51: Chapter 51 A New Chapter of Martyrs

They returned to Goge Vandire's audience chamber. The thugs were still clamoring, pacifying the masses with the lie of "The Emperor's Protection," and arrogantly claiming that no firearm could harm their master.

Goge Vandire did not look up at them.

He was hunched over his desk, scribbling something on paper; he was also exhausting himself for the operation of this vast Empire, appearing indifferent even to the coming of death: "I have no time to die; I am too busy."

Six Bolters were raised simultaneously. The triggers were pulled at the same time.

But the weapons misfired.

At this distance, it was impossible for six Bolters to jam all at once.

It was an unknown force—was it the power of the Emperor? The power of the Warp? Or the last lingering energy of Goge Vandire's amulet? No one knew.

But in that instant, everyone understood: the Emperor had passed His judgment; Goge Vandire was unworthy of using "The Emperor's Gift" to execute it; some sins deserved to be settled in the most primitive and direct way.

The Battle Sisters drew their power swords.

The energy fields of the blades hummed in the air, emitting a piercing drone—a judgment older, more majestic, and more direct than bullets.

Goge Vandire finally looked up, his murky eyes reflecting the cold blue light emitted by the blades, yet there was no fear on his face.

He merely repeated those words: "I am too busy. I really have no time to die."

His desk was piled with official documents flooding in from all corners of the galaxy—tithe accounts that tens of billions of Administratum bureaucrats could not finish processing, conscription orders delayed for centuries by Warp storms, and endless tax debts calculated using data from thousands of years ago.

The weight of the entire Empire pressed down upon a single desk, and although he ruled for personal gain, he was the only one still attempting to turn the gears of this decaying machine.

Then, the swords fell.

Seventy years of lies, seventy years of betrayal, seventy years of sin—under that strike, the man who was the only one still trying to turn the gears of this decaying machine was completely reduced to dust.

Those six sisters surrendered to the Confederation of Light.

They did not beg for mercy, nor did they offer excuses; they simply surrendered their weapons in silence.

They knew that whether they faced the cruel interrogation of the Inquisition or the bullets of a firing squad, it was the punishment they deserved—for their seventy years of blind obedience, for the sins they had committed with their own hands.

But Thor did not kill them.

He saw their repentance, their awakening, and the immeasurable power within them. In the subsequent imperial reforms, he issued the famous decree: The Ecclesiarchy shall possess no armed men. This was a clever play on words—it forbade the Ecclesiarchy from forming a formal army, but did not prohibit the existence of the "Daughters of the Emperor."

Those warriors who had been deceived for seventy years were reorganized, expanded, and given a new name: Adepta Sororitas—the Sisterhood.

The six leaders each established their own orders, using their names, their sacrifices, and their awakenings to name their places of faith: the Ebon Chalice, the Valorous Chalice, the Fiery Heart, the Shroud of the Silvered, the Sacred Rose, and the Bloody Rose.

Among them, the founding sister of the Fiery Heart was martyred in a subsequent heresy trial battle. To commemorate her sacrifice, and to remember the awakening of all sisters, the order was renamed the "Order of Our Martyred Lady"—thereby admonishing every Battle Sister: even if deceived, used, or betrayed, even if plunged into darkness, they remained the daughters of the Emperor and must still hold fast to their faith.

What they needed was not blind sacrifice. What was needed was for them, after seeing through all the ugliness and experiencing all the betrayal, to still choose to hold fast to their original intent, to choose to protect humanity, and to choose to follow the Emperor.

Sister Superior Ludmilla knew all of this. Every sister of the Order of Our Martyred Lady knew it.

The story of the Age of Apostasy was the history they were repeatedly taught—not to remember hatred, not to wallow in past sins, but to remember: faith can be deceived, but the faithful can, after awakening, bravely correct their mistakes; they can, after falling, stand back up and continue to move forward.

Those predecessors did not collapse, did not commit suicide, and did not abandon their faith in the face of the truth.

They chose to draw their swords, chose to sever the lies, chose to bear their sins, and then chose to live on, to continue fighting, and to continue protecting.

This was the tradition of the "Order of Our Martyred Lady."

It was not the martyrdom itself, but rather, on the edge of martyrdom, in the abyss of despair, still choosing to stand, still choosing to hold fast.

So when Sister Superior Ludmilla's mechanical left arm hummed at its limit within the Warp storm, when the energy of the Geller field flickered under the assault of Chaos, when Vera's seven orifices began to bleed, and Elena's melta gun was aimed at the mutating crew—she did not collapse.

She knew that faith could be deceived. She knew the Empire was a corrupt, bloated, and betrayal-filled machine. She knew those sisters who had died—those turned to ash on Ophelia, those executed in the purges, those used as sacrifices in heresy trials—their blood might have been shed in vain.

But she also knew: when those six sisters struck down Goge Vandire's head, they did not abandon their faith.

They only abandoned the liar's lies and abandoned their own blind obedience.

She would not abandon her faith in the Emperor either.

He was the towering figure who, during the Great Crusade, led humanity out of Earth and into the stars; He was the immortal being who, to protect humanity, willingly sat upon the Golden Throne, enduring eternal agony.

Even if the Empire was decaying, even if the road ahead was filled with thorns, nothing could shake her faith—just as the darkness of the Age of Apostasy could not destroy the steadfastness of the Sisterhood.

This realization was sharper than any weapon and sturdier than any armor.

"For the Emperor!" Sister Superior Ludmilla spoke, her voice firm and powerful, breaking the silence of the bridge. "Navigator, set new coordinates. We will move forward, following the direction guided by the Emperor."

She looked up, gazing at the fading golden afterglow outside the porthole; there was no more confusion in her eyes, only determination and piety. Her mechanical left arm lifted slightly, her right hand clenched into a fist and placed solemnly against her chest—that was the most solemn salute of the Martyred Sisters, a vow to the Emperor, and a testament to their steadfast faith.

"Our faith is as solid as rock."

The Warp storm remained violent, the colors of Chaos continued to churn, but the engines of the Tears of the Martyr roared with a steady and powerful hum once more, like a sleeping lion awakening. The frigate broke free from the grip of the storm and sailed firmly in the direction guided by the Emperor. The road ahead might still be full of unknowns, but they were no longer lost, no longer desperate—because their faith had never been extinguished; the Emperor's guidance had never been far away.