This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“Victory everlasting.”

Sparks flew as blades clashed.

“Victory everlasting!”

The crowd responded with thunderous voices, their piercing gazes exuding a force that seemed enough to push back the opposing blades.

Arthur loosened his wrist and sheathed his sword.

He knew—that was enough.

The black knight tossed his cloak, once again concealing dignity and grandeur beneath a veil of silence.

Everyone put away their weapons, eyes fixed on the sacred radiance left by the Emperor, filled with unshakable resolve to win.

“One day of preparation.”

From now on, anything morale-related—just let that guy handle it.

“Inquisitor Aglaea may rearrange her personnel as needed. Our ships also need time to receive.”

“Understood!”

Aglaea straightened her back and raised her head, just like a soldier standing for inspection.

“My lord!”

She stepped up to Arthur and respectfully handed over an I-shaped insignia.

“Thank you for your magnanimity and mercy. This is a soul-anchoring mark. It allows you to lock onto my soul at any time.”

It was a badge she received back when she worked as a recorder in the Source Archives, before becoming an Inquisitor.

The Roman numeral I signified she was the first of her batch of agents.

By normal procedure, this would’ve gone to her successor—her apprentice.

But now, Aglaea instinctively felt this was the right thing to give.

“If I ever fall to corruption, you may take my life without hesitation.”

Aglaea spoke plainly, as though taking even one extra second of a knight’s time would be sacrilege.

Arthur’s earlier action had given her a chance to live.

After all, a psyker prone to emotional instability was incredibly dangerous—especially when said psyker was an Inquisitor. Just look at her mentor. Look how much chaos he caused.

Of course, normally, an average person couldn't possibly execute an Inquisitor.

But the problem was—no one here was average.

The Mechanicus sage only cared about threat level.

The Black Templars already had beef with the Inquisition and outright hated psykers—any excuse to chop this witch would’ve thrilled them.

So in the eyes of everyone present, Arthur had vouched for her. And she could not tarnish the honor of the ancient warriors.

“Very well.”

Arthur reached out and took the insignia.

Golden light flared.

“There it is again.”

Rameses muttered under his breath, silently activating the safe house to shield Aglaea’s Warp projection.

“Thank you, my lord!”

Aglaea retreated, overwhelmed with a peace she had never felt before.

“Psshh~”

Karna suddenly felt like the grape in his mouth wasn’t sweet anymore.

Kind of sour, actually.

How was this Arthur kid so damn lucky?

A custom weapon was one thing, but now he’s got his own personal trinket? Like they didn’t know what that “I” meant, even if the “locals” didn’t—clearly the Emperor was slipping him a little something on the side.

He’s the only Dark Angel on this ship.

And them? If it hadn’t been for Arthur, the three of them wouldn’t even have gotten a gun from the Cadians.

The Emperor plays favorites!

Arthur’s always got that cool aloof vibe, line after line of badass speeches. Why couldn’t the three of them be that smooth?

And what’s with the Emperor anyway—how is he still this edgy after tens of thousands of years?

“My lord, I hope to lead the Inquisitorial guard to your ship after this.”

Aglaea respectfully requested Romulus.

“Of course.”

“The cruiser has already docked, stationed between the Nicole and the Ark. The xenos spoils you've acquired will also be exchanged for consumables.”

Cawl, watching Aglaea step away, added calmly.

“Thanks.”

Romulus nodded, then prepared to lead the group away.

CLANG!

Just as they began to move, the warrior who’d taken a tox-crystal to the face earlier tried to take a step—only to stumble, then drop to his knees, bracing on them.

Right in front of everyone.

“Elder!”

The three Sharks cried out and rushed forward in a panic, clumsily trying to support him.

They looked like their world had collapsed.

“...”

Tyberos, still carrying the drooling Governor, froze silently.

For a moment, Romulus thought his gaze toward the three Sharks was like he was looking at dead men.

“He’s not in mortal danger.”

Romulus spoke calmly, with a presence that matched the air of command he displayed in battle.

He wasn’t alarmed—his monitoring of the Imperial Fist’s condition hadn’t triggered any alerts.

‘Looks like I’ll need to add a status anomaly module later.’

So he thought.

“...I see.”

Tyberos nodded.

The suffocating pressure instantly dissipated.

Plak.

The Son of Dorn removed his helmet, revealing a slightly aged face.

His cropped hair and eyebrows were already pure white.

On his stone-carved expression, the lingering puncture wound at the bottom of his cheek looked especially savage.

From his enhanced perspective, Cawl locked onto the corroded scar tissue.

“Do you have sufficient medical resources?”

Cawl’s curiosity was piqued.

Romulus paused to weigh his options.

They had created a body that was undoubtedly that of an Imperial Fist—there was no doubt. They could even edit the aging rate of the body’s cells.

But accepting a check-up meant exposing this warrior’s entire biological structure to Cawl’s scrutiny.

When Romulus had used the template, he’d avoided choosing any Primaris warriors created by the Great Sage Cawl due to the timeline—but for combat efficiency, he’d used flawless gene-seed.

In this age, after the rapid recruitment during the Siege of Terra, the extinction in the War of the Beast, and a rebuild using members from the Fist Exemplars, the Imperial Fists had lost both the Sus-an Membrane and the Betcher’s Gland out of the 19 Astartes surgical procedures.

And even among their successor Chapters, some organs had begun to mutate over time—gene flaws that made certain organs malfunction.

So a fully intact Imperial Fist?

Aside from what this Great Sage had in storage—or some unnamed thief’s “collection”—you’d only find them during the Great Crusade era.

Would revealing that fact be a good thing?

Of course.

Just the existence of gene-seed in perfect 30k condition would be enough to prove their identity.

“We don’t have an Apothecary. Arthur usually handles retrieval.”

Romulus replied.

Since they were all flesh-based, if something broke, they just swapped it. Romulus never planned on maintaining them—he’d figured he’d assign someone to that job after establishing a Chapter homeworld and start mass-producing troops.

But now, this unexpected situation made a pretty decent excuse.