This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“We're currently aboard a Deathwatch strike cruiser. The reason the hull looks like this is because Deathwatch got ambushed by Chaos Space Marines while chasing Dark Eldar pirates at the Mandeville Point, and then got rammed by a freshly-warped-in Ork junkheap.”

“As for the inside, the crew got taken over by Chaos cultists who killed the Navigator and activated the Warp drives. They held a cult ritual inside the ship—unluckily, it was a Chaos Undivided cult—so the ship turned into this colorful mess. And they even attracted some sneaky little Genestealers out of hiding.”

In front of a sealed iron door, Romulus calmly explained the ship’s situation.

Arthur just shrugged like he’d expected it, though deep down, it felt like he’d just swallowed sht.

This whole vibe was just too on point—like a freak show of all the worst-case scenarios.

“So what’s our next move?”

Too lazy to wait for that possibly-virus-infected Cogitator to respond, Arthur sliced open the metal door with his sword.

“Head to the central elevator, regroup, and go with the 43rd Cadian Regiment to the Gellar Field generator. Chaos Space Marines are invading there. We need to assist the stationed Deathwatch kill team in wiping them out, then head to the Navigator's Sanctum to see if we can warp-jump out of here.”

Romulus tossed a melta charge behind them, sealing the path with molten plasteel and trapping the cultists along with the raging Orks.

“How do I do that?”

Arthur looked totally clueless.

“You’ve got a cheat and didn’t even bother to study it? All those years reading NovelBins for nothing.”

Romulus paused mid-motion, unable to stop himself from roasting him again.

Then he shook his head lightly and explained.

“You just need the intention to spend points to get the two languages. The exchange system is something you can customize yourself—technically, it’s not a system, it just adapted into a format we can understand more easily. But there’s no time for you to dig into it right now.”

“Oh oh oh.”

With his buddy guiding him, Arthur instantly pulled up a panel in his mind and could start downloading languages.

There were a bunch of things he recognized—and even more that he didn’t. If he wanted to actually use them conveniently, he’d really need to spend time studying.

Arthur looked over the messy data, with items starting to auto-sort based on his thoughts. He hesitated a bit, then decided not to redeem anything for now.

“By the way, who else made it over here besides us?”

Walking through the passage, Arthur stayed alert, scanning every shadow that could be hiding enemies.

The enemy density here was much lower. Along the way, there were loads of corpses with explosive wounds—every shot was a killshot. Definitely the work of Space Marines.

“Two more.”

Arthur’s question made Romulus think of someone who gave him a headache.

“Let me guess.”

Arthur pulled out a flamer from his lower back and torched a big Ork, testing his theory.

“Garna and Rameses?”

The four of them were all old Moon folks—just from the names, you could tell. All based on historical heroic spirits. They basically gamed together whenever possible. Since Romulus showed up, the other two were easy to guess.

“Yeah.”

Romulus didn’t deny it.

“Dmn, conscription came with group punishment now?”

Arthur looked super annoyed, but honestly, he felt way better now compared to when he first transmigrated.

Even if he was knee-deep in sht, having three good bros along for the ride was way better than struggling alone.

“Maybe our IDs seemed too human? Should’ve just named your account ‘The Emperor’s Son’ or something. I’d dare to use ‘Emperor,’ but definitely not ‘Son.’”

Romulus sighed again, but he wasn’t really in a bad mood. After all, having three unlucky fools along for the ride was way better than going it alone.

Eating sht alone is suffering, but when you’re eating it with people you know—it somehow balances out.

“Where are they now?”

Arthur asked curiously.

“One’s pulling a shift at the Navigator’s Sanctum. The other one…”

Romulus glanced at the time.

“Should be just about done killing his way here.”

“Huh?”

A mass of Orks suddenly appeared ahead. Just as Arthur was about to dive into a brawl, he got pulled back.

Romulus stared at the time, muttering under his breath.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Horus!”

A crimson figure flashed past. Arthur didn’t even catch a clear look—just that frenzied roar echoing down the hallway.

SZZZZZK!!!

The scarlet warrior hit the ground. His power spear unleashed a blazing blue disintegration field, and the flight pack’s intense thrust carved a bloody path through the battlefield.

WHOOSH!!!

A nonstop barrage of slashes swept through, grinding everything into paste.

The Blood Angel below glanced up at the two standing in the corridor, then at the Astra Militarum soldiers providing covering fire from the high ground.

With a roar, his jump pack flared with promethium again, launching him forward to crash through another bulkhead.

Only that terrifying roar lingered in their ears, refusing to fade.

“Horus!”

“…You're actually a bit better than him.”

“…Yeah, true.”

With the help of a Blood Angel who only knew how to yell “Horus” and chew Chaos cultist heads, Arthur’s squad quickly reached the central elevator area.

As Space Marines, superhumans with two hearts and three lungs, even though they exchanged a lot of info on the way, in the eyes of mortal cultists, all they saw were two blurry streaks—one black, one blue—zipping through the halls. Then their heads flew off.

It was hard to imagine how such heavy beasts could move so fast.

BANG!

Arthur didn’t wait for the door to open—he sliced through it. Before the enemy could react, he gave them a faceful of flamer, instantly torching enemies that close combat couldn’t handle.

Then he blocked a chainsword axe strike with his shield.

“WAAAGH!”

Before Arthur could counterattack, a hail of gunfire from behind the Orks suddenly focused on him.

In an instant, burning las-beams tore through the tough skin, ripping into the xeno’s body.

Arthur stared in surprise as the beams pierced flesh but somehow avoided hitting him even as he wrestled the creature.

He had been about to raise his sword and take the xeno’s head, but seeing that, he withdrew the blade in disbelief, his gaze turning complicated as he looked at the warriors firing at the other xenos.

They wore red carapace armor over dark camo combat uniforms.

At the front line, a few heavily armored Shield Guards blocked key passages with sturdy jump shields.

The bodies of traitors and xenos were shredded by all kinds of unidentified weapons.

Blood and gore mixed together, coating the deck in a sticky carpet beneath the Shield Guards' boots.

At the center of the line, each fireteam was laying down precise suppressive fire on the corridor. A Genestealer that had just lifted a ceiling panel was instantly hit by a barrage of las-shots the moment it poked its head out, melting most of its body.

On the flank, the heavy bolter had barely fallen silent for a second before someone dragged away the half-destroyed corpse at the firing position and took their place, the comforting, dull roar of gunfire resuming on the battlefield.

At the rear, wave after wave of logistics personnel moved between firing points, hauling crates of ammo or power cells to resupply the soldiers pouring out fire, making sure their shooting never let up.

Everyone had their role to play. Countless bodies of flesh and blood relied on sheer grit and discipline to turn this frontline into an impenetrable wall, even in the face of twisted abominations from all sides.

“This is the Cadian Shock Troops.”

Romulus, as if long familiar with the combat prowess of the Astra Militarum, showed no surprise as he cleared out the enemies in his line of sight and stepped into the line first.

Sure, in many Warhammer works the Astra Militarum were often used as stepping stones or background props, constantly getting crushed by all kinds of twisted abominations. But in the real universe, they were the elite selected from entire planetary populations.

And the warriors in red uniforms before them were from Cadia—a world where six-year-olds could already fire a lasgun with precision. Even among the elite ranks of the Astra Militarum, these troops were considered top-tier, so their performance wasn’t surprising at all.

Compared to the Space Marines, who since the adoption of the Codex Astartes had gradually shifted toward special ops due to limited numbers, it was these vast numbers of mortal soldiers who now formed the main fighting force of the Imperium in its war against heretics and xenos.

Arthur silently swept his gaze around, committing the area’s layout to memory, listening carefully to the chatter between soldiers, then followed Romulus forward.

This was the transport elevator aboard the warship, currently held by the 43rd Cadian Regiment. As they entered the line, the battlefield—barely quiet for thirty seconds—was hit by another wave of Orks.

But under the firepower of this elite unit, the Orks—already filtered through layers of daemons, cultists, and Genestealers—had long since lost their shock value. Against this wall of precise and dense fire, death was their only fate.

The Astra Militarum had built a tightly coordinated defense here. Aside from those still engaged with xenos at the perimeter, some even had the spare focus to give the Emperor’s Angels the Aquila salute.

In the increasingly loud din of bolters, lasguns, grenades, and flamers, Arthur gave a slight nod in return.

“For the Emperor!”

Low Gothic was kind of like a mishmash of symbolic languages. It had quite a few similarities to languages Arthur already knew, and with his superhuman brain post-transmigration, he quickly understood a fair number of words.

Maybe it was thanks to this new superhuman body, but whenever Arthur focused on something, his learning speed became absurd—just like when he was cutting down all those twisted abominations earlier.

“For the Emperor, sir!”

The Astra Militarum troops were caught off guard but honored, shouting the slogan before returning to man their line.

Visibly, the spirits of those exhausted soldiers had been lifted.