After a while, Bastion finally shared the questions. They were multiple-choice—quicker and more precise.
"This is heresy!"
"This discredits the glory of the God-Emperor!"
Several Sisters shouted, their voices thick with outrage, yet they remained seated, glaring up at him with murderous expressions. Bastion merely laughed.
"...Be quiet," he suddenly said, his laughter vanishing.
Despite the softness of his tone, his voice thundered through the chamber, echoing in their ears like the Emperor's own decree. Silence fell instantly.
Even Bastion was surprised by the sudden amplification of his voice, but he dismissed the thought just as quickly.
"You call yourselves the daughters of the Emperor," he continued, his voice still resonating with unnatural weight,
"Yet you learn nothing from Him. Even a mortal father would be disappointed in a daughter so ignorant."
Like children chastised by a stern patriarch, their shoulders hunched, the bold defiance they had shown moments ago evaporating.
Taking a deep breath, Bastion realized this would be a long and arduous journey. There was no need for the written test—none of them had any real understanding of warfare or strategy.
"You know what?" he sighed.
"You're all on probation until I can…" He paused, considering.
"I should probably turn this into a military school."
Turning to the Canoness, he continued, "Miss Lucilla, take your people back. You will follow the proper channels to submit your request, but until then, prepare them. Every morning, for two hours, they will receive lessons on what true military devotion to the Emperor looks like."
As the words left his mouth, Bastion couldn't help but wonder—if the Adeptus Sororitas were this ignorant of military strategy, what did that say about the Astra Militarum?
Sitting back down, he exhaled, realizing just how much work lay ahead of him. And as if his words were law, the Sisters stood and marched out in formation, Canoness Lucilla leading them.
He glanced at the written questions before him, doubt creeping in.
He already knew what kind of people they were. The Imperium was rigid, dogmatic. There was nothing in the test they could possibly pass—not because they lacked intelligence, but because they had no concept of the very ideas he was testing them on.
After a brief recalibration of his thoughts, he adjusted his plans once again to fit the reality before him.
….
"My lord."
Bastion's eyes snapped open at the sound of Elara's voice.
"Yes," he responded, sitting up.
Elara stood a short distance away, but something felt off.
He had spent nearly two months in this world, and she was the one person he had spent the most time with. He knew her better than anyone.
She feared him—deeply. That much was clear. Something his past self had done to her had left scars, though she concealed them well. She never met his eyes, and when she did, there was always a smoldering rage behind them.
But now, something was missing.
There was a scent to her, just as there was to everyone in this world—a unique signature that allowed him to recognize them instantly.
Right now, he couldn't detect it.
Her heartbeat was too steady for someone who both feared and hated him.
"You aren't Elara, are you?" Bastion asked suddenly as he stood.
Walking toward the assassin, his mind immediately began eliminating likely culprits for this heresy. With each step, his thoughts fragmented further into parallel streams of reasoning.
He understood that the Ecclesiarchy had yet to formally announce his sainthood, but on this planet, was there really much difference between official recognition and the people's reverence? Their devotion removed the Ecclesiarchy as a likely culprit—the Cardinal would never risk losing an asset that boosted his political standing.
The Inquisitor seemed a more plausible suspect. She was the only one who had openly displayed hostility toward him. But then, she was an Inquisitor—she was far more likely to arrest him with fabricated evidence or simply glass the planet.
The last option was the Lord Consul. He had the means and motive, but even House Voss, for all its influence and noble backing, would never dare send an assassin. They preferred subtler methods of elimination.
"What do you mean, my lord?" the assassin said, stepping back, trying to create distance.
After a brief moment, Bastion decided to neutralize the target first—he could extract more precise information from the body.
Observing the figure before him, despite its cautious retreat, he could tell it was far more skilled than the average soldier in his mansion. This was no run-of-the-mill assassin… whoever had sent it was considerably wealthy.