Qin Mo didn’t participate in the battle.
Grot moved like a specter through the war-torn streets, his integrated Multi-Laser scything through the cultists in searing bursts of light.
The modified scatter-shot mode turned every discharge into an area-denial weapon, each shot devastatingly efficient in the cramped confines of the underhive.
Grey, meanwhile, fully utilizing his shoulder cannon, was raining death from above.
His HUD flickered with real-time battlefield data, the top-down drone feed marking every hostile in glowing red runes.
His shoulder cannon was linked to the recon drones, their machine-precision calculating ballistic trajectories, movement vectors, and projected blast radii.
Each shot landed perfectly.
The heretics never stood a chance.
Grey and Grot returned to Qin Mo’s side.
The three of them walked toward the bunker, the shattered corpses of the enemy cooling behind them.
Inside, the Imperial survivors watched in reverence.
Slowly, they stepped forward.
One by one, they knelt, their eyes fixed on the Aquila staff in Qin Mo’s grip.
A sigil of the Imperium.
A symbol of salvation.
“Who is your ranking officer?”
Qin Mo asked as he walked.
A man stepped forward, wearing the same rank insignia as Klein.
"That would be me, Lord."
Qin Mo glanced down at him.
"Your current force is only 472 men—far too few.
This position is not worth holding.
Abandon it immediately and move west to regroup with the main force."
The officer hesitated but nodded.
His expression betrayed his surprise.
He hadn’t even finished counting his survivors, yet Qin Mo already knew the exact number.
But there was no time for awe.
The order was carried out immediately
The soldiers gathered their weapons and supplies, assembling for departure.
The less than 500 survivors assembled for departure.
But nearly half were wounded.
Some were carried on stretchers, others leaned on their comrades, their armor cracked, their bodies failing.
Expecting them to march 70 kilometers was impossible.
Qin Mo summoned the transport drones, allowing the wounded to board first.
Seeing this act of care, the officer hesitated.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"Are you the Lord-General? Does our defensive line still hold?"
Qin Mo hadn’t intended to answer.
But when he saw their expectant gazes, he relented.
"I do not know if the old defenses still stand.
But I am establishing a new defensive line.
We have two fortresses."
The soldiers paled in despair.
Qin Mo had intended to bolster morale, but before he could—
A deep, droning noise filled the air.
From the sky, five black spheres descended.
They halted half a meter above the ground.
Mechanical arms extended.
They began scavenging the battlefield, collecting anything useful.
Recognizing them as his logistics drones, Qin Mo paid them no mind.
He turned back to the soldiers.
"Brothers! Loyal sons of the Emperor, we—"
A low, gurgling growl.
Qin Mo stopped speaking.
Nearby, a mutant abomination staggered back to its feet.
Its chest was riddled with holes.
And yet—it refused to die.
It dragged a rusted pickaxe, its beady, corrupted eyes locked onto Qin Mo.
One of the logistics drones detected the threat.
It retracted its salvaging arms.
Then—extended them again.
This time, holding a blade.
The mutant was beheaded.
The drone retrieved the corpse.
Qin Mo turned back to the soldiers.
"No need for alarm. These are our machines."
The troops nodded hesitantly.
They refocused on him.
"Now, my brothers! The Emperor—"
A thought struck him.
Why did the drone collect the mutant’s corpse?
He opened a direct channel to the AI core.
"Why are you salvaging mutant corpses? Don’t tell me it’s for food."
The AI responded immediately.
["Based on my analysis, heretic corpses can be repurposed.
After undergoing multiple purification processes, they become completely non-toxic.
They can be converted into nutritional supplements without side effects."]
Qin Mo stared blankly.
"...I… You know what? Never mind."
Resources were scarce.
If that mutant abomination ended up processed into nutrient paste…
They’d just have to hold their noses and eat.
The drones didn’t just collect enemy corpses.
They retrieved fallen Imperial soldiers.
A drone paused in front of the officer.
The officer flinched.
For a moment, he thought the machine was about to recycle him too.
The drone did not respond.
Instead, a hatch opened on its outer shell.
A small, square object ejected from the compartment, landing in his hands.
It bore the engraved face of the fallen soldier.
Below it, an inscription:
"Memorial Ash Block – Fallen Hero of the Underhive."
Qin Mo heard the AI’s voice again.
["Humans have a tradition of honoring the dead."]
The drones continued their work.
When they finished, they lifted off, heading for their next objective.
"We will follow your orders, Lord."
The officer secured the memorial blocks.
"We will move west to regroup with our allies."
Qin Mo handed him a Vox device.
"If you encounter trouble, use this to call me.
The channel is already set.
If you encounter psykers, throw it at them.
It has a built-in nullification field."
Then, the survivors departed.
Once they were gone, Qin Mo gave his next order to the AI.
“Prioritize intelligence gathering on other Imperial positions.”
[“Acknowledged. Recon drones are already under construction.”]
The logistics drones returned, dropping crates of food before departing again.
Deafening cheers erupted across the fortress.
Qin Mo, who had been crafting the fourth suit of power armor, emerged from his underground workshop.
"What’s all the noise about?"
He held a food container, spearing a piece of meat with a fork.
“This stuff is amazing.”
Qin Mo glanced at the meal.
Solid synthetic meat.
That better not be the mutant.
“…Does it taste good?”
Klein nodded vigorously. Then, as if suddenly suspicious, he clutched the container protectively.
“Grey already brought you a portion.
You’re not getting mine.”
Qin Mo chuckled. “Relax. I don’t want it.”
As they spoke, Grey arrived, carrying two additional food boxes.
He handed one to Qin Mo.
Then—without a word—he placed his own portion in Klein’s hands.
Grey said nothing, turning and walking away.
Then, without hesitation, he placed his own food container into Klein’s arms.
With that, he turned and returned to his workshop.
Klein watched him leave.
He sat there, silent, staring at the three rations in his hands.