Chapter 18: You Should Count Yourself Lucky I'm Not You

Alex silently gazed at the Emperor’s Angel, meeting his piercing, sword-like stare that seemed capable of cutting through everything.

He did not look away.

“I trust you, Commissar.”

The oppressive tension dissipated.

The brief standoff ended quickly. Arthur raised his head and looked each warrior in the eye.

Suddenly, he felt that there was still hope in this world.

Perhaps that hope would eventually fade amid endless wars and suspicion, but for now—in this very moment—

Arthur sincerely wished for it to endure alongside the lives of these men.

“I believe in every one of you,” he declared loudly.

“Therefore, the Emperor will not let his warriors die amidst the celebrations of victory or on the path toward the next triumph.”

Arthur could not understand nor accept the Empire’s ruthless intolerance of any threat, to the point of indiscriminately annihilating anything that had touched or might have touched Chaos.

“The path of sacrifice for humanity may be short or it may be long,”

“But—”

Arthur removed his helmet, revealing an exceptionally youthful face framed by slightly long golden hair. His clear blue eyes swept across everyone present.

All breaths caught in their throats. Through those deep eyes, they seemed to see a red dragon, its flames and claws reined in.

“No matter how long it lasts, I, Arthur Pendragon,”

He clenched his right fist and struck his chest hard,

“will walk alongside you to witness a glorious death.”

Arthur’s thought was simple: he did not want these warriors to just die, falling into the Warp to be consumed by demons.

He hoped these soldiers could live, fulfill the duties they intended to devote their lives to, and then find the rest they deserved.

“For the Emperor, for humanity.”

“For the Emperor, for humanity!”

“That is true loyalty.”

Garna murmured quietly, moved by the unwavering loyalty these Astral Marines held for the Emperor.

As for their hammer-wielding comrades...

He bit into a chicken wing, glancing sideways at the two crouched before the astrolabe, unsure what they were doing.

They were loyal when asked, but wouldn’t come when called.

“So, did you manage to complete the prayer? Can’t these mutations be studied gradually? Why rush in headfirst, when they could first undergo surgery to replace limbs with mechanical prosthetics to save their lives?”

In the shadows, Romulus punched Rameses on the head.

“Don’t you think this atmosphere is fitting? It’s not conflicting at all. It’s just gathering everyone together to try something, so why not?”

Rameses adjusted his slightly askew mask.

“By the way, how is Arthur so good at this? I wanted to ask at the meeting—where did he learn such a charismatic way of speaking?”

“Focus.”

Romulus slapped the helmet again.

Thanks to the psychic null field, their noisy antics in the corner went unnoticed.

“It’s almost over on their side.”

“Don’t worry, it should be fine. At worst, the Emperor won’t respond, but no one will die. With my strength in the Warp, anyone below a Greater Demon who comes will die.”

Rameses held the astrolabe used to observe the Warp, displaying a mysterious confidence in his operation.

“Should be?”

Romulus ignored the cautious emphasis that followed.

“It’s my first time operating this. How can I be sure? Let’s say an 80-20 split—80% chance it works.”

Rameses carefully monitored the Warp’s fluctuations, striving to amplify every element belonging to the Emperor.

From a practical standpoint, even though the Great Rift had yet to open and various eldritch horrors remained hidden from the Empire’s citizens, the Emperor’s influence in the real universe certainly would not be weaker than that of the Four Gods.

The ubiquitous state religion was not merely for show.

“If Chaos rituals can attract the Four Gods, why can’t prayers summon the Emperor? It’s discrimination against the Emperor!”

“Hopefully so.”

Romulus was not fond of such sudden attacks. While trust among comrades was necessary—and besides, they were not the type to scream about casualties immediately after being ambushed—the feeling of being unprepared was unpleasant.

He looked resentfully at Arthur surrounded by people, worried a few Astral Marines might explode, unleashing a horde of demons.

Arthur himself was surprisingly indifferent to Rameses’ approach.

Let Rameses pray if he wanted; if it summoned the Emperor, that was good. If not, they would still take care of the Astral Marines.

Either way, Arthur intended no pretense. Most of the Astral Marines were severely mutated, many barely able to stand. If Garna hadn’t previously scanned the prosthetic data from the Mechanicus, Arthur wouldn’t have much confidence.

“At least try more, do as much as possible.”

After sending the commissar and the colonel to the sisters to tend the wounded and preliminarily inspect and classify areas needing amputation, Arthur summoned the tech-priest accompanying the army.

These Mechanicus priests, devoted to Omnissiah, formed another backbone of the Empire. From the smallest military units to the vast warships patrolling space, nearly all came from forge worlds under their control.

“I do not recommend this, my lord,”

The tech-priest, clad in orange robes, advised when Arthur proposed the cybernetic modifications.

“Most of them are not elite individuals qualified to receive mechanical prostheses. Statistically, even among elites, the vast majority will never repay this mechanical blessing to Omnissiah before death.”

“Of course, I do not suggest you destroy these individuals. From a more economical perspective, they should be transformed into servitors to continue serving Omnissiah...”

How could human lips utter such cold words?

Arthur took a deep breath, reminding himself this was the nature of Warhammer—this world’s Mechanicus viewed humanity this way. Soon, they would rely on these priests for the soldiers’ mechanization.

He restrained the urge to punch the priest into the next life, sending him to meet Omnissiah.

The tech-priest wisely ceased speaking.

“You should consider yourself fortunate that I am not you,”

Arthur stared at the priest, whose lower body had already been replaced by a spider-like power skeleton.

“I still retain reverence for human life and dignity, which is why you can stand here intact.”

“Yet, I also do not wish to be forced, by abnormal factors, to judge a priest as an alien or other entity unworthy of being called human.”

The tech-priest fell silent, the cooling pipes trembling slightly from overload betraying his tension.

“The mechanical components for modifications will be provided.”

Behind him, Romulus spoke in a low voice, “You only need to obey orders.”

The tech-priest nodded immediately.