“It is not enough that corruption is recognised,” the Deacon quoted to the laity, “It must be opposed! It is not enough that ignorance is acknowledged. It must be defied! Win or lose, what matters is making a stand for the virtues we will bequeath to the human race. When this galaxy is finally ours, we'll hold a worthless prize if we plant the last aquila, on the last day, on the last world, having led humanity into moral darkness. So said Blessed Lorgar, who reminds us we face not only the enemy without, but also the enemy within.”

  Go Soo-Hee leaned on the wall of the church with the Free Company men. The laity that filled these pews were not the Sunday bests like the congregations elsewhere. They were dressed in emulation of the clergy, tattered and dirty tags stitched together into robes. They clutched their weapons with the reverence of aquilas and ecclesiasticuses: flails, hammers, knives, cleavers, stubbers, and any other weapon they could scrounge together. Beside the Deacon were equally armed clergymen. The Drill Abbot organized the laity into a reliable enough martial unit. The Reliquant held a totem of the bones of martyrs aloft. Missionaries and preachers wielding burners and maces stood stern as the deacon continued.

  “We stand on the front lines against the dark god. We bear the brunt of its fury, yet we have remained for centuries. If we are defeated, if Incheo is defeated, if His Imperium is defeated, it will not be on the field of battle, where the enemy has failed so many times before. No, we have beaten them back at every turn, and only by our choosing not to do so do they hope to prevail.

  The craven, the treacherous, the cowards, the traitors, the heretics, rely on deceit where their worthless god has failed them. They target our hearts! They target our minds! They target our reserves! They target our will! They seek to make you question, to doubt, to leaden your limbs as your mind is mired in dark places.

  Do not let them undermine. Let every attack remind you why you fight. Let every sabotage remind you of their duplicity. Let every desecration remind you of what you protect. Raise your armor of contempt and draw your spears of scorn. Barricade your souls and drench your hands in the blood of the wicked!”

  The crowd that had been steadily rising in tempo with the sermon now came to its raucous crescendo. They held their weapons high and shouted their pledges and condemnations.

  This clergy and laity together made up the base of the frateris militia, the faithful and furious masses who wage war against the enemies of man. Most of the time, they help with logistical matters and crime-fighting to free up the actual soldiers. In Hanyang and other isolated places, they are the first line of defense, either keeping minor problems under control or staving off incursions until organized forces can arrive. After the battle is won, they are the people who remain to pick off stragglers and clean up the damage after the military has left. They fight for their homes, their communities, their loved ones; these are the kind of souls who kept the sparks of humanity going across the galaxy in the long, cold night. If even those who had nothing could still give their life, then Go Soo-hee could find the strength to get out of bed.

  For the less zealous, a good sermon helps soothe a weary heart, but is not enough motivation to march into battle in an ill-trained and iller-armed band. While chafing under the strict regimen of the military, free company men know the value of disciplined ranks and well-maintained armaments over mobs of rabble welding and wearing scraps. While the lower end of such groups was not that much better equipped than the laity or even the local gangs, they were, at their worst, a reliable purchase for their bargain in scrips. With autoweapons and iron swords, these mercenaries bulk up the ranks of the highest bidder with the expectation that they are desperate enough to die for their scrips in the place of more valued troops. Citizens see less value in them, as they only know the wandering drunk bands of drunkards and braggards, with some groups being little better than brigands extorting villages for protection. Sometimes, those brigands happen to exchange blows with security forces on land or property that is contested by noble houses. The unit around Go this day at least bothered to come to church to soak in the good word, so they can’t be too bad.

  After the sermon, the laity donated their tithe to the church. This collective fund went towards the community’s security, both to pay for their own weapons and to contract the free company. The Deacon had barely stepped down from his pulpit when the Free Company Captain went up to the chancel to haggle for prices. Go remained on the back wall with the company men, while Jakada monitored the conversation.

  The increased attacks have been bad for local business, both killing off customers and disrupting supply lanes, if not by bombings then by sheer instability. Not only are the businesses paying less, but the tithe purse has gotten visibly lighter. If the price remains the same its going to be harder for this town to afford the Captain’s services. The Deacon is keenly aware of the low funds and mentions that people are wondering what the captain’s men are good for since these attacks are occurring under their ‘protection’. The Captain meant no offense, just that he hopes that his unit can be well known for sticking out through tough times. Those terms the Deacon found acceptable.

  “Hail to you, sister!” some of the laity came to her, hands clasped, weapons slung over torso or chained around wrist, smiling through what crooked and yellowed teeth remained; noble as they were, they were still peasants. The speaker took off his gat to reveal a splotched and balding scalp; the gesture was meant to be respectful, but it would have been more accommodating to keep himself covered. “You come here to help us? We see a lot of you’s around, and we’s always grateful, but never so close.”

  “Yes. We heard about the increase in attacks in this area. I aim to follow your lead in excising the threat.”

  “Oh, thank the Emperor for answering our prayers! And-and we are honored to have you, personally, sister.”

  As dirty as they were, Go Soo-hee was moved by their earnestness, a rarity in the spires. She stood up straight and raised the aquila to her heart.

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  “And I am honored to be alongside you.”

  Their smiles grew to ghastly sizes out of astonishment. They turned to each other and nodded and bumped each other's shoulders as if they were affirming that they all heard the same thing. The free company men were less impressed. Rather, they had enough awareness to realize the sororitas would not stand alongside them if the sororitas could help it. If a zephyrim is dispatched, it's for an objective the seraphim squadrons are unsuited for; if the zephyrim is with them, then they had something to do with it. Still, the Captain is coming down the aisle to make a good impression. Wasting an opportunity to get your name in the spires would be malfeasance for any businessman.

  “Captain Hong Gil Dong of His Noble Squires. It is good to make your acquaintance, Sister…?” he outstretched his hand.

  “Go Soo-Hee,” she accepted his handshake.

  “Sister Go, I see you are more comfortable standing amongst my men. I hope they have not been too much trouble.”

  “They haven’t bothered me.”

  “Rightly so. They know how to keep their mouths shut and how to shoot straight just as well as any army battalion.”

  “We will see. Pitched combat against agents of the Empyrean is different from guarding against scoundrels.”

  “Rightly so. We are still waiting on the huntsmen to return with their report. We would appreciate your counsel in our planning.”

  “My counsel? I just got here. You are the one who should have experience here and a lay of the land. What could I tell you? If I did not know any better, I would think you are trying to get ahead of your competition and into my good graces by making me believe you value my input when your bellum locus already has a plan in mind.”

  “Those sharp instincts are why your counsel is desirable. Zephyrim are veterans of countless battles, many unorthodox; they have to be quick in their thinking and on their feet. Whatever outline we have come up with, we need to reorganize it to make the most out of such a valuable asset.”

  “A good answer. Leaning into the accusation to turn it to your favor while still flattering my ego. You must have been a noble in another life.”

  “Something like that, but that’s not your trouble. We can continue this conversation later; the choir is getting together.”

  As he said, the choir gathered on the chancel and awaited the audience to quiet. Ranks of wide-eyed children who have maintained their youthful optimism in the face of a lifetime of strife. Their clothes were flea-bitten handmedowns to big for their sickly, emaciated bodies. Only one of them was a chorister, his augmetics both oxidized and rusted in testimony to their long service and lack of maintenance. Despite their deficiencies, their song was as harmonious as any in the most lavish cathedrums and opulent manors. The Emperor spoke through the voices of children without distinction.

  Once service was concluded, the doors were open for everyone to begin leaving out to the free company’s encampment. The huntsmen had returned from their scouting. They were armed with bows, crossbows, game rifles, and shotguns, dressed in padded leather and muddy cloaks. These figures are woodland navigators are usually a solitary bunch that make a living away from civilized lands without falling to any paganism that would disconcert authorities. They can usually handle themselves dealing with beasts, monsters, and mutants, and if they die, they have no one to consider the value of their loss. It is only in times of conflict that their skills are called upon. Especially in Hanyang, they roam ahead of static defences, gathering intelligence as they were assigned now and disrupting the enemy’s advance. Many a folk tale, sung in hamlets and among battalions, involves elusive beasts laid low and grinding stalemates tipped to victory thanks to the ingenuity of unseen heroes. While they pride their self-sufficiency, it is in their best interest that society remains standing.

  What must have been the Huntsmarshal came into the tent that served as this ragtag militia’s bellum locus. He laid out his map on the table for the Zephyrim, the Deacon, and the Captain to see. Jakada scanned the map for transfer to Go’s HUD. Rivers that run down from Sinui controlled mountains lead to a water treatment facility in this block. While the facility itself is secure, it is reliant on dams upstream that reduce pollutants. With ratlings stockpiling explosives in the area, it is believed that they are planning an attack on dams across one river in particular. Without the dams, the facility would be overwhelmed.

  The dam workers have been sent word to prepare for evacuation. Voxes off, they’ve interceptors. The laity will secure the dams and pop yellow smoke if they are in danger. Free Company will head straight to the marked encampments. The huntsmen will range ahead and pop red smoke if the enemy moves out, spray paint for any traps that can’t be disabled. Green smoke for all clear, black smoke if anyone encounters something unexpected. The zephyrim should remain behind to respond to yellow smoke.”

  They would see her eyebrow raise if not for the helmet.

  “Just the yellow?” She interjected in their planning.

  “The target is the dams,” said the Huntsmarshal, “Having you on standby practically secures the dams, freeing our focus to clear out the enemy.”

  “I am more mobile than any of your forces. I could clear the enemy stockpiles faster than the mercenaries could get to them. At the very least, anything unexpected should prompt reinforcement.”

  “We are lucky to have your assistance at all, ma’am, and I would rather not waste it. We expected to be conducting this operation without you; being able to concentrate on our objectives is boon enough, as I am sure the dams will be safe under your protection.”

  “Captain?”

  “As he says,” from the Captain, “we knew the risks before you came, my men can handle it. Huntsmen themselves have the most dangerous role as it is; we can afford to get our boots muddy.”

  “You speak wisely and bravely. Very well, I will trust in your judgment. Is there anything else I should be made aware of?”

  “Basic stubbers may not threaten ceramite,” started the Huntsmarshal, “but tankstopper rifles are designed for material penetration. They were among the stockpiles.”

  Go crossed her arms.

  “You don’t seem woodland born.”

  “Wasn’t, but I should have been.

  Just found out later.”