This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“So, what now? Are we still going to do that safe house or not?”

The four of them had left the warehouse and found a random corner to finish their final prep.

“I think it’s pricey, sure—but in the end, it’s still a way to protect humanity. Until we find a more affordable option, we have to go with it.”

Just like many projects they knew of in the past—even if they were a net loss in terms of construction costs—they still had to be done for the people. Life wasn’t something you could simply measure in monetary value.

Romulus thought for a moment.

“Alright. From now on, we’ll set aside five percent of the souls we collect to expand the safe house, until it can accommodate the natural death population of an entire Hive World.”

They still had ambition. After securing their first bucket of gold, the next step would be resolving their identity issues. Once that was handled, they could go build themselves a recruitment world to grow on.

After all, with the strength they had, they weren’t lacking in gear or production capacity—they lacked massive Void fleets and the people to wield all that gear.

So a stable world, one not plagued by Chaos, was essential to them.

“I’ll go check the star-message transmissions in the Warp. I’ll keep bugging Old Man E. I’ll also switch locations for baiting daemons—if we can’t get in touch with Old Man E, maybe we can try stuffing a daemon in instead. I’ll fill out the codex entries too… Man, why do I feel like I’ve got so much to do.”

“Mhm, Rammy, your task’s a bit heavier. We’re counting on you.”

“No prob, I’m actually pretty into it.”

For now, Rameses was the only one in contact with the Warp. Until they were sure how dangerous it was, they didn’t need a second transmigrator taking that risk.

This was a mutual agreement among the four.

“I’ll take care of internal operations and diplomacy for the group, and start getting familiar with battlefield command—Arthur.”

“You’re in charge of frontline combat and squad-level command. Also, keep studying Space Marine knowledge, and seriously dig into your combat potential. Theoretically risky stuff falls on us. You keep an eye on all of us at all times.”

Arthur had always been the steady one, and he cared a lot about winning or losing, so his thinking wasn’t particularly outside the box. Back when they used to play games together, Arthur was the one who cleaned up when the rest were screwing around.

And now—

Romulus glanced at Rameses, who already seemed to be bursting with weird ideas again.

—this role was more necessary than ever.

“Got it.”

Arthur nodded.

The biggest risk between them now was their own abilities and Warp contact. Until they confirmed both were safe, he had no interest in getting involved.

Rameses’ chaotic playstyle just wasn’t something he could imitate.

“Welp, I’m gonna wander?”

Seeing that there wasn’t anything for him to do right now, Garna said straightforwardly.

“Yeah, you go ahead.”

Romulus looked indifferent.

It wasn’t like Garna wasn’t contributing. As the guy with an observer’s perspective, his job was to collect overlooked information from unnoticed angles and help piece everything together afterward.

Back when they were playing wingman for their dorm mate, it was Garna who’d gone out to gather info and fill in the gaps.

“We’ve got thirty minutes of free time to get familiar, then we officially start.”

Romulus clapped his hands after assigning tasks.

“Alright, dismissed!”

“Copy that.”

Everyone scattered, quickly slipping into their roles, looking every bit the pros.

To be fair, this really wasn’t hard for them.

Back in the day, they did all this just to make life a little better.

Now, they were doing it to survive.

In the spacious chamber, the three finally calmed their nerves and began carefully inspecting the weapons.

They weren’t shy at all about claiming the best gear first—after all, the Imperium’s regulations clearly stated that leadership at the company level and above had authority over war spoils if no higher-ranking officers were present.

Everyone knew the Departmento Munitorum’s logistics capabilities. Without these rights, half of the Astra Militarum would starve, and the rest would probably be left fighting with bayonets.

But after a thorough inspection, they were overcome with serious self-doubt.

Were these weapons really something they deserved to carry?

“These weapons… they’re on another level.”

Kovek swallowed as he picked up a power weapon.

Though it lacked the widespread religious symbols popular since the Age of Apostasy, the ornate classical designs and etched patterns...

Even the most loaded planetary governors who came to see him usually didn’t have a sword like this on them.

“‘Another level’—even calling them that is practically blasphemy.”

“Apologies, Canoness.”

“No harm done.”

Arabella shook her head slightly. She wasn’t one of those rabid reliquary guardians from the Sanctum Sanctorum—she just wanted to correct the terminology.

The loyalty and valor of the Cadians earned her respect. Not just any mortal could react so swiftly after losing all their heavy weapons to an ambush by xenos daemons, holding the central elevator until Astartes reinforcements arrived.

As for what happened to the weak—

The Savlar Chem-Dogs, now just decor on the lower deck, had the most to say about that.

“These are sacred relics, legacies left to us from the Imperium’s most glorious era.”

Arabella walked to the supplies the Angels had prepared for the Sisters.

She recognized gear similar to the feedback-enhanced power armor used by Battle Sisters, and knelt reverently in prayer, recounting the origins of the equipment.

“Beside the golden-armored Custodes near the God-Emperor, there were always silent Sisters, dragging any approaching horrors into the abyss of silence.”

“But I’ve never seen them.”

The Commissar recalled his debriefing trip back to Terra.

The Emperor’s Custodes weren’t that hard to catch a glimpse of—you could see their noble, imposing figures at the palace gates.

But...

The Commissar’s expression turned a little odd.

Truthfully, he had mixed feelings about the Custodes who made him recite the name of every street on Terra out front of the palace.

“Of course you haven’t seen them.”

Arabella gently caressed the silvered holy armor. In her usually calm, rational eyes, a rare flicker of fanaticism appeared.

“When they fought for the Imperium, He still walked among mortals.”

Kovek seemed to recall something after hearing her story.

He stepped in front of one of the suits of armor and examined it closely—only to find that any date-related info had been deliberately wiped clean.

His eyes widened.

“Kovek, don’t overthink it.”

A hand landed on his shoulder—Alex’s steady voice followed.

“Put on your gear, follow orders. Fighting to the death is our duty.”

He pulled a finely crafted power sword from the armory. Without hesitation, he strapped it to his waist, right over the spot where the serial number had been intentionally scrubbed away.

“Some things are not ours to think about.”