This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“Your will, my lord.”

Captain Aurora grew more and more surprised.

This ship—the Dawn—its machine spirit had always been distant and aloof. It never responded so proactively, and not throwing a tantrum over being renamed was already a blessing. This kind of response was unheard of.

Still carrying her confusion, and guided by the servitors, Aurora led Romulus and his group into the bridge, which was filled with the stylistic decor of the Mechanicus.

“My lord, here are the files of all acting personnel on this ship and their service records. Please let me know if you'd like to make any changes.”

Once the Emperor’s Angels were seated, Aurora handed over a detailed list, with a faint hint of unease in her eyes.

Romulus accepted the files, his superhuman memory quickly absorbing the contents as he flipped through them much faster than any normal human.

“No need, everyone keeps their current roles. But I do want a full report on the ship’s functions, and matching personal records as well.”

Romulus said.

“Understood, my lord.”

Aurora let out a breath of relief.

Even though it seemed like the Angel did intend to get involved with the ship’s personnel, the fact that he wanted to understand the situation first was already a good sign.

“However, I do have a few requirements.”

“Please speak, my lord.”

Her tone held less nervousness now, replaced with a bit more confidence.

“We’ll see them done.”

Aurora had expected that the change in ownership would lead to changes in policy—she was mentally prepared.

“First, our Chapter will be updating the dietary standards for all crew aboard the ship. This is the list. We’ll be installing new food production modules, which your Tech-Priests can help verify for feasibility.”

Romulus handed over a form that had been prepared in advance.

“Second, the Chapter will be distributing a type of medication capable of curing most occupational illnesses related to void travel. It can be tested by the medical department first for safety, but it must be distributed to everyone.”

Aurora carefully reviewed the categories on the form. It noted that the medicine was processed from high-concentration nutrient fluids using conversion modules.

She knew the Imperium had food conversion tech—capable of transforming corpse starch or nutrient fluid into food virtually indistinguishable in taste and appearance from organic meals.

But this tech was incredibly expensive. Even a single-user module was priced like a small fortress.

Real nobles ate organic all the time—whatever they wanted, they just bought it fresh. As for the rest of the population, they didn’t have the luxury of being picky. Being able to eat unexpired nutrient paste was already a blessing.

At best, a few high-ranking Navy officers might try to get their hands on it. So there was no way this tech could be adopted widely across the Imperium.

As for void occupational illnesses—honestly, the Imperium didn’t give a d*mn.

Senior officers had full medical departments backing them, and the lives of servitors and tech-workers were dirt cheap. Every port they stopped at had stockpiles of these lives in the billions.

Worrying about their health was less important than making sure the defense force had enough weapons for the next rebellion.

“Thank you for your mercy, my lord!”

Aurora looked at the document and couldn’t help but feel genuinely happy for the bottom-tier tech-workers.

These weren’t demands—these were *benefits*.

Of course she was happy. If the lower classes were living better, they’d stop thinking about rebelling, and management wouldn’t have to deal with extra work.

Every time there was a rebellion—especially one in the Warp—it scared the entire ship to death.

“Also, please send someone to help. The equipment’s already in the cargo craft. Our warriors will oversee its transport, installation, and distribution.”

Romulus raised a hand, and two Space Marines stepped out from the team behind him.

“Understood.”

Aurora immediately sent personnel to assist.

Thankfully, the Sages of the Mechanicus were always efficient—they were used to working at this pace.

“Now for the next request.”

Romulus took out another detailed document.

“I want your crew to organize a team of workers to designate areas for constructing churches and spreading the Ecclesiarchal faith. The plans are included—you can adapt them to fit the situation, but each area must be able to perform its intended function.”

This was something Romulus had planned a long time ago. He’d gone through plenty of Imperial data and had drawn up multiple plans.

But after observing both the Devouring Sharks and Mechanicus fleets, he decided to go with the conservative option—confirming the church-school prototype. With Sisters overseeing it, things should stay stable.

The Imperium couldn’t be trusted—its ability to mobilize the lower classes had been outpaced by the Ecclesiarchy long ago, ever since the Age of Apostasy.

As for faith, according to Rameses, ten thousand years ago if you mentioned the Ecclesiarchy you were basically signing your death warrant—because the Emperor could literally show up with a fleet and nuke those freakish creatures in real life.

But this was the 41st millennium. The Emperor was welded to a toilet and couldn’t come down. The Ecclesiarchy’s faith was the only real protection humanity had left. If you still believed in Imperial Truth, *you* were the crazy one.

Aurora accepted the blueprints, admiring the architectural design of the church—and then gaped at the welfare listed for the workers.

“Also, from now on, sourcing materials for servitors will be handled by us. No servitor modifications are allowed without our approval.”

Looks like these lords really cared about mortals.

“I understand, my lord.”

Aurora knew this signal had to be sent loud and clear—otherwise some idiot who didn’t know what was going on might screw up the Angels’ orders.

“The Canoness will go with you.”

Romulus then turned to Arabella.

“Sister Arabella, I hope the Sisters can conduct a census of all children under 12 on the ship. Then establish a parish mess hall where they can eat regularly and be introduced to the Ecclesiarchal faith.”

The Imperium’s infrastructure and efficiency were incredibly high—especially on Mechanicus ships. As long as they had enough raw materials, completely overhauling an area in a day was no big deal.

This ridiculous empire always existed in a quantum state of being both hyper-advanced and utterly primitive.

“Yes, my lord.”

Arabella understood. They couldn’t contribute much in terms of combat, so these logistical details were things they had to help the saints take care of.

“I’ll handle the preparations myself. Canoness, please come with me.”

Aurora excused herself and invited Canoness Arabella to go with her.

After that, Romulus dismissed the various officers and walked with Rameses to the antechamber of the bridge.

From here, one could view the entire star system through the bridge windows. Looking down, they could see the surveillance footage of those exhausted yet still trudging people.

Of course Romulus wanted to improve the environment of this warship. After all, the Imperium’s average work hours could make colonial-era Britain look lazy.

But he hadn’t taken the time to fully investigate the ecosystem of the ship, so he wouldn’t recklessly mess with it. He’d just try to raise the general living standard for now.

Of course, even if future investigations revealed all kinds of problems, Romulus wouldn’t give up.

Because he knew well the truth of: “If you can’t clean a single house, how can you hope to clean the world?”

If they couldn’t even manage a single Tyrant-class cruiser with around ten thousand people, then they had no business trying to handle a planet—or an empire.