After advancing through a few more sections of the trench, Zhang Ge and his group came to a halt. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep going, but realistically, the area a single squad could control was limited. It wasn’t feasible for a squad of a dozen or so people to control an entire battlefront.

If they pushed forward any further, it might very well be seen as a deliberate act of seeking death.

Behind them, the reassuringly heavy, muffled gunfire of the heavy explosive rounds alternated between bursts and sustained fire. Exhausted, Zhang Ge looked at the PDF soldiers who were starting to surge back into the trenches around him. Instead of immediately climbing into the trench, he sat down on a nearby step, unscrewed his water bottle, and took a sip.

He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but now that he had a moment to breathe... this place was unbearably hot.

As he thought about it, Zhang Ge removed his stifling helmet and placed it to the side. Suddenly, a thought struck him.

Wait a minute. Right, the carapace armor’s defensive capability might not mean much against explosives, but it was still highly effective against conventional weapons. This type of advanced armor, issued to elite units like the Kasrkin, Storm Troopers, and Grenadiers, was capable of withstanding most attacks a normal person might encounter.

Against standard laser rifles or automatic firearms, shots to the primary protective areas were essentially ineffective. If he kept wearing the helmet and got shot in the head but the helmet deflected the shot, what then?

Besides, not wearing a helmet wasn’t uncommon in the Astra Militarum. Many veterans and officers did the same, and some of those hulking Kasrkin squads didn’t even wear armor in jungle terrains. It definitely wouldn’t count as reckless behavior.

With that thought in mind, Zhang Ge hooked the removed helmet onto his back, with no intention of putting it back on.

However, a nearby PDF soldier, who was in the middle of reloading, noticed and asked, “The air quality here is terrible. Won’t you have trouble breathing without the filter, sir?”

Terrible air quality. No wonder the stingy noble lords were willing to issue every PDF soldier a respirator. But Zhang Ge, now without his helmet, didn’t really feel any difficulty breathing. Other than the thick, metallic stench of blood—likely tainted by some Warp corruption and impossible to filter out even with a respirator—it wasn’t much different from his experiences in his previous life.

Still, his current body seemed to be that of a seasoned soldier. It wouldn’t be surprising if he had spent a bit of money on minor bodily augmentations. Perhaps his respiratory system had been enhanced in some way.

So Zhang Ge replied, “On our planet, all adults are gathered together and exposed to poison gas. Those who survive are the ones with strong respiratory systems.”

With that one sentence, he left a small but lasting impression on the PDF soldier, who had likely never left his home planet in his entire life. Then Zhang Ge stood up and followed his comrades, who were beginning to move back to their original position.

For the time being, suppressing the cultists’ attack—those lacking heavy weaponry and without demonic assistance—was relatively easy for the current defensive line. On their way back, the four of them encountered no other trouble.

This brief respite ended when they returned to the artillery shelter and saw a man dressed in a Commissar’s uniform.

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Before they even got close, Dulles’ voice could be heard:

“What you’re saying is, without knowing the enemy’s exact troop strength, composition, equipment, deployment, or even whether they have the ability to summon daemons, you want to send someone to carry out a ‘decapitation strike’?”

The Commissar responded in an unhurried tone, “It’s not just one person. It’s a whole squad. They’re the elite drawn from various units here. Their mission is precisely to deal with the unknowns. This is a sacrifice for the Emperor, and returning their souls to the Golden Throne is an honor.”

It seemed that Dulles held a relatively high rank. A squad leader who could argue with a Commissar and even receive a response was no small thing.

On the other hand, the nature of the situation also meant that such an order couldn’t be enforced. After all, if anyone selected for the mission harbored even the slightest resentment, who knew what might happen in a place where the influence of Chaos was particularly strong.

With a hint of sarcasm, Dulles said, “Sacrifice? I and my men can die, but it won’t be for a meaningless death. They should be placed where they can be more useful. Why don’t ‘you’ take on this ‘honorable’ task?”

“I am part of the squad.”

As the silence, mixed with the sounds of gunfire and explosions, began to spread, Zhang Ge stepped forward. His hair fluttered in the dusty wind stirred up by the firing of an autocannon nearby. His gaze was resolute as he interjected, “I’m willing to go… My comrades all died at their hands.”

Dulles, seeing this, was about to speak, but the Commissar had already turned his gaze toward Zhang Ge and spoke first.

“Very well, soldier. What is your name?”

“Zhang Ge.”

“Follow me. You’re the last member. We’ll leave as soon as we arrive.”

As Zhang Ge walked past Dulles, the latter suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm. The strength of that grip momentarily halted Zhang Ge’s forward movement.

Dulles fumbled through his tactical rig and pulled out a few plasma pistol magazines. Then, from his pouch, he retrieved some emergency medical supplies and stuffed them into Zhang Ge’s pack before finally letting go.

The two exchanged a brief glance, but in the end, neither of them said anything.

One didn’t know what to say, while the other was barely holding back laughter.

Quickening his pace, and catching up with the commissar ahead, Zhang Ge casually asked:

“A whole squad—who exactly is in it?”

“You, me, a Battle Sister, a psyker, an Ogryn, and an Ecclesiarchy priest.”

A gathering of elites, to say the least.

“An Ogryn? So we’re not planning on stealth, I take it.”

“His throat was completely shattered and replaced with a mechanical one. He can’t speak, but he’s very obedient.”

Amid this casual chatter, during a lull after another wave of attacks had been repelled, Zhang Ge was led to the squad’s assembly point.

The moment his eyes landed on the Chimera transport vehicle—painted entirely in bright red, patched together with a heap of nonsensical junk, and barely recognizable in shape—Zhang Ge felt something was off.

“Captured from Ork forces. It’s one of the few vehicles the regiment has,” the commissar explained while pulling open the hatch.

Inside, there was a silver-haired Sister who wasn’t wearing armor but was wrapped in white bandages from head to toe, even her eyes covered with white cloth. Her body was riddled with scars, and she held a faintly glowing two-handed greatsword.

A psyker, pale as a corpse, with shattered manacles on their wrists that looked like they’d been violently broken apart. One hand gripped a bolt pistol, the other a power sword.

An Ogryn, clad in heavy armor that left only one eye visible, with weapons and a shield so massive they took up most of the space and had to be stored at an angle. He was scratching his head in confusion.

An Ecclesiarchy priest, standing nearly two meters tall, with muscles so swollen they strained against his robes. A massive melta gun rested beside him, and a spiked mace hung from his waist.

Zhang Ge’s expression grew complicated as he glanced at the commissar beside him, whose single eye had been replaced with a red cybernetic implant—arguably the most “normal” person in the group.

“Me? Really?”

What did I, an ordinary Astra Militarum veteran, do to deserve being chosen by you?