Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 210 - 211: Eden – Oh No, I’ve Been Targeted by the Cosmic Troll!

The Warp.

Tzeentch's consciousness spread at an astonishing speed.

It sought to follow the remnants of causal threads to locate the kin of the Cursed One.

Many of these threads were still connected to the material world.

Tracing them to their endpoints would allow Tzeentch to pinpoint the exact location of the Cursed One's kin.

The anticipation was palpable.

After all, the Architect of Fate could hardly wait to weave a chaotic and tragic destiny for that little so-called Savior.

...

Throne Square.

Eden leaned on his greatsword, resting against the wreckage of a heavy tank.

Phew, he was drained.

No surprise there—first he had fought Harris, then he had hacked his way through demons. The continuous high-intensity combat had taken a serious toll on his stamina.

He had lost count of how many demons he had slain.

At this point, he had cut through the entire square from one end to the other multiple times.

Mowing them down was exhilarating, but the stamina drain was no joke.

Now, the battle to purge the demons had come to an end.

A handful of demons had managed to escape, but it wasn't a major issue.

The Inquisition would handle the extermination efforts in the aftermath.

Meanwhile, the Departmento Munitorum's logistics division was busy tallying battlefield resources, salvaging anything that could still be repurposed.

The wounded had been gathered in a designated safe zone.

Sisters Hospitaller moved swiftly among them, their gentle hands tending to the wounded warriors with practiced care.

At the same time, a massive cleanup crew of tens of thousands entered the battlefield.

These specialists were trained to handle the aftermath of Warp incursions, providing a full suite of services: high-temperature cleansing, ash purification, and mass exorcisms.

Most of them were hulking men, clad in tight-fitting orange-yellow protective suits with gas masks, bearing the insignia of the Purification Corps on their chests.

Their emblem depicted a pair of crossed cleaning gloves cradling a contaminated skull.

At that moment, the leader of the Purification Corps was addressing his men:

"What's our motto?"

The burly workers stood tall and roared in unison:

"Eliminate contamination, leave no trace!"

The leader nodded approvingly.

"Get to work!"

Immediately, the workers dispersed, setting about their tasks to methodically cleanse the battlefield.

The Corps had undergone several rounds of equipment upgrades, outfitting them with an array of heavy-duty cleansing apparatuses.

These machines, blessed by the Ecclesiarchy, were deployed across Throne Square, flashing red-and-blue warning lights as sacred hymns echoed through the air.

Some workers operated high-temperature incinerators, while others sprayed disinfectant infused with mild restorative properties over the warriors and their equipment.

Others were tasked with packaging and sealing contaminants, or performing purification rites and exorcisms.

Everything was handled with meticulous professionalism.

The goal: to eliminate every trace of corruption left behind.

Sizzle—

Flames roared.

The glow of the fire illuminated the face of Big Barrel, who was deeply focused on his craft.

His expression was resolute, a pink apron tied around his waist, his movements fluid and confident.

Every stir of the wok reflected his passion for cooking and his relentless pursuit of perfection.

With practiced skill, he masterfully controlled the fire, stir-frying ingredients with a blend of alchemical potions and spices.

Inside the wok, the ingredients danced under the intense heat, swiftly changing color as they released a mouthwatering aroma.

This was his moment of glory.

Big Barrel poured his heart and soul into preparing an unparalleled delicacy for the Savior!

"Smells amazing..."

Eden took a deep breath, savoring the aroma.

The culinary skills were undeniably top-tier.

It was, after all, a cooking style Eden had personally taught Big Barrel—though limited to frying simple Karcan eggs, which could be stretched into a massive dish.

Everything beyond that was entirely Big Barrel's own creative development. He had surpassed the master.

Suddenly, Eden's expression changed as he spotted something. He hurriedly urged, "Hurry it up! The cleanup crew is getting close."

"Oh, right! Almost done!"

Big Barrel was technically breaking the rules by cooking here, and he didn't want to disrupt the Purification Corps' work.

The Savior's urging made him a little nervous.

He swiftly twisted the valve, sending a column of fire shooting several meters into the air, increasing his stir-frying speed.

Moments later, he extinguished the flames and transferred the food into a metal container.

With great care, Big Barrel presented the dish to Eden:

"Savior, please enjoy my 'Spicy Stir-Fried Flesh Hound Whip and Brass Bull Tendons!'"

Eden took a bite and immediately praised, "Not bad! This is seriously delicious."

Perhaps it was the ingredients, but Big Barrel's cooking was even better than the master chefs at the Spire Palace.

The precisely prepared, high-heat stir-frying process had perfectly preserved the meat's tenderness and elasticity, resulting in a dish with an incredibly unique flavor.

"As long as you like it, Savior!"

Big Barrel was overjoyed at Eden's praise, his hands fumbling awkwardly in excitement.

Eden continued eating, replenishing his energy with demon meat.

Then, suddenly—

An inexplicable sense of dread gripped his heart.

The delicious meal in his mouth instantly lost all its flavor.

Damn it! Can't I catch a break?!

A terrifying presence had locked onto him.

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A presence that felt all too familiar.

Eden swallowed his food with difficulty, exhaling slowly to steady himself.

A terrible realization struck him, sending chills down his spine.

It was Tzeentch.

Over a decade ago, in Yosef's laboratory, he had once caught a fleeting glimpse of Tzeentch's illusions—across an unfathomable distance.

Even then, the sight had shaken him to his core. The memory of that presence had never left him.

And now, it wasn't just an illusion.

This time, the actual Changer of Ways had taken direct interest in him.

In the Infernal Galaxy, those marked by Tzeentch rarely met a good end.

Their fates were rewritten, their hopes twisted into nothingness, leading them down a road of despair and chaos until they destroyed themselves.

Even Tzeentch's most loyal servants were treated no differently.

One moment, a follower would be granted infinite knowledge and power; the next, Tzeentch would whimsically strip them of everything, leaving them to suffer the cruelest fate.

To Tzeentch, all life was merely a pawn, something to be discarded at a moment's notice.

The Lord of Change was the ultimate trickster god, a master of grand cosmic pranks.

The other Chaos Gods, as evil as they were, at least pursued their own goals.

Tzeentch? Tzeentch cared only for the spectacle.

For the sheer chaotic fun of it.

He would manipulate allies, betray his own followers, and even sabotage his own long-laid plans—just to enjoy the resulting madness.

Because self-sabotage was, in itself, another form of chaos.

Eden would rather deal with any of the other Chaos Gods than have anything to do with this cosmic troll.

Even pledging allegiance to Chaos had a hierarchy of benefits:

Khorne: Acknowledges your strength, gives you full resurrection perks and badass brass armor.

Slaanesh: Grants you peak physical enhancements and eternal pleasure (with a side of extra... appendages).

Nurgle: Ugly as hell, but at least he loves his followers like a father.

And then there's Tzeentch: "Orphan."

Eden's expression darkened.

This was bad. Really bad.

If Tzeentch found him, his future would be nothing but an endless nightmare of uncertainty and torment.

His entire domain would be at risk.

The chaos would consume everything.

Eden felt the presence drawing ever closer.

Without hesitation, he projected his consciousness into the Warp.

"Old man, HELP!"

(End of Chapter)

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