The battle was over.
Corpses, blood, trash.
As I looked at the bodies of my fallen comrades and the xenos, I thought of the corpse-starch I had eaten back home.
The bodies of those who died fighting for His Majesty the Emperor were respectfully cremated, so it was only a passing thought.
I approached a friend from my neighborhood, who had been fighting beside me an hour ago.
Holding a sacred relic engraved with the Aquila, I prayed.
"O You who sit upon Terra's throne, beloved by all.
Your servants now go into His Majesty's embrace. Save their souls, and grant those who survive the courage to keep fighting."
And grant us victory over the xenos and those masses of emotion from the Warp.
I did not say those words aloud. I prayed them silently to His Majesty the Emperor.
I called those things "masses of emotion."
If I drew their attention, I would surely be corrupted and suffer agony for all eternity.
The Commissar, having heard my prayer, came over and patted my shoulder.
"Sergeant Radian. Your prayer will surely reach His Majesty the Emperor."
A noble lady of Terra who had served in the same regiment as me for three years on the front lines, all to serve His Majesty the Emperor.
Adriana smiled, then offered a prayer to His Majesty the Emperor alongside me.
I'm scared of you...
I've lost count of how many times I've seen you smile like that while blowing off the head of a soldier who did something wrong with your bolt pistol.
Because of that, she had often been "accidentally" hit by lasgun fire meant as a challenge to her authority, and even by a few "stray rounds" from heavy bolters.
Being a Terran noble, she had remained unhurt and perfectly safe all this time, thanks to the expensive civilian power armor that only nobles were allowed to wear.
And then she blew off the heads of every single man in the squad responsible for those "accidents" and "stray rounds."
No matter how pretty she was, someone who smiled while blowing off a Guardsman's head over the slightest mistake was terrifying.
No matter what kind of monster she was, one who loved blowing off people's heads, she was still my superior. So I spoke respectfully.
"Thank you, Commissar. I merely did what was natural as a servant of His Majesty the Emperor."
In fact, even the regiment's priest liked the prayer I recited at the end of every battle, saying it was as pure as an Ogryn's.
Half of the reason I did this was genuinely to receive His Majesty the Emperor's salvation and avoid becoming a Warp plaything.
But the other half was that this was how you got the high-ranking fanatics to like you.
Thanks to that, despite being only a Guardsman sergeant, I got to use a bolter and earned a little extra pay.
"Radian. The demigod has ordered us to rest for eleven hours once the battlefield has been cleared. So..."
Oh... Throne, please no.
Adriana took my hand and lightly scratched the side of my little finger with hers.
"You understand, don't you?"
.........
After maintaining my bolter, drawing ammunition, and handling a few other tasks, the time I could actually rest was not eleven hours, but barely five.
And I had to spend even that precious rest stuck with that little monster.
Oh Throne. Save my back.
Having gotten a little sleep and eaten, I dragged myself along behind the Commissar.
Now it was time to return to the battlefield.
I strapped on my gear and stroked my bolter.
Trust in the instruments of your war.
"Radian."
"Yes, Commissar!"
"Don't die."
Adriana was crying.
Without a word, I embraced her.
She wrapped her arms around my waist as well.
It was time to go to war again.
We Guardsmen die fighting. (We die standing.)
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