The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"Hashete, see, I was right. I told you, he didn't die. →"

Groggily opening his eyes, Hays found himself lying on his back on a cold metal bed, with the old medic's gaunt figure standing beside him.

For a moment, he wondered what had happened to the open grave and the dirt on his chest. It must have been a nightmare.

As he tried to sit up, a strong hand pressed against his chest, stopping him.

"Hays, don't rush to get up."

Hashete's face came into view. Hays suddenly realized his vision wasn't the same as before, so he reached out and touched his cheek.

It was wrapped in bandages, covering his left eye.

"My eye"

The medic shook his head helplessly.

"There was no way around it. Your eyeball was basically destroyed. I had to remove it to prevent infection, but you should be glad you still have one left."

Hays didn't seem too upset. Perhaps the vivid experience of death had made him realize that surviving was a blessing in itself.

"Uncle, I'm okay."

Hays slowly sat up. He was still bandaged in several places. Looking around, he realized he wasn't in the trenches. This was the rail hub behind their position. Hundreds of wounded soldiers were sitting or lying against the walls. The stench of blood emanating from them made it smell like a slaughterhouse. →

After catching his breath, he looked at Hashete.

"Uncle, the battle"

Hashete, whose neck was also bandaged, shook his head.

"We couldn't hold it. We had already repelled one wave of enemies, but another wave came, including a Hellbrute and several Chaos Spawn. In the end, we had to blow up the tunnel and retreat here, but it probably won't be safe for long."

As Hashete spoke, he glanced around, then stepped forward and slipped a piece of paper into Hays's hand, whispering:

"I secured a wounded soldier transfer quota for you. Rest up and go to the station immediately. There's one last train that will take you to the safe zone behind the third line of defense. These Red Corsairs won't last long. Once the fighting is over, you can go home safely."

"Wounded soldier?"

Hays's gaze turned to his groaning comrades, many of whom were missing arms or legs.

"Shouldn't it be given to those who are more seriously injured?"

"Fool, this is our last stand, and the grave for most of us. We have to cover the flanks of our friendly forces until the end. The entire regiment has been decimated, with less than a fifth of the original number left. Even the Second Company has been reduced to a platoon. Even the wounded have to fight. This quota is actually a life-saver."

As he spoke, Hashete took out a small silver Aquila emblem. →

"I've saved some things in the quartermaster's stores over the years. Use this to retrieve them after the war, but don't be fooled out of it, understand? That woman from last time was good. She should be waiting for you. Go back and marry her, have some children. That money is enough for you to live a stable life. Don't get involved in war again."

"Uncle"

Hays thought of many things. When they ate together, Hashete would always say he wasn't hungry, leaving the best parts for him. When his uniform was torn, the other would find a way to mend it for him. In battle, he protected him at all times. Sometimes, he would wake up in the middle of the night and find the other sitting not far away, watching him with a nostalgic gaze. Gradually, his eyes welled up with tears.

"Why are you so good to me?"

Hashete reached out and stroked his head, then sat down beside him.

"It's a cliché story. I once had a family, a wife, a son. My father was a soldier, and so was my grandfather. When it came to me, of course, I was too. As a low-ranking officer, I always believed that war was only about glory and victory, until one day I returned to my hometown, which had been reduced to ruins. I can't judge whether the governor was wrong to use incendiary bombs to suppress the riots, but from then on, I had doubts about war. I could no longer fulfill my duties as I had in the past, and could only use my skills to occasionally freeload in the army like a deserter and coward, then hide in some small bar in the underhive, living a life of drunken stupor. After more than ten years of this decadent life, sometimes I wonder if my child survived that disaster, and is he waiting for me somewhere? I've tried to find him, but I know there's no hope. It's just a motivation for me to keep living."

As he spoke, Hashete reached out and gently stroked the hair on Hays's head, smiling as he said:

"If he were still alive, he would be about your age. He, like you, was always full of whimsy. His favorite thing was an Astartes wooden toy I gave him when he was five."

Hays looked at the other's weathered and dusty face and clenched his fist gently.

"Uncle, I didn't mean to"

"It's okay, I would have told you even if you didn't ask. Hays, you are a good boy, with a heart that has not been tarnished in the cruel war. You shouldn't die in this meaningless place, but before you leave, I have one last request."

"What is it?"

"My full name is Hashete Bathori. According to my grandfather, who died many years ago, our family can be traced back to the great era when humanity began its conquest of the galaxy. It once produced countless great heroes, and even great Space Marines. But these things don't really matter to us. In the end, it's just a small, declining family in the mid-hive, but it still carries a lot of the past. Hays, are you willing to inherit this surname?"

Looking at Hashete's expectant eyes, Hays suddenly felt the weight of the wounded soldier transfer slip in his hand. The care Hashete had given him over the years and their experiences together flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.

Hays never knew who his parents were, but this man had shown him what a father was.

He nodded forcefully.

"From now on, I will be called Hays Bathori. I will tell everyone that I am Hashete Bathori's son, Father."

Hashete touched Hays's cheek with a slightly trembling hand, tears streaming from his eyes, then hugged Hays.

"Good, son, I'm proud of you."

After a moment, the two separated, and Hashete smiled, wiping away his tears.

"Go, son. I've packed your backpack. Leave this place, stay away from war from now on, but always remember to pray to the Emperor. He has saved your life countless times."

Hays nodded silently, stood up, and saw his backpack on the shelf not far away. He walked over and found it stuffed with many things, including bloodstained copies of the Regimental Standard, all of which belonged to the fallen comrades, with each person's name written on the cover: Bell, Fizz, Jung, Peak, and so on. So many people, so many lives, and in the end, all that remained was this little booklet.

However, most of them didn't even receive the most basic commendation. Hays originally wanted to put gold star stickers symbolizing veteran honor on their Regimental Standards, but logistics told him that there was no such thing—

There never had been.

The Regimental Standard was just a traditional "motivational program". It never meant anything, so there would be no follow-up steps.

From the beginning, it was a consumable, just like the soldiers who received these booklets.