This Is Our Warhammer Journey

Hoo——

The Black Sword flicked upward, lifting the Emperor’s Aquila badge on the Inquisitor’s chest.

Everyone assumed it was a veteran’s refusal to tolerate weakness.

Bzzz——

With the blade tip close, the Aquila was presented squarely in front of Aglaea’s eyes.

“What is this?”

The authoritative voice tore through the ashen dusk.

Cold light poured down, the matte blade making the Aquila gleam brilliantly.

The Inquisitor froze for a second, and when her eyes landed on the badge, her raging mind felt like it had been doused in cold water—instantly calm.

“...This is the duty given to me by the Emperor.”

“What duty is that?”

“...To act in the name of the Throne.”

“And with what do you act in the name of the Throne?”

The voice struck like muffled thunder, waking one from a nightmare.

“To act in the name of the Throne—yes, I am the Throne’s agent.”

Aglaea stared at the golden badge before her.

It was the Emperor’s symbol of authority for Inquisitors to act in his name—and a weighty burden of responsibility.

Yet now, it hung from the neck of a weakling.

Hysterical and driven by fear, she’d forgotten why she stood here in the first place.

“...”

She reached out and gripped the badge, letting out a long breath.

This badge wasn’t issued so she could tremble in fear when things got tough. She was supposed to solve problems!

Arthur silently withdrew his sword, standing tall.

Karna, out of nowhere, popped a grape into his mouth—hiding his merit and fame.

“Apologies, Lord Romulus.”

She had completely lost composure.

Romulus gently shook his head, indicating it was fine.

Aglaea rubbed her face, gathering herself, then as if making a firm decision, said,

“Lords, in the name of the Inquisition, I order you to provide me with a ship and an unlimited number of psykers. After that, you may choose to stay or leave.”

She had regained her seriousness, with a newfound resolve.

“What are you going to do?”

Romulus asked.

“As a member of the Source Retrieval Order, I’ll go to Pield myself and record this tragic history. If we need more military strength, I believe you’ll need this information.”

Aglaea raised her head to meet his gaze, and Romulus saw a powerful sense of mission in her eyes.

If the disaster couldn’t be stopped, then let it be recorded to warn future generations. No matter how shrouded history becomes, its origin must be traced.

That is the mission the Emperor gave the Source Retrieval Order.

Say what you will, these Inquisitors still had professional ethics. At least now that she’d snapped out of it, she wasn’t backing down.

Everyone present instinctively looked toward Romulus again, waiting for him to decide. A flawless command presence and a quietly guessed identity had made the warriors instinctively treat the transmigrators as their core.

“Is there any point in waiting?”

Romulus turned to ask the group.

“Or put another way, if we send out a distress signal, could we gain transformative reinforcements within three months?”

Three months was the limit. Waiting endlessly wasn’t a plan.

“Pield is classified as a remote sub-sector within the Imperium. It has extremely high autonomy.”

Arabella responded tactfully.

“So basically, help’s not coming?”

The silence from the group was a silent confirmation.

Yeah, everyone understood the Imperium’s... legendary efficiency.

Romulus thought they had already overestimated the High Lords, but in these remote sectors? People were just expected to handle things on their own?

Everyone saw that the elder wasn’t pleased with the Imperium’s current efficiency.

That made the Black Templars even more suspicious.

They were used to this. Nobody ever counted on the Administratum, so they never even factored Imperial aid into their planning.

‘What do we think?’

Romulus asked in the transmigrator channel.

‘You’re the brain, you decide.’

‘So we go?’

‘Yeah.’

To the transmigrators, a crisis was both challenge and opportunity.

They always intended to get involved in major events for growth. If nobody dared to step into this remote zone, how were they ever going to tackle the Great Rift?

The four exchanged quick messages and made the decision right there.

“Then we’ll go together.”

Romulus replied simply.

“That’s the Void Ancestors’ legacy—we can’t let it fall into Chaos hands.”

Tyberos voiced his agreement. For the Emperor, Devouring Sharks would fight anywhere.

“The Black Templars' crusade never ends without victory.”

A Black Templars' Chaplain spoke up before the Marshal could.

At almost the same moment, the three Astartes Chapters reached a consensus.

Then all eyes turned to Cawl.

The Great Sage, who hadn’t spoken since questioning began—his fleet would clearly be the naval backbone.

“The Explorator Fleet will proceed to the Pield Sub-sector, but the Mechanical Ark won’t go.”

Since the fleet began moving toward Pield, Cawl had felt massive resistance. It was as if the Warp itself didn’t want him near that planet.

Apparently, even the Dark Gods didn’t want him completing that centuries-long research. The secrets aboard that ark could change the future.

But—why give up just because of resistance?

If Chaos went to such great lengths to stop him, and the Omnissiah was supporting him, shouldn’t he be even more determined to go?

Cawl looked at Romulus.

His logic was simple: whatever these mysterious veterans chose to do, that was his answer.

Because he believed that was the Omnissiah’s guidance.

Cawl knew exactly what the Omnissiah represented—knew what kind of person gave him that unprecedented mission ten thousand years ago. That’s why he was so certain.

With the final confirmation received, everyone in agreement once more turned their gaze to the Saint from the center.

The Black Templars’ Chaplain didn’t even hide his blazing eyes as he looked at the solemn Sword Guard.

No one feared death. No one would back down from the challenge of Chaos.

The transmigrators couldn’t help but feel a jolt of awe.

They might mock the Imperium all the time, but when it was time to put their lives on the line—there were always heroes willing to charge ahead.

And what could the transmigrators do?

What should an ancient hero, looked upon by future generations with endless hope, do?

‘Your turn.’

Karna glanced at Arthur.

He was born for moments like this.

Arthur stepped forward solemnly, standing before the gathered crowd.

In the distant past, warriors would clash weapons before setting off, a ritual to express their resolve.

Strangely enough, though civilizations across ancient Terra were scattered, they all shared this custom.

And in this world, the first blade to walk the path of war was likely the one picked up by the Emperor himself.

The blade shimmered with a crystalline glow as the Sword Guard gripped the hilt and raised it high.

At last, all present could see the beauty hidden beneath the dark hue—the intricate patterns, the deep engravings, the faint golden traces etched into it, stirring a deep urge to uncover their meaning.

Under that soul-stirring radiance, though none understood the script carved into the blade, their hearts instinctively cried out for victory.

Clang——

The crowd instinctively raised their weapons.

Dang——

Weapons clashed, spreading light among them, ringing out in crisp echoes.

“In the name of the Emperor’s warriors, we shall know no fear.”

“Sworn by sacred loyalty, we shall pledge ourselves to victory.”

“In the Imperium’s supreme glory—”

The Sword Guard chanted the blessing.

“May all that is witnessed by the masses be our deeds.”