Chapter 40: The Shadow of the South
POV: Leon
*Whistle*
I whistled in amazement as I stared at the massive structure before me. Beside me, Varn chuckled and gestured toward the imposing edifice.
"Heh, welcome to the Command Centre, Leon. That's what we call it—though you're free to call it whatever you want."
I blinked in disbelief, slowly turning to him as I asked, curious, "Uhh, I know Mr. Jacob, and he's... a minimalist. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have approved of this."
"Hahaha!" Varn laughed. "You're right. Boss didn't. But Sir Zacharian and Lord Zack both filed a formal petition for its construction. Mr. Jacob outright rejected it—but the rest of the camp countered his veto. They built it anyway. After realizing he couldn't win the argument, Boss just let them be. Hah! You should see Uncle Zack teasing him—calls him 'Your Majesty' or 'The High Commander' every chance he gets!"
Varn kept laughing as we approached the fortress-like structure. While it wasn't as monolithic as the hivespire towers in the Upper Hive, it was still a large and commanding building.
Upon entering, I was met with a flurry of activity. Dozens of personnel, likely scribes and adjutants, moved about in perfect order. Each clutched dataslates and parchments filled with critical reports, logistics manifests, and field directives.
"Emperor's mercy," I muttered. "This place is just as busy as the Manufactorum sector. What's got everyone so riled up?"
We walked amidst the organized chaos, ascending the long stairway to the topmost floor, where Mr. Jacob's office and the main strategium were located.
"Not entirely sure," Varn replied, lowering his voice. "But most of these scribes are under Sir Zacharian's command. I've heard he's a perfectionist. One misplaced decimal or flawed report and he'll unleash fury worse than a Commissar's glare."
He leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially.
"Huh. Then why are *you* whispering? And with that kind of temperament, don't people hate him?"
"Heh… well, despite the fear, they respect him. Deeply. Sir Zacharian's efficiency and discipline have improved operations across the board. His standards are punishing, sure—but he's fair. Most staff actually *want* to impress him. They go out of their way to meet his expectations. And if they fail... well, it's like they die a little inside."
We kept climbing in silence, my mind now preoccupied with the image of Sir Zacharian—a terrifying yet oddly respectable figure.
'He might not be that bad of a man,' I thought with a quiet chuckle.
Eventually, we reached the final floor. Varn approached one of the aides and asked about Mr. Jacob's whereabouts.
"High Commander Jacob is in the strategium," the aide replied. "He instructed that Acolyte Leon be sent in immediately—he is needed for this meeting. Just Acolyte Leon."
We walked to the heavy double doors of the meeting chamber. I could hear muffled voices inside. Varn turned to me.
"Alright, I'll be heading back to the training grounds—need to oversee the Rifle Regiments' drills. I'll catch you later, Leon."
He gave a quick wave before heading off. I sighed, steeling myself, and knocked on the reinforced door. The murmurs fell silent.
"Enter," came the firm voice of Mr. Jacob.
I stepped inside.
Three figures sat around a circular war table. At the far end sat Mr. Jacob, the High Commander himself. To his right was Uncle Zack, ever-smiling with slicked-back hair and closed eyes, radiating his usual strange mix of mystery and mirth. To Mr. Jacob's left sat a stern, silver-haired man with an air of authority. He looked to be in his fifties, his eyes sharp and calculating. I instantly recognized him—Sir Zacharian.
All eyes turned to me. Mr. Jacob and Uncle Zack greeted me warmly. Sir Zacharian merely nodded in my direction. I returned the gesture silently.
"Leon, good. You're finally awake," Mr. Jacob said with a slight smile. "Come. Sit. From now on, you'll be present at all High Command briefings."
I nodded respectfully and took my seat. The air was dense with expectation.
"Well then," Jacob said, steepling his fingers. "Let's begin. Zack—you first."
Uncle Zack stood, retrieving a folder filled with written reports and dataslate summaries. His jovial tone was gone—his voice now carried the weight of command.
"This week's intelligence confirms that First Company successfully rescued seventy-nine captives in the southern region. Alongside them, they salvaged shipments of food, medical supplies, and vital materials. Commander Frag reports that the operation was a success, though it took a significant toll on the unit. Attrition is becoming a major concern."
I tensed at the news. Even Mr. Jacob and Sir Zacharian turned grim, focusing their full attention.
Zack continued, flipping through the pages.
"Further recon indicates that six major bandit factions operating in the southern sector of the Middle Hive have formed a strategic alliance. The cause appears to be the *Divine Phenomenon*—the golden barrier that enveloped the Middle Hive last month. They interpreted it as a sign that the Emperor's Angel was descending, and rallied together out of fear."
My eyes widened in disbelief. I had known the Emperor created the barrier to prevent the lower hives from interfering with his plans—but I hadn't considered the panic it might cause among surface factions.
Jacob's tone turned colder.
"How many are we dealing with?"
Uncle Zack paused. His usual grin faltered. He coughed awkwardly before replying.
"Minimum estimation: 1,500 armed bandits. Possibly more."
The room descended into a grim silence—cold, heavy, and absolute.
No one said a word.
The south was mobilizing. And now we knew the scale.
War was coming.