Vance took a deep breath, speaking slowly.
"The Emperor might be wrong."
His voice was quiet but resolute.
"But he dedicated his entire life fighting for humanity."
"And the Imperium today really isn't as terrible as you make it sound."
"The things you mentioned? Sure, they happen."
"But it's not like the Imperium just ignores it all..."
"It's just that the galaxy is unimaginably huge."
"Without secure, reliable communications and safe travel corridors, the Emperor's reach simply can't stretch far enough to micromanage every single world."
He looked up at Paul.
"Your ideals are great, but executing them is just too difficult."
"Far more difficult than simply helping the Imperium become a better version of itself."
Paul looked at him.
A faint smile suddenly surfaced in his dark gold eyes.
"So we just shouldn't do it because it's difficult?"
His voice was soft, but it left Vance completely unable to retort.
"In the real world, you can afford to eat."
"You can order takeout. You have endless ways to entertain yourself."
"You have a roof over your head, and an internet connection to play games..."
"Do you have any idea how much hell our ancestors had to go through to give us that?"
"Excuses about logistics and difficulty aren't a free pass to treat the poorest Imperial citizens like disposable meat."
Vance fell silent.
He suddenly remembered the stories his grandfather used to tell him when he was a kid.
Stories about the days of starvation, when people traded their lives for a scrap of food.
Days of walking miles up dirt mountain roads just to get to school, and doing homework under the dim glow of a kerosene lamp at night.
If the ancestors in those stories had given up just because things were difficult, he'd probably still be herding cows in some mountain ditch right now.
Instead of living his current life—getting into a good college through his own hard work, picking a good major and actually getting to do what he wanted to do.
He opened his mouth, but found he couldn't form a single word of rebuttal.
Because he knew...
Paul was right.
The ancestors who groped their way forward in the absolute dark.
The figures charging headfirst into a hail of bullets.
The nameless workers who paved the roads through the wilderness with their own flesh and blood...
The hardships they endured were far more real and brutal than any tragedy in the Warhammer universe.
And the reason they were willing to endure that hell was because they believed...
They believed that one day, their descendants could live a better life.
Vance offered a bitter smile.
It was a smile tinged with helplessness, but also a profound sense of relief.
"I understand what you're saying now."
"Even though we belong to different factions, I'll give it my absolute all to fix the Imperium's deep-rooted sickness..."
"Maybe one day we'll end up as enemies, but at least not today..."
Vance paused. "So about Fulgrim... what's your play here?"
Paul looked at him, a glint of genuine approval flashing in his dark gold eyes.
He walked back over to his military cot and sat down.
"As for Fulgrim, we'll do whatever it takes to stop him from claiming the Blade of the Laer."
"As for what you Loyalists or the Chaos players want to do..."
"As long as you don't get in the way of our plans, we'll simply ignore you."
"Whether you want to save the Imperium and guard its glory, or just play the game freely and have fun, we won't stop you."
"But if you try to mess with Crimson Dawn's business..."
He didn't even have to finish the sentence.
That terrifying aura Vance had felt when he first entered the tent—like being stared down by an apex predator—flashed through the room.
It was only for a split second.
But in that fraction of a second, Vance's back was completely drenched in cold sweat.
"Then you'll deal with the consequences."
Vance nodded, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"We understand."
He stood up, looking at Paul.
"I hope you guys pull this off."
"We Loyalists will also be carrying out our own operations... to guard the Imperium and protect humanity."
"So even if you fail..."
"We will still fight with everything we have..."
"Even if it grinds us to dust."
He paused, then added:
"The Chaos faction has been making a lot of moves lately."
"They seem to be trying to accelerate Fulgrim's fall."
"And they definitely know you're here by now."
"They're going to stir up shit. They won't just let you interfere without a fight."
After saying that, he gave a crisp, textbook aquila salute and turned toward the tent flap.
Just before he lifted the canvas, Paul's voice rang out from behind him.
"Thanks for the heads-up."
"[The Imperium's Purest Inquisitor]."
Vance looked back.
Paul was watching him, a complicated gleam in his dark gold eyes.
"No matter what path you choose, remember what you said today."
"You want the Imperium to be better."
"Never let go of that thought."
Vance remained silent for a second, then nodded firmly.
He lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] was still waiting outside.
Seeing Vance emerge, he simply gave a slight nod and gestured toward the exit.
Vance followed him toward the camp gates.
The air outside was stifling.
He took a deep breath, trying to settle his racing heart.
That aura just now...
Was too fucking terrifying.
No wonder this guy managed to farm over 900 billion reputation.
He discreetly observed the Iron Hands with crimson usernames standing around him.
They looked relaxed, but every single one of them had a bolter in hand, clearly ready for action at a moment's notice.
This was Crimson Dawn.
This was the powerhouse faction Paul Dawn had built.
Five hundred Astartes players, cosplaying as Iron Hands, dug right into the Emperor's Children's camp.
Their goal was to stop Fulgrim from falling to Chaos.
And their leader, the man calling himself Paul Dawn...
Vance remembered those dark gold eyes, those five slowly spinning stars, and that suffocating pressure.
What exactly is he?
Primarch-level?
No, it felt even stranger than a Primarch.
There was a sense of... order in that aura.
An order... full of hope.
Like the very first ray of light breaking through the darkness.
He shook his head, burying those thoughts for now.
He picked up his pace, leaving the temporary camp sector and heading back toward Saul Tarvitz's command tent.
He needed to get out of here and digest everything he had just learned...
But as he reached the center of the encampment, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Because right near the camp gates, a massive crowd of people was aggressively blocking the way.
Purple power armor, ornate decorations, the winged claw insignia on their pauldrons...
Emperor's Children.
Vance recognized the two guys leading the pack.
One was wearing Apothecary robes, sporting a sinister face with a dangerous, fanatical gleam in his eyes...
Fabius Bile.
The other was decked out in artificer armor, a nasty, arrogant smirk plastered across his flawless face...
Lucius.
And behind them stood hundreds of Astartes from the 13th Company and other detachments.
They had formed a semi-circle, completely barricading the entrance to the 10th Company's camp.
And off to the edge of the crowd, Vance spotted a familiar sight...
[Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe]
The Chaos player was standing right next to Fabius. His expression was incredibly hard to read.
Like he was watching a show.
Or waiting for something to happen.
Vance's heart skipped a heavy beat.
He spun around and sprinted back toward the command tent where Darius was waiting.
When he ripped the flap open, Darius and Saul Tarvitz were standing over the tactical table.
"Teacher!"
Vance's voice was hushed, but frantic.
"Something's happening outside!"
Darius looked up, his brow furrowing.
Saul Tarvitz had already sensed the shift in the atmosphere.
He strode over to the entrance and pushed the canvas aside...
Just outside the camp gates, hundreds of Emperor's Children Astartes had arrayed themselves in battle formation.
Their purple power armor caught the cold glint of the fading evening light.
Fabius Bile stood at the very front, his sinister eyes locked onto the tents deep inside the camp.
Lucius stood right beside him, wearing his trademark smug grin.
Saul Tarvitz's face darkened.
He marched straight for the gates, his purple cape snapping wildly in the wind.
Darius and Vance hurried after him.
Inside the camp, the warriors of the 10th Company immediately rose to their feet. They gripped their bolters tight, staring warily at their own brothers outside the gates.
Over in the temporary camp sector, the Iron Hands players had sensed the tension too.
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] stepped out of his tent, his gaze shooting past the camp's barricades to lock onto the sea of purple figures.
A quick message flashed in the Regional Chat (Crimson Dawn):
"Boys, gear up."
"Looks like we've got work to do."
Deep inside the main tent, Paul remained cross-legged on his military cot.
The five stars spun lazily in the depths of his dark gold eyes.
He peered through a crack in the canvas, watching the rapidly escalating standoff at the camp gates.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"That was fast."