Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 965, page 08.964: 'The Warm Embrace of the Battle Nun'

Inside the Valkyrie Assault Transport, the air was as heavy as lead.

The fuselage was violently jolted and shaken by the raging sandstorm. The sand and gravel lashed at the outer armor like a relentless hailstorm, producing a teeth-grinding scraping sound.

The only light source inside the cabin came from a few flickering light bars, which cast swaying, pale rays amidst the violent vibrations, cutting each face into a haggard relief of light and shadow.

However, the heavy cabin still insulates most of the discordant noise from the outside, giving the cabin a relatively peaceful corner.

“Sorry, Arabella.” His voice was a little hoarse amidst the roar of the engine, but it clearly pierced through the noise. “I’m sorry to have added an extra burden to you.”

The nuns before him, each of them, had deep red bloodstains on their silver-white power armor, with more stains closer to their hands.

However, these did not come from the enemies they had killed.

Those dried, brownish bloody handprints were the last traces left by the soldiers who, despite their best efforts, could not be pulled back from the brink of death.

The bloody battle between the monastery and the energy center has ended, but the aftershocks of the war are far from over.

Countless soldiers died in battle, and the surviving wounded surged like a tide into the already overburdened rear.

The field medical system that Horatio and the Holy Roses established together during the Carpathian campaign is now playing a brutal but necessary role.

Through a strict triage system for the wounded, they prioritize the treatment of soldiers who still have a chance of survival and who, after recovery, only need one or two prosthetic limbs to return to the battlefield.

However, the number of sacred roses is far too small.

Diana was solely responsible for the arrangements of the entire field hospital.

On average, each nun was responsible for caring for dozens of wounded people groaning in pain.

They walked through the makeshift medical tents filled with wails, as if traversing a river between life and death.

Their spirit and will were as unbreakable as their faith in the emperor, but the relentless labor day and night, and the constant cries and pleas in their ears, were ruthlessly eroding their souls and imposing an unimaginable burden on ordinary people.

During this short flight, in these brief moments of respite, more than half of the nuns succumbed to exhaustion and gave in to their physical needs.

They leaned against the cold bulkhead, the power armor's servo systems emitting a soft hum, as if they too were resting.

Sister Arabella is one of the few people who are still fighting against the Sandman.

She wasn't wearing a helmet, revealing her delicate face, which was covered in smoke and dust.

Her head drooped heavily, then suddenly jolted awake, her eyelids struggling to open, revealing bloodshot whites of her eyes.

Her fingers, covered in silver nail plates, rested on her lap, twitched and curled unconsciously—a final ultimatum from her body, a forced hibernation.

“It’s alright, Captain…it’s our duty.” She finally noticed Horatio’s gaze, her voice dry as if it had been weathered by wind and sand.

She took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled, as if trying to expel the fatigue and despair that had been building up in her chest.

“What happened? You look… very anxious.” She paused, a vulnerable plea in her eyes, her voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the noise: “By the way, do you have a cigarette? I… am very sleepy.”

Horatio stared at her pale face, not taking out a cigarette, but instead taking out a small, vacuum-sealed pouch with tin foil from his multi-purpose pouch at his waist.

He tore open the packaging and handed over a dark brown spherical object.

“Try this. Relying on tobacco to relieve fatigue is ultimately a short-sighted solution,” he explained. “I had the ship’s cooks experimentally create some energizing quick meals based on an old-fashioned recipe, called ‘chocolate.’”

They are all synthetic natural ingredients that can restore energy, and contain no addictive stimulants.

This recipe comes from the chaotic, fragmented memories of his past lives.

He couldn't remember exactly where he had seen it, only vaguely recalling the packaging of something called "Type 13 Ship Flying Chocolate," which seemed to be something from another time and space, on another ocean.

He remembered that during long, cold nights on watch, he relied on this stuff and bitter black coffee to get through one dark night after another until the dawn of the Republic's sea frontier arrived.

But by the 41st millennium, black coffee made from real coffee beans had long since disappeared, leaving only the pungent-smelling Reca coffee.

Hot drinks are inconvenient to carry, and even if they are poured into the water bags inside the nuns' power backpacks, drinking them through straws can easily burn their mouths.

The cooled Reca tastes even worse than disinfectant, and it scratches the throat when swallowed.

At this moment, what they need is a sweet treat that can quickly replenish energy, is easy to carry, and can bring a moment of pleasure through dopamine secretion.

After countless failures in the cooking squad, it was only with the help of Yin Shuyao's father, Warrant Officer Yin Yuanshan, with his outstanding chemical knowledge and cooking skills, that they were able to successfully replicate the taste and effects that Horatio remembered after readjusting the recipe and dosage.

"This is... a 'dessert'?" A hint of curiosity appeared in Arabella's eyes. She had never heard of this word before. "Is it some kind of alien food?"

She calmly took the small ball and deftly put it into her mouth with her fingertips covered in silver nail plates.

The next moment, her delicate brows furrowed slightly.

“It’s so bitter…” she said softly, but then added, “but the bitterness isn’t unpleasant.”

She closed her eyes, savoring the wonderful flavor melting in her mouth. "After getting used to the bitterness, a very rich and sweet taste came over me. The texture... is very smooth. This feeling... is wonderful." She suddenly opened her eyes, and her eyes, which had been dulled by fatigue, now shone with renewed brilliance.

Her breathing was no longer short and rapid, but became deep and steady.

“I feel so much clearer-headed,” she exclaimed in surprise, her voice filled with disbelief. “It’s amazing! It’s completely different from the euphoria you get after smoking; it makes my thoughts so… clear!”

"Do you prefer this to cigarettes?" Horatio asked gently, then poured all the little black balls into her hand.

"Yes, it's called chocolate, right? I like it." Arabella nodded vigorously, the corners of her mouth unconsciously turning up. She smacked her lips, revealing a rare, childlike love for sweets that was typical of her age.

Her slightly excited reply startled one of the Clean Angels fighting sisters who was dozing off next to her.

The nun rubbed her eyes and looked curiously at the strange little black ball in Arabella's hand.

Arabella immediately and enthusiastically shared her new discovery with her sisters.

Soon, exclamations of praise rose and fell in the small cabin. Every nun who tasted the magical energizing ball offered heartfelt and joyful praise.

Horatio watched this scene and understood.

In accordance with the strict fasting dietary habits of the Sisters, their meals rarely include desserts; most are bland, light meals that only meet basic nutritional needs. In the words of the Sisters, abstaining from gluttony is also part of asceticism.

“Then we’ll provide you with chocolates from now on. I don’t think Court Lady Diana will restrict your sweets with rules.” Horatio’s lips curled up, but the muscles in his face trembled slightly. The smile was more like a bitter mask, unable to hide his furrowed brows.

"You can also give me your opinions on the taste, and I will have the kitchen staff customize it for you."

After he finished speaking, the smile vanished in an instant, and sorrow returned to his face, as if the tenderness just now was only a brief calm before the storm.

"Thank you, Captain." Arabella smiled shyly, a cute little dimple appearing on her cheek.

But she immediately sensed the captain's dramatic change in mood. The brief moment of pleasure vanished from her face, replaced by the seriousness and composure of a battle nun.

She stood up, and the power armor's servo system emitted a soft hum.

She walked up to Horatio, her gaze resolute: "Are we about to face some daunting task? But don't worry, we're prepared. So please give the order, Captain."

Horatio's gaze seemed to pierce through her, looking out at the endless sandstorm outside the cabin.

He spoke with difficulty, each word seeming to carry a thousand pounds of weight.

"Captain Harvey and the Hellsentries 3rd Squadron that launched the attack have lost contact with us. Signals have been completely cut off."

He paused, swallowed hard, and his voice grew increasingly hoarse. "According to the intelligence released by the servo skull, they were subjected to saturation bombardment by friendly forces."

He did not use the phrase "heavy losses" nor did he mention the reasonable conjecture of "total annihilation".

He wouldn't believe such heavy news until the facts were laid bare before him.

"The ground troops have already gone there. Let's go find them and locate the Third Detachment."

The air in the cabin seemed to freeze instantly. The slight warmth that had just been generated by the chocolate was completely frozen by this sudden, devastating news.

Arabella's brows drooped slowly as Horatio spoke, and she lowered her head in empathy, her short black hair falling onto her smooth cheeks.

Suddenly, she straightened up again, took a step forward, and stood in front of Horatio.

Under Horatio's astonished gaze, Arabella made an unexpected move.

She stretched out her arms and pulled him into her embrace, letting his head rest against her sturdy breastplate.

Horatio's body stiffened abruptly from shock, but he made no struggle.

Arabella's beautifully curved, silver-white breastplate was smooth and hard, yet not cold.

It carried the warmth of her body, or the warmth emanating from the core of the power armor, and pressed tightly against his temple.

That warmth seemed to possess some kind of magic, instantly soothing the chaotic thoughts in his mind and dispelling his heart-wrenching exhaustion.

A heavy drowsiness crept up his eyelids without him even realizing it.

He could smell the faint scent of holy oil and incense remaining on her armor, mixed with a hint of chocolate sweetness.

His ears were pressed against the hard armor, and he could only hear her heavy heartbeat and the faint hum of the power armor's internal systems.

"The mighty Lord of mankind protects his loyal warriors."

Arabella's voice was deep and gentle, as if it entered his ears directly through the vibration of her breastplate, not through the air. "Captain Harvey and the Hellsoldier will be alright. They possess superior armor, unwavering will, and divine protection. Trust them, and trust the Emperor."

Her slender fingers, encased in delicate ceramic armor, gently caressed Horatio's hair with unimaginable tenderness.

"Take a rest, Captain," her voice was like a lullaby. "You're exhausted, take a short break. Leave it to us."

(End of this chapter)