Upon reaching the conference room on the fifth floor of the ruined hab-block, the escorting soldier snapped into a crisp Aquila salute before stepping aside. Qin Mo didn’t hesitate. With a firm push, he swung the battered metal door open and strode inside.
The chamber was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single lumen-stripped lamp in the center. Around it, Gray and the senior officers of the 47th Infantry Regiment sat on the cold ferrocrete floor. Their uniforms were torn, their armor dented—survivors of a war that had yet to end.
At the sound of the door, their gazes snapped toward Qin Mo.
Without ceremony, he took a seat.
The regimental commander cleared his throat.
A murmur of agreement passed through the room.
The commander turned to Qin Mo, his eyes calculating.
“Klein,” he introduced himself simply.
Klein wasted no time.
“What should we do next?”
The question caught Qin Mo off guard.
He blinked, realizing that all eyes were now on him.
They expected an answer.
Lowering his head, he fell into deep thought.
Klein, sensing his hesitation, spoke again—this time offering context.
“According to initial intelligence, the Underhive rebellion was estimated at 30,000 combatants. High Command deployed 170,000 troops to crush them. By all logic, this should have been a massacre.”
“But reality proved different. The rebels number over 300,000—ten times the initial estimate. They’ve established full-scale industrial zones, turning the Underhive into a self-sufficient war machine.”
He let that sink in before continuing.
“Three days ago, the entire frontline collapsed in a single night. The Lord Marshal and all senior officers were assassinated.”
A grim silence followed.
“Before his death, he realized something was wrong. His final order was to redeploy 50,000 troops to fortify supply lines—under the pretense of reinforcing logistics.”
Klein exhaled. His piece was said.
Qin Mo’s fingers tapped against his knee.
Klein hesitated. “I could, but I don’t know what you already understand. I’d rather focus on the most important details.”
“I’m not a commander. I’m not an officer. I was just a grunt from the 44th Regiment—an idiot who got thrown into the Underhive and started digging trenches. I don’t even know why High Command wanted defensive positions in an offensive campaign.”
Klein nodded, as if something finally made sense.
And so, he laid everything bare.
By the time Klein finished, Qin Mo had fully grasped the scale of the disaster.
All long-range communications had been severed.
Other than the 50,000 defensive troops, the rest of the invasion force was presumed annihilated.
No one knew which fortifications still stood or had already fallen.
There was zero coordination between surviving elements.
The worst-case scenario?—which was also the most reasonable assumption—was that every other stronghold had already fallen, except for the building they were currently in.
They were the last ones left.
At least, until proven otherwise.
Then, Klein revealed something only regimental officers were privy to.
“If the offensive failed,” he said, voice grim, “the only viable route connecting the Underhive to the Lower Hive was to be destroyed.”
Gray stiffened. His fists clenched.
“Who the hell issued this order?” he demanded. “This was a trap! Someone wanted us all dead!”
“My family is in the Upper Hive,” Klein replied, shaking his head. “As far as I know, the plan was devised and executed solely by the Lord Marshal himself.”
A heavy silence settled over the room.
“The worst-case scenario isn’t that we’re the only ones left,” another officer muttered. “It’s that the entire Hive City has already fallen.”
“…That is a possibility.”
Gray looked like he wanted to punch something.
“By the Emperor, how the hell did our intelligence fail this badly?!”
Qin Mo raised a hand. The room quieted.
“The most important thing right now isn’t figuring out who screwed up. It’s figuring out how we survive. We can deal with those idiots after we make it out of here.”
Gray exhaled through gritted teeth—but nodded.
Qin Mo turned back to Klein.
“Did High Command issue any strategic orders? Maps? Defensive layouts? Anything?”
Without hesitation, Klein pulled a data-slate from his belt and handed it over.
Qin Mo activated it. A tactical map flickered to life, displaying stronghold positions across the Underhive.
Tiny red sigils marked destroyed zones. Green ones blinked slowly—status unknown.
70 kilometers east – A fortress held by two regiments.
50 kilometers west – A bunker complex held by four regiments.
Beyond that? All fortifications were at least 100–200 kilometers away.
As he analyzed the map, a realization struck him.
Before crossing into this cursed universe, he had never truly grasped the scale of a Hive City.
“If we want to survive,” Qin Mo said, tracing his fingers across the map, “The first step is to hold the line. We need to identify which defensive positions are still intact. If too many have fallen, we retreat and reestablish a defensive perimeter. If enough still hold, we dig in, fortify, and make this hell ours.”
Klein narrowed his eyes.
“And why should we keep defending? Do you really think reinforcements are coming?”
Qin Mo’s voice was firm.
“There are no reinforcements.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Because if you give me enough time, I can make every soldier here ten times stronger.”
Klein’s gaze flickered toward Gray and the other 44th survivors.
Each of them carried metallic backpacks. Strange, experimental tech.
If that was Qin Mo’s doing…
Then maybe—just maybe—his claim wasn’t baseless.
“I’ll follow your lead.”
Qin Mo pointed at the eastern stronghold on the map.
“I’ll head there first—to confirm if anyone’s still alive.”
“But before that,” he said, “we need to reinforce our defenses.”
“First—this building is unreliable. It’s only a matter of time before it collapses. We need to expand it, make it fortress-sized, and dig underground bunkers.”
“Second—we don’t have enough heavy weapons. We need more Heavy Stubbers, fixed meltaguns, and barricades. Every window should be reduced to firing slits or observation holes.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“But we no longer have a logistics division. No engineers, no convoys to transport heavy weapons—just the men in this room.”
He stood up, towering over Klein.
Then, he turned to the assembled soldiers.
“Now, get your men to scavenge. I need metal and electronic components. If you can’t find electronics, get me copper and rubber."
“…You actually think you can do this?”
Qin Mo’s smirk widened.
“I don’t think I can.”
Klein hesitated for a moment—then nodded, half in doubt, half in belief.