After the lottery ceremony, the atmosphere in the hall was clearly divided into two camps.
The twenty candidates, each holding a red slip, could not hide their excitement. They gripped the thin slip that symbolized their fate tightly, their knuckles turning white from the effort.
Some people exchanged gloomy glances, while others looked up at the imperial statue, their lips moving slightly as if to express gratitude.
The other thirty candidates, each holding a white sign, were shrouded in a subdued silence.
They stood there, their eyes downcast, or staring blankly at the sign in their hands that signaled defeat.
Some people flipped the fortune sticks over and over, as if hoping the color would suddenly change; some people held them tightly in their palms until their knuckles turned white; and some people quietly put the fortune sticks into their pockets, as if trying to hide this disappointing result.
Cesare discovered that he had drawn a red card.
He suppressed the cheer that almost escaped his lips, took a deep breath, and straightened his back.
He noticed that a companion from Necromunda next to him had drawn a white lot, and the young man's shoulders visibly slumped.
Cesare hesitated for a moment, but ultimately didn't say anything, instead turning his gaze elsewhere.
Kax also drew a red card.
He glanced at the color on the slip, then stuffed it into his pocket, his expression unchanged, as if the result was expected.
His sharp gaze swept over those holding white signs, as if assessing their level of threat, or perhaps relieved that he didn't have to associate with them.
Groom was one of the few red card recipients who remained completely expressionless.
He checked the color of the slip, confirmed it was red, carefully put it away, and then continued to maintain his standard standing posture, as if he had just completed a routine procedure.
The friars stepped forward and gestured for the red-card recipients to line up and leave.
They will be taken to a special area to prepare for the subsequent implantation of genetic seeds.
As he left the hall, Cesare glanced back at the remaining white card holders, a complex emotion flashing through his mind, but it was quickly replaced by anticipation for the future.
After all the red card winners left, only thirty white card candidates and the standing black Templar warriors remained in the hall.
Disappointment and confusion filled the air.
These candidates, who had endured numerous trials and persevered to the end, thought they were about to experience a turning point in their lives, only to be eliminated in such a random way at the final hurdle.
Sigismund stepped down from the observation platform and approached Osiris. His power armor gleamed with a cold, hard sheen under the lights.
"What do you plan to do with these thirty men?" Sigismund asked, his voice coming through the speaker in his helmet with its characteristic deep resonance.
Osiris' mechanical body turned towards Sigismund, the optical lens flickering slightly: "They still have value. Research on the improvement of genetic seeds needs more experimental data, and these excellent recipients can be used as test subjects."
Sigismund nodded slightly, not surprised by the answer.
In the endless conquests of the empire, sacrifice was the norm.
For a magos like Osiris, who only needs a few dozen candidates as research subjects, this is already considered extremely restrained.
He had witnessed some experiments in forging worlds that often consumed the entire population of a hive city just to verify a certain technological hypothesis.
"Experiments…" Sigismund repeated the word, his tone devoid of any emotion, "If their sacrifice can contribute to the strength of the Imperial Fist, then it is worthwhile."
"Improving genetically modified seeds is a systematic project," Osiris explained calmly in a synthesized voice. "The current optimization of the breeding process is only the initial stage. Truly in-depth modification at the genetic level requires a large amount of experimental data to support it."
These candidates underwent rigorous screening, meeting certain standards in both physical fitness and mental fortitude, making them ideal research subjects.
Sigismund's gaze swept over the candidates standing below, who were looking on blankly.
Some of them seemed to realize they were being discussed and shifted their positions uncomfortably.
"They can become Astartes too?" Sigismund asked.
"In theory, yes," Osiris replied. "But this will be a technology verification process. The gene seeds they receive will contain various attempts at improvement, some of which may succeed, while others may… lead to unpredictable consequences. These thirty people will become pioneers on the path of gene seed improvement."
Osiris naturally wouldn't disclose these details to the public.
In official records, these thirty people will only be marked as "training elimination," and their subsequent fate will not be recorded in detail.
For mechanical engineers, losses during the research process are perfectly normal.
"In that case, they are entrusted to you," Sigismund concluded. "May their sacrifice contribute to the Emperor's cause."
Osiris' mechanical head tilted slightly in approval: "Their data will greatly advance the research process. Compared to directly recovering gene seeds from the battlefield, experiments in this controlled environment can provide more accurate research parameters."
Just then, a small commotion broke out among the candidates below.
A young man, seemingly unable to accept this outcome, suddenly took a step forward and shouted, "Magos! What... what will happen to us, the recipients of the white tokens?"
The soldiers of the Christian Guard immediately stepped forward, ready to stop the sudden questioning, but Osiris raised his hand to stop them.
His optical lens turned to the candidate who had asked the question, and a synthesized voice echoed in the hall: "You will be involved in another important mission. The details will be explained to you at that time."
This answer neither revealed any specific information nor failed to give them a glimmer of hope.
The young man who asked the question opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to ask something more, but under Osiris' unwavering gaze, he ultimately withdrew.
Sigismund watched this scene without feeling anything.
In his view, the personal fates of these candidates were insignificant compared to the Empire's grander interests. If their sacrifice could lead to advancements in gene-seed technology and enhance the fighting capabilities of the Astartes Order, then such an exchange was entirely justified.
"Then, I'll take my leave now," Sigismund said to Osiris. "I will personally supervise the induction ceremony for the new recruits."
Osiris' mechanical body turned slightly: "The implantation procedure will begin in forty-eight hours. You are welcome to observe at that time."
Sigismund nodded in acknowledgment, then turned and left, the power armor's servo system emitting a slight hum.
His figure quickly disappeared at the end of the passage.
Osiris then turned her attention back to the thirty recipients of the white-card lottery.
His team has begun assigning them experiment numbers and planning subsequent research procedures.
Everyone will receive different types of gene seed implantation; some are stability tests, some are compatibility experiments, and some will attempt to activate sequences in the gene seed that are usually dormant.
For these candidates, the path they are about to embark on is fraught with uncertainty.
They may become the pioneers of a new type of Astartes, or they may suffer unimaginable pain during the transformation process, even paying the price with their lives.
But for Osiris, they are merely variables in the experimental process, necessary resources for driving scientific progress.
In the pursuit of knowledge and technology, the fate of the individual is never a priority.
"Take them to the second laboratory," Osiris ordered the guards. "Settle them according to the pre-arranged plan."
The soldiers immediately took action, guiding the thirty candidates out of the hall.
Most of them remained confused and uneasy, while a few were filled with anticipation for the new mission.
No one knew they were about to become test subjects for genetic modification, and no one knew what kind of future awaited them.
Osiris stood quietly beneath the imperial statue, the data stream in the optical lens flashing continuously.
At the heart of his logic, these thirty lives have been reduced to a series of parameters to be verified and possible outcomes.
The mysteries of genetic seeds await discovery, and the path to knowledge always needs someone to pave the way.
The hall fell silent again, with only the ceaseless hum of the machinery breaking down.