a slightly smaller font:
"They sacrificed themselves to protect their homeland amidst the chaos. Their blood is not cold, and their will is not extinguished."

The air seemed to freeze, leaving only the hissing of the etching pen.

Immediately, a heavy, suppressed gasp of breath rose from the crowd.

All the mutant residents held their breath, silently gazing at the metal plaque inscribed with their names on the altar base, and above it, the brand-new brass eagle.

The names of the victims!

For the first time, it was so solemnly inscribed and placed beneath the true altar of the state religion!

Although the metal plate itself is simple and unadorned, its location, the solemn eagle above it, and the person who carved it give it a weight like thunder!
It silently proclaims: the actions of these deceased are closely linked to the survival and protection of Zone D-7!

They were etched on the edge of the imperial order.

The light shone on the metal plate, and the newly etched name and inscription reflected a firm and solemn luster; the brass eagle above cast a cold shadow.

Together with the cold, imposing imperial maxims on the wall, they form a weighty and somber scene.

Figsinli put away the laser pointer without giving any speech.

As if she had completed a predetermined duty, she stepped back and resumed her posture of overseeing the prayer.

However, her gaze lingered longer than usual on the inscribed plaque embedded in the base of the altar.

The blood-stained roar of Iron Claw from the night before still seemed to echo in my ears, but now it had solidified into this cold, metallic symbol before my eyes.

The flames of the previous night washed away the gloom of the past, and this morning, the inscription placed beneath the altar is like a cornerstone embedded in the foundation of the new order in District D-7, etching a heavy and resilient mark on this future built upon blood and fire.

A profound bond, born from a shared struggle against chaos and a desire to protect their homeland, quietly solidified between the cold imperial altar and the mutated body, which had suffered greatly.

(End of this chapter)