This Is Our Warhammer Journey

Inside the completely destroyed arena, the broken corpses of the Deathwatch Space Marines had already been gathered and neatly arranged in the wide corridor.

The Sisters chanted hymns in low voices, covering the bodies with ceremonial robes torn from their own garments, and then lit the flames.

In this time of crisis, there were no grand monasteries or choirs to bear witness to these warriors’ deaths.

After some thought, Arthur placed his obviously sacred relic-looking power sword and shield atop an altar built from inscribed pauldrons.

“Emperor, Lord, I beg you to shape me into the tool of your welcome.”

“Your servant does not fear death, nor daemons, for the Emperor will come to claim him.”

“Grant me the righteous path home, grant me the blazing path home.”

“Let me be the wind of your command, scattering your foes.”

The Canoness’s clear and devout voice dispersed the crimson miasma.

Ash and flame swirled, forming what looked like a molten golden river flowing toward the altar.

The surrounding Sisters, seeing this, had their eyes lit with renewed faith. They lowered their gazes to cover their glowing eyes and continued chanting with even more piety.

Yep, the Emperor’s stirring.

Arthur wasn’t surprised as he watched the molten golden fire consume his blade and shield.

The Warp was never fully under the Four Gods' control. Compared to the current disputes within the Imperium about the Emperor’s nature, transmigrators like them had a much more comprehensive understanding.

Able to absorb faith from humanity like the Four Chaos Gods, with a towering projection in the Warp like them, and a vast divine domain called the Golden Throne—the Emperor was no different.

In the future, once the Great Rift tore across the galaxy, the Emperor, just like the Four Gods, would be able to send the Grey Knights into the material world at will. And thanks to the depth of human faith in him, it would actually be easier for him than for the Four Gods.

Well, if the Emperor says he’s not a god, then he’s not. Whatever he says is right.

Arthur maintained a silent gaze to pay tribute to the warriors who had fought to the death, waiting quietly for the flames to subside. His sword and shield had already been coated in a matte black sheen from the smelting.

“Hmph!”

The Blood God, who was watching the Great Game, noticed the actions of the cursed one.

He didn’t care.

Because He was angry.

A strange sense of having missed something made His already furious mind even more violent. It felt exactly like those warriors who’d once accepted His blessing but ended up walking toward the Golden Throne.

He slammed the armrest of His Brass Throne, toppling towers of skulls and sending blood rain pouring from the sky.

In the Realm of Chaos, the stakes of the Great Game had once again been raised.

Clank~

Arthur stepped forward and picked up the sword and shield, now muted in appearance but more refined than ever. Inside the name-inscribed pauldrons were the ashes of the warriors.

It seemed the Emperor had indeed turned His gaze toward them.

Arthur let out a breath of relief, glad he had asked the Sisters to oversee the ritual.

In this d*mn world, returning to the Golden Throne was about as good an ending as one could hope for.

Better to believe in the Emperor than fall to Chaos.

“Milord.”

Canoness Arabella spoke.

“I wish to craft reliquaries for the Angels. The reliquaries will carry their honor back to their brothers.”

“......Alright.”

Feeling that his tone had come off a bit stiff, and still not fully fluent with the language, Arthur added another sentence.

“Thank you.”

“......Thank you for the honor, milord.”

Arabella swore to the Emperor that she had never seen an Angel like this one.

Not that he was bad—just... deeply unfamiliar. Like a demigod treating you as his equal—and genuinely so.

This was soul-to-soul equality, not a polite pretense.

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, the Sisters began solemnly lifting the pauldrons containing the ashes. Wrapping them in sacred cloth, they then opened their promethium flamers.

The armor fragments melted under the high temperatures and the Sisters’ softly sung hymns, then were reshaped and carved into silver reliquaries marked with the distinct style of the Order of the Sacred Rose. Finally, the original pauldrons were embedded into each one.

“......”

The craftsmanship was excellent.

Arthur didn’t quite understand these death rituals, but he respected them.

As long as it wasn’t some bizarre skin-flaying, incense-burning nonsense involving artificial baby corpses turned into angels, he was fine with it.

At least, in Arthur’s eyes, the Order of the Sacred Rose’s rituals still felt properly sacred—not creepy.

“Does this mean the Emperor is covering for us?”

Romulus walked over and immediately noticed that Arthur’s gear had now changed to match his color scheme.

Everyone had mentally prepared for the possibility of being noticed by Warp entities.

After all, they’d landed directly into the Warp. None of them were so arrogant as to think they were chosen ones who could punch C’tan and kick Chaos Gods the moment they arrived.

If anything, for people transmigrated into the Warhammer universe, the title “Children Forsaken by Heaven” was probably more fitting.

Still, as transmigrators carrying tons of secret knowledge, the fact they had survived this long in the Warp without being corrupted by Chaos or turning into Chaos spawn was a bit unbelievable.

“No idea.”

Arthur didn’t know whether the Emperor had noticed them. He’d just wanted to give the warriors a more dignified farewell, and now one prayer later, his weapons got a new paint job.

The Emperor really did like giving people black swords.

“No issues with the field?”

No point thinking too hard, so Arthur just asked out loud.

“All done.”

Romulus shook what he was holding.

“It’s because of this guy.”

Arthur nodded and immediately felt a chill run down his spine when he noticed Romulus holding the corpse of a psyker.

“So the Gellar field generator actually burns psykers?”

“The Gellar field is essentially a psychic membrane that shields a warship in the Warp. If it doesn’t burn psykers, what else would it burn?”

Casually revealing a mystery that the Adeptus Mechanicus had been trying to unravel for ages, Romulus dropped the body to the ground, then pointed at its back.

On the skin torn open by a bolter round, the eight-pointed Chaos Star was faintly visible.

“The psyker inside the generator was tampered with. Someone had inscribed a preset summoning ritual on him—that’s why the Deathwatch guarding the field got wiped out by a sneak attack. I even checked the generator’s logs—full clearance records are there. Someone dirty is in the Administratum or Departmento Munitorum.”

“That’s not our problem right now.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. His instincts told him that this entire ship might be part of a larger conspiracy.

“The priority is getting this ship out of the Warp.”

Even though they had cleared out the enemies in the Gellar field, the ship itself was torn apart. If they couldn’t return to realspace soon, they’d end up as the next haunted derelict drifting through space.

Orks, Genestealers, daemons, mutated Imperial citizens, and Space Marines—whoever boards this ship in the future is in for one hell of a surprise.

“Exactly. Right now, our top priority is still survival.”

Romulus agreed, then called out to the Canoness.

“Sister Arabella.”

“I’m here, milord.”

“My comrade and I will return to the Navigator’s Sanctum to ensure the ship safely exits the Warp.”

Romulus spoke seriously: “Until then, I hope the Order of the Sacred Rose can take on the duty of guarding the Gellar field. The ship’s guards will assist you.”

“We will not fail, milord.”

“Thank you for your efforts.”

Offering a polite word of thanks, Romulus then led Arthur back the way they came.

“......”