"Legendary Warriors!" Blazkowicz roared majestically, his gaze like a torch sweeping over the warriors' weather-beaten faces as he called out to them: "The clouds of war once again loom over the human race."
"One might even say they have never dispersed; the starry sky upon which humanity relies for its existence is always shadowed by the gloom of war."
"Chaos lurks and watches, aliens breed from humanity's borders, new and old enemies, like endlessly sprouting weeds, threaten us at all times!"
"Please wait," an old veteran stepped forward.
He was no longer young and valiant; his neck was like a withered tree trunk wrapped in wrinkled bark, and his voice, like a leaky bellows, hoarsely interrupted the king's speech: "We are old bones now, our hot blood is gone, and we can't listen to any grand narratives."
Blazkowicz raised his hand, signaling the Sentinels to relax, not to criticize the meritorious senior for interrupting his address.
The veteran's words resonated, they were living legends who had heard countless war declarations from King Nowick, their hearts long since calm as still water.
"Young king Nowick, you don't need to be so reserved." The veteran's expression was relaxed, and an aged smile creased his wrinkled face: "Just state your intentions directly, and we will listen attentively."
"If the Novick Family still has needs, and wants to take something from us, please state it directly. What else can these old bones of ours do?"
The old warriors nodded in agreement; what the veteran said was spot on.
When they were young and strong, they had also sworn an oath to guard, pledging allegiance to Argent Nur and the Nowick Royal Family.
Limited by their physiological functions, the increasingly frail warriors gradually left the battlefield, enjoying peace in their remaining years.
But just as their comrade said, if the Novick Family had a need, and wanted to take something from them, they could take it freely.
"It's not the Novick Family," Blazkowicz whispered, shaking his head, explaining to the veteran: "It's entirely my personal request."
His words caused an uproar among the veterans, and hesitation appeared in their firm eyes.
For thousands of years, the Sentinels had served the Novick Family, considering loyalty to the Royal Family as the highest honor, all actions stemming from Royal Family directives.
The current king Nowick, his words, left some veterans puzzled. Some understood, their expressions subtly changing as they quietly took a step back.
They vaguely understood that the young Blazkowicz Novick intended to raise a unit in his personal name.
To have young people leave the Sentinels system and abandon their Guardian oath was almost impossible; it would require the seniors to work on the younger generation and establish a new army.
"This is impossible." The veteran's face hardened as he looked directly at the imposing figure on the high platform, sternly rejecting Blazkowicz. "We are the Sentinels; unity is the source of our strength."
"King Nowick, the people of Argent Nur will never be divided!" The old warrior's voice trembled. "You can designate some warriors to carry out special missions, but you must never give them a new name."
"The laws of the Argentum explicitly define our rights; we have the right to refuse your division of the Sentinels."
"Yes, we will not support you."
"The Sentinels will never be divided."
"Tradition is our strength."
The arena was packed with people, and the legendary warriors spoke out one after another, rejecting king Nowick's plan.
"No." Blazkowicz lowered his voice, his thunderous voice quieting the clamor, and explained to the veterans. "You have misunderstood; I have no intention of separating the Sentinels."
Unity was the foundation of the Sentinels; how could he disband his own army?
The young men were active Sentinels members, but the veterans had already left the Guardian roster and were completely out of service.
Hearing that king Nowick had no intention of splitting them, the old warriors breathed a sigh of relief. If Blazkowicz had been determined, no one could have stopped him.
With their biggest concern gone, their expressions eased considerably, and they adopted an attentive posture.
Blazkowicz issued an instruction via mental link, and Hippocrates walked onto the high platform carrying a cryogenic container, with Phoenix appearing alongside him.
Amidst the old men's confusion below the stage, Phoenix removed his black gleaming gold helmet, revealing his handsome face with golden eyes.
"Pheonix?" An uncertain exclamation rang out; someone recognized the junior, yet found it incredible.
The old warriors were unprepared; the tall warrior in black armor had once been a member of the Sentinels.
It was unclear why, but Phoenix's massive change clearly exceeded their understanding. They didn't know what the junior had experienced to cause such a drastic transformation. "On the void battlefield, a melta bomb almost destroyed him."
A holographic projection on the side of the arena popped up at the opportune moment, showing Phoenix in the image, with most of his torso gone, making survival seem almost impossible.
Blazkowicz explained Phoenix's transformation, walked to the cryogenic box, and took out a gene seed, saying: "But he gained a new life!"
"Men of Argent Nur, this is a gene seed." He held up the gene seed, which glowed amber in the morning light, like the arrival of hope: "It can reshape body and soul, allowing you to return to your peak, and even gain power far exceeding your past. Due to my special genes even you aged warriors can use it."
The old warriors in the arena, under the immense impact, lost their composure in front of the Royal Family.
Regain a young body? Possess peak combat power!
The silent chests of the past legends, their weakened hearts, began to beat faster, and a self-question arose in their minds—
'We can still fight?'
Their aged faces flushed crimson, their hunched bodies straightened, and their eyes, fixed on the gene seed, were filled with a burning light.
However, very quickly, facing the temptation of regaining youth, the warriors calmed down.
As legendary warriors, the veterans had endured the hardships and trials of countless battlefields. Age had weakened them, but it had also accumulated experience and wisdom.
There was no free lunch in the world; everything exchanged came with a price.
"Cough, cough—." A short cough broke the silence, and a white-haired, gaunt-faced warrior emerged from the crowd.
Due to severely diminished eyesight, the old warrior could only squint up at the king, a respirator hanging on his chest, as he asked with hurried gasps: "Then, my king, what is the price?"
He asked the crucial question.
"Sir Asterland." Blazkowicz nodded respectfully; this old man was once a Champion Swordsman, even older than Harlan.
With words full of reverence, Blazkowicz truthfully said: "On Terra, ten billion people were tested, and only one thousand and thirty warriors survived. Failure meant the complete annihilation of form and spirit."
"The success rate is one aspect; when the test is successful and life re-transforms, accompanying the power is a curse of eternal enmity with the gods."
"Therefore, with such high risk, I cannot force you." Blazkowicz's voice was utterly sincere: "Whether to accept the gene seed and return to the endless war is entirely up to your will."
After Blazkowicz finished speaking, the veterans understood.
King Nowick offered an opportunity, a chance to reshape their bodies and return to the battlefield, and the choice was entirely their own.
The old men had left the Sentinels roster and were not subject to its laws, which aligned with the principle of non-division.
Although regaining youth was tempting, many warriors' eyes showed hesitation and contemplation.
Seeing their hesitation and thought, Blazkowicz was neither surprised nor blamed them; he could not ask the veterans to accept this fate.
They were legends of the past, and in some thriving families, they were even highly respected clan old ones, representing the family's long heritage.
After all, one thousand out of ten billion—this chilling success rate was like an insurmountable chasm, standing before them, devouring all wishful thinking.
"There are many benefits, but are there any drawbacks?"
As everyone was hesitating and considering, a question, like a heavy hammer, struck their hearts, making them involuntarily look sideways.
"Death for me is eternal peace," Asterland tapped his chest respirator, coughed a few times, his withered voice trembling urgently: "I have lived too humiliatingly. I once galloped across battlefields, unmatched, and now I live by a machine. Every night when I close my eyes, I always hope I never wake up."
"Now, I will seize this slim chance, preferring to be eternally cursed than to return to the battlefield filled with glory."
"My king." Under the gaze of his comrades, he straightened his hunched back and once again performed the warrior's salute: "Please allow me to leave temporarily to bid farewell to my wife's tomb and my family."
Blazkowicz naturally agreed; this departure could be a permanent farewell. He said to the old warriors: "In one week, you will gather at the Medical Sanctuary. Phoenix will be responsible for what comes next."
Asterland turned and left, his uninhibited action inspiring many.
His figure slowly faded into the distance, and words drifted back in the cool morning breeze: "Opportunity knocks but once."
Others who were interested could no longer hold back; after performing the warrior's salute, they hurriedly left to bid farewell to their families for a journey with a very small chance of return.
There were also those whose expressions were conflicted, wanting to live and die with their brothers, yet unable to completely let go of their current lives.
They bowed apologetically to the high platform, stating that they still had responsibilities and could not participate, offering blessings to their old friends:
"May the Kings of Nowick bless you."
Most of the old warriors agreed to the trial, and Blazkowicz secretly breathed a sigh of relief, also expressing understanding for those old warriors who still had lingering attachments in their hearts.
He could not force meritorious warriors, with a single order, to be pressed onto the operating table.
Everything was voluntary, responding to the call of racial war, with great and noble sentiments, entering the battlefield with a reconstructed body.
Blazkowicz's small-stage goal was achieved.
The legendary warriors were highly respected, not only allowing them to shine again on the battlefield but also further promoting the integration of the Legion and Argent Nur.
The old warriors gradually left to deal with family matters and prepare to receive the gene seed.
Blazkowicz also turned to leave, heading to various important departments to check on the development over the years he had been away.
Sophia's data reports provided information, but he needed to see it for himself.
Fleet leaders such as Blazkowicz, Harlan, and Senna had long since returned, but Blazkowicz had not summoned them; they were too busy.
The moment the Void Wanderer connected to the quantum network, Sophia obtained the military reform plan and immediately distributed it to relevant units.
Two weeks later, an internal selection for Doom Slayers began, with the Sentinels also participating.
The Legion's first assessment was approaching, and the Doom Slayers dared not slack off, wanting to come out on top in the competition.
The transcendent warriors aside, the reform and assessment of the mortal Legion were already in full swing.
Blazkowicz's towering figure descended in a beam of light, arriving alone at the Military Academy Arena.
He raised his hand to stop the mortals from saluting and turned his gaze to the arena.
Inside the military arena, there was no clang of swords clashing, nor the deep roar of warriors.
Thousands of virtual reality pods were neatly arranged, with mortal commanders lying inside, their consciousness and thoughts immersed in a virtual world.
In that world, there were matched opponents, and both sides had to defeat their opponents under various battlefield conditions with limited resources.
In addition to human-versus-human combat, there were also massive battlefield environment simulations and battles against a wide variety of xenomorphs.
Rangdans, Orks, Worms—besides the First Fleet, enemies encountered by other fleets were also included.
Every time a fleet returned, the war records and experience brought back were all archived by Sophia and compiled into new war teaching materials.
mortal commanders, under different simulated battle conditions, used all their knowledge and means, racking their brains to defeat their opponents.
Naval and army generals were commanders with heavy responsibilities; they had to be chosen from the best, with the capable advancing and the mediocre retreating.
In the contest of mind and strategy, the command level of mortal officers rapidly iterated, and the cruel competition of survival of the fittest selected the most resilient and astute commanders.
Blazkowicz smiled, looking very satisfied; with the help of technology, Argent Nur's talent reserves were rapidly growing, accumulating a foundation for war.
He had inspected discreetly and arrived at the last two examination rooms, where he saw the humans of "The Alliance."
Argent Nur annihilated the Horanian, helping them rebuild their homes. After more than a decade of healing, they fulfilled their promise and sent its best warriors.
"The Alliance abandoned its former name," Sophia appeared in the starlight, elegantly leaning on the railing, introducing to Blazkowicz: "They call themselves 'Horanian,' to remember the name of their enemy and to thank Argent Nur for salvation."
A clear voice entered his ears, and Blazkowicz slowly nodded.
The current galaxy was different from the past; locations named during the Golden Age were lost in the long old night.
The Empire generally renamed the stars based on major events, or the names of environments and legendary figures.
The name "Horanian" was good, meaning 'Children of the Abyss.' The star clusters on the edge of the Stellar Graveyard were well-suited to this name.
Sophia's slender palm opened, and a holographic projection formed, displaying relevant information.
The former Military Alliance, now Horanian. A dozen star systems on the edge of the Stellar Graveyard; their home planets had extremely large masses, and their gravity was much higher than standard gravity.
This resulted in the Horanian people being sturdy, with extremely high bone and muscle density, making them stronger than people from other worlds.
Long-term combat with xenomorphs forced them to abandon cities, instead developing a combat style primarily based on rapid assault, supplemented by guerrilla tactics.
The enemy advances, we retreat; the enemy retreats, we pursue.
With clear strategic thinking and tenacious will, they did not let the xenomorphs take their homeland, but rather wore down the xenomorphs' effective strength.
"Very good," Blazkowicz said to Sophia: "Do not change their combat style; equip them with appropriate gear. The mortal Auxiliary Army needs an iron fist."
The Nur Legion was very comprehensive, especially skilled in frontal combat, advancing like a city wall, crushing enemies in its path.
The arrival of the Horanian people was undoubtedly a huge reinforcement; the city wall now had a flexible fist, delivering a fierce hook to the enemy.
They were sturdy, naturally suited for ground assaults, and their great strength also gave them an advantage in CQC.
"Following your command." The projection in Sophia's hand changed, leaving a blank space above the Horanian people's projection.
She turned and respectfully said: "Please name the Legion, to facilitate future address, and to enhance their sense of belonging and Legion honor."
"Horanian Purgers." With hardly any thought, Blazkowicz blurted out, bestowing a straightforward Legion name.
Sophia entered the name, and the projection in her hand rapidly changed, a series of arrangements and plans emerging: "After the assessment and selection of the Legion Commander, the Legion name and specialized equipment will be delivered together."
Nodding with satisfaction, Blazkowicz's figure disappeared again, teleporting to other places.
His footsteps covered the entire ring, inspecting various departments, and sometimes modifying small details according to needs.
Time passed quickly; Blazkowicz hadn't finished his inspection, and a week had already gone by. The old warriors gathered at the Medical Sanctuary.
A total of over 2,900 people arrived, willing to accept the gene seed, regain their youth, and return to the battlefield.
The families who came to bid farewell to the elders had tears in their eyes, saying goodbye to their family seniors, holding a box in their arms.
The warriors' families respected their elders and were also prepared to accept failure.
Blazkowicz stood at the entrance of the Sanctuary, his face solemn and silent, shaking hands with each old warrior, offering words of blessing.
The gene seed trial involved a test of will; he could not offer any help. The success or failure of the trial depended entirely on the individual.
The average probability of one success out of millions was simply too low.
Nearly three thousand test subjects could very likely be wiped out, all dying on the operating table.
Listening to the sounds of farewell sobs, Blazkowicz for a moment regretted, wondering in his heart, was this decision of his wrong?
But very quickly, he convinced himself with a reason: For the future of Argent Nur and humanity, this was a necessary undertaking!
For a full week, Blazkowicz did not leave the Medical Sanctuary, standing solemnly like a statue, waiting for the trial results alongside the warriors' families.
The waiting process was incredibly agonizing; anxiety gnawed at people's hearts.
The wide plaza of the Medical Sanctuary had a slightly restless crowd. If Blazkowicz hadn't been present to suppress them, a breakdown might have occurred.
Life or death.
The people of Argent Nur were very open-minded, but the composure of accepting death, mixed with that tiny bit of expectation, repeatedly tormented their hearts; it was truly difficult for ordinary people to adjust.
As the star fell and dusk arrived, Blazkowicz's tightly closed eyes suddenly opened, a flash of light in them. He sensed stars lighting up in his mental connection.
Seeing King Nowick's change in expression, the restless crowd quickly quieted, tightly clutching their wooden boxes, looking expectantly towards the Sanctuary exit.
A figure nearly three meters tall walked out. Recognizing the person, the families in the crowd erupted in cheers.
"I have emerged from purgatory and returned!"
His low roar was heavy as a mountain; he smashed the respirator in his hand to the ground, shattering the witness to his humiliation. His bones cracked when he clenched his fist.
"Asterland!"
The people erupted in a tsunami-like cheer, shouting the legendary name!
Among the Sentinels, many warriors lived to old age, but Champion Swordsmen were different.
Most of them died on the battlefield. Including the young and strong Harlan, Argent Nur only had three Champion Swordsmen still alive.
Asterland was one of them. When he was galloping on the battlefield, Argent Nur was in the late stages of chaos.
Knowing that fighting individually would lead to being defeated one by one, other opposing forces united and launched a desperate battle against the Argentum.
Beneath the White Wall, Asterland cut through the front lines, struck down all those who stood in his way, killing one enemy champion after another.
Seeing him reborn, his family members were ecstatic.
"Blazkowicz Novick." Asterland looked up at the even taller Blazkowicz, his rough voice lowered, asking softly: "Should I call you 'King Nowick' or 'Father'?"
After passing the trial, Asterland knew that the gene seed came from Blazkowicz; the young man had become his Gene-Father.
Blazkowicz gave an awkward smile; he had indeed concealed this information.