The military was another matter. The Astra Militarum forces seemed reasonably well-trained and equipped, but his Planetary Defense Forces (PDF) were no different from rambling children with poorly maintained gear—if they had any at all.
Reforming them would be the easiest task, thanks to his past self's efforts, which had fostered some loyalty among the ranks. His newly acquired "Saint" title didn't hurt either.
So far, everything was proceeding smoothly—but success hinged on how quickly the sensors could be deployed. Given the Tech-Priests' efficiency in carrying out his orders, he estimated it would take about a week.
These sensors operated on the quantum level, making blind spots nearly impossible. They could detect everything from structural flaws to latent illnesses. Once deployed, they would provide him with the precise data needed to prioritize the planet's most critical improvements.
While the Fabricator General worked on distributing the sensors and developing hardier crops, Bastion found himself standing in a vast training hall.
The Adeptus Sororitas, revered as the Brides of the Emperor, were even more devout than he had anticipated.
The training room was enormous, adorned with paintings of various saints and a towering statue of the Emperor at its forefront—positioned directly behind him.
"Miss Lucilla, are these all of your Sisters?" Bastion asked, conducting a mental headcount.
There were over five hundred Battle-Sisters present—three hundred more than he had last encountered. Alongside them stood high-ranking Ecclesiarchs, three Inquisitors, and a trio of psykers.
The sheer number of observers made it clear: this was some sort of test. They were expecting a miracle.
"Yes, Your Grace. This is everyone," Lucilla replied.
"I see. Then what's with the preachers and their floating babies?" Bastion asked.
He wasn't sure whether to find the Ecclesiarchs' cherubim holy or horrifying. The wings were impressive, but something about them felt… predatory.
"My lord, those are Cherubim. They assist with maintenance. Would you like some assigned to you?"Lucilla offered with an odd smile.
Their casual acceptance of the lobotomized, vat-grown infants unsettled him. This world was sick.
A quick mental search confirmed his suspicions: they weren't natural children, but that didn't make their existence any less grotesque.
"Don't trouble yourself. If I wanted them, I'd get them directly from the Fabricator General," Bastion said, shifting his attention back to the Sisters.
"Before we begin, I'd like to see you train," he announced.
"My lord?" one of the Sisters questioned.
"Don't act surprised. I may be able to forge you into the Emperor's perfect soldiers, but first, I need to gauge your current skill," Bastion replied.
"And how do you intend to assess their capabilities?" a voice interrupted.
Bastion turned to see the speaker—an Inquisitor, the only one who had openly challenged him. She stepped out of formation and approached, her gaze sharp.
"By watching them, of course. My mind processes information millions of times faster than a cogitator," Bastion countered.
"Governor, you lack the combat experience to train the Sororitas," the Inquisitor retorted.
Bastion rolled his eyes. She wasn't wrong—his obsession with understanding this world had left little time for martial training. But with his enhanced physique and cognitive abilities, he could compensate simply by observing combat or running simulations.
"I see where this is going," he said.
"Very well. By the right of the Anointed, I challenge you, Inquisitor—or your champion—to a Trial by Combat."
"What?"
"Choose any champion you wish. If I'm the heretic you suspect, it'll be revealed in battle, won't it?"
"My lord, you may be stronger now, but you still have no formal training—especially after your… resurrection," Lucilla interjected.
Bastion smirked before turning back to the Inquisitor, who glared at him in frustration.
He had already calculated the outcomes. If he won, the Inquisition's credibility would suffer—and the Inquisition as a whole would blame her, not him. If she won, she could claim to have purged a heretic, but without proof, the populace and higher authorities would question her motives. Either way, she lost.
The scenario had only a 10% chance of occurring, but if it did, he estimated a 70% probability of victory. Skill-wise, he had simulated countless fighting styles tailored to his enhanced physique since the assassin incident.
But one flaw remained: raw strength and intellect weren't enough. He lacked true technique.