Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 263 - 264 – Since We’re Here, Let’s Join the Lunar Battle!
Chapter 263 - 264 – Since We’re Here, Let’s Join the Lunar Battle!
In the edge of the Solar Sector
A fleet from Urth quietly arrived in the Solar System, slowly advancing forward.
At the forefront, under the distant sunlight, the leading warship appeared both magnificent and mysterious.
Every inch of its metal plating gleamed with a mottled golden luster, as if forged from the stars themselves, exuding a dreamlike beauty.
This was the flagship of the Great Savior—the Dreamweaver, a battleship dating back to humanity's Golden Age, possessing terrifying destructive power.
...
Savior's Sanctum, Miniature Garden
The gentle light from the artificial sun lamp shone down. The grass was lush, trees whispered in the breeze, and water trickled in a small pond, where fish could be seen idly swimming.
"Ah~ this cloned body is still the most comfortable..."
A figure of about 1.8 meters stretched lazily, feet clad in bunny-eared cotton slippers, stepping onto the grass along a small pebble path.
Eden inhaled a breath of air, as fresh as if after a rain, feeling thoroughly relaxed.
Compared to his main body—already towering at 2.8 meters—he much preferred this "Savior Clone: Normal Human Edition."
After all, being too tall brought many inconveniences and caused him to lose quite a bit of enjoyment in life.
This time, he had come to Holy Terra under the identity of a steward for House Govindi, supposedly a loyal retainer who had cared for the Govindi siblings since childhood.
So, he used a perfectly ordinary clone body.
Under normal circumstances, traveling through the galaxy is hardly comfortable.
But the Dreamweaver is different.
After several rounds of modifications, the Savior's Sanctum inside the ship was more or less like a resort.
Updat𝓮d from freewēbnoveℓ.com.
It even had a "forest oxygen bar" area.
Eden did a simple stretch, then lay down on a rocking chair under the shade of a tree, enjoying the dappled coolness beneath the leaves.
This was one of his methods of healing—experiencing the joys of being human, to resist the encroachment of his divine nature.
"Savior, my lord..."
Linda carried over a fruit platter, setting it down gracefully, then leaned in and began to massage Eden.
"Mmm~ The pressure's good."
Eden lay on his back, glimpsing a hint of fair skin dancing before his eyes.
It had been a long time since he'd enjoyed a massage.
As his body grew increasingly closer to that of his main form, with muscles as hard as steel, an ordinary person couldn't even make a dent in them—he could soak in boiling water without feeling a thing.
Even a full set of bathhouse treatments did nothing for him anymore.
Under Linda's gentle hands, Eden slowly closed his eyes, lost in thought.
After reaching the brighter side of the Imperium, he had gathered quite a lot of information.
The return of a Primarch was like a giant rock thrown into a still lake, stirring up waves and shaking every corner of the galaxy.
At the grand ceremony on Macragge—intended to announce the return of a Primarch to the entire Imperium—Guilliman declared that he would head to Holy Terra and begin reorganizing Imperial affairs from the capital.
Once news spread from the Realm of Ultramar, the Imperium was elated.
Space Marines from the Raven Guard, White Scars, Space Wolves, and Dark Angels hurried to join the Primarch's ranks.
Beyond that, the Astra Militarum, the Imperial Navy, the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Adepta Sororitas, Knight Houses, and Titan Legions also sent new reinforcements to aid him.
With astonishing speed, Guilliman formed a massive legion.
He then boarded the flagship of the Ultramarines, the Gloriana-class battleship Macragge's Honor, and led this mighty force on a pilgrimage to Holy Terra.
It was inspiring.
Yet Eden knew that this "Pilgrimage" was destined to be a terrible ordeal.
Chaos Gods and his fallen Primarch brothers would stop at nothing to prevent Guilliman from reaching Holy Terra.
Guilliman—the Primarch of the Ultramarines, known for faltering in success but rising in dire times, eternally the one taking the heaviest hits—would face the crushing onslaught of all dark forces.
Still, the Primarch's presence gave the Imperium, and Eden himself, a brief respite.
If the sky fell, a taller man would bear its weight—and Guilliman, the Emperor's own son, was precisely that "tall man."
But if that tall man were to fall, then as the Emperor's favored "Devourer of Daemons" in the Warp, Eden's reputation alone would put him next in line for that burden.
Should his real body in the material universe ever be captured, he couldn't even imagine the consequences.
"Sigh, I wonder how Guilliman's doing now—where he is, if he's reached Holy Terra yet?"
Eden let out a long sigh, genuinely worried about Guilliman's condition.
After all, they both worked under the Emperor. In a sense, that practically made them brothers with different mothers... and fathers.
...
Somewhere in the Webway
The Macragge's Honor, leading a battered fleet, advanced slowly. Compared to departure, at least two-thirds of its ships and forces had been lost.
Inside the Macragge's Honor, in the Primarch's Sanctum, within a private chamber:
Guilliman's towering figure was squeezed behind a desk piled high with documents.
He frowned, his once-handsome and noble visage now lined with wrinkles, his golden hair thinning, his hairline receding to reveal a few strands of grey.
Most striking of all were the heavy dark circles under his eyes, and his ever-tense jaw muscles—signs of exhaustion and grief.
At this moment, the Primarch appeared slightly aged—but it was not the passage of time at fault. Instead, it was prolonged battle and worry.
"This pilgrimage has been riddled with suffering," Guilliman thought.
From the day he led the Pilgrimage Fleet out of Macragge:
To avoid Chaos attacks, they made only the shortest possible Warp jumps.
Yet this failed to escape the clutches of Chaos.
Some ships vanished under ominous circumstances, and more and more commanders pleaded with Saint Celestine for blessings, seeking courage for the perilous journey.
But more assaults came anyway.
Nurgle's daemons attacked the fleet, breaching hulls that began oozing Nurgle's filth, like pus flowing from an infected wound.
Fortunately, Inquisitor Greyfax, leading a strike force composed of Battle Sisters and Space Marines, put a stop to it.
She leapt into the fray from on high, slaying the great Nurgle abomination enthroned upon a palanquin borne by Plaguebearers in a single blow.
But with Chaos daemons striking ever more frequently, each day brought more missing persons reports.
Still, none in the Pilgrimage Fleet would speak of retreat. Because Holy Terra lay ahead!
Aside from the daemons, other forces joined the fray.
Two of his fallen Primarch brothers—Mortarion of the Death Guard and Fulgrim of the Emperor's Children—had yet to attack directly, but they sent envoys bearing foul "gifts" and threats.
When the fleet reached the outer region of the Maelstrom, Guilliman was ambushed by a third fallen brother—Magnus.
The Crimson King meticulously prepared a horrifying trap, using a series of sorcerous rituals to drag the entire Pilgrimage Fleet into the Maelstrom.
Because they failed to raise Gellar Fields in time, many Pilgrimage vessels were completely destroyed by the roiling Warp energies.
Within the Maelstrom, the fleet faced swift assaults by the Red Corsairs, a Chaos Space Marine warband.
Ultimately, Guilliman and his forces drove the Red Corsairs back, but inevitably became trapped deep within the Maelstrom, drifting aimlessly with neither heading nor direction.
Meanwhile, more and more daemons and Chaos Space Marines attacked them relentlessly.
As the Primarch, Guilliman was the target of countless assassination attempts.
Yet he withstood them all, and with the Emperor's Sword in hand, slew dozens of Greater Daemons.
It was a grueling and drawn-out war.
Because time within the Maelstrom stands still, none knew how long they had been trapped—years, decades, or even longer?
Worse yet, the Pilgrimage Fleet's casualties steadily mounted under the ambushes of Chaos Space Marines and daemons.
Fortunately, with the arrival of the Aeldari illusions created by Yvraine's order, things took a turn.
Guided by these illusions, the Pilgrimage Fleet finally reached a navigable window.
There, they beheld a vast expanse of derelict ships linked by chains into a web stretching as far as the eye could see.
From that web, the Chaos Space Marines and daemons launched an even fiercer offensive.
Guilliman fought his way into the core of enemy lines, only to fall into the schemes of Kairos, a Daemon of Tzeentch—who had long ago planted an almost imperceptible seed of self-doubt in Guilliman's heart.
That seed of self-doubt catalyzed a dreadful curse, unleashing Guilliman's deepest negative emotions.
He was bound by crystalline chains manifested from his own self-doubt, bringing him disgracefully to his knees as a prisoner!
Kairos used him as a hostage, forcing the other warriors to surrender. With no alternative, they laid down their arms, becoming prisoners alongside him...
Recalling these memories, Guilliman's eyes flashed with pain. He despised his own lack of greater power!
Later, he and the warriors were taken to the fortress of Huron Blackheart, Lord of the Red Corsairs.
Skarbrand, a Greater Daemon under Khorne, led a daemon host to claim the Primarch's skull, while Kairos of Tzeentch had other designs.
The two sides clashed violently.
Taking advantage of the chaos, a mysterious Aeldari strike force dispatched by Yvraine infiltrated the fortress and rescued Guilliman.
The illusions that had guided his fleet previously had also been woven by a Harlequin Shadowseer at the Aeldari's command.
Finally, he escaped and rejoined the fleet.
Then, under the guidance of the Shadowseer, the fleet entered a Webway portal and left the Maelstrom behind.
The Pilgrimage Fleet would now traverse the Webway, traveling toward Holy Terra at a much faster pace.
Within his private chamber:
"The Webway..." Guilliman murmured.
He finally recognized its convenience and its value to humanity. He yearned for it—wishing mankind could possess the Webway.
He also understood then why his father had abandoned so many things to research it.
Humanity truly needed such a route—only by this means could they bypass the raging Warp and secure safer passages.
"Alas, Father failed. Fate refuses to grant that gift to mankind!"
Guilliman's voice carried a note of sorrow.
Even the Emperor had failed, paying a tremendous price.
Could mankind ever hope to master the Webway?
Suddenly, Guilliman thought of something:
That "Devourer of Daemons" apparently had some method of entering the Webway...
Yet that individual was far too mysterious—there was no information about him anywhere in the Imperium's records.
Some even claimed he was a heretic, an enemy of the Imperium.
"If only I could find the Daemon Eater, I'd personally invite him to join the Imperium. Even making him a High Lord wouldn't be out of the question..."
Guilliman let out a long sigh of exhaustion.
Though only a few years had passed in realspace, he himself had fought ceaselessly in the Maelstrom for decades, perhaps even longer.
It had taken a terrible toll on his body and mind.
If he could, Guilliman would rather remain in eternal slumber, never to awaken.
After all, anyone would go mad if, upon opening their eyes, they were forced to face a ten-thousand-year-old catastrophe of unimaginable scale.
He wanted nothing more than to lie down and never wake up.
But he could not...
"Hope still remains. Until humanity truly reaches the light, I cannot fall!" Guilliman suppressed his pain, eyes burning with unyielding resolve.
No matter how many times he was knocked down by the forces of darkness, he would never submit.
He would rise again and again, unleashing his fury upon the enemy—until each and every foe of humanity paid the price for their sins!
In his heart, Guilliman was planning a grand campaign of vengeance against all who threatened humanity—he called it the Unyielding Crusade.
Hope lay just ahead. Once they reached Holy Terra, he would rally the forces of the Imperium and begin this war...
However, before that, there were still many matters to handle.
Steadying his emotions, Guilliman tried to calm himself, then lifted his gaze to the towering stacks of documents before him.
He took a deep breath... then another.
The Primarch did his best to quell his disdain for endless paperwork.
Truth be told, he would rather fight the enemy than deal with these damned documents.
But there was no choice—they had to be addressed.
Whenever the ships exited the Warp, the fleet's Astropaths risked everything to pierce the darkness of the void, gathering every piece of intelligence on the Imperium's current state.
In the end, all of it ended up here, in Guilliman's private chamber.
He had to learn as much as possible about the Imperium's situation before arriving at Holy Terra.
Guilliman carefully picked up a dossier with his massive hand, mindful of not dropping it.
Wearing the heavy Armor of Fate, if these papers fell to the ground, he'd have to get on all fours to pick them up—a less-than-dignified scene.
Using his Primarch's vast cognitive ability, Guilliman absorbed the information from each file.
But the more he read, the deeper his heart sank into despair.
The Imperium was in worse shape than he ever imagined!
The documents described the current state of the Imperium:
Frequent supernatural disasters across countless star systems: daemonic invasions, rampant plagues; Psykers and mutants increasing explosively, along with all manner of horrific and maddening phenomena; Loyal servants of the Imperium, planetary governors of many civilized worlds, suddenly turning into heretics and wreaking havoc; Xenos forces marching behind Chaos, seizing the opportunity of Warp storms to launch massive invasions, subjecting innumerable worlds to the flames of war.
Swallowing his grief, Guilliman worked day and night, extracting crucial information for his plans.
As for rest, ever since awakening, he had lost the ability to sleep.
And the Armor of Fate's ceaseless noise deprived him of any moment's peace.
Even a Primarch's exceptional stamina had its limits.
After days of intense mental strain, Guilliman fumbled, pressing too hard—toppling an entire stack of documents onto the floor.
The Primarch closed his eyes in pain. "Father, how I wish someone could share this burden with me..."
...
The Saint's Quarters
Here lived Saint Celestine, the Living Saint.
Her room was empty, furnished only with a cold metal bed.
For Celestine, there was but a single purpose in life: to fight for the Emperor's grand will. There was room for nothing else.
Yet now, a tiny new presence had entered her life.
Sitting on the bed, Celestine—her face as angelic and pure as ever—was hugging a large plush white bear in her arms.
She had secretly asked a tailor on Macragge to make it for her, and she had brought it here to keep her company while she slept.
Celestine lifted the big white teddy, pinching its face, then gazed off in a daze.
She was thinking of a certain person.
Ever since encountering the Daemon Eater, throughout the decades of being trapped in the Maelstrom with the Pilgrimage Fleet, she had the same recurring dream.
In that dream were the Daemon Eater, this white teddy bear, and a youthful yet impossibly handsome face.
Celestine had a keen sense that the Daemon Eater and that handsome face were one and the same—the latter must be his true appearance.
What the silver-haired angel did not realize was that the energy of his "little sun" had inadvertently infiltrated her soul's conceptual realm, healing her from within.
At the cost, however, a lingering image of that Daemon Eater—of this "Savior"—had taken root in the depths of her soul.
Over the course of these decades, that influence had quietly grown.
Celestine loved this plush white teddy bear. With it around, life seemed to hold other joys.
Yet the bear also reminded her of the Daemon Eater and that handsome face.
She unconsciously tugged at the teddy bear, a faint blush crossing her fair cheeks.
She had to admit:
She felt a bit of fondness for Mr. Daemon Eater, wanting to see him again.
But how could she find him? And if they met, what would she say?
The silver-haired angel stared into space once more.
She told no one of this—it was a secret hidden in her heart forever.
Boom—
Suddenly, the warship shook.
Celestine's vigilance flared; she instantly resumed her Valkyrie-like, holy angelic demeanor.
Carefully setting the teddy bear aside, she seized the Ardent Blade resting by her bed.
Just then, she received a communication from the Emperor's son Guilliman.
The enemy was about to arrive!
According to Guilliman, Magnus intended to follow their trail—using the portal opened by the Aeldari—to invade Holy Terra directly.
Yet Guilliman had no intention of letting him succeed.
He commanded the Shadowseer to open another, more secretive ancient Webway Gate hidden on the Moon.
The Pilgrimage Fleet would emerge onto Luna from that Webway Gate, hopefully shaking off pursuit by the Thousand Sons fleet.
If they couldn't shake the enemy, there would be a great battle on the moon's surface.
Celestine ended the call, her grip tightening around the hilt of the Ardent Blade. Golden flames blazed from the sword.
She was ready for war!
...
Back on the Dreamweaver:
Savior's Sanctum, Miniature Garden
Eden was lying on a recliner, wearing a face mask and basking in the artificial sunlight, meditating.
Beep—
A sudden alert startled him.
It was an emergency signal.
Had the fleet encountered enemies, or had Guilliman caught them?
Eden hastily tore off his face mask, grabbed the data slate, and frowned deeply.
According to Shahim's report, the fleet had reached the vicinity of Holy Terra—but they detected fierce combat around Luna, with the Imperial fleet locked in battle against an enemy force.
They awaited his instructions.
"Seriously, didn't expect to show up just in time..."
Eden sighed.
It must be the lunar battle between Guilliman and Magnus.
But since they were here, they might as well join in!
He couldn't just stand by and watch his "brother from another mother" get pummeled, right?
Besides, this was also an opportunity.
House Govindi, the rarely seen Godblood Traders, had arrived with its fleet to defend Holy Terra.
How loyal was that!
It was a rare chance to earn merit and honor—and improve their standing with Guilliman.
That would make everything easier down the road.
No one would be so quick to question their credentials if they played a part here.
Eden promptly ordered Shahim to lead the Govindi into battle, doing their utmost to rack up some kills.
After all, the Govindi carried many relic-level weapons, so perhaps they could blast a few Chaos ships out of the void in the ensuing chaos.
As for the Dreamweaver, it wasn't convenient to reveal it publicly.
After some thought, Eden told the ship's commander to engage its stealth systems and discreetly approach the battlefield from a safe distance.
Once those orders were given, Eden headed for the bridge to reassess the situation—and to see if there was a chance to snipe the Crimson King in the chaos.
He, the Great Savior, was ready to shell Magnus from afar!
(End of Chapter)
[Check Out My Patreon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/zaelum]
[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[Thank You For Your Support!]
