Chapter 191: Who Holds Greater Strength

Sergeant Kyle of the Eighth Regiment, along with the other officers, cast puzzled glances at Creed, unable to fathom why he would urge the two fortress lords to depart. Their very presence here on the Toyuko Plains, personally welcoming the incoming troops, was sure to invigorate morale among the ranks.

Creed's eyes remained fixed on the transport shuttle, following its ascent into the violet skies of Cadia until the brilliance rendered his vision nearly blind, prompting him to look away. The landing site was now alive with movement as the transport ship released the eight thousand soldiers of the Cadia Assault Corps' Eighth Regiment, along with their armored carriers, all streaming forth in disciplined order.

Turning his gaze back to his troops, Creed noted the fatigue etched into every fiber of their being—a weariness as indelible as ink strokes upon paper. Yet the sight of their homeworld seemed to lift their spirits; as boots touched familiar soil, smiles began to emerge, and the men spoke of well-deserved rest and plans to visit family.

"Bring everyone to full combat readiness. If battle erupts, the Eighth Regiment must be prepared to engage at once," Creed commanded suddenly.

Kyle, surprised, snapped to attention with an instinctive salute before a flicker of confusion crossed his face. Yet he asked no questions, simply turning to convey Creed's orders. With his rough, booming voice, Kyle relayed the message to officers and soldiers alike, who, though puzzled, complied with Creed's command.

The Eighth Regiment, now assembled upon their homeland, fell into battle formation as if they were still entrenched in alien warzones. Infantry squads gathered to inspect and calibrate their weapons; they unloaded crates, erecting defensive barriers. The armor crews ignited engines, restricting their movements to within a ten-meter radius around their vehicles.

Each member prepared for the imminent conflict Creed had envisioned, ready to engage without delay.

"Truly the Cadia Assault Corps in all its discipline," Klein remarked, marveling at the soldiers' steadfast obedience.

Pride briefly softened Creed's stern expression. Praise for his command skills often left him unmoved, yet compliments directed toward the Eighth Regiment stirred a quiet pride—for such commendation recognized not him, but the collective strength of his unit.

Klein suddenly regarded Creed with a wry smile. "Back on Talon, surely you kept a trick or two up your sleeve for us, didn't you? I've not seen discipline like this even among those who've served from the deepest hives."

"Not a one," Creed replied coolly, his gaze unyielding. "I trained your troops with the most suitable programs for you. With teleportation technology at your disposal, what you require most isn't discipline, but rapid mobilization and combat efficacy."

Klein found the response convincing—had anyone else said it, he'd have called it an excuse, but from Creed, it carried undeniable weight. And truthfully, Talon's army hadn't developed much discipline; their training focused eighty percent on the swiftest ways to eliminate an enemy.

"Be prepared," Creed added, addressing Klein's guards. "Should war break out, don't worry about joining the fight. Just secure yourself and your ship."

Far from feeling slighted, Klein nodded solemnly; he knew his own limitations and the importance of his role.

---

The Eighth Regiment remained stationed at the landing zone for six days. Each day, countless ships arrived in Cadia's orbit, and the fleets of landing vessels ferried millions of troops to the surface. The Toyuko Plains grew more crowded by the hour.

On the seventh day, the fortress lords issued an order: a grand military parade would take place. Not only to inspire the troops but to welcome a formidable ally—the Voskani Ironclads. Every unit on the plains readied itself, and the Eighth Regiment received their orders to participate in the ceremony.

A sentinel from the fortress lord's honor guard arrived at the Eighth Regiment's encampment, eventually finding Creed atop a Leman Russ tank alongside Klein, both peering through binoculars to survey the entire plain.

"General, it is time for you to join the parade," the sentinel announced with a respectful salute, conveying the fortress lord's order.

"Apologies, there's an issue here that requires my attention. I may be delayed," Creed replied, binoculars trained on the horizon, sparing the guard not a glance.

The sentinel sensed that this was little more than an excuse. A parade was an honor, a celebration marking the arrival of Cadia's most indomitable defenders; he couldn't comprehend why Creed would seek delay.

"General…"

"I'll make the necessary arrangements immediately. Report back to the fortress lords," Creed instructed, cutting him off. Sergeant Kyle stepped between the sentinel and Creed, gesturing for him to depart.

"Very well. I will convey this to the fortress lord," the sentinel relented, muttering to himself as he left, "Ussaka E. Creed, failing to handle something as basic as preparing his unit for parade… The fortress lord will think I'm lying…"

Creed resumed his careful observation of the plains. Allied units were assembled, awaiting the procession—a grand display of military might. Just then, a transport craft touched down.

"Voskani forces," Creed noted, recognizing the insignia on the transport. He gripped his binoculars, his focus fixed on the newly arrived detachment.

The transport craft lowered, allowing its hatch to open. Over a thousand infantrymen marched out in flawless formation, silent as they moved, their gazes steely. Their precision made them appear almost as if they were clones, each soldier conducting himself with a solemnity akin to the eve of battle. And this was but a mere vanguard—a thousand out of nearly a million Voskani Ironclads.

"They look formidable," Klein remarked, lowering his binoculars.

Creed nodded with a frown. "The Voskani Ironclads are reputed as the most unyielding warriors of the Cadia Gate. Should they ever fail a mission, it is certain that none of them survived."

Klein raised an eyebrow. "Stronger than your Eighth Regiment?"

Creed considered the question carefully. "For now, the answer remains unknown—but only for now."

Klein prepared to inquire further about the Ironclads, but before he could, another member of the fortress honor guard approached, clad in power armor.

"General," the guard saluted Creed, "the fortress lord has requested that you and your associate accompany him aboard the command vehicle for the parade."

Creed hesitated, his gaze lingering on the Voskani contingent that had since boarded a smaller shuttle bound for the Leviathan command vehicle.

"Keep the communication lines open," Creed ordered Kyle before boarding the sentinel's transport craft alongside Klein. Klein's retinue followed closely, though the guard seemed somewhat perturbed by their inclusion.