"That is all for today. Evangeline, whatever it was that you did just now, practice it more until you can reproduce it consistently. You ladies may be even more favored than intended," Bastion said with a smile.
"Thank you, my lord," Evangeline replied with a bow.
Her training armor was crumpled and barely holding together, yet she herself appeared unharmed—as if the entire battle had never happened.
Turning to the other sisters, Bastion couldn't hide his smile, nor could he conceal the excitement on his face.
"You are all nearly field-ready, and your first assignment will come soon. Your new equipment will be delivered to you shortly," Bastion said as they gathered around him.
This had been the routine for the past few weeks since he disbanded the Inquisition. He assessed their personal combat effectiveness, then their teamwork, analyzed the results, and helped them improve.
Truthfully, in terms of skill, they had long surpassed his Tempestus Scions—who were the Imperium's greatest warriors, just below the Astartes.
This meant he could now comfortably equate the Sisters to an Astartes in combat. However, he had yet to see them face one in battle. The nearest Astartes chapter was off-planet, stationed in a location only the Emperor knew, given the lack of communication.
He had achieved this by drilling thousands of years' worth of martial practice into their bodies in the form of muscle memory. In fiction, such a method would create the ultimate warrior.
But reality and fiction were not always aligned. While it had greatly improved their battle instincts—as Evangeline had demonstrated—without formal training, they would be no different from standard predators. They would know when to strike but not how to strike.
Still, as they were now, they were ready for the next phase.
After about thirty minutes of correcting errors in their teamwork, Bastion finally moved on, walking toward the former Inquisitor, who remained on her knees.
"There's a saying that a man kneels only to his God and his parents," Bastion remarked as he squatted before her.
Even in a squat, he towered over her. His massive frame obscured her body so completely that anyone behind him could barely see her.
"Your Eminence!" Dresk exclaimed, bowing in an exaggerated pose.
It was difficult to tell whether she was doing it to save her skin or out of genuine reverence. This was, after all, the first time she had addressed him by that title.
"Rise. As I said, your knees should only meet the ground for your parents or your God—not a governor," Bastion said as he stood.
Dresk followed suit, though her figure—neither particularly short nor tall—looked childlike beside his imposing stature.
"Thank you, Your Grace. But may I ask why you summoned me?" Dresk asked, getting straight to the point.
Having observed the Saint's mannerisms long enough, she understood he disliked anything that wasted his time.
"Lady Dresk, the Inquisitors may be no more, but their role must still be fulfilled—by a better organization than what once was. You understand that, do you not?" Bastion asked.
"Yes, my lord. That is why you train the Sororitas every day, is it not?"
"No. The Sanctis serve a greater purpose. For now, they will only assist—they will not be the ones to replace you."
"I don't understand, my lord. If they aren't to replace us, then who will?"
"You will. They say the child surpasses the parent. I hope you can create a better future for this planet and the Imperium at large," Bastion said, turning to face her.
Dresk stood stunned. She couldn't tell if this was his final insult to the Inquisition or a chance for her to restore its lost pride.
If she were put in charge of building its replacement, she would no longer be just a sinner among Inquisitors—she would also be their savior. After all, they had been disbanded not by mere mortal authority, but by an Imperial Saint—the voice of the Emperor Himself.
"The alternative is death, Dresk. I didn't call you here to give you a choice. I could easily build a replacement myself," Bastion said, as if reading her thoughts.
Hearing this, Dresk realized the truth. His Grace could forge a new Inquisition—but if he did so personally, no matter how impartial, the force would be seen as a joke. The nobles and their allies would dismiss them as lapdogs of the throne.
That was why she was here. Not to redeem the Inquisition's pride, but to serve as its public face.
"Starting tomorrow, you will report to Canoness Lucilla. A new uniform and a revised Codex Hereticus will be provided. Learn it… and know peace," Bastion said, quickening his pace as he walked away.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added with a smile:
"Oh, and thank you for saving her from the Black Ships."
With those words, Dresk's heart nearly failed as she stood frozen, watching the Saint depart.
"He knew," she murmured, clutching her chest.