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Being able to get out of bed and move around only happened almost a week later. Having his body pierced through, his internal organs burned, and yet regaining vitality in such a short time could only be described as the miraculous power of hope.
Although the wound still throbbed faintly and he couldn't muster his full strength, being able to move at all was far better than being stuck flat on the bed.
And honestly, days filled with burger takeouts through delivery were becoming unbearable. Just how many collaborations did those damn Starlight Knights have? Why was Billy bringing back piles of merch every few days? Worst of all, this time the bonus items were blind boxes. To pull the hidden collab item, Billy had mobilized the entire Cunning Hares into devouring takeout for days on end. A small mountain of empty boxes had piled up beside the Salamander's bed.
Several consecutive days of greasy fast food had completely wrecked the Salamander's sense of taste. He desperately wanted to return to the stove, grab the ladle, and cook a proper meal for himself and everyone in the Cunning Hares.
Ignis stood up. To be honest, it still hurt during the process. The wound was in his upper abdomen, and every movement tugged at it. Just standing up from the bed made him bare his teeth in pain. After gauging his condition, he realized that cooking was out of the question. That delicious dinner would have to be shelved.
The Salamander sighed, but even that motion pulled at the wound, making him wince again. Sometimes people just liked to cause trouble for themselves. Given his condition, he should have stayed in bed playing on his phone, yet he insisted on getting up. And once he moved, the pain returned.
Since he had already endured the pain, it felt like a waste to simply lie back down. He had to do something to justify it.
Generally speaking, the world called people like this hardcases.
Today, everyone in the Cunning Hares was out on a mission, leaving the large house once again guarded only by the Salamander. Holding his abdomen, he slowly walked around the place and found nothing he could do. Turning on the TV only brought up a flood of boring celebrity gossip. He shut the useless thing off and returned to his garage.
Rather than listening to that nonsense, he might as well think about how to repair his power armor.
The workbench's flexible mechanical claws lifted several heavily damaged sections. The chest plate and abdominal plate were riddled with cracks, some from Razor's chainaxe, others from U'zuhl's Slayer Sword. There were two full penetrations where U'zuhl had stabbed clean through him, one in the chest plate and one in the abdominal plate. The abdominal one was the most lethal, piercing both the front and back armor plates.
Looking at that horrifying damage made even Ignis feel a chill. What had he been thinking back then? Instead of retreating, he had grabbed the blade and forced it in further just to land a few blows on U'zuhl.
It was probably the influence of Khorne's domain. At the time, there had been only two thoughts in his mind: make the enemy pay, and my friends are behind me.
The left-side power fist assembly was basically scrap. The embedded functional conduits inside were completely severed, and the outer ceramite armor plates were scarred all over, with several sections fully penetrated. Honestly, it had no real repair value left. It could be dismantled, melted down, and the metal reused to reinforce the damaged chest and abdominal armor. The attached flamethrower, once removed, could be refitted into a handheld weapon or mounted onto a future motorcycle.
The only good news was that the disintegration field generator was still intact. The daemon's strikes had avoided that component. Reconnecting it to power would allow it to function again.
Since the power gauntlet was worn over the original gauntlet as a weapon and an extra layer of armor, the inner gauntlet itself hadn't suffered much damage and could still be used.
During the battle, he had felt the helmet shatter. In his memory, he had even stared directly at U'zuhl through a broken visor. Yet the helmet showed no real damage, only a few scuff marks. That was easy to fix. It seemed that in the final stage of the battle, when he thought he had been dragged into Khorne's realm, it was more likely some kind of inner world, where he had clashed with the daemon.
The Salamander's gaze drifted to the furnace nearby. Once his body recovered further, this work had to begin as soon as possible. Power armor was an Adeptus Astartes' second skin. Only with it could a Space Marine truly be considered fully equipped. Now that he was missing one power fist, adjustments would have to be made to his loadout. That free hand needed a reliable piece of equipment.
As he pondered what gear should fill that gap, his phone began to ring. The vibration in his pocket sent a numb ache through his wound. He took it out and saw a video call from the old veteran Gotthardt.
"My little brother, how's your recovery coming along?" The Son of Dorn showed concern the moment he saw him.
Ignis glanced at the time in the corner of the screen. Was the old veteran slacking off at work? At this hour, shouldn't he have been working inside a Hollow?
"I can barely get out of bed and move. The wound's healing slowly," Ignis answered honestly.
"Don't rush it. With injuries like yours, even ending up in a walking iron coffin like mine wouldn't be strange. Being able to walk after just a few days means The Emperor is watching over you." The old veteran sighed. "You know, when I carried you out in my hands, I was already prepared to attend your funeral."
Nicole had mentioned this. At the time, there was no suitable transport. The several-ton Salamander had been carefully carried out by Gotthardt using a siege claw. From the way they described it, though, it sounded like he had been holding a rag doll.
"Thanks, but I'll pass on borrowing your Leviathan Dreadnought. I'm not that far gone yet," the Salamander sighed, switching the camera to the rear lens. "The power armor, on the other hand, is pretty badly damaged. Repairs are going to be troublesome."
"Looking at this damage, little brother, I really don't know how you survived," the old veteran clicked his tongue in amazement. "No matter how many times I look, these are fatal injuries. Penetrating wounds to the chest and abdomen, even internal organs burned. Damn it, that's not much better than what I took."
"It was all thanks to The Emperor's protection," Ignis said solemnly, offering genuine gratitude for the first time. "He granted me the strength and resolve I needed at the final stage of the battle."
"Resolve can't be granted, little brother. That was your own choice, carried through with unwavering will, staking your life on it," Gotthardt's gaze settled on the power fist. "That weapon looks severely damaged. Any chance of repairing it?"
"Basically none. Internal electronics are ruined, and the external armor damage is too extensive. I'm planning to melt it down and use the material to repair the chest and other sections." The Salamander suddenly thought of something. "Do you remember how boarding shields were made in your era? I'm thinking of forging a shield myself."
"Boarding shields? You mean the ones used by Phalanx Warders? I honestly don't know. I've used standard combat shields, but I've no idea how they were forged…" The old veteran scratched his head with his remaining hand, clearly troubled.
"At the end of the day, a shield is just extra armor. Find some high-strength metal and hammer it into shape. You Salamanders are good at that sort of thing, aren't you?"
Ignis knew that much. The Imperial Fists' famous tactic of advancing while firing behind shields was legendary. He had hoped the old veteran might know some technical details, but it seemed Gotthardt had never dealt much with that side of things, or simply hadn't been interested.
"I'll figure it out myself," the Salamander said. He was already sketching designs in his mind. As an enthusiastic smith, he had no shortage of ideas.
"Oh, right. I saw your news today, Mr. Good Citizen," the old man grinned broadly. "How did it feel being interviewed?"
"Don't even bring it up."
A couple of days earlier, Zhu Yuan had messaged him, saying she had applied for a "Good Citizen Who Acted Bravely" commendation for him, along with Razor's bounty. Normally, it would have been just Zhu Yuan and Qingyi coming over. Everyone knew each other. No problem.
But when it came time for the ceremony, a whole convoy arrived. Dozens of officers poured out, scaring Nicole half to death. She nearly started digging an escape tunnel on the spot. The officers surrounded the house completely. Seeing the formation, Nicole thought their past crimes had been exposed. She quietly told Billy to be ready to carry people and run, while she, Anby, and Nekomata would cover the breakout.
Then Deputy Chief Justin Bringer arrived, along with vehicles from over a dozen media outlets. A crowd spilled out, and flashes went off nonstop, aimed squarely at Bringer. Nicole was completely stunned. In a daze, Bringer shook hands with everyone, praising Nicole's leadership and calling the Cunning Hares a responsible, conscientious enterprise and a model for New Eridu's citizens.
Bringer explained his purpose. He was there to commend the hero who had assisted the Criminal Investigation Special Response Team, the brave good citizen, Mr. Ignis Demara. Along with the trophy came Razor's bounty. When Zhu Yuan and Qingyi carried in that enormous check, Nicole's eyes nearly popped out. The number on it almost made her faint with excitement.
Drunk on money, the head of the Cunning Hares immediately turned coats and led Bringer straight into the Salamander's room.
And that was when the Salamander wore an expression like he'd seen a ghost.
Bringer was absolutely born for politics. His stream of platitudes and buzzwords was endless. Under his narration, the Salamander became a warm-hearted, capable, responsible, passionate, and courageous good citizen who decisively struck down evildoers. Everything he said was technically true, but it made the Salamander deeply uncomfortable. Bringer kept subtly pulling the credit toward himself, highlighting his own leadership and the officers' popularity. To be honest, if there hadn't been so many cameras, the Salamander would have slapped him.
The man could really act. Especially when Ignis noticed Qingyi making faces at him, he realized he had become campaign material for Bringer. As for Zhu Yuan, although she kept her composure, her eyes were filled with apology.
This damn actor sat by the Salamander's bed, gripping his hand and tearfully expressing gratitude. Without him, the Criminal Investigation Special Response Team might have been lost in the Hollow and fallen victim to Razor.
Being thanked hand-in-hand by a large, muscular man was not a pleasant experience. The Salamander could only endure it while desperately searching for help with his eyes.
Nicole did catch the signal. She immediately turned around and slipped away. That rabbit was slippery as hell.
The Salamander had no choice but to lie there, flashing a toothy grin and doing his best to cooperate with Bringer's performance.
Then, among the media crowd, he spotted Jane Doe in disguise.
So, she had come to watch the show too. She observed his suffering with great interest, completely ignoring the wounded man's silent pleas for help.
The farce dragged on until evening. Only after Bringer confirmed the media had enough footage did he hand over the trophy and check to Ignis and take the final photo. Within minutes, everyone vanished without a trace.
Later, Zhu Yuan sent an apologetic message, explaining that it had originally been meant as a simple ceremony with a few acquaintances from the team, but Chief Bringer had ordered it to be made grander.
As for Qingyi, she openly mocked the Salamander in her message, amazed that he had actually managed to play along with Bringer's act.
Thinking back on it, what else could he have done? He was seriously injured and couldn't even move, let alone escape.
The next day, he received gifts from both of them, which did make him feel a bit warmer inside.
"Well then, I'd better get back to work," Gotthardt's voice pulled the Salamander out of his memories. "Mr. Good Citizen."
"Brother, stop teasing me already."
Amid hearty laughter, Gotthardt cut the connection. The Salamander sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something in the corner where steel materials were stored.
A crimson exterior, brass fittings etched with sigils.
Wasn't that the chainsaw axe that had controlled Razor?
Why was it here? Who had brought it out?
Ignis felt both of his hearts hammer violently, as if they were about to burst from his chest.
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