During this time, Duncan had noticed a peculiar trend—an unprecedented surge in the number of power armor suits being delivered by the logistics "servitors."
The sheer volume was staggering, as though every single Planetary Defense Force (PDF) soldier under his command was expected to be issued one.
Of course, such a notion was absurd.
Even the Astra Militarum did not outfit common soldiers with power armor; such wargear was the domain of the Adeptus Astartes or elite Tempestus Scions, not rank-and-file troops.
More likely, the "servitors" programmed with cold, unerring efficiency had simply offloaded a bulk shipment here, assuming the officers would handle distribution as they saw fit.
After a lengthy consultation with Albert, Duncan had decided that only squad leaders in their two regiments would be granted power armor. The surplus was allocated to allied forces stationed nearby, ensuring their war effort remained cohesive.
And yet, even after making this fateful decision, Duncan could not shake an unrelenting sense of unease.
Requisitioning such exalted wargear solely for his officers, even with the best intentions, could easily be perceived as hoarding resources. The Munitorum did not look kindly upon commanders who diverted war materiel outside designated protocols.
Worse, if someone like Qin Mo—a figure of considerable authority—deemed it misappropriation, the consequences could be dire.
That morning, amidst the ceaseless movement of drones and the dull hum of supply transports, an additional aircraft descended into the encampment.
Unlike the automated cargo haulers, this one was clearly manned or at least, deliberately deployed.
As the transport slowed from subsonic speed, its retro-thrusters engaged, sending a rippling pressure wave through the stagnant air.
The noise alone drew the attention of the entire encampment, and soon, a growing crowd of soldiers gathered beneath it, their expressions shifting between curiosity and apprehension.
With a resonant thud—a sound heavy with imperial purpose—two figures descended, their ceramite boots striking the ground with the assured weight of command.
The first rose to his full height, armored in a suit of warplate far beyond standard-issue models.
His mere presence alone demanded deference.
Beside him, a second figure—slightly shorter yet equally imposing—remained as a silent sentinel.
The moment their helmets were removed, revealing their faces, recognition swept through the ranks.
These were the very warriors who had arrived in the nick of time to reinforce them in recent battles, their deeds etched in every soldiers mind.
Without hesitation, Duncan strode forward and executed a crisp Aquila salute. Albert, however, chose to linger in the background, his guilt evident in the way his eyes refused to meet Qin Mo’s.
Qin Mo’s steely gaze swept across the assembled troops, his scrutiny as incisive as a power sword. In a heartbeat, his eyes narrowed upon noticing a glaring inconsistency.
Some soldiers were adorned in resplendent power armor, while others remained in inferior, PDF standard-issue gear.
A frown ghosted across his features. “Why is it that not every soldier is outfitted with Standard Praetorian Pattern power armor?”
Duncan’s heart skipped a beat, he froze.
Of all the things he had anticipated—accusations, reprimands, perhaps even censure—this was not it.
To outfit every soldier with power armor? Such a measure would border on a miracle wrought by the God-Emperor Himself.
Grey, noticing Duncan's hesitation, took a step forward. "He's asking you a question," he said, his voice carrying the weight of expectation. "According to the deployment plan, every soldier should have been issued a suit of Standard Praetorian Pattern power armor. Why, then, are your men not clad in them?”
For a moment, Duncan’s lips parted as if to speak, only to betray him in silence.
For weeks, he had been gripped by the fear that issuing power armor to his officers alone had been overstepping his bounds. But now, hearing that it was meant to be standard issue all along…
His mind reeled at the implications.
Seeing Duncan’s stunned silence, Qin Mo exhaled sharply, already piecing together what had happened.
He clarified, his tone leaving no room for misinterpretation,
"Next time, do not redistribute power armor elsewhere. The logistics drones deliver wargear exactly where it is needed. They do not simply leave it here for you to allocate at will."
Duncan hesitated for a moment before asking in disbelief, "So… you’re telling me that every soldier is meant to be clad in power armor?”
"What else would it be?" Qin Mo replied rhetorically, a faint note of amusement threading through his otherwise unyielding tone.
Just half a month ago, Qin Mo had overhauled the entire logistics infrastructure, optimizing the production lines, eliminating inefficiencies.
Before his intervention, manufacturing was a sluggish, convoluted affair: drones scavenged the Underhive ruins for scrap, salvaged ancient tech, or relied on irregular shipments from renegade traders like Kato.
Once gathered, raw materials were ferried to distant manufactorums for processing, then sent onward for final assembly. The interminable logistical delays ensured that vital wargear rarely reached the front lines in time.
Yet, Qin Mo had introduced a radical innovation—Fabrication Printing Technology.
Now, drones could directly print weapons and armor from raw base materials, rstreamlining production at an unprecedented rate. Outfitting every PDF soldier in power armor was no longer a quixotic dream but a tangible reality.
Grey folded his arms and queried, “When you received an excess of power armor, why didn’t you confirm the situation via vox-comm? Such a discrepancy should have been reported immediately.”
Duncan shook his head in disbelief. “Who in their right mind would have thought that power armor could ever be standard issue?”
A wry smirk played upon Grey’s lips. “And who in their right mind would willingly dispense their supply of power armor without proper authorization?”
Duncan sighed. “My apologies. I shall see to it that they are reclaimed forthwith.”
But before Duncan could proceed, Qin Mo raised a hand in dismissal. "No need. The ones you distributed can remain as reserves for those units."
He turned toward the logistics drones and issued a new command. Moments later, freshly fabricated power armor began rolling off the assembly line—each set perfectly fitted for the soldiers in Duncan’s regiment.
Finally, Qin Mo turned to depart, striding back toward the waiting transport. Just before boarding, he issued one final directive:
"I will be conducting rigorous inspections to confirm that every unit employs their wargear as intended. Once the next shipment arrives, ensure that all of your soldiers are properly outfitted."
Duncan nodded absently, still struggling to process everything.
It all felt as surreal as a heretical dream—
A dream in which the Emperor had truly bestowed His blessing upon his beleaguered troops.
As Qin Mo prepared to board the transport, Duncan hesitated for a moment before calling out in a tentative tone.
"I know you wield… a miraculous form of techno-sorcery, my Lord. But to outfit every soldier with power armor... is such an undertaking truly feasible?”
Qin Mo turned back, his voice resolute and unwavering.
“Power armor is the bulwark against the tides of death. In my forces, no life is expendable. I desire every soul to endure, which is why I ensured that each man is granted the Emperor’s protection in the form of power armor.”
With that final decree, Qin Mo boarded the transport, with Grey close behind. Moments later, the aircraft ascended into the turbulent skies, en route to the next battlefield—ensuring that no other unit had made the same mistake as Duncan’s.
Even after the craft had vanished beyond the horizon, Duncan remained rooted in place, the echo of Qin Mo’s words resonating in his mind like the tolling of a death knell.
"In my army, no life is expendable... In my army, no life is expendable."
Inside the transport, Grey chuckled, glancing at Qin Mo with amusement.
"Funny… I recall you telling me that you just wanted to stress-test the production limits of your Fabrication Printing system."
Qin Mo raised a skeptical eyebrow. "When did I ever say that?"
Grey smirked. “Oh, I don’t know… perhaps on the night you perfected the system, when your triumphant shout was so fervent that it literally disrupted the fortress’s gravity field?"
Qin Mo sighed, conceding with a wry smile. “Alright, fine. I admit I was eager to push the system to its limits. But that in no way diminishes my commitment to the lives of my soldiers. After all, these two objectives are not mutually exclusive, are they?”
Grey nodded in agreement. “That, I can indeed agree with.”