Staring into the mirror, water droplets trickling down, the man's reflection was rather handsome. His well-built physique, honed through years of military service, exuded a masculine presence.
However, his dull, lifeless eyes—akin to those of a dead fish—were a significant flaw. Still, in the ranks, those very eyes had an intimidating effect that served him well.
Exhaling deeply, he picked up a cold, damp towel and wiped his face as he stepped out of the washroom. Just as he passed a circular porthole, the ship suddenly trembled. Outside, the unchanging purple-red hyperspace corridor began to fade away.
He knew—the journey had reached its end.
His homeworld.
Astartes Eighteenth Legion Salamanders' Conquered World-Eleven, world classification—Resort World.
It was one of the most prestigious vacation and tourism destinations within the entire Sacred Selene Empire.
Many bureaucrats of the Imperial government chose Conquered World-Eleven as their retreat.
Likewise, those among the empire's warlords who wished to indulge in fine cuisine and natural harmony—including but not limited to Astartes warriors, Imperial auxiliaries, and high-ranking officers of the auxiliary legions—often selected this world as a vacation spot for themselves and their families.
Among the four Conscientious Legions of the Astartes, the Eighteenth Legion, Salamanders, were renowned for their compassion toward mortals, their masterful craftsmanship, and their vast Titan Legions.
Their Lord Commander, Vulkan, though taciturn and fearsome in appearance, was universally recognized as a gentle giant.
Among the other three Conscientious Legions:
The First Legion, Dark Angels, displayed warmth and empathy—toward the Imperial auxiliaries and those auxiliary legions deemed valuable, along with their homeworlds.
The Ninth Legion, Blood Angels, were too lofty and angelic in their demeanor, making them seem distant and unattainable to ordinary mortals.
The Thirteenth Legion, Ultramarines, excelled in administration, always finding a use for every individual and seamlessly integrating them into the grand machinery of the Empire. Their internal governance was remarkably efficient, though they had a tendency for bureaucratic formalities.
The more he learned, the more Hachiman Hikigaya felt fortunate.
To be under the command of the Lord Vulkan.
Had he fallen under the Punishers or the Night Lords, he might have long since perished on a merciless battlefield.
Thanks to the warp gate at the spaceport, it had taken less than a month for the soldiers of the Conquered World-Eleven auxiliary legion to return from the Eighteenth Legion's grand crusade to their homeworld.
As a designated Resort World, Conquered World-Eleven housed one of the weakest auxiliary legions in the entire empire.
Some of the more powerful auxiliary legions had single regiments that dwarfed the entire Conquered World-Eleven legion in scale!
Yet, owing to the Eighteenth Legion's superior craftsmanship and philosophy, even the weapons and equipment issued to their auxiliary forces were of excellent quality.
Beep!
"Attention all personnel: the warp gate spaceport has been reached. Conquered World-Eleven, Resort World, arrival confirmed. Please adhere to all traffic regulations and proceed in an orderly fashion. Violators will bear full responsibility...."
Following the guidance signals from the spaceport's control tower, the military transport ships—modest in tonnage by Imperial Navy standards—descended along one of the many vast passageways embedded in the massive artificial beehive-like space station.
From a distance, these passageways appeared unremarkable against the starry expanse. However, upon closer approach, even the smallest of them measured over five kilometers in diameter.
"Home at last… So much has changed."
"But… aren't there too many Astartes Angels here? The garrison strength is several times what it was last time. Did something happen?"
Crackle—Crackle—
As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but blood and fire. Above, steel behemoths blotted out the sky, their bellies ceaselessly unleashing deadly, brilliant blossoms of destruction.
His military boots pressed against scorched earth, the air thick with the acrid scent of metal and charred flesh.
Groan—
A reinforced concrete pillar, its structural integrity failing, let out a long creak before snapping from its center. Unable to withstand the weight above, it collapsed, bringing adjacent buildings down with it. Amid the chaotic dust storm, his comrades' voices rang out:
"Danger! Spread out!"
From the ruins, pairs of eyes filled with deep-seated hatred gleamed through the dust and rubble.
He knew…
He was an invader. A butcher who had destroyed their home and slaughtered their families.
But—"I had no choice."
Crouching, the hem of his iron-gray military coat nearly touched the ground. His gloved hands pulled back the bolt of his weapon before raising it—a Model 18C-35Short laser rifle—toward the gap in the wreckage.
The thermal imaging system on his helmet scanned every inch of the ruined structure.
This was a battlefield. Even though his forces held the upper hand, in an age of advanced weaponry, even a single lucky shot from a child could spell disaster.
His visor picked up movement—a figure slinking along a muddy pipeline at the southeast corner of the ruins.
Zap! Zap!
A two-shot burst—aiming for the largest target area, the torso, to halt movement. Then, as the enemy staggered from the impact, a finishing shot—preferably to the head, or failing that, another to the torso.
Luck was on his side. As the enemy fell backward, his final shot hit its mark. "Three o'clock, one target down. High probability of more hostiles," he reported.
"Same location, frag rounds—two shots," ordered an auxiliary officer crouched behind a nearby wall.
Boom! Boom!
Explosions ripped through the wreckage, sending shrapnel clattering amidst the anguished screams of the hidden insurgents.
As he and his team moved forward in close-quarters formation, stepping over bodies like discarded sacks, they kicked open a splintered wooden door—only to be greeted by a scene of utter carnage—
"AH—!"
He jolted awake, gasping.
Bang!
"Ow! Hssss… Damn, that hurts."
Rubbing his forehead, the man sat up from the lower bunk of his barracks bed. Above him, the familiar iron-gray ceiling loomed.
Scanning the room, he saw the same gray-green color scheme, the narrow rows of bunks, and the blanket bearing the "Eleven" insignia. Peeling back the covers, he caught sight of his gray-green T-shirt.
"Had a nightmare, Hikigaya? Lame," a voice taunted from the upper bunk.
"Screw you," he shot back in a hushed tone. "I'm going home soon. Just thinking about my sister. You get that, right?"
"Tch. Like I don't have a sister too. Not jealous at all…" The bunkmate muttered before rolling over and melodramatically whimpering, "Boo-hoo-hoo."
"You're disgusting."
Chuckling, Hachiman Hikigaya glanced at his still-sleeping comrades.
Who would've thought? The so-called antisocial shut-in had actually joined the military, survived the battlefield, and made it back alive.
Life sure was unpredictable.
And living… felt great.
Creaaak—
He quietly pushed open the barracks door, walked through the long corridor, and entered the washroom. Lowering his head, he splashed cold water over his face.
...
After entering the industrial age, humanity increasingly championed science and reason, rejecting the existence of gods and divine beings. Atheists and non-believers grew in number—until that day, when humanity was reminded of the fear that came with witnessing the might of the divine.
My name is Hachiman Hikigaya.
I remember that day clearly—March 18, 2011. The sun was shining brightly, marking my first step out of middle school and into high school.
For reasons I still don't understand, I ended up nearly getting hit by a car while trying to save a dachshund.
And why do I say nearly? Because that day, an angel descended beside me.
I will never forget it—clutching that small dachshund, staring at the Spirit of Ecstasy hood ornament on the Rolls-Royce as it grew larger in my vision, followed by a thunderous impact.
When I turned around, I found myself enveloped in an enormous shadow. A towering giant had stopped the luxury car mere centimeters from my nose, halting it effortlessly with raw strength.
The giant, blocking out the sunlight, cast a shadow over me like a dark storm cloud. His glowing amber visor gleamed like a gemstone in the darkness.
"Oh, let me see—a compassionate and courageous young man!"
The green-armored giant released his massive thunder hammer, letting it crash into the dirt, then stepped forward with a voice like iron and thunder.
The overwhelming presence of this towering figure made the surrounding onlookers tremble in fear—they had never seen anything like him.
Soon, more flashes of violet light erupted in the air, heralding the arrival of even more green-armored giants. The one who had saved me was among them as they swiftly departed.
Later, I learned that the violet flashes were the effects of tactical warp teleportation, and that they were Astartes Angels—the death angels of Her Majesty Selene, the Divine Empress of the Empire.
They moved with such speed that to ordinary eyes, they were nothing more than blurs of green.
Left behind, still cradling the dachshund, I stood frozen in place alongside its owner and two wealthy sisters who had just stepped out of the Rolls-Royce.
Then, as colossal steel behemoths blanketed the sky, orbital drop pods, strike craft, and assault boats rained down like falling stars. Naturally, school was out of the question.
Return home. That was the only option.
Throwing the dachshund back to its owner, I ran through the streets, screaming my sister Komachi's name at the top of my lungs. At that moment, I didn't care about anything else—if I had to die, I wanted to die with my sister and my family.
Thinking back now—ugh. AAAAAH! So embarrassing! Running through the streets, crying and shouting for my sister like an idiot.
In the end, I spent a tense day with my family at a Chiba earthquake evacuation shelter. Then we received the news—Japan had surrendered. Our skies had changed.
Two days later, the entire world welcomed its new ruler.
All past meanings attached to our planet were erased, replaced by a new order. Our home was now Conquered World-Eleven, a Resort World under the Astartes Eighteenth Legion, the Salamanders.
On the Japanese archipelago, the cabinet was dissolved. We were no longer Japanese—we were now Citizens of Sector Eleven.
Four ones in a row—1111. Some of us tried to find solace in that, convincing ourselves it wasn't so bad. Of course, not everyone accepted it so easily…
But the fate of the rebels? That went without saying—collective punishment, extermination of three generations.
And that, I later learned, was after the Salamanders Astartes had argued for leniency. Had they not intervened, the Inquisition's bloodthirsty enforcers would have insisted on wiping out nine generations instead.
"Hey! Hikigaya, what are you thinking about? Missing your sister again? Relax, man, we're almost there. Hurry up and clean your bunk—prep for docking. If you don't want the Bear to chew you out, move it."
Sigh. Within their unit, Hachiman Hikigaya's reputation as a hopeless siscon was infamous.
Covering his face, Hikigaya gritted his teeth. "Damn that loudmouth Totsuka..."
As the docking announcement played, the barracks section of the ship instantly came to life. A swarm of gray-green-clad soldiers burst from their bunks, moving with eager energy.
Their ages varied—from young men just entering adulthood to seasoned veterans in their thirties and forties. Some bore fresh, youthful faces, while others carried the marks of battle, their exposed skin riddled with scars.
The excitement in the air was palpable.
And why wouldn't it be? They had survived the battlefield. They were returning home—not as ashes in a funeral urn, but as living men.
And on top of that, the war honors they earned were about to be redeemed. Rewards for themselves, for their families—how could they not be anxious to return?
"No rush, no rush. I've already finished." Clearing his throat, Hikigaya turned around, spreading his arms with a smug look.
"Tch." A blond, blue-eyed German soldier scoffed, flipping him off in an international gesture of goodwill.
Just then, from the hallway corner—
"Shit, move faster! The Bear's coming!"
The next moment—
"You have three minutes! Move it!"
A voice like a lion's roar echoed through the corridor.
A towering officer strode into view, clad in a military uniform stretched tight over his bulging muscles. He wielded a disciplinary baton, flicking it with deliberate menace.
At a glance, he appeared to be in his mid-thirties—long face, short brown hair, gray eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard.
"The spaceport is filled with dignitaries—leaders from various legions, worlds, and even trade magnates from the Imperial capital itself. Listen up, you little bastards! I will not tolerate anyone disgracing our regiment during the triumphal ceremony. Do you understand?!"
"YES, SIR!"
...
Under the guidance of an attendant, Selene, dressed in a luxurious white fur coat, walked into an ornately decorated reception hall. Holding her hand was Alyssa, similarly dressed in casual attire, making them look like ordinary tourists.
In the center of the room was a lush indoor garden filled with vibrant flowers, where a large crowd of hundreds had gathered. Men and women of varying appearances mingled, though at least a fifth of them bore distinct inhuman traits—pointed ears, beast-like tails, or animalistic features.
Ah, no need to guess. They were attendants—servants accompanying their traveling masters.
"Milady, please wait a moment. The direct near-Earth orbital elevator to Sector Eleven will arrive in approximately three minutes."
"Mm, thank you." Accepting a glass of champagne from a tray, Selene gave a small nod.
"I want one too—" Smack!
Pressing down on Alyssa's head, Selene took a slow sip of champagne. "Children don't drink alcohol." She glanced at the attendant. "Get her a bottle of yogurt."
"Yes, ma'am."
Standing by the grand floor-to-ceiling windows of the reception hall, Selene gazed through the spotlessly clean glass.
A thousand kilometers below, the bustling metropolis of Conquered World-Eleven sprawled outward, a vibrant and thriving expanse under the governance of the Salamanders.
"Vulkan… I am willing to call him the second Robert."
Shifting her gaze, Selene spotted an Imperial Navy warship docking at the spaceport.
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