Chapter 886 - 885

"For the Savior!"

Not a single senior member of the Royal Court opposed the Imperium's transition to a state of total war.

It was the supreme will of the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, and carrying it out was their duty and sacred mission.

Even conservative officials such as the Minister of Economic Affairs and the Minister of Internal Affairs accepted the decision.

Their next task was to determine how to preserve the Imperium's economic growth and domestic order under the conditions of total war.

They would secure even greater benefits for the Imperium.

We need to begin considering a new economic plan...

The Minister of Economic Affairs contemplated how best to implement a wartime economy, use financial instruments to extract greater profits from the conflict, and maintain the Imperium's economic growth.

The challenge would be immense. Yet if the Imperium emerged victorious, its economy might rise to an even greater level.

To them, peace presented opportunities for development, but so did war. What mattered was how those opportunities were exploited.

With the supreme decree formally issued, the meeting came to an end.

The senior officials began implementing their new assignments and plans, and the Royal Court shifted into an even higher gear.

At the same time, the Ministry of War transmitted the news and directives concerning total war to every branch of the Imperial military.

Soon, the announcement spread even farther.

...

Ryda.

A garden world dedicated to rest and recuperation.

This widely celebrated garden world possessed tens of thousands of golden islands scattered across warm, turquoise shallows.

Its climate and environment were exceptionally effective at soothing emotional exhaustion and helping weary minds recover. The world was also well suited to treating psychological trauma.

For that reason, the Imperial Ministry of War had established countless convalescent facilities across the planet.

Iridescent Shell Island.

The sun shone brightly overhead as the gentle surf lapped against the beach, uncovering shells beneath the sand that glittered like precious stones.

Under the mottled shade of pale green coconut trees, veterans wearing floral shirts and sunglasses sunbathed on the beach.

Their bronze muscles were covered in vicious scars, and some had mechanical prosthetics attached to their bodies.

Although these veterans appeared old, their eyes remained bright and alert. Each of them radiated the hardened presence of a lifelong warrior.

Every one of them had survived countless battles.

After all, only warriors of extraordinary distinction qualified to visit a convalescent world like this. The minimum requirement was participation in at least two Apocalypse-scale wars.

Anyone with a slightly less impressive record was not even eligible to sunbathe on a top-tier convalescent world.

These veterans had clawed their way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood. They had made extraordinary contributions to humanity's survival in this cruel galaxy.

They deserved every reward the Imperium could offer, along with the right to spend their remaining years in peace.

"Damn it! Are we old bastards really supposed to die of old age in a boring place like this?"

Old York drained the coconut water, crushed the shell in one hand, and spat into the sand, looking thoroughly miserable.

He had killed Tyranid beasts on Baal, fought daemons and heretics in Chaos-held regions, and even participated in the war to encircle and destroy the Dark Emperor Horus.

His military record was nothing short of illustrious.

After that war, however, the Ministry of War had acted on the Royal Court's recommendation and retired large numbers of elderly veterans so they could enjoy the remainder of their lives.

Veterans like Old York were more than two centuries old. Even after undergoing several life-extension procedures, they had reached the natural limits of an ordinary human lifespan.

More advanced life-extension treatments not only required enormous investments, but also needed to begin while the recipient was still young.

These veterans had already grown old before life-extension treatment became part of the Ministry of War's military healthcare program.

They were unlike the Imperium's highest-ranking figures, who possessed far longer lifespans. The veterans had never enjoyed access to the same resources or conditions.

The difference concerned the very essence of life.

In other words, these veterans were approaching the end of their lives.

In recognition of that reality and their extraordinary contributions, the Royal Court did not want them to die on the battlefield.

It wanted them to enjoy their final years and witness the prosperity their sacrifices had helped create.

The Imperium could now afford to grant them that privilege, especially since there had been no large-scale emergency wars underway.

It was time for them to retire.

That principle was one of the Imperium's core values:

Those who devoted themselves to humanity deserved a proper reward. They were not currency to be spent or resources to be drained until nothing remained.

Yet the retired veterans did not appear capable of adapting to life on a convalescent world. They continued observing the habits they had developed in the Storm Army Group.

They trained relentlessly and frequently conducted forced marches along the beach.

Living so far away from the military was difficult for them to accept. They were more accustomed to falling asleep with the scent of machine oil and gunsmoke in their nostrils.

The staff at the convalescent facilities had even installed fragrance systems in their bedrooms that could reproduce those smells, along with furnishings designed to resemble military barracks.

Yet none of it made the veterans feel as though they had truly returned to the army.

Their problem was not physical. It was psychological.

They had spent their entire lives in the military and had long since grown accustomed to war and gunsmoke. Returning to ordinary life was nearly impossible.

"Hmph. They could at least let us old bastards stay with the army and train the new recruits."

Old York desperately wanted to return to the Storm Army Group, rejoin his armored squad, and continue serving humanity.

He did not want to sit here like some useless old relic while a group of youngsters waited on him.

"Exactly!"

"It's not like we're useless!"

"Right! We don't even have to return to the battlefield.

"Although going back into battle would be better. Who understands how to destroy xenos and heretics better than us old bastards?"

"Damn, if we die of old age on this rotten planet, will we still be able to return to the Throne?"

"I still want one more Badge of Honor. Otherwise, I won't have a nice round number. I'll never rest in peace without it..."

Old York's complaint immediately resonated with the veterans around him. They began shouting over one another and grumbling indignantly.

"Hey, old man, isn't that precious boy of yours an official in the Ministry of War? He should be able to get our applications to return to active duty approved, shouldn't he?"

A scar-faced veteran looked at Old York as he asked the question.

He was referring to Old York's grandson, whom all the old comrades affectionately called Young York.

The old man had certainly never missed an opportunity to boast about his grandson.

Young York had been selected for a specialized education program by the Ministry of War. After graduating from the Army Elite Academy of the Academy of Loyal Scions, he had immediately entered the Storm Army Group's classified operations division.

He later distinguished himself in several wars, earning honors and meritorious service before being promoted to a mid-ranking position within the Storm Army Group.

Given Young York's age and qualifications, it was said that he might eventually rise into the senior ranks of the Ministry of War.

"He might be an official, but what does that have to do with me...?"

Old York looked distinctly uncomfortable. Unlike before, he did not loudly brag about his precious grandson.

In fact, he appeared rather dissatisfied.

"Ha! It was this old fool's precious grandson who signed our retirement papers. Why would he ever let us return to active duty?" another veteran added mercilessly.

"Don't mention that little bastard. He's an ungrateful piece of shit!"

Old York's expression darkened further.

When the brat had still been small enough to cling to his leg, he had begged his grandfather every day to tell him the stories behind those Badges of Honor.

He had constantly claimed that he admired his grandfather more than anyone else.

Then the boy became an official, started looking down on his grandfather, and forced him to retire.

Old York could barely hold his head up in front of his comrades anymore.

He still remembered what his grandson had told him. The Ministry of War's supreme command had decided that the elderly veterans should rest on convalescent worlds without worrying about anything. Future wars would be left to the younger generation.

What kind of nonsense was that?

The youngsters might have read more books, but did that mean they understood war better than veterans like them?

In the end, the old soldier felt hurt. He believed the Imperium no longer needed him, and he could not stop worrying about what might happen without veterans like him standing watch.

"We're not so old that we can't carry a rifle. Our stamina isn't any worse than those youngsters', either. Why do they stop letting us fight the moment we reach a certain age?"

Old York sighed. He could not understand it, and the question left him deeply dejected.

The veterans began discussing the matter.

"There aren't any wars to fight now. The Imperium doesn't need that many soldiers, so of course old bastards like us have to step aside. They can hardly send the youngsters here to recuperate instead..."

"I heard the conservatives in the Ministry of Internal Affairs want to retire even more soldiers. They also want to eliminate the surplus weapons-production capacity of the Forge Worlds.

"They claim the Imperium has accumulated a severe excess of military supplies and that more resources should be redirected toward economic development."

"Bah! Those spineless bastards are talking out of their asses. Weren't they the ones who wanted to establish some kind of Galactic Imperium? They said the Imperium should become the dominant power and rule over the xenos through military force and some kind of financial economy.

"Those xenos killed so many of our people. How could any of them be decent? How could we ever trust them? We'd be better off exterminating every last one!"

"I think they're just looking for an excuse to cut military resources so they can use them for something else."

"The youngsters these days grew up with everything they could ever need. They've never fought a truly desperate war, much less survived an Apocalypse-scale conflict.

"Can they really handle it?"

The veterans were deeply concerned, especially after witnessing certain recent developments.

The academic elites graduating from the Academy of Loyal Scions had been born during an era of unprecedented Imperial prosperity and rapid development.

They believed the Imperium had already become powerful enough to reduce the size of its armed forces and redirect those resources into other fields.

That view was far too idealistic.

These veterans had lived through a brutally dark age. They knew the Imperium had only recently begun to recover.

The wars were not over, and the threats facing humanity had never disappeared.

In this cruel galaxy, truth extended only as far as Imperial guns could fire, and human dignity rested upon the edge of a blade!

No amount of Imperial education could make the younger generation fully understand those realities.

Without military strength to safeguard civilization, everything else was empty rhetoric.

The veterans worried that after another few dozen generations, the Imperium's youth would lose their will to fight.

Once humanity became weak, the xenos would show it no mercy, just as they had shown no mercy in the past.

Human lands would be trampled, and humanity would once again be reduced to livestock and sacrificial offerings.

"You old bastards worry too much."

Commander Drayning, his hair now silver with age, walked over and tossed several translucent, jewel-like fruits to Old York and the others.

He had swiped them from the kitchen.

Even after all these years, the former officer of the Consecut Guard Regiment had never broken his habit of pilfering small items whenever the opportunity arose.

Since retiring, he preferred spending his time with the veterans.

Drayning clearly held a different view.

"The Imperial military is far stronger than it used to be. Its armies have new weapons and far greater firepower. Of course they don't need to struggle and suffer the way we did.

"If they had equipment and firepower that good but still fought every battle as desperately as we did, then what would all the Imperium's development have accomplished?"

"The younger generation has received an education designed for modern warfare. They shouldn't be any worse than us.

"Besides, people in the Ministry of War are already paying attention to these problems. They're preparing to establish several rigorous training systems to give the young better experience..."

"But what happens if humanity enjoys peace for too long?"

Old York muttered the question.

"What if one day there are no wars left to fight, and neither the Ministry of War nor anyone else cares about the problem anymore?"

His words silenced everyone.

If there were truly no more wars, would anyone still care?

No one knew the answer, much less how to respond.

They did know that if humanity ever reached such a state and became accustomed to lives of comfort, its first encounter with a powerful enemy would bring a catastrophic defeat.

Perhaps humanity would not even last long enough to face such an enemy.

Under the corrupting influence of extreme comfort and prosperity, it might gradually rot and collapse from within.

Countless species had reached the height of their development, only to fall into rapid decline in precisely that way.

A long, gloomy silence settled over the beach.

Once the veterans stopped talking, they felt more keenly than ever that they were no longer needed.

It was almost as if the passage of time had abandoned them.

The people had forgotten them, and they could not even promptly learn what was happening elsewhere in the Imperium.

Chime!

Without warning, notification tones began sounding from communicators all across the beach.

Even after retiring, the veterans still carried their communicators out of habit.

A stately sacred hymn dedicated to the Savior, used exclusively by the Ministry of War, began playing from each personal device.

"Did someone in the Ministry of War finally remember us old bastards?"

"Those damned Necron xenos should've been exterminated long ago!"

Old York and the other veterans saw the familiar Imperial Aquila appear on their screens, and tears welled in their eyes.

The communication came directly from the Ministry of War. Attached to it were the supreme decree and an announcement concerning the declaration of total war.

Following an analysis by supreme command and its assessment of the current strategic situation, the Imperium would undertake a comprehensive military expansion to address the new conditions of war.

Under the relevant military regulations, every veteran would be permitted to apply for a return to active duty.

This mobilization, however, was different from those of the past.

The Imperium truly did not need its elderly veterans to return to the battlefield.

Their duty would be to serve as instructors, using their extensive experience to provide the proper training for the new recruits.

That meant the planned expansion of the Imperial military was enormous. Otherwise, the Ministry of War would never have reconsidered the veterans' requests to return.

Naturally, everything remained voluntary. The Imperium had not fallen so far that it needed to conscript elderly veterans by force.

"Hahahaha! You little bastard, your grandfather is back!"

Old York was overjoyed.

His entire bearing changed as vitality surged back into him. He immediately opened a communication channel with his grandson, looking as smug and triumphant as anyone possibly could.

He was not alone. The other veterans were nearly as happy as they would have been on Victory Day.

They had no desire to remain in this painfully dull place for another day. Returning to the army, training a new generation of recruits, and kicking their asses into shape sounded infinitely better.

Drayning put his sunglasses back on, equally pleased.

This was good news.

It proved that humanity had finally found a way to deal with the Necrons.

The Imperium would no longer remain on the defensive and passively watch as its territory and the souls of its people were consumed.

"I've figured out the answer to our question."

The old commander looked toward the veterans, as though he had finally understood something.

"Old bastards like us just need to finish the wars of our own age and bring peace to humanity. Then we can return to the Throne without any regrets.

"Isn't that what we always wanted?

"As for what happens afterward, I trust our descendants to handle the problems of their own age.

"Problems like what the hell they're supposed to do after enjoying peace for too damned long."

When he finished, the veterans burst into laughter.

"Ha! The commander always knows what to say. He's damned right!"

"Come on, old comrades! We'd better submit our applications before all the best postings get taken by the old bastards from the other armies."

"Move, move, move!"

The veterans hurried back toward the convalescent facilities, where they could access the dedicated communication channels required to apply for a return to active duty.

Drayning followed at a leisurely pace.

He raised his head and looked toward the azure sky, his expression filled with emotion.

"The universe beyond this damned galaxy is still unimaginably vast. Even after humanity conquers the galaxy, it won't stop moving forward anytime soon..."

He could already foresee the tremendous actions the Imperium would take next.

Every part of the great Imperial machine was about to begin moving.