This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“Serving you is the sacred mission granted to me by the Omnissiah.”

Because within the Mechanicus there exists a significant faction that worships the Emperor as the Omnissiah’s representative in the mortal realm, Astartes—being one of the Emperor’s creations—are seen by many tech-priests, especially gene-priests, as holy and untouchable beings.

They are the Emperor’s creation, the pinnacle fusion of genetic engineering and the divine power of the Omnissiah.

Of course, this reverence doesn’t stop them from occasionally using their imagination during gene-seed cultivation.

While this particular tech-priest wasn’t one of those, he still held the proper reverence.

Especially when faced with an Astartes whose body was unusually massive and had single-handedly wiped out a Chaos Terminator in one-on-one combat.

Since even that Ultramarine had agreed to cover the cost of the surgical materials, refusing now would be a death wish.

Did he want to die?

Of course not.

The tech-priest then ordered the guards at the augmetic warehouse to open the compartment storing prosthetics, eager to witness the fine craftsmanship from other Forge Worlds.

And then he just stared at the replacement prosthetics in stunned silence.

This model, this quality, and this precision...

Watching the Sisters continue stamping purity seals onto the limbs, the tech-priest had to fight the urge to stop these foolish fanatics from ruining their perfect structure.

There were just too many.

He could practically use these augmetics to turn a group of serfs into a militant force on par with an Astra Militarum infantry regiment.

Had Ryza-III exported this many augmetics?

Picking up a stamped respiratory augmetic at random, the tech-priest began to cut it with a surgical blade under the horrified stares of the Astra Militarum. His electro-eyes, full of questions, stared intently at the warehouse full of parts, and his multiple arms moved with fluid precision like it had been rehearsed countless times.

In less than thirty seconds, the soldier was off the table, looking confused, escorted by the Sisters.

Don’t be surprised—these gearheads’ mechadendrites could operate with atomic-level precision. For them, surgery was as simple as cutting and connecting.

“Looks like he’s pretty experienced.”

Arthur let out a breath of relief.

“That’s because they were scanned from his own body. Oh, and his little treasure stash too,”

Romulus replied seriously.

To make sure they had the full range of parts, Garna had scanned the gearheads’ inventory while he was at it.

If they hadn’t even bothered to tweak the production codes a little, this tech-priest might’ve started questioning his entire existence.

“Sorry,”

Arthur said to Romulus, “I made the decision on my own.”

“What are you saying? Honestly, we’re short on people, not gear. These Astra Militarum are valuable combat strength. Whether it’s helping out in future conflicts or competing for influence with allies through force... uh, why does saving lives sound so calculating all of a sudden.”

Romulus smacked his own forehead in frustration.

“Anyway, what’s wrong with saving lives?”

Arthur acted, and it worked because he had a plan. The rest of them couldn’t come up with a decent justification on the spot.

After all, in an Imperium steeped in religious fanaticism and death worship, you can’t just say: “It’s too tragic for you to die like this. We don’t want you to die. Please live.”

Say that, and these Astra Militarum would probably kill themselves on the spot.

But Arthur’s whole approach—offering dignity, boosting morale, and giving them a noble path forward—was perfect for drawing these troops in.

After all, no loyal Imperial warrior would refuse the honor of dying alongside Astartes on the battlefield.

“But to be honest, I’m not optimistic about their future.”

Arthur looked at the soldiers reborn with the help of augmetics.

He’d said all the right things, but the problem still had to be dealt with.

“If we can’t cure the Warp’s influence on their minds, then corruption under Chaos is just a matter of time.”

Unless the Four couldn’t afford to show up directly, Chaos corruption wasn’t always violent—it was more like a constant, subtle whisper.

Strong-willed people might not fall easily, but they’d still be bombarded with whispers, or illusions that subtly gnaw at the senses. Over time, they’d fall naturally.

Even elite units like the Voskani Heavy Infantry were eventually corrupted during prolonged conflict with Chaos, and during a joint military parade with Cadia, they assassinated the then-Fortress Commander of Cadia.

“When that time comes, like I said before—dying on the battlefield is their best possible ending.”

“Agreed,”

Romulus nodded with a grim expression.

“This world’s methods for resisting the Warp’s influence are just too harsh.”

Death—especially battlefield death—was a sad end for transmigrators.

It was hard to imagine, but out of the few thousand people still alive on this ship, probably less than five would live to old age.

And death was only the beginning.

Unlike Space Marines, who could reach the Golden Throne by staying loyal and dying for the Emperor, mortals like Astra Militarum—unless they were literal living saints or fanatically devout Sisters—would go straight into the Warp when they died.

If they were lucky, the Emperor might sense them and pull them out.

Average luck? They’d linger in ignorance for a while, then fade naturally.

Unlucky? Straight into a daemon’s belly.

And with how the Warp was right now, a soul entering naked like that was basically bad luck guaranteed.

There’s only one Emperor, but four Chaos Gods.

The Four always have their hands in your pockets. If you can keep even a little bit of your soul from being ripped out, you’re already doing great.

Arthur fell into brief thought, recalling all the theoretical ways to resist Warp influence.

The C’tan—the physical manifestations of cosmic laws—naturally created extremely stable real-space zones around them that blocked out the Warp.

But the C’tan were on the same level as the Four Gods. Unless someone like the Emperor showed up and asked “Do I look like a man or a god?”, they could be ignored.

Then there were the three methods used by the Eldar.

Dark Eldar absorbed the spiritual energy of other races to survive, relying on absurdly advanced tech to avoid true death.

Craftworld Eldar used soulstones to protect their souls, which would enter an eternal circuit built of wraithbone within the Craftworlds after death.

Exodite Eldar lived on worlds with world-spirits, merging into those spirits after death.

Of course, the simplest way was for the Emperor to notice you before the Four snatched you, and for you to be worth His effort to save.

So there were plenty of ways... but all of them were pretty demanding.

“By the Emperor!”

A sudden cry broke Arthur’s train of thought.

It was light!

Arthur turned around—only to see golden, sacred light radiating from the Astra Militarum soldiers.

The Emperor? When did He get here?