The opportunity offered by General Armitage soon arrived before Reinhardt in the form of a top-secret transfer order.
The content of the order was simple to the point of ruthlessness.
He was appointed as a Field Advisor for the defense of the Viridian colony.
No military rank, no troops, just an ethereal title.
And a shuttle, traveling alone to Viridian, carrying no extra personnel or supplies.
The generals present looked at the transfer order with varied expressions.
Some unconcealed a hint of schadenfreude.
Viridian.
This name, among the Dominion military high command, had become synonymous with grave.
It was an agricultural colony planet located at the most prominent part of the Dominion border. Three standard months ago, an unprecedented alien species suddenly appeared in that star system. They were savage, violent, and lived solely for war. Dominion scholars named them Horned Beasts.
The Dominion Border Fleet attempted to intercept them, but after sacrificing three cruisers and a dozen frigates, they retreated in disarray.
The number of those monsters was simply too great.
So numerous that they could form a green natural disaster.
Since then, Viridian had become an isolated island. The Dominion had completely abandoned any rescue efforts for it. Sending a fleet there would only be a futile expenditure of valuable forces.
Now, according to the last sporadic intelligence, Viridian's surface defense facilities were almost completely gone. The remaining few million civilians and defenders were holed up in the last capital city, Bastion of Hope, awaiting their doom.
Sending Reinhardt there, the intention was clear.
Either let him see with his own eyes how ridiculous and powerless his fanatical theories of Dominion and Crusade were in the face of an overwhelming alien army, making him retreat in the face of difficulty and abandon those dangerous ideas.
Or, he would die there.
Swallowed by the tide of aliens along with that doomed planet.
A perfect, two-birds-with-one-stone open conspiracy.
This is your chance.
General Armitage pushed the transfer order towards Reinhardt, his red bionic eye flashing with cold light.
Go, Advisor. Show the people of Viridian, show all of us, your 'Divine Mandate'.
Good luck.
Reinhardt picked up the transfer order, which seemed like waste paper to him.
On his face, there was no anger, no unwillingness, not even any expression.
He just calmly looked at Armitage.
I will.
He said.
All of you, watch closely.
The shuttle carved a lonely trajectory through space.
Its destination was the death zone, marked deep red on the star map.
The Viridian System.
When the shuttle exited warp, the sight before them was enough to make anyone, no matter how resolute, feel despair.
Countless metallic debris floated in orbit around the system. It was the graveyard of the Dominion Border Fleet. The skeletons of warships reflected silent lamentations under the faint glow of the star.
A green, vibrant agricultural planet now resembled a piece of rotting flesh, gnawed and riddled with holes. The atmosphere was filled with massive vortices formed by explosions and pollution. On the surface, countless hideous tracks looked like fields plowed by giant beasts.
Those were the traces of the alien landing.
The shuttle's communication channels were filled with various desperate, chaotic, and extremely low-encryption distress signals.
...This is Outpost Three! We've been breached! There are too many of them... Aaaah!
Anyone! Respond if you hear this! Eastern defense line requests artillery support! Repeat, requesting artillery support!
Save us... someone save us...
Then, there were ear-splitting chewing sounds and the joyous, tyrannical roars of some creature.
Reinhardt turned off the communication.
He piloted the shuttle, skillfully avoiding the orbital debris and the aliens' crude but dense anti-aircraft fire, flying towards the only coordinate point on the ground that was still flickering with a faint signal.
Bastion of Hope.
This city was the last bastion of human civilization on Viridian.
And their final tomb.
The shuttle landed with a violent jolt in the Governor's Palace Plaza in the city center.
This was already the safest place in the entire city.
But even so, the air was thick with gunpowder smoke and the smell of blood. Explosions and gunshots from a distance never ceased.
The hatch opened.
Reinhardt stepped out.
A man in a heavily worn officer's uniform, half his face covered in blood and grime, quickly approached with a few equally exhausted soldiers.
He saw Reinhardt.
Saw him alone.
Saw the small shuttle behind him, which didn't even have military markings.
The last glimmer of hope on the man's face completely extinguished.
Replaced by endless mockery and despair.
Reinforcements?
He looked at Reinhardt, smiling bitterly.
This is the 'reinforcement' sent by headquarters? One person? An advisor who doesn't even wear a military uniform?
I am the commander here, Colonel Griffith. He didn't salute, merely introduced himself numbly, Welcome to hell, Advisor.
Reinhardt ignored his sarcasm.
Take me to the command center. His voice was calm and strong, I want the latest battle situation.
Colonel Griffith was stunned for a moment.
From the man before him, he saw no fear or panic. Only a puzzling calmness, as if the situation was completely under control.
He shook his head mockingly.
Perhaps he's a madman.
Headquarters sent a madman to die with us.
This way, please.
The command center was located in the underground bunker of the Governor's Palace.
It was in chaos.
Wounded soldiers were carried in and out. Communicators yelled themselves hoarse, trying to contact positions that had long since lost contact. Officers gathered around a huge holographic sand table, their faces no different from the dead.
On the sand table, the blue dots representing the city were slowly being devoured by the overwhelming red dots surrounding them.
As you can see.
Colonel Griffith pointed at the sand table, his voice filled with helplessness.
Our outer defenses completely collapsed three hours ago. The enemy is pouring into the city from all directions. Our remaining forces are less than 30,000, and ammunition will run out in two hours.
He looked at Reinhardt, a hint of cruel satisfaction in his eyes.
According to the last images from the frontline drones, the Horned Beasts besieging the city number at least three million. They are gathering, preparing to launch the final general assault.
Advisor, what are your profound insights?
Everyone in the command center focused their gaze on Reinhardt.
They wanted to see what expression this big shot sent by headquarters would show in such a hopeless situation.
Fear? Regret? Or begging on his knees?
But they were disappointed.
Reinhardt merely glanced at the sand table, which represented absolute death.
Then, he nodded.
Very good.
Silence fell over the command center.
Everyone thought they had misheard.
Very good?
What the hell was good about this?
Colonel Griffith's mouth twitched.
Advisor, are you...
Boom!!!
An unprecedented violent explosion interrupted his words.
The entire underground bunker shook violently, and dust fell from the ceiling.
A communicator stumbled in, his face full of terror.
Colonel! The... the general assault! The general assault has begun!
The west city wall... was smashed down by a giant monster! They're pouring in!
Despair, like a plague, instantly spread throughout the command center.
It was over.
Everything was over.
Colonel Griffith closed his eyes and drew the pistol from his waist.
Better to end it quickly than be torn apart by those monsters.
Everyone, seal off the command center.
A calm voice, however, clearly reached everyone's ears at this moment.
It was Reinhardt.
He had, at some point, walked to the center of the command center.
No one is allowed to leave without my order.
Griffith suddenly opened his eyes and glared at him.
What do you want to do? Sit here and wait to die?!
Reinhardt didn't answer him.
He simply slowly knelt on one knee in the center of the command center.
He closed his eyes.
Everyone present looked at him with the gaze reserved for a madman.
But they soon realized they were wrong.
Centered around Reinhardt, the air began to distort.
An invisible, grand, soul-shaking pressure began to spread.
All electronic devices in the command center, their screens began to flicker wildly, emitting harsh static.
The lights flickered on and off.
A faint, golden light began to emanate from Reinhardt's body.
He didn't pray. Didn't whisper. His heart was absolute silence.
But his soul, blessed by the Emperor, was burning with unprecedented intensity.
His conviction, his absolute faith in humanity's destiny, transformed into an invisible coordinate, piercing through reality, piercing through space and time, reaching towards that distant, golden other shore belonging to the Imperium of Man.
He was calling.
No, he was commanding.
In the name of the Emperor's Apostle, he commanded loyal scions to cross space and time to present themselves.
What... what is that?
A soldier pointed at the empty space in front of Reinhardt, his voice distorted by extreme fear.
The space there rippled like water into which a stone had been thrown.
Immediately after, a golden rift appeared out of thin air.
The rift quickly expanded, becoming an irregular void with edges burning with golden flames.
The other side of the void was not darkness, but a brilliant, golden sea of light, full of holiness and majesty.
Accompanied by a majestic battle song that seemed to come from ancient times, a figure stepped out from the light portal.
It was a human soldier.
He wore a standard khaki military uniform, with a dark green bulletproof vest over it. On his head was a uniquely shaped military helmet that covered his entire head.
The weapon in his hand was not a Dominion-standard blaster rifle, but a simpler, black rifle with a slender barrel.
The moment he appeared, an aura of iron and blood instantly dispelled the despair in the command center.
Then came the second, the third, the tenth...
In the blink of an eye, a ten-man squad appeared neatly in the center of the command center.
They were silent, their movements uniform, like statues cast from steel and discipline.
Each one exuded the cold, confident aura of a battle-hardened veteran.
Colonel Griffith and his soldiers were completely stunned.
Their mouths were agape, their minds blank.
This... what was this?
An illusion?
Or some new, never-before-seen teleportation technology?
The leading soldier, whose shoulder insignia indicated he was a non-commissioned officer, strode up to Reinhardt, who was still kneeling on one knee.
He surveyed the chaotic, failure-ridden command center.
Then, his gaze fell upon Reinhardt.
He saw the faint, golden halo that still lingered around Reinhardt.
The non-commissioned officer's body suddenly stiffened.
His face, obscured by the helmet's visor, revealed an expression of extreme fanaticism and piety.
He snapped to attention, clenched his right fist, and heavily struck the double-headed eagle emblem on his chest.
Emitting a dull thud.
Sergeant Baston, Third Squad Leader of Storm Company, Eighth Regiment of the Cadian Shock Troops, reporting to you, my Lord!
His voice was loud, filled with unquestioning loyalty.
The nine soldiers behind him performed the exact same action.
"For the Emperor!"
The unified roar, like a War Hammer, heavily struck the hearts of every Dominion Soldier.
It was a sound they had never heard before.
A sound that completely integrated faith, glory, and death.
Reinhardt slowly stood up.
The golden light on his body gradually faded.
He looked at this army of steel from another universe, swearing allegiance to him.
He knew that from this moment on, everything would be different.
Colonel Griffith swallowed hard, his trembling finger pointing at Sergeant Baston.
"You... you all... who are you?"
Sergeant Baston ignored him.
In his eyes, there was only Reinhardt.
He only obeyed one person's command.
Reinhardt turned around and walked towards the large holographic sand table that showed the city being swallowed by red dots.
He pointed at the largest arrow, representing the main alien force advancing.
He didn't look back.
He simply issued his first Purification order in this world, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
"Sergeant."
"Purge these aliens."
Sergeant Baston stood even straighter.
In his eyes, a deep-seated hatred for the aliens and a thirst for battle ignited.
"At your command, my Lord!"
He waved his hand abruptly.
"Third Squad! Follow me! For the Emperor! For Terra!"
Ten Astra Militarum Soldiers turned and rushed out of the command center with neat, powerful strides.