It was a beautiful day for the Antares Imperium.

By the next day, Antares' first conflict towards claiming the continent of Centaura would be at hand. In the name of great Imperium, in the name of Emperor, blood would be shed and bodies would drop by the thousands. This battle against Cetus in Mon Planus would be nothing short of a bloodbath, and one particular Kolonel found himself looking forward to it like no other.

Kolonel Erik Geralt looked over his map once, twice, then a third time— He had been examining the plans that were laid out continuously, all the way into the late hours of the day. He had to make sure every last inch of this would go according to how he saw fit— What time the armor would be deployed, what time he expected the Cetan forward trenchline to fall into the palm of his hand...

He felt his frowning face curl up into a smirk for but a moment, a soft chuckle leaving his lips. Here, on this battlefield, Antares would finally show Forma what they were truly capable of. Cetus would go, then Aquila and their Iron Army, and everything else from there.

But for now, winning the battle at hand was far more important than fantasizing about the future. As he came back to focus on the map in front of him, he heard the sounds of activity at the entrance to his makeshift command center— Which, in all reality, was just some Cetan house that had been converted into his base for the time being— his eyes staring as he saw you step into the room.