This Is Our Warhammer Journey

Arthur had transmigrated.

Just a moment ago, in his memory, he had just said goodbye to his online buddies who were still fighting for the Emperor in the forty-first millennium and was about to begin his daily writing session—then, in a daze, he lost consciousness.

And then, he found himself in a room forged from steel.

When he looked up and saw the gleaming golden Aquila on the steel wall, with incense and candles adding a warm undertone to the room and dispelling the heavy, decaying air... Arthur’s heart already sank halfway.

“Dreaming?”

Clang—

Iron boots hit the ground with an echo. Arthur stepped across the burning brazier, and on the mirror-like polished wall, a tall, burly figure was reflected.

It was a figure fully encased in pitch-black power armor.

A gray robe hung over it, and the faintly visible armor beneath bore ornate, exquisite patterns. Beneath shoulder plates covered in skulls and holy icons, one could vaguely make out the winged sword insignia.

The sword blade gleamed with a cold, deadly light—even Arthur, a complete amateur, couldn't help but admire the superb craftsmanship. The shield bore two crossed swords dividing its surface into four sections. At the top sat a golden Imperial Aquila, while the remaining parts were occupied by two robed figures.

These didn’t belong on the battlefield—they should be enshrined in a place of honor, displayed for reverence.

Arthur took a deep breath.

Seven lung sacs expanded to their limit. His hearts, pumping like twin power reactors, sent surging heat coursing through his body.

But Arthur felt like his heart had already turned cold.

Even with the superhuman physique of an Astartes, it couldn’t provide the slightest sense of security to his panicked soul.

“I really hope this is just a dream.”

If not, then please let the timeline be the 30K universe or the era when the Lion returned in 42K.

Then, he noticed a book placed prominently on the desk: The Codex Astartes.

Oh. Guess all I can do now is pray the Lion has returned.

He shoved the toilet paper along with everything on the desk into a storage bin, walked over to the pool, reached his armored hand into the water, and picked up the sword and shield he had once wielded so smoothly in the game—regretting deeply why he got so into roleplaying back then.

The room was quiet. Aside from the flickering of candle flames, not a sound remained.

The nearly three-meter-tall giant froze the moment he grasped the sword and shield.

No doubt—Arthur was completely numb.

“Transmigration”—what an exciting word.

But when it’s paired with Warhammer 40K, it’s not so wonderful anymore.

Warhammer 40K, a space opera IP created by GW, a massive hellhole built around endless war and a cast of races, had, by the forty-first millennium of the human calendar, expanded that hellhole to its absolute limits.

And now Arthur, in what should be considered a jackpot identity as an Astartes, couldn’t feel even a shred of safety—because he was a f**king Fallen Angel!

And now, with no certainty of whether the Lion had awakened, he was about to face one of the most unhinged factions in Warhammer 40K.

The Dark Angels, the very first of the twenty Astartes Legions, carried countless honors and were known as the First Legion, a name loaded with special significance and pride. They often held themselves as paragons of what it meant to be an Astartes.

A Chapter like that could never tolerate a stain.

Arthur silently looked down at the black paint on his armor.

The Fallen—precisely the shame that the Dark Angels refused to admit.

The moment anything related to the Fallen came up, this silent, self-disciplined, and always-aiming-for-perfection Chapter would tear off its mask and go to any lengths to erase all traces of the Fallen—friendly fire, psychic interrogation, forbidden tech, Exterminatus—totally normal procedures for them.

And once a Fallen ended up in their hands, every cruel method you could imagine might be used by these lunatics.

Might as well just die now.

Arthur thought bitterly. But then he remembered the existence of the Warp and realized that even dying probably wouldn’t bring peace.

That’s the truth of this world—alive, you struggle in a cesspit;dead, you’re butterfly-stroking in an even deeper one.

…F**k, you can’t even die in peace.

A nameless rage welled up inside him. Arthur grabbed his sword and walked to the door.

Anyone faced with such hopeless circumstances would lose their mind—and that madness now took the form of violent intent.

This room clearly belonged to an Astartes. He was going to find whoever was in charge and request a mission.

All Arthur wanted now was to kill someone. Die in battle and take a few down with him—eat sh*t together.

His life in the Warhammer world was already completely screwed.

He just didn’t know if the Emperor accepted transmigrators. If so, maybe he could squeeze into the Grey Knights or something.

He stabbed the door control panel forcefully—but the door didn’t budge, as if something was blocking it from the other side.

Arthur’s face tensed. He kicked the door hard.

Bang!

Squelch~

A crisp snap of metal, followed by the wet crunch of soft tissue being crushed by tremendous force. As a huge splash of foul-smelling blue liquid splattered across his helmet, Arthur’s vision suddenly cleared.

It was a wide corridor of a battleship. Cold blue lights flickered along trembling walls.

Arthur looked down. Outside the railing, in the broad passage below, green-skinned Orks were yelling WAAAGH! as they clashed with humans armed in cheap gear.

Arthur looked up. Countless bizarre creatures with three pairs of limbs clung to the ceiling. Their pink muscles were slightly translucent under the light, their bony carapaces expanding and contracting with each breath.

He turned his head. Elf-like beings with pointed ears and twisted, hopeless expressions lay slumped against the railing—already too weak to struggle. Nearby, pink, voluptuous figures had arrived, drawn by the enticing scent.

Directly ahead, beneath a warped metal door, a blue Horror lay dying. Its bloated body had burst, and the chaos in its eyes now showed only despair. The collapsed support pillar beside it told of the destruction it had just endured.

The commotion naturally drew the attention of those on the battlefield. But in the blink of an eye, as their gazes clashed again, the chaotic battlefield resumed its rhythm.

As did the tone of this universe.

Death. Chaos.

“…Heh.”

Staring at the strange champions before him, Arthur curled his lips into a bitter smile. The fire in his heart instantly extinguished.

He didn’t even know what kind of expression to make anymore—but a bitter smile seemed just right.

Because when you’re completely speechless, when you truly can’t hold it together, the only thing left is that forced grin tugging at the corners of your mouth—that’s what a bitter smile is!

Turning back, the room he had woken up in was already gone.

Arthur stepped forward.

Boom!

He shoved the shield ahead, effortlessly crushing a cultist’s body. The sword flared with a burst of blue light, slicing cleanly through a Genestealer’s head. The heavy metal boots easily stomped a Dark Eldar’s body into paste and sent it rolling to the feet of a Slaaneshi daemonette.

This was a multi-race world filled with humans, elves, orks, demons, and all kinds of fantastical beings.

Whoosh!

Blue fire swept across the corridor, melting metal and crashing into his glowing shield. Arthur raised his hand to bat the flames aside, then lifted his left arm—hidden behind the shield, a plasma weapon fired a bolt of blue energy, vaporizing a psyker who had been hiding in the crowd.

A world where magic and machinery coexist.

“Blood for the Blood God!”

The Bloodletter, with its crimson skin exposed, swung its greatsword, harvesting mortal heads.

“For the Emperor!”

The Astra Militarum, clutching melta charges, charged into the demon horde.

A world where gods and mortals walk side by side.

Rip!

The ship’s hull was torn open by an invisible force, revealing the view beyond.

It was a scene beyond description.

Frost spread along the breach, and the transparent forcefield flickered under the impact of the Warp storm.

A world where you never know what tomorrow will bring!

Arthur, wearing a relieved smile, swung his sword at the twisted abominations before him.

This—is Warhammer 40K!