Warhammer: Empire Reboot

"It can be proven, it can be proven!"

He switched the folder to his left hand and took out a bronze identification plate from the inner pocket of his uniform. The plate was engraved with the number of the Military Affairs Department of the Ministry of the Interior, his personal information, and the seal of Terra headquarters.

"Procopius Moen, Tax Enforcer of the Sixth Collection Battalion, Military Affairs Division, Ministry of the Interior of the Empire."

He held up the certificate in front of Lawson: "Number KX-7714. Registered with the Empire, loyal to the Emperor."

He swallowed and bowed slightly.

"Please take a look, Your Excellency in charge of the seal."

This was two full tones lower than when he addressed Kyle as "Company Commander."

Lawson took the certification board, glanced at it, and tossed it back to him.

Lawson took a step forward, and Moen's body instinctively took half a step back, then he forced himself to stand still. Taking a step back was already embarrassing enough; taking another step back would be admitting defeat.

"How long has your military affairs department been operating in the shadows of the Empire?"

“There were already outposts before the major rift, and the expropriation work has never stopped since the major rift.”

Lawson stared at him: "So, since the Great Rift opened, you've been collecting tithes on various planets in the Dark Side of the Empire?"

"Yes, this is stipulated in the imperial law..."

Lawson interrupted him, "In the year or so since I became the Seal Bearer, how many planets have you collected taxes from?"

"The Sixth Collection Brigade is responsible for seventeen star systems on the edge of the Empire's dark side, totaling forty-three taxable worlds."

"Forty-three planets."

Lawson's tone was as if he were checking accounts, "In the past year or so, have you ever, even once, reported to me?"

Moen's mouth moved slightly.

"We have not received any instructions from the Ministry of the Interior to report to the Seal of the Emperor."

"The Ministry of the Interior is in Terra."

Lawson sneered, "The Great Rift split the galaxy in two, preventing Terra's orders from reaching us. You yourself just used that reason to refuse to acknowledge my jurisdiction. Yet you seem to be able to continue levying taxes without the latest instructions from Terra?"

Moen's mouth opened and closed again.

The logic is simple: you say that Terra's official documents can't be delivered, so you don't recognize my title. But Terra's official documents ordering you to continue levying taxes also can't be delivered, so why are you still levying taxes?

"The law does not stipulate that the tithe needs to be reauthorized every year..."

"In the Holy Land of the Empire, your laws are enforced."

Lawson took another step forward.

This time, Moen did not retreat, because there was already a pile of ammunition behind him.

"In the shadows of the empire, I have the final say on everything from taxation and domestic affairs to personnel appointments and dismissals for those who still recognize the imperial banner."

Lawson's gaze swept over the law enforcement guards and clerks behind Moen.

"Except for the rebels."

Moen is a smart man.

The fact that he has survived in the imperial bureaucracy to this day shows that he knows when to be firm and when to be lenient.

He could be tough when facing Kyle Varus just now.

Because Company Commander Astartes did not have administrative jurisdiction over the Ministry of Military Affairs, the law was on his side.

Now, facing Lawson, who beat Abaddon to a pulp, and who commands respect from the entire dark side of the Imperium's Space Marine chapters, the thickness of the laws suddenly seems ridiculous.

What's even more damning is what Lawson just said, excluding the rebels.

In the context of the Empire, Moen knew all too well what it meant once the label of "rebel" was attached to them.

He himself signed numerous orders to execute people on the grounds of rebellion.

Moen knelt down on one knee.

It took less than a second for someone who had been immersed in the imperial power system for many years to react to a "fundamental shift in the balance of power."

"The Sixth Requisition Brigade of the Military Affairs Department obeys the orders of the Commander."

Despite kneeling, he didn't lose his professional ethics and maintained the dignity that an imperial official should have when obeying his superiors.

Lawson looked at Moen kneeling in front of him.

What's on your transport ship?

Moen had no reason to hide it anymore.

"The tithe materials collected from other planets previously. Mainly ammunition, including 40,000 tank shells, 600,000 sets of laser energy packs, 3,000 thermobaric warheads, and about 200 tons of standard explosives. There is also a batch of ceramic steel raw materials and refined promethium."

Lawson did some mental calculations.

Forty thousand tank shells and six hundred thousand sets of laser energy packs—this batch of supplies is enough for the Astronauts of Warheim-IX to fight for another three weeks.

"Unload all the ammunition from the transport ship now."

"During wartime requisition, all of them were sent to front-line warehouses."

Moen nodded: "Yes."

He turned and gave instructions to the clerk.

The two clerks quickly ran out of the warehouse and headed towards the land.

Kyle Varus’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

Regiment Commander Heinrich was not so subtle.

"Long live the Lord of the Seal!"

The shout came from inside the warehouse and was heard by the Astronaut soldiers watching outside.

"Long live the Lord of the Seal!"

One person shouts, ten people follow, and a hundred people respond.

Cheers erupted from the military camp outside the warehouse.

The ammunition won't be taken away, and their lives are saved.

Some soldiers threw their helmets into the air, while others patted each other on the shoulder.

Lawson listened to the cheers outside.

He walked outside the warehouse and glanced at the battle line in the distance.

On the gray horizon, the occasional flashes of fire from orcish artillery fire could be seen.

The booming sound of artillery came from thirty kilometers away, like distant rumbling thunder.

Kyle followed him out.

"My lord, the main force of the orcs is about thirty million. There are more than twenty camps in the wasteland of the Southern Hemisphere. The largest camp is surrounded by mushroom forests, and the spores are spreading rapidly, which means they are preparing for a large-scale attack."

Thirty million orcs—by the standards of the Agrippina Defense War, that number wouldn't even be enough for a warm-up.

Thirty million is only enough for the Flying Bears to hold one training match.

But Warheim-IX is not Agrippina.

The Astral Army here is poorly equipped, poorly trained, and its morale is sustained only by its ammunition.

Kyle's fifty-seven Lamenters are his only elite force.

"I'll send you eighty Flying Bear tanks and three hundred combat personnel."

Kyle's expression shifted slightly; he had firsthand experience of the fighting capabilities of the Lawson forces.

"The Flying Bear Team is responsible for the decapitation strike."

Lawson mentally reviewed the orcs' organizational structure. "Once the warlords and camp leaders are eliminated, the greenskins' WAAAGH energy field will collapse. Without leaders to guide them, the remaining skirmishers will fight amongst themselves. The battle formation should coordinate with your Third Company's mobile mopping-up operations to eliminate large-scale camps one by one."

He glanced at Kyle.

"You and your men are responsible for protecting the civilian areas; that's what you do best."

Kyle Varus gave a chest bump.

"Yes."

Lawson issued the order using swarm intelligence.

Eighty Flying Bear motorcycles and three hundred combat troops were transported from the Agrippina assembly point through a static force field.

When the leader of the Flying Bears jumped off the motorcycle, helmet in hand, the Astronaut soldiers were stunned; the motorcycle was bigger than their Lyman Rath tank.

After the deployment was completed, Lawson called Moen to the command post.

The command post was a makeshift metal prefabricated building filled with star charts, tactical boards, and communication equipment.

Kyle gave his seat to Lawson, as the Astartes chair was just the right size for the 2.3-meter-tall Lawson.

Moen stood in front of him, the folder still in his hand.

"Sit down," Lawson said, gesturing to the chair next to him.

Moen hesitated for a moment, then sat down.

He wasn't sure if Lawson had called him over to continue pressuring him or to ask him something else.

"You have been levying taxes in the shadows of the empire for seventeen years."

Lawson's tone suddenly became more conversational, "After the Great Rift, what is the operational mode of your military affairs department in the dark? Where do the taxes collected go?"

Moen organized his thoughts.

He's a cautious man, but he's already been forced to kneel, so he has nothing left to hold back.

"Before the Great Rift opened, the Imperial Ministry of the Interior had established strategic reserve worlds in various star sectors on the Dark Side, specifically for storing and transiting tithe materials collected."

He opened a page of star charts in his folder.

"After the Great Rift opened, the transport lines between these reserve worlds and Terra were completely severed. The collected tithes could not be transported to the Holy Land. But..."

“But you’re still taking them,” Lawson finished for him.

"Tithing must not be interrupted."