This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“Lord Garna!”

After wandering around all day, Garna returned to the central elevator area.

The moment his iron boots stepped into the zone, what greeted him was a peaceful scene.

Astartes in Ironclad Terminator armor were patrolling the perimeter, accompanied by a squad of Cadian soldiers clad in void combat armor.

On the other side of the plaza, an orderly line had formed in front of the mess hall. Around the variously sized dining tables, Astartes and mortals were sharing a meal together.

Unlike half a month ago, the area once used as a defensive stronghold had now been repurposed into a place for the Astra Militarum and Astartes to dine and regroup.

“Same as always.”

Handing over his mess tray to the cook, Garna began scanning the surroundings.

Sister performing the pre-meal ritual? Mm, check.

Colonel Kovek on mess duty today? Mm, check.

Tech-Priest... hmm! Where is he?

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Garna looked around until he finally spotted the orange cogboy below the deck, bowing and swinging a censer at a massive aircraft.

Oh, today he's bowing to that Stormbird, huh?

You had to know—when the Tech-Priest found out that all these vehicles and gear were being gifted directly to the Astra Militarum, he nearly had an oil-squirting meltdown. He started ranting about how all of it belonged in a sacred relic vault, and giving it to those bigheads was a total waste.

Classic Hajimi behavior.

D*mn, if we don’t spend these resources now, are we just gonna let them rot in our hands during an ambush after our boys get wiped in a meat grinder?

After Romulus gave him a hard no, this Tech-Priest started praying to the vehicles daily, hoping their machine spirits would have a change of heart.

Yep, still head-butting the deck. Check.

“Thanks.”

Taking the now-loaded mess tray, Garna made his way to the Astartes' dining table.

The other three—who had already painted their armor in Deathwatch colors—had finished their meals a while ago.

“Scavenge anything good today?”

Romulus tossed the question over as soon as Garna sat down.

“Nope. Pretty much every nook and cranny of this ship’s been searched. Checked out the Orks too, but their tech isn’t unlocked enough. Small components still need a Waaagh field. We can’t use that.”

“Alright then. Guess we finished the codex collection before the rescue even got here. Worth celebrating.”

“Definitely worth celebrating. We’ve almost turned corpse starch into gourmet cuisine at this point.”

Garna sprinkled a pinch of ceramite powder into his tray, speared a hefty chunk of meat, and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Good thing Imperial tech’s advanced. Otherwise, I’d rather burn a few more daemons just to trade for some fried chicken and soda.”

Rameses, who had finished eating earlier, wiped his mouth.

At this moment, everyone was eating one of the Human Imperium’s most famous dishes, known across the multiverse—

Soylens Viridians!

Aka, corpse starch.

Technically, it was a highly nutritious substance produced during the promethium refining process, and the sole food source for most Imperial citizens.

It had almost no taste by itself, but depending on the additives, it could take on various forms—usually some kind of thick paste.

As for why it could look and taste like this now?

Let’s just say, a regime as absurd as the Imperium still has some tech to match.

Nutrition synthesis tech from the gearheads, flavor customization from a fleet officer’s quarters, and the infinite supply of corpse starch that only needs promethium to produce—

Put all that together, and you could cook up a table full of balanced, tasty, and visually appealing dishes.

The best part?

It’s as cheap and plentiful as regular corpse starch—enough to feed everyone on this ship for a whole year.

Gotta admit, the Imperium’s civil tech ain’t bad... they just never use it on actual citizens.

“By the way, why do you two keep staring at that toilet paper?”

He noticed the two Astartes once again poring over the Codex Astartes after finishing their meal.

“Setting aside its restrictions on Astartes, the Regent’s advice is extremely valuable,” Arthur replied without even lifting his head. “Plus, we don’t fully understand the details of this universe. The Codex fills in a lot of those blanks. Studying it is necessary.”

“It teaches you how to fight, how to run a Chapter, even down to what each warrior should be doing during battle. It also provides solutions for different environments. It’s really useful for my command duties,” Romulus added, reading with interest.

Not gonna lie, as a reference book, the Codex Astartes was top-tier.

It pretty much covered how to handle every possible situation an Astartes might encounter. Follow the book, and you’d basically become a qualified Astartes.

Put aside the “toilet paper” bias and a few outdated decisions—this was a solid book.

The Regent must’ve poured a lot of effort into writing it.

“Great. The two nerds are grinding again.”

Rameses couldn’t help but comment seeing the two of them all serious.

“If they weren’t grinding, it’d be you studying instead,” Garna replied, setting down his half-bitten ceramite chopsticks.

Ever since transmigrating, his brain hadn’t grown much, but his teeth sure got tougher.

“Then let the nerds do the work.”

Rameses surrendered instantly.

“By the way, are we really just gonna let the misunderstanding continue?”

Garna glanced at the nearby Sisters, who had finished eating and were now silently waiting for their orders. He smoothly changed the topic.

“Feels like the four of us are being treated like sacred relics.”

Ever since they handed over that pile of gear, those 26 Sisters had practically stuck to them like glue.

Except Garna, who acted more independently—whenever the other three left their rooms, they were immediately under Sister surveillance.

“Honestly, it’s better than being suspected of joining a Chaos warband,” Romulus said.

“If it’s a net positive, then who cares. Arthur and Ram Two, just say you’re Ultramarines. Let them fill in the blanks themselves.”

“But we’ll mess up eventually, right?”

Garna wasn’t exactly confident in his acting skills.

“Why act? The gear’s real, our awkwardness is real—and what’s that phrase again? We try so hard to fake it, but... uh...”

Rameses struggled to remember.

“Can’t beat a genuine moment of emotion from a filial son.”

Garna filled in.

“Feels like... not as good as M3 Earth.”

Romulus, still reading, dropped the punchline right on cue.

“See? Told you we don’t need to fake anything.”

“......”

Arthur’s expression was on the verge of cracking.

But yeah, M3 folks think the current Imperium is a sh*thole.

M31 folks think the same.

Just look at how depressed the Regent was when he woke up.

Same deal, no difference.

“My lord, we’ve received a communication from an Imperial warship.”

The brief post-meal study session didn’t last long before a report from the runner was handed over.

“Code?”

“Verification passed.”

“Affiliation?”

“They identify as Devourer Shark.”