Chapter 55 – Battle Roster
[The Radiance of Macragge — Upper Deck Corridor]
A series of hurried footsteps echoed through the spacious, magnificent corridor.
Clutching the hem of her tactical trench coat, head lowered, Eileen scurried along like a small mouse.
Her mind kept replaying the agreement from yesterday's banquet. She was still trying to figure out how to bring it up to those big men.
Bang!
A muffled collision.
Eileen felt as though she had slammed into a wall of gold. The recoil sent her stumbling backward several steps before she fell heavily onto the cold metal floor.
"Ouch…"
She rubbed her forehead, tears forming from the pain.
A massive hand covered in radiant golden armor reached out and helped her up. In the other hand, the giant held a halberd, which lightly struck the floor with a metallic clang.
"Your Highness, why are you in such a hurry?"
A deep voice sounded from behind a metal mask.
Eileen looked up.
The iconic pointed helmet and dazzling golden power armor gleamed faintly even in the dim light.
It was Constantin Valdor—one of the Emperor's Imperial Guards.
He looked down at the flustered Eileen, red lenses fixed upon her.
"Oh, it's you, Uncle Valdor."
Eileen hurriedly brushed the dust off her backside.
"Sorry, sorry. I was rushing and didn't watch where I was going."
"In a hurry?"
Valdor remained standing exactly where he was, showing no intention of stepping aside. His gaze slowly swept across Eileen's slightly disheveled trench coat and flushed cheeks.
"According to the schedule, you should be accompanying the Regent. Why are you running through the corridors of a warship? Have you encountered some… uncontrollable threat?"
His fingers tightened slightly around the halberd.
As one of the Imperial Guard—sworn directly to the Emperor—he maintained absolute vigilance toward any irregularities involving the Saint-Bearer.
"A threat? I guess you could call it that!"
Eileen remembered Lars's smug face and his boastful claims about his "elite guards."
"Someone challenged me to a fight!"
She waved her fist angrily.
"It's on that garden planet down there. Some really arrogant guy said he'll bring a bunch of people to 'have a go' with me in two days. He said it's about face—uh, I mean, about honor!"
Valdor's visor flickered faintly.
"A fight? You mean… a duel?"
"Something like that! Anyway, that's basically it!"
Eileen explained quickly, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation.
"And he's ridiculously arrogant! He said he has a bunch of very skilled thugs under his command! Their equipment is top-tier!"
She spread her arms dramatically to illustrate what Lars had described.
"He said they're all wearing thick armor that bullets can't even penetrate! And they carry those buzzing knives that can cut rocks!"
"He also said he's the son of the local boss and nobody dares mess with him! He plans to let his guards teach my bodyguards a lesson!"
After hearing this, Valdor fell completely silent.
Within his genetically enhanced, battle-hardened mind, a cold line of reasoning formed rapidly:
First—this region was the heartland of the Imperium.
Second—Eileen was a Saint-Bearer and the Regent's sister.
Third—someone dared openly provoke her while boasting of bullet-proof armor and powered blades capable of cutting stone.
Ordinary nobles would never dare act with such arrogance.
Unless…
They had absolute confidence.
Several disturbing possibilities flashed through his mind:
Chaos Terminator armor.
A genestealer cult leader disguised as a noble.
Or perhaps a Dark Eldar agent wielding alien technology.
"Hmph."
A cold snort filled with killing intent escaped from beneath his helmet.
"I see. Even this seemingly peaceful rear area hides vermin who do not fear death."
Valdor lowered his head and looked at Eileen.
"What do you plan to do?"
"I'm going to gather reinforcements!" Eileen replied matter-of-factly. "I'll go to Uncle Varo and recruit some of the strongest warriors!"
"Since it's a duel, we can't lose momentum! I'll bring a bunch of the fiercest big guys and crush that kid's territory!"
"Astartes…"
Valdor's voice carried undisguised disdain.
"Those Astartes possess courage, but they are also prone to emotional errors. If they face an enemy equipped with heavy armor and powered weapons, they might fail to protect you."
He turned slightly, his guardian halberd tracing a golden arc before striking the deck with a heavy clang.
"I will accompany you."
His tone left no room for refusal.
"I will ensure those rats hiding in the gutters understand the price of defying the Emperor's majesty."
Eileen blinked—then broke into a wide grin.
"Great! With Uncle Valdor shining in golden armor, we'll definitely look super impressive!"
[Uh, Eileen…]
Old Huang's voice echoed in her mind, sounding helpless.
[Isn't this like using a cannon to kill a mosquito? That noble kid named Lars… his ancestors' graves are probably trembling.]
"Well, he started it first!"
Eileen tugged on the corner of Valdor's red cloak as it swayed behind him.
"Come on! Let's go recruit two more! The more people, the more fun!"
---
[The Radiance of Macragge — Training Hall 5]
Inside the massive training cage, the air was thick with ozone, engine oil, and the overwhelming presence of Astartes.
Hundreds of Ultramarines were engaged in intense combat drills. Practice blades clashed while bolt-training rounds echoed throughout the chamber.
Click—Buzz—
The heavy blast door slid open.
Instantly, the entire hall fell silent.
Swords paused mid-swing. Weights halted in mid-lift. Targeting optics froze.
All eyes turned toward the entrance.
A towering golden figure stepped inside.
Constantin Valdor.
Beside him stood the small girl with the highest status aboard the ship—the one treated like family by the Primarch, the bearer of the Emperor's will.
"Attention! All hands!"
A veteran sergeant roared.
Whoosh!
Hundreds of giants snapped their heels together and saluted in perfect unison.
Although some of them disliked the arrogance of the Imperial Guard, their respect for the Saint-Bearer was sincere. After all, she had once saved the Primarch's life—and even their souls—on the battlefield.
Eileen released Valdor's cloak and jogged toward a weapons rack in the center of the hall.
Using both hands and feet, she climbed up until she stood on top, barely tall enough to look down at the three-meter-tall warriors.
She cleared her throat and placed her hands on her hips, trying to imitate a gang leader rallying her crew.
"Ahem! Big uncles! Listen up!"
Her voice echoed through the hall.
"I've got a big job! The day after tomorrow! On that planet down there!"
The Astartes exchanged confused glances.
A job?
What kind of job?
"There's some arrogant bastard! Super arrogant!"
Eileen waved her arms dramatically.
"He dared to challenge me to a fight! He said he wants to see if my bodyguards are actually stronger than his!"
"He bragged that his men wear super tough armor! They carry giant swords that can split rocks! He said they're all battle-hardened champions!"
"That's provocation!"
She stomped the rack, causing several bolt rifles to rattle.
"He's looking down on me! He's looking down on Brother Robert! And he's looking down on you uncles who usually protect me!"
"I've already recruited Uncle Sicarius, Uncle Varo, and Uncle Valdor."
She gestured proudly.
"But I need two more! Just two of the toughest, scariest warriors!"
"Come with me and teach those arrogant bastards a lesson! Show them who's the boss!"
Silence followed.
The Astartes rapidly processed the information.
But in their minds, her words were automatically translated differently.
"Arrogant guy" = a powerful Chaos Lord or alien warlord.
"Steel armor and helmet" = Terminator armor or lost archeotech.
"Sword that cuts rock" = master-crafted power weapon or daemon blade.
"Veteran warrior" = a Chaos Chosen or ancient traitor marine.
"Even the Imperial Guard commander and Second Company captain must intervene" = Threat Level: Extremely High.
"…This…"
A veteran sergeant from the First Company inhaled sharply, his eyes blazing.
"In this supposedly safe rear area… such a terrifying enemy exists?"
"And they dare challenge a Saint-Bearer to an 'honor duel'?"
"This is a disgrace. Our failure of duty!"
Another veteran stepped forward, cracking the floor beneath his boot.
"Choose me, Miss Eileen!"
His voice thundered.
"I once slew three Chaos Berserkers alone! My swordsmanship is more than enough to defeat any heretic wielding powered weapons!"
"No—choose me!"
A heavy gunner shoved someone aside, slapping the sharpshooter medal on his chest.
"For heavily armored targets, my firepower is superior! I can turn their 'tin cans' into scrap from three hundred meters away!"
Chaos erupted.
These normally disciplined warriors now argued like starving men fighting for the last piece of meat.
"I am the future champion of the Second Company!"
"I'm an assault trooper from the Fourth Company!"
"I fought in the entire Plague War! I know how to deal with warp corruption!"
Soon they even began insulting one another.
"Karus! I had a knife at your throat in the last simulation!"
"Shut up, Marcus! Your reaction time was slower!"
"Are you questioning my honor? Want to settle this?!"
Watching the chaos from atop the rack, Eileen scratched her head.
"Uh… Uncle Valdor… aren't they a little too excited?"
Valdor observed coldly, a contemptuous sneer hidden beneath his helmet.
"Astartes."
His voice cut through the noise.
"Warriors who bicker like mortals, abandoning discipline for petty vanity."
The hall went silent instantly.
Dozens of burning eyes turned toward him.
The Ultramarines respected the Imperial Guard—but their honor could not be insulted.
"What did you say?"
The First Company veteran removed his helmet, revealing a scarred face.
"Take back your words, Imperial Guard."
"We are Astartes—warriors of the Emperor. Our skills were forged in countless hells."
He pointed toward the training arena.
"We must choose the two strongest warriors—those worthy to protect the Saint-Bearer."
"Then let us settle it with our fists."
"Only those still standing deserve the honor."
"AGREED!!!"
The hall erupted with thunderous roars.
Eileen nearly fell off the rack in surprise.
"Do you really have to fight to choose people?" she asked nervously.
"Yes, ma'am."
The veteran sergeant saluted her.
"Only the strongest deserve to face that 'fearsome enemy.' We cannot bring you shame."
"…Okay!"
Caught up in the excitement, Eileen clapped loudly.
"Then fight! Whoever wins comes with me! I want the fiercest!"
"As you wish!"
Within seconds, the training arena was cleared.
Two massive veterans stepped into the ring.
They removed their upper power armor, revealing bodies like living fortresses—black carapace implants, old surgical scars, and muscles like carved stone.
This was no ordinary sparring match.
For the chance to stand beside the Saint-Bearer and defeat the "terrifying enemy," they fought with the same fury they used against Ork warlords.
One carried a heavy training shield.
The other wielded a blunt adamantine greatsword.
"For Macragge!!"
"For the Saints!!"
They charged like two armored tanks.
BOOM!!!
The impact shook dust from the ceiling.
Eileen covered her mouth, eyes wide.
"Wow… they're really fighting seriously?"
Watching the giants exchange brutal blows—even cracking the floor—she suddenly felt uneasy.
She had only wanted a few intimidating bodyguards to scare Lars.
But now…
These guys were treating it like a real war.
"Old Huang…" Eileen gulped. "Did I… make things worse?"
[Hmm… probably.]
Old Huang's voice carried amused pity.
[Right now their adrenaline could probably kill an elephant.]
He sighed.
[I suddenly feel sorry for that kid named Lars.]
[When his 'elite guards' see this… they'll probably faint on the spot.]
BOOM!!
Another warrior slammed into the ground.
Eileen shrank back again.
But then—
She started cheering them on.