Imperial march

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Through the grimy, labyrinthine streets of the underhive, a massive procession of soldiers marched, their heavy boots striking the stone with synchronized force. The air was thick with dust and the scent of oil and rust, remnants of a world built upon neglect. The civilians dared not step outside, their homes little more than decayed husks with boarded-up windows and iron-barred doors. Even the boldest among them hesitated to peek beyond their curtains, unwilling to draw the gaze of the armored legion that moved with an unshakable purpose.

At the head of the formation, a woman clad in resplendent gold rode atop a towering warhorse. This was Clementine, the campaign's commander. Unlike before, her expression was hidden behind a golden knight's helmet, her presence now wholly impassive, as if she had shed the warmth of humanity for something colder.

Further back, Vanderwald was absent, a necessity dictated by his status. As a strategic asset to the empire, he could not openly partake in military operations without justification. His mere presence was akin to the deployment of a nuclear weapon—if he moved, the Kingdom would respond in kind, sending their own leader of the cult. Such a confrontation would ensure the obliteration of both armies, their soldiers caught in the storm of powers beyond their comprehension.

Standing near the front of the convoy, Cypher and Orion, both invaluable to the empire, commanded silent reverence. Their Dreambeasts lingered close, ever watchful.

"How's your bird coming along? Any trouble with him?" Orion asked, his gaze momentarily flicking downward to Senmon, his own Dreambeast.

Unlike Cypher's creature, Senmon was well-integrated into his life—a companion from childhood, assigned to him when his potential as a Weaver was first recognized. As a branch-house member of the Corvis noble family, Orion had been constantly overshadowed by his more prestigious relatives, yet even they had acknowledged his talent enough to grant him Senmon. Years together had forged an unbreakable bond between them.

Cypher observed the interaction in silence, watching the unspoken understanding between man and beast before finally replying.

"No, and his name is Rain." His response was short, his mind elsewhere. The platform that would carry them to the upper city was finally in sight.

"You two should work well together, but don't let it go to your head," Orion remarked, unbothered by Cypher's dismissiveness. However, he quickly noticed where Cypher's gaze had drifted.

The platform loomed ahead—an enormous square of reinforced stone, wide enough to carry hundreds of people at once. Its edges were lined with colossal chains that stretched high into the cavernous ceiling above, securing it like some ancient elevator.

"It's been a while since I was last up there," Orion mused, a faint trace of nostalgia in his voice. "Can't say I don't miss it."

"Is it nice?" Cypher asked, his tone lacking expectation.

Orion chuckled. "If you can get past the snakes and hypocrites playing their political chess, sure. On the outside, it's paradise."

As they stepped onto the platform, following Clementine's lead, the sound of grinding gears filled the cavern.

"Get in formation! The Imperial troops are waiting above!" Clementine's sharp command rang out. Instantly, the Weavers and priests snapped into a disciplined square formation, each row signifying rank and status.

"Cypher, Orion. The mission remains unchanged despite the circumstances. Upon arrival, you are to follow orders and disrupt the enemy's supply lines." Clementine's unusually serious tone confirmed what they had suspected—the Kingdom had time to fortify, meaning their provisions would be vital to sustaining their defense.

"Yes, Saint." ×2

Both Orion and Cypher placed their fists to their chests in salute.

The gears above roared to life, and with a deafening grind, the two massive stone slabs sealing the roof split apart, revealing a sky drenched in blazing orange light.

The underhive trembled as the platform lurched upward, ascending toward the heavens. Below, the residents of the slums lifted their heads in silent awe, watching as the chosen warriors of the Empire vanished from their world of darkness.

The air grew frigid the moment they breached the surface. A biting cold swept through Cypher's body, though it held no effect on him—his Dreamweaver physique made such trivial discomforts meaningless. Yet, the sheer difference in climate was jarring.

Then, the ascent stopped.

A loud thud marked their arrival.

The world that greeted them was a city of excess.

The upper city of Thorn was nothing like the festering underbelly below. Here, civilization had transcended mere function and become opulence incarnate.

Colossal castles rose high into the sky, dwarfing even the tallest skyscrapers of Cypher's past life. Every inch of their surfaces gleamed with gold, silver, and polished marble, their walls engraved with elaborate frescoes depicting the Empire's victories. Verdant gardens stretched across sprawling estates, bursting with flowers that exuded a fragrance so rich it bordered on overwhelming.

The streets were works of art—immaculate white stone tiles interlaced with veins of gold formed wide, branching pathways that connected every district like the sprawling limbs of an ancient tree. In the heart of it all, a singular structure dominated the skyline:

A gigantic, dome-shaped palace.

It loomed like a sleeping titan, its scale almost surreal. This was the Emperor's home, the beating heart of the Empire. Here, laws were decreed, wars were decided, and nobles schemed in endless games of power.

Encircling the palace stood four colossal statues, each depicting a golden-armored soldier. Their sheer size dwarfed every building save for the palace itself, their cold, watchful gazes surveying the city like eternal sentinels.

Cypher's breath hitched, not from the cold, but from the sky above.

His eyes locked onto a monstrous, orange moon that burned in the heavens like a second sun. At first glance, he had mistaken it for a star, its radiance so intense it illuminated the land despite the abyssal void of space surrounding it.

A moon… but no sun.

"So that's why it's so cold," Cypher muttered to himself. If this world lacked a true sun, it meant the planet never rotated, leaving it locked in eternal twilight.

Only after tearing his gaze away from the sky did Cypher realize they stood in an expansive open field just beyond the city's walls. A vast sea of armed knights awaited them, row upon row of soldiers standing at attention, their armor glinting beneath the eerie light. This was the Imperial Army, the force that would march alongside the Church in the coming battle.

From the ranks, a man stepped forward—a gray-haired general, clad in light chain armor. He approached with urgency, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground.

"General Ivon of the Imperial Army, at your service, Lady Clementine!"

Behind him, a retinue of guards followed.

"How are you holding up, General?" Clementine asked, gazing down from her horse. Though they were both high-ranking, her authority surpassed his.

"Milady, the supply lines are prepared. Food and weapons have been gathered for the campaign," Ivon reported swiftly, withdrawing a map from his waist before handing it over. "Our spies have also secured information on the enemy's convoy routes and supply chains. Take a look."

Clementine gave the map a brief scan before passing it to Orion. "Can you handle it?"

"Possibly. If their Dreamweavers are occupied in the main battle, Rain can scout the convoys easily. But I doubt they'll leave them unguarded." Orion frowned. "If they do, we'll handle it."

"Good. I'll be counting on you."

Then, she turned to the gathered army.

"The Empire will not stop until our enemies are crushed! The vermin of the cult will be crucified, and their soldiers will be cut down without mercy!"

A roar of approval erupted from the troops, the lust for battle thick in the air.

"Very well then—Move out!"

Her horse reared back, ready to charge.