This Is Our Warhammer Journey

Alex silently stared at the Emperor’s Angels, meeting their gaze that was sharp as blades, as if it could pierce through anything.

He didn’t look away.

“I believe you, Commissar.”

The terrifying pressure dissipated.

The brief standoff quickly ended. Arthur raised his head and looked at each and every warrior.

For a moment, he felt like there was still hope in this world.

Perhaps that hope would eventually vanish in endless war and suspicion, but now, in this moment—

Arthur sincerely wished that hope would live on through the lives of these people.

“I believe in all of you,”

“And so, the Emperor will not let His warriors die in a celebration after victory, or on the path to the next one.”

The Imperium tolerated no threats. It was so far gone it would annihilate anyone who had contact—or might have had contact—with Chaos indiscriminately. Arthur couldn’t understand, nor did he agree.

“The path of sacrifice for humanity might be short, or it might be long.”

“But—”

Arthur removed his helmet. His face was unusually young, with slightly long golden hair hanging down. His emerald eyes swept over everyone present.

Everyone’s breath hitched. Through those deep eyes, they seemed to glimpse a red dragon that had hidden its flames and claws.

“No matter how long it lasts, I, Arthur Pendragon,”

he clenched his right fist and struck it hard against his chest,

“I will walk it with you—to witness a glorious death.”

Arthur’s thoughts were simple. He didn’t want these warriors to just die, fall into the Warp, and become fodder for daemons.

He wanted them to live, to carry out the duty he planned to devote his life to, and then go to where they truly belonged.

“For the Emperor. For humanity.”

“For the Emperor! For humanity!”

“This is loyalty,”

Garna muttered. The Astra Militarum’s loyalty to the Emperor was truly unshakable.

As for their group of hammerheads...

He gnawed on a chicken wing and glanced at the two squatting by the astrolabe doing who-knows-what.

Ask them anything and it’s all “loyalty,” call them and they won’t even respond.

“So, did you finish the prayer or not? And seriously, can’t we study the mutations more slowly? Who just slaps on a decision like that? Give them surgery, replace the limbs with augmetics to save their lives first, come on.”

In a dim corner, Romulus punched Rameses in the head.

“Don’t you think the atmosphere’s perfect for it? Besides, it’s not like it clashes. Everyone’s gathered here anyway, might as well give it a shot.”

Rameses adjusted his slightly crooked mask.

“Also, what’s up with Arthur being so damn good at this? I wanted to ask since the meeting started—where’d he learn to talk like that?”

“Focus.”

Romulus slapped his helmet again.

Thanks to the psychic barrier, no one noticed their clowning around in the corner.

“They’re almost done over there.”

“Relax, it’ll be fine. Worst case, we don’t summon the Emperor. Nobody’s dying. With my Warp-level strength, anything less than a Greater Daemon dies if they show up.”

Rameses held the astrolabe used to observe the Warp, full of mysterious confidence in his own operation.

“Should be?”

Romulus didn’t care about the string of reassurances that followed.

“It’s my first time doing this, how the f*** would I be sure? I’d say eighty percent chance it works.”

Rameses carefully observed the Warp’s movements, trying to add in more Emperor-related elements.

From a realistic point of view, even if the Great Rift hadn’t opened yet and all the twisted abominations weren’t fully exposed to the Imperium’s citizens, the Emperor’s influence on the real universe definitely wasn’t any weaker than the Four Gods.

That state religion of His spread everywhere isn’t just for show.

“If Chaos rituals can attract the Four Gods, then why can’t prayers attract the Emperor? It doesn’t make sense. This is discrimination against the Emperor!”

“Let’s hope so.”

Romulus wasn’t fond of this kind of ‘ambush approach.’ Even though you should trust your teammates, and besides, they weren’t the type to cry “I’m low!” right after getting one-shotted.

But going in totally unprepared still felt kinda s****y.

He looked with a bit of resentment at Arthur, who was surrounded by people, afraid that a few Astra Militarum would suddenly explode into a horde of daemons.

And Arthur too, how could he actually let Rameses go through with this?

Arthur himself, though, didn’t really care.

If Rameses wanted to pray, let him pray. If it summoned the Emperor, great. If not, what, just abandon these Astra Militarum?

He was going to take care of them either way. With the Emperor’s response, he’d feel more confident. Without it, he’d do his best.

Arthur didn’t plan to fake it either. Most of the Astra Militarum were heavily mutated—some couldn’t even stand. If Garna hadn’t scanned the Mechanicus augmetic data while sneaking around earlier, Arthur really wouldn’t have had much confidence.

‘At least try more things. Do as much as we can.’

Turning around, he had the Commissar and Colonel go to the Sisters and get the wounded settled, pre-inspect and categorize the areas that needed amputation. Arthur then called in the tech-priest who was part of the campaign.

These Machine Cult priests who worship Omnissiah were another cornerstone of the Imperium. From the weapons of every military branch to warships roaming space, almost everything came from the Forge Worlds they controlled.

“I don’t recommend this, my lord.”

Faced with Arthur’s proposed modifications, the tech-priest in orange robes advised,

“Most of them are elite individuals not qualified to receive mechanical limbs. Statistically speaking, even as elites, the vast majority won’t live long enough to repay the mechanical blessing to the Omnissiah.”

“Of course, I’m not suggesting you destroy these individuals outright. From a more economical standpoint, they should be converted into servitors to continue serving the Omnissiah...”

How could a human mouth speak such cold-hearted words?

Arthur took a deep breath, constantly reminding himself that this was Warhammer style. The Mechanicus always viewed people this way. He’d still need them later to carry out augmetic procedures on the soldiers.

In the end, he held back the urge to punch this guy’s head off and send him to meet the Omnissiah.

The tech-priest, sensing the mood, wisely shut his mouth.

“You should be grateful I’m not you.”

Arthur stared at the tech-priest, whose lower half had already been converted into spider-like power limbs.

“I still retain reverence for human life and dignity. That’s why you’re still standing here in one piece.”

“At the same time, I’d rather not have to, due to some abnormal factor, classify a priest as a xenos or something no longer human.”

The tech-priest said nothing. His trembling heat-vent tubes, overloaded and shaking slightly, betrayed his nerves.

“The mechanical components for the modifications—we’ll provide them.”

Behind Arthur, Romulus said in a deep voice, “You just need to follow orders.”

The tech-priest nodded immediately.