On the surface of the planet Gathalamor.
The refugees hiding in the Holy City learned that the traitors had been defeated and the Imperial forces had won, and they raised voices of excitement. The war is over, and hope will take root and bloom again in this land. However, after the brief cheers, the sadness of reality once again enveloped these poor people. Even if victory is achieved, the pain caused by war will not disappear. Those who have lost everything must rebuild their lives amid the rubble, heal the grief of losing loved ones, and mend their wounded souls and bodies.
The world of Gathalamor was once magnificent and grand, its wide streets bustling with pilgrims from other worlds. But now, the magnificent urbanization has become ruins, and the air is filled with the smoke of war. The smell of scorched earth mixed with the strong odors of blood and ozone lingered for a long time. Beautiful churches were burned by flames, religious buildings cracked by bombings piled up, and the bones of believers were scattered everywhere.
In this desolate, sorrow-filled ruin, Datch who occasionally flew up and chuckled became an alternative. He wandered the battlefield, seemingly dedicated to treating wounded soldiers and repairing broken infrastructure.
Even the desperate people found some comfort in his presence.
The Emperor is still watching over them, and hope remains.
...
"It hurts... I won't die here."
The wounded Flens groaned in pain amid the rubble. He was a soldier of the Mordian Iron Guard 84th Regiment, assigned to a cleanup mission to search for hidden cultists after the war. As a result, he was mistakenly attacked by a cultist lurking in the shadows. A crimson laser beam pierced his armor and abdomen, leaving a scorched, burning wound. His comrades killed the cultist, offered a few words of comfort, and told him to lie down and wait for the medical team. Then they continued forward, sweeping away the remaining cultists and avenging the fallen. After his comrades left, the wounded Flens couldn't help but feel his mind going crazy.
He thought of his hometown, Mordian. Due to Mordian's rotation and orbital speeds being synchronized, one side of the planet is illuminated by the star and extremely hot, while the other is enveloped in extremely low darkness.
The only livable place is the twilight where darkness and light intersect. Due to the planet's environment, most of Mordian is unsuitable for cultivation, and in the early Imperium, minerals were also hollowed out.
The world of Mordian could only hand over its own people as tithes to the Imperium, which led to the birth of the Mordian Iron Guard. To pay taxes, the rulers of Modian preached the glory of loyalty to the Emperor day and night, constantly improving the treatment of military families. In the propaganda, day after day, year after year, dying for the Emperor became the highest glory for Mordians. Every boy dreams of becoming a hero on the battlefield, an Imperial general, and dying for the Emperor. Flens was one of them. On the day he was selected for the military, he shouted excitedly and wished to tell the world. Many people blessed him and envied his luck. However, Flens's parents were not very happy. At first, they thought Flens was joking, but when they confirmed it was true, they were shocked and eventually hesitant.
On the days of parting, Flens's mother cried all night, her eyes red and swollen. His father also aged suddenly. They were not disloyal to the Emperor; they simply hesitated to let go of their child. Because among the young people who step into the stars and fight for the Emperor, very few return home. Even if most survive, returning home is difficult.
The Milky Way Galaxy is so vast that the distance between worlds is often hundreds or thousands of light-years—far too great. For Flens's parents, the chance of reuniting with their son was nearly zero. After completing recruit training, Flens became a member of the 84th Regiment and headed to the battlefield with the large army on a transport ship. At first, Flens was excited and curious about everything.
But as time passed and he witnessed the cruelty and horror of war, he became numb. Initially, the Department of the Munitorum requested them to join the Mordian Iron Guard 10th Regiment to stop the 13th Black Crusade and fight the Great Devourer.
But later, the higher-ups changed their minds, saying that since the Cadia fortress had fallen, there was no need to cross.
Later, news came that they would go to Armageddon to fight the green-skinned Orks, where the situation was very serious and urgent support was needed. However, just as they gathered and prepared to set sail on the transport ship, a terrifying storm erupted in the subspace. The transport ship could not perform a warp jump, and at this point, the 84th Regiment also lost contact with the military department. Finally, under the admiral's arrangement, they were assigned to head to the Nest capital planet to fight traitors and suppress mutants. When the subspace storm subsided and astropathic messages returned to normal, the military department contacted the 84th Regiment and requested their withdrawal from the Nest capital planet. It was said that Terra had launched the Indomitus Crusade, calling on armies from all over to gather and fight Chaos.
Thus, they withdrew from their original battlefield and stationed themselves on the Gathalamor world via transport ship.
This channel was an important node for Terra, so it could not fall into enemy hands and required a sufficiently loyal army to garrison it. Shortly after arrival, a rebellion broke out in the world. Cultists killed people everywhere, causing panic. At first, Flens was still in control, but soon traitors called Iron Warriors appeared.
These Astartes who betrayed the Emperor were extremely powerful. Once they appeared, it often meant death and the loss of the front line. Flens had seen the Iron Warriors fight from afar. With just a squad of five, they easily annihilated a well-equipped elite company. Since then, the Iron Warriors became a nightmare for the 84th Regiment, and many soldiers realized they were desperate upon seeing them. When the Iron Warriors joined the battlefield, the Imperial side's situation deteriorated rapidly. Every day brought bad news: falls here and there, the front line kept retreating, and casualties continued to rise.
Flens once thought he would die in this world, becoming a pitiful worm that could never return. Until the Emperor's Custodes and the mysterious Nameless One arrived. They stopped the enemy's conspiracy, turned corrupted souls into heroic legions, and defeated the enemy. Suddenly, a shadow enveloped the grumpy flag. Flens knew at a glance that it was the mysterious Nameless One, sung in enigmatic songs.
Some say he is the Emperor's incarnation, possessing all sorts of miraculous abilities. Wherever he goes, the Imperium wins 100%.
Longing filled Flens's eyes, and he reached out to the other, wishing to live.
Datch stared at the soldier NPC in front of him, feeling that the other's eyes were as realistic as if alive. He reached out and clicked on the other's information bar.
[Soldier of the 84th Regiment, Flens (25 years old, Sergeant). ]
Flens looked at the mysterious Nameless One and said, "Nameless Lord...."
Datch tilted his head and looked at the NPC in front of him, curious about what the other would say. "My name is Flens, from Mordian, my lord."
Flens was weak but endured the pain to answer. "Glory to you, my lord. Please help me. I don't want to die."
Interestingly, he was actually asking for help. Of course, Datch didn't refuse. He swung his hammer and lightly tapped Flens. A soft golden light spread over his entire body, and the wound healed at a speed visible to the naked eye. Even the broken shell was restored to its original state, with no trace of bullet penetration.
Flens felt the pain disappear quickly and looked down at his intact abdomen with an expression of disbelief. It was truly a miracle.
"Thank you... Thank you, my lord..."
Datch didn't reply, looked at the other a few times, then jumped away.
"Praise the Emperor, praise the Nameless Lord!"
Flens saluted the departing Datch with an Aquila salute, filled with gratitude. He picked up his gun, stood up to chase his comrades, and vowed to serve the Emperor until death truly came.
…
Datch was very quick in treating the wounded. Physical amputations, energy burns, subspace contamination, etc.—with a strike from the golden hammer, they could be restored to original condition and revived. The rescued soldiers and civilians praised the Nameless One, regarding him as the Emperor's incarnation. Among the fervent believers, some quietly knelt on the ground upon seeing Datch, performing the Aquila salute on their chests and sending blessings. After treating the wounded soldiers, Datch began repairing important agricultural and industrial facilities. To ensure survivors could live normal lives without starving or freezing to death. After finishing all this, Datch took out Rick's teleportation gun, set the teleportation coordinates, and left directly. Imperial heroes like Commander Dvorgin and Canoness Imelda had planned a grand ceremony to thank Datch for his contributions. As a result, midway through preparations, they received news that the Nameless One had left via a mysterious teleport method, leaving them feeling helpless.
Without the hero who turned the tide, there was no point in holding a grand ceremony. Princess Jessivayne of the Kamidar House proposed a solution: Build a statue for the Nameless One and hold a grand ceremony to honor his great contributions. This proposal was unanimously approved by all. As a result, Datch obtained his first statue in the Warhammer world. Of course, he knew nothing about it.
...
Macragge's Honour, Strategy Room.
"What did you do?"
"Why did the chaotic forces on Gathalamor reverse at the last moment??"
Eldar Farseer Illiyanne Natasé, having obtained permission to meet him, quickly entered the strategy room, eager to know the truth. Guilliman looked up from his desk and saw the Eldar Farseer in front of him. "Farseer Natasé, I was in Macragge's Honour; how could I know what happened on Gathalamor?" "You didn't notice the earlier warning. That's evidence there's a plan against Gathalamor."
Natasé stared at Guilliman. He didn't believe the Primarch's words. The other must know something. "Tell me, what did you do?"
"I did nothing and had no specific plans," Guilliman shook his head slightly. "It's because the Nameless One went to handle it that I have confidence in resolving the Gathalamor crisis."
"If you insist on details, you can only ask him directly. If he's willing to answer, you'll get the answer." As the Primarch's words fell, a green circular portal suddenly appeared in the strategy room.
Datch emerged after completing his mission, and the green portal behind him closed and disappeared. Seeing the Nameless One appear, Natasé's eyes lit up, and he quickly approached, conveying standard Eldar etiquette to the other.
"Nameless One, what exactly did you do on Gathalamor? That evil force... how did it change?"
"I know it's presumptuous, but please tell me what happened?"
Datch looked at Natasé's eager questions and couldn't help but smile.
'I have to say, the game developers who created this Warhammer world really understand players' psychology well.'
When he first accepted the mission, the Xenos Farseer always showed suspicion and distrust, vividly depicting the Eldar's arrogance. And now, with the mission successfully completed, the other showed a surprised and desperate expression.
Isn't this a proper face-slap scenario?
The sense of achievement is fully satisfied. After the mission, not only props and points but also emotional value from NPCs—this is too profitable.
It's a pity I'm not in the mood to talk even if asked.
Datch hummed a little tune happily and hopped past Natasé.
Eh, why did he leave?
Tell me clearly what happened!
Natasé wanted to chase and ask, but was stopped by Guilliman's order.
"If the Nameless One doesn't want to talk, don't bother him."
Looking at the departing Nameless One and then at the Primarch with a stern attitude, Natasé could only sigh, unable to get an answer. He thought about finding another opportunity to ask the reason someday.
...
Planet Chogoris is the homeworld of the White Scars, one of the Imperium's nine founding Legions. Their monastery is located at the highest point of the Khum Karta mountain range, the most magnificent on the planet. Here, winds howl year-round, roaring through sharp black mountains and rocks, sobbing like dying ancient beasts. The monastery's architecture follows the style of Chogoris nomads, with high walls inscribed with references to past heroes. The massive observatory extends into a sea of clouds, a favorite spot for White Scar warriors. When not fighting, they ride jetbikes into the sea of clouds, engaging in passionate races with comrades. Deep within the monastery lies a sanctuary lined with refined medical equipment and quiet servo-skulls, filled with the scents of disinfectants, low-temperature condensates, and life-sustaining nutrients. The corridor was eerily quiet, with only the constant, stubborn hum and clicks of machinery moving fluids echoing. Warlord Jubal Khan lay in a life-support pod at the center of the temple. His mutilated body was wrapped in regenerative gel and biofilm. The exposed skin showed a dead gray with delicate transparency, radial purple scars as if torn from within by terrifying energy. Several thick transparent catheters were inserted directly into the remaining torso and neck, drawing bright red blood. It passed through a series of external circulation and purification devices before slowly returning. With heart function nearly dead, external devices were needed to complete the cycle. Even more shocking was his face. Eyes once sharp as an eagle's, piercing battlefield moments, now only one remained half-open in a ragged state. The other side had only an empty socket, connected to countless thin cables linked to another machine. Jubal Khan's breathing was delivered through a metal grill in his throat, with a faint hissing sound like bellows leaking with each intake.
Apothecary Ogholei stood before the console, monitoring every fluctuation in his battle leader's vital signs. His movements were smooth, fast, and precise, adjusting the flow of life-support devices, replacing filters, and injecting trace stabilizers.
"Ogholei..." Jubal Khan's voice was broken and dry, mixed with the sound of gas passing through damaged vocal cords. Each word required tremendous effort, greatly tormenting the former hero. "Maybe... I should have... charged... let the enemy's blade strike... explosive bombs too... end it. That would be... a warrior's end. Instead... trapped in this cold coffin... watch my own blood... pumped by machines, flowed back... day after day." Jubal Khan struggled to turn his face, gazing with his remaining eye at the vast sky beyond the temple's high windows. He vaguely remembered the feeling of racing across the sky and grasslands on a jetbike. Its beauty. And now, he could only wait for death like a useless invalid. Jubal Khan clearly felt his body dying bit by bit, but responsibility and his subordinates' loyalty forced him to live on. He longed for a grand, burning end like a meteor streaking across Chogoris' night sky. Instead of quietly dying in this life-support capsule, with lines appearing on the instrument screen before flattening. But duty did not allow him his will; the eagles of Chogoris needed their warlord, so he had to live.
"If... someday... Kor'sarro can stand against him... the duty of the battle regiment commander is to kill me."
Ogholei was stunned for a moment by Jubal Khan's words, his fingers pausing over the control panel for a few seconds, but in the end, he said nothing and focused on monitoring the data. The temple fell silent again. Only the low hum of machinery continued the life of the Chogoris eagle with broken wings.
He longed for a glorious death, an embrace of the sky, and an embrace of the Golden Throne. For the current Jubal Khan, living itself was the greatest torture and humiliation.
...
Macragge's Honour Medical Sanctuary. Soft, cool white light cascaded down the dome, illuminating the hall's interior brightly. The sterile air was cold, scented with disinfectant. A massive stasis incubation chamber stood silently like a coffin. Made of heavy adamantium pedestal and transparent acrylic glass. The bulkhead was embedded with countless thin pipes and optical fibers, twinkling regularly like blood vessels and nerves. The cabin was filled with pale golden, viscous active nutrient puree, rich in hormones, stem cell catalysts, and anti-rejection fluids. These slurries circulated slowly, washing over the floating body—Kor'sarro.
To gain greater power, the eagle of Chogoris underwent the Primaris forging surgery. The incubation chamber was connected to a multi-armed array of life-support and monitoring devices. Several floating holographic projectors quietly poured out cascades of data. Genetic sequence alignment charts, neural potential cloud maps, real-time progress bars for organ fusion, and sacred binary codes of vital signs refreshing like waterfalls.
Two Tech Sage in red robes had just completed the Primaris casting promotion ceremony lasting over 10 hours. Their mechanical tentacles steadily retracted a large number of surgical instruments.
When Datch entered, they bowed and asked in Gothic, "Nameless Lord, do you have any business?" Datch ignored the Tech Sage and just stared at Kor'sarro in the incubation chamber. After the initial casting surgery, a certain period of dormancy is needed for the transplanted organs to integrate with the body and no longer be exclusive. This dormancy period varies by individual. Some end in 1-2 months, others take a year.
Datch didn't want to wait that long. He had to win against all White Scars to obtain the achievement title of Human Drag Race King.
The problem was that Kor'sarro wouldn't race with him because the Chogoris crisis hadn't been resolved yet. Waiting months for Kor'sarro to finish the Primaris forging, then waiting for him to resolve the Chogoris crisis, would make the daily quests go cold. Datch planned to help accelerate the Primaris forging process. Once Kor'sarro led a new army and warships back to Chogoris, he would use Rick's teleportation gun to help resolve the crisis. After resolving all crises, they could compete to obtain the Human Drag Race King achievement title.
Datch moved his thoughts, opening the game mall interface, and a dazzling array of props appeared in his vision. The Golden Hammer could only repair damaged things, and it absolutely couldn't be used in this case. If the trauma and changes from the Primaris surgery were judged as damage, it would become a complete calf. With the hammer, the hard-built Belisarius Furnace, tendon coils, and gratitude pituitary would all be destroyed, turning it into a ridiculous joke. Datch entered the time category, searching for suitable items that could shorten Kor'sarro's personal time.
The Hyperbolic Time Chamber.
One day outside equals one year inside the house. The drawback is needing to move the entire incubation chamber, which is troublesome. The Time Gun from the Doraemon world. Hitting the target sends them to the future. It's suitable for war but not the current situation. The Eye of Agamotto originates from the Marvel universe. It can freely control the time flow of individuals or areas, and jump to the past and future.
Perfect.
The problem is the cost is too high. Looking at the Eye of Agamotto and the series of zeros in its exchange price, Datch's mouth twitched, wanting to open the console.
Datch ignored items with exchange values too high and continued searching for suitable props.
Effort pays off.
After searching for a few minutes, Datch found the right target. [Prop: Speed Control Alarm Clock (One-time), Function: Adjust time flow rate for individuals or small areas. Note: This process is irreversible and places a heavy burden on biological consciousness. Evaluation: "When fighting, slow down the opponent's time flow and beat them to your heart's content."]
"It's you."
A gadget shaped like an alarm clock appeared in Datch's hand.
The Speed Control Alarm Clock's operation was very simple: adjust the time flow rate, select the target, and press the button. Datch set the time flow ratio to 1:172800, equivalent to 2 days per second.
Under the doubtful eyes of the two Tech Sage, Datch aimed the set alarm clock at Kor'sarro's incubation chamber, selected the target, and pressed the switch. Invisible ripples appeared around the incubation capsule, and time suddenly accelerated.
The nutrient fluid inside circulated, evaporated, and replenished at an unprecedented speed. The automatic priming system's operation indicators in the cabin flashed violently. The bio-healing membrane covering Kor'sarro's body thickened, matured, cracked, and peeled off at a visible speed, revealing new skin. Surgical incisions went through a scarring and fading process that would take weeks, completed in seconds. The catheters and probes connected to his body trembled slightly. Data display numbers fell like waterfalls: heart rate, metabolism level, hormone concentration, neural signal strength, etc....
All indicators surged. Then, at a certain limit, they dropped sharply and quickly stabilized in the green threshold range. The most intuitive was Kor'sarro's body contour. Muscle fibers swelled like tides under the skin, taking on a more majestic and grand form, aligning with a Primaris warrior's posture. This entire process was like watching a growth documentary accelerated millions of times. Datch pressed the stop button on top of the alarm clock, and Kor'sarro's time acceleration stopped. The Speed Control Alarm Clock emitted a slight glow, clicked, and disappeared. At this sight, the two Tech Sage were stunned, their cranial core logic modules directly crashing, causing them to faint on the spot.
In less than 2 minutes, the transformation from old Space Marine to Primaris Space Marine was complete. What is this? Magic??
The nutrient solution discharge port of the incubation chamber opened automatically, and the golden slurry was quickly drained. The hatch cover slid open with a hissing sound of pneumatic release. A strong arm covered in newborn skin burst out, grabbing the edge of the bulkhead. Kor'sarro struggled and staggered to his feet. He coughed violently, spitting out residual liquid, his eyes cloudy and confused. It was as if he had been forcibly pulled back to reality from a strange deep dream that lasted years.
The confusion of memory and collapse of time sense made his head throb with pain. He shook his head, desperately trying to focus on the two familiar figures in red robes before him. His voice was hoarse, filled with uncertain trance.
"... How long did I sleep... long??"
"Why do I feel like... ... I never left?"
….