Inside a secret room beneath the Governor's Office.
This secret room was one of the legacies left behind by Adela. It was allegedly built to defend against orbital bombardment, its walls made of composite steel a full three meters thick.
Now, eight people stood in the center of the room.
Paul stood at the head of the group, still wearing that dark gray power armor. His faceplate was lifted, his dark gold pupils sweeping over the seven faces before him.
Tax Bro, White Scars, [I'm Not the Regent I'm Just Passing By Guilliman], [Have You Been Loyal Today?], [Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work], [Execute Old Man the War Criminal], and [Tau Buddy You're Right].
These seven individuals had spent twenty-four hours staging what could only be described as an epic, no-holds-barred canvassing war in the regional channel.
"Congratulations, everyone," Paul began, his voice echoing in the secret room. "After twenty-four hours of fierce competition, you seven have successfully secured the sponsorship quotas for the Astartes augmentation."
He paused, a meaningful smile curling the corners of his mouth.
"Even though the methods you used to get those votes... included, but were not limited to: wiring fifty bucks to treat people to KFC, acknowledging others as your adoptive fathers, arranging full-service massages, promising to prioritize helping voters get their own augmentations once you become Space Marines, and every other conceivable tactic.'"
Tax Bro grinned, his rugged face showing absolutely no shame. "Paul, that's called strategy! The rules only said selection by vote count; they never stipulated how to canvas for votes."
White Scars nodded beside him. "Agreed, agreed."
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed. "I... I just posted in the channel saying that whoever voted for me, I'd acknowledge them as my dad. I ended up with over three hundred adoptive sons."
A few seconds of dead silence descended upon the secret room...
Then, [Execute Old Man the War Criminal] sighed. "You guys were all way too mild. I simply dropped a line in the regional channel saying that whoever voted for me would get access to my 100-terabyte stash of exclusive Japanese AV idol resources. I instantly reaped over eight hundred votes. Brothers out there are truly suffering; they're far too repressed."
Listening to this sheer variety of canvassing methods, Paul suddenly had a surreal illusion. Are we really selecting Space Marines here?
He took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to roast them all.
"Regardless of how you did it, the votes count, and you seven are the final candidates. But there are a few things that must be made clear." Paul's expression turned serious. "First, the six million Imperial Coins the Chapter is sponsoring you with must be repaid. Once your augmentations are complete, forty percent of your earnings from missions will automatically be deducted into the Chapter's account until the debt is cleared. Second, if you can excellently complete an upcoming special mission... I believe you'll be able to pay it off very quickly."
He deliberately placed heavy emphasis on the words 'special mission.'
The eyes of all seven lit up simultaneously.
Tax Bro licked his lips. "Paul, what kind of mission? Chopping people up or grabbing territory? Just say the word, and I guarantee it'll be done beautifully!"
"We'll talk about it when the time comes." Paul didn't answer directly. Instead, he pulled up the Chapter's public account and transferred six million to each of the seven players. "Six million each; it's already in your personal accounts. You know the steps. Open the store, purchase the gene-seed, complete the Phase 1 Gene Adaptation Modification, and then purchase the Astartes Augmentation Surgery Set."
"Remember—" His voice suddenly shifted, becoming dead serious. "The gene-seeds the seven of you choose absolutely cannot be the same! You must choose different ones! Imperial Fists, White Scars, Iron Hands, Salamanders, Blood Angels, Raven Guard, Space Wolves... Choose whichever Legion you want, but there can be no duplicates. This is a hard requirement."
White Scars frowned. "Why? Shouldn't our Crimson Dawn have a unified color scheme and genetic sequence?"
"For the mission." Paul looked at the seven of them. "Your equipment paint jobs must be exactly identical to the Space Marines of this current era. Pauldron numbers, Legion insignias, honor rings, Chapter markings... every single detail must be flawlessly replicated. Of course, if you want to add some personal touches like laurel wreaths, capes, or medals, I have no objections." He paused, adding, "In fact, the more high-end, the better. That depends on how many Imperial Coins you're willing to spend yourself. This will be immensely helpful for the upcoming mission. This point is crucial; remember it well."
The atmosphere in the secret room grew heavy. None of the seven were fools; Paul's implications were already glaringly obvious.
They were going to disguise themselves. Disguise themselves as Space Marines from different Legions to execute a mission that required specific identities.
[Tau Buddy You're Right] was the first to react. "Paul, we're going to... go undercover?"
"Smart," Paul didn't deny it. "But we'll discuss the specific details after you finish your augmentations. For now, open the store and select your gene-seeds. If there are any issues during the modification process, my psychic power will assist you throughout."
The seven of them asked no further questions and brought up their game interfaces.
The store's [Gene-Seed Selection] page popped up, listing twenty Legion options. Below each option were detailed descriptions: estimated augmentation success rates, compatibility analysis, trait inclinations, suggested future development paths...
The price was uniform across the board: 1,000,000 Imperial Coins.
Tax Bro hardly hesitated, immediately selecting the Imperial Fists. He loved the Legion's creed: holding the line, unyielding tenacity, and a style that spoke through walls and fortresses.
White Scars chose the White Scars, which was entirely expected.
G Bro selected the Ultramarines.
[Have You Been Loyal Today?] chose the Sons of Horus.
[Don't Ask Me My Orky Senses Tell Me It'll Work] chose the Space Wolves. "My Orky senses tell me that the Wolves' straightforward style suits me best."
[Execute Old Man the War Criminal] chose the Raven Guard. "I like observing from the shadows, sneaking into the village quietly, and not firing a single shot."
[Tau Buddy You're Right] was the last to choose. He stared at the options for a full minute before finally selecting... the Alpha Legion.
Paul raised an eyebrow. The Alpha Legion. A legion renowned for infiltration, disguise, and intelligence warfare. Their Primarch, Alpharius, was even more mysterious and unpredictable; there were even rumors that the Alpha Legion actually had two Primarchs.
"Are you sure you want to choose this one?" Paul asked.
[Tau Buddy You're Right] replied, "I'm sure. The Alpha Legion's gene-seed has significant advantages in adaptability, disguise capabilities, and intelligence processing. Furthermore..." He paused. "...this Legion acts very low-key in the galaxy at this current stage, making them the most suitable for executing undercover infiltration missions."
Paul gave him a deep look but didn't object. "Alright, since you've all made your choices, you must remember that once it begins, it cannot be interrupted. The surgery process will last for twenty-four hours. During this time, you will experience sensations you have never felt in your entire lives. But trust me, and trust yourselves."
The seven of them nodded heavily.
White Scars broke into a grin. "Paul, once I'm out, how about we spar a bit?"
"Wait until you can beat Tax Bro first," Paul joked.
The alloy doors of the seven secret chambers slowly slid open, and the seven individuals walked inside one by one.
At the last moment before the doors closed, Tax Bro turned back and gave Paul a thumbs-up. "Paul, wait for me! When I get out, I'm going hacking and slashing with you!"
The chamber doors slowly sealed shut.
Only Paul remained in the main secret room. He stood quietly in front of the chambers. After waiting for an hour to confirm that the seven had begun the nineteen Astartes augmentation surgeries, Paul closed his eyes.
The Hope trait slowly unfurled.
Pale gold ripples of psychic energy emanated from him, penetrating the thick alloy doors and flooding into the seven secret chambers. A warm, resilient light, like the glow of morning dawn, enveloped the seven surgical tables, blessing the seven individuals with the fortune of unseen possibilities. It made their bodies more receptive to the augmentations, reduced rejection reactions, and ensured the genetic fusion proceeded far more smoothly.
"Hold on, brothers," Paul muttered softly to himself, though it sounded more like he was speaking directly to the seven undergoing the transformations. "The path you have chosen makes you supermen, but it also makes you monsters. But please remember why you are changing. For the ideals of the Crimson Dawn. For those still struggling at the bottom of other hives and other worlds. For... a future."
Inside the chambers, the vital signs of the seven individuals fluctuated violently.
Time ticked by, minute by minute.
At the same time, in the upper hive of Kent Hive, at the Third Public School.
This three-story building was originally a private academy for the children of the Hysman Merchant Guild, but it had now been repurposed into a public school. Over a hundred children, ranging in age from six to twelve, sat in the classroom. They wore unified gray uniforms made by the Crimson Dawn using fabrics confiscated from the guild's warehouses.
At the podium, a female teacher in her early twenties was teaching basic literacy. Her name was Emily. Just over half a month ago, she was a worker in a middle hive textile factory. Because she knew how to read, she was selected, underwent a ten-day crash course, and assumed her post.
Her monthly salary was a staggering fifteen thousand Aurelian Coins.
The smiling young man who had trained her had said to her with a grin, "Teachers who impart knowledge to others and guide them onto the right path should not have to survive on meager savings."
Emily had learned his name from how the other Aurelian Youth League members addressed him: Blood Angels' Second Emperor. The name was very strange, but it didn't diminish his glorious image in her heart in the slightest.
The teaching materials consisted of the standard Imperial basic primers, supplemented with content compiled by the Crimson Dawn. For instance, right now, Emily was writing two words on the blackboard.
"Labor" and "Dignity."
"Students, read after me. La—bor—"
The children repeated after her, their voices a jagged chorus.
"Labor means creating value through your own two hands," Emily explained, trying her best to use simple language. "Mining is labor. Farming is labor. Cleaning is also labor. As long as you rely on your own efforts in exchange for what you need to survive, it is glorious labor." She pointed to the second word. "Dig—ni—ty—. Dignity means being treated as a human being. It means not having to kneel and beg, not being beaten and scolded on a whim, and not being looked down upon because of a lowly birth."
Emily paused. Recalling the days when she was beaten and cursed at in the textile factory, her eyes grew slightly hot. "The Crimson Dawn tells us that labor is exchanged for survival, and effort is rewarded with respect. From today onward, you will no longer have to live without dignity like your parents did."
In the back row of the classroom, Helovia Elnor sat quietly. The eleven-year-old girl wore the same uniform as the other children, but her eyes held a tranquility far beyond her years. She listened attentively, but more often than not, she was sensing. Sensing the minute fluctuations in the air.
Psychic fluctuations.
Ever since her outburst in Merida Town, Helovia's psychic talents had returned to a state of rapid growth. Moreover, she could see things that ordinary people could not. Right now, for example, she could see the pale white halo emanating from Teacher Emily. She could see the varying energy fields—some bright, some dim—around the other children in the classroom. She could even vaguely sense... far away, deep underground, a massive, warm psychic energy.
That belonged to her savior, Big Brother Paul who had given her light on a freezing night.
Helovia closed her eyes. Suddenly, her consciousness perceived another image. It projected directly into her mind.
A pitch-black expanse of space, glittering with stars.
A massive fleet was sailing through the void. The hulls were painted blood-red and adorned with golden angelic wing insignias. At the center of the fleet was a warship even more magnificent than the Fist of Iron, its silhouette resembling an angel spreading its wings.
They were approaching.
Getting closer and closer.
Helovia's eyes snapped open, her small face deathly pale.
"What's wrong, Helovia?" Emily asked with concern, having noticed her abnormal reaction.
"N-Nothing," Helovia lowered her head, her fingers trembling slightly.
She didn't know what she had just seen. But she knew that something huge was about to happen.