The Pride of the Emperor, Heliopolis.
When Vance followed the fleet's strategic advisor, Darius Stanton, through the legendary Phoenix Gates, he finally understood why the Warhammer lore books always relied on words like "magnificent" and "opulent" to describe this place. Because standing inside the actual room, words like "opulent" felt utterly inadequate.
Twelve solid gold pillars, each three meters in diameter, stood in a grand circle to support a vaulted ceiling soaring forty meters overhead. Epic battles of the Emperor's Children Legion were carved into the surface of every column, chronicling their history from the pacification campaigns of their founding to the glorious triumph at Ullanor.
The walls were made of milky-white marble, polished to a mirror-like finish that perfectly reflected the golden light spilling from the dome. That light emanated from a complex crystalline structure at the very center of the ceiling, rumored to perfectly simulate the color temperature and intensity of Holy Terra's high-noon sun.
A deep purple carpet blanketed the floor, interwoven with gold and silver threads depicting the legion's signature phoenix. With every step, the carpet sank slightly, unbelievably plush beneath his boots. A faint incense hung in the air, mingling with the rich, earthy scent of expensive timber.
The purple banners draped across the walls weren't made of simple cloth. Looking closely, Vance realized the weave density was staggering. There were at least a thousand silk threads per square centimeter, forming intricate tapestries so finely detailed you had to press your face against them to truly appreciate the craftsmanship: the face of a specific warrior, the tactical formation of a certain battle, a beloved legion proverb...
"Don't just stand there gawking," Darius Stanton's voice snapped Vance back to reality.
The Imperial fleet strategic advisor was a man in his fifties with meticulously combed grey hair, dressed in a deep purple uniform trimmed with gold. He didn't wear an excessive amount of medals on his chest, but each one represented a major campaign he had personally endured. He walked at a brisk, purposeful pace, clearly accustomed to the grandeur around him.
Vance hurried to catch up, though his gaze inevitably drifted toward the center of the room. There sat a throne carved from black marble. The throne itself wasn't overly ostentatious—about three meters wide, with a phoenix spreading its wings carved into the backrest. But its placement... sitting directly beneath the focal point of the dome's golden light... meant that whoever sat upon it would appear to be bathing in divine radiance.
At the moment, the throne was empty.
But arrayed in the tiered amphitheater seating fanning out before it were over three hundred high-ranking officers. Company captains of the Emperor's Children, legion champions, fleet commanders, high-ranking Tech-Priest representatives, Lord Marshals of the Solar Auxilia... They were seated in a strict hierarchy of rank and status, radiating outward from the throne. The innermost circle sat a mere five meters from the dais, while the outermost ring was over thirty meters away.
Vance followed Stanton to the fifteenth row... a position that wasn't exactly the inner circle, but far from the fringes. As Stanton took his seat, a few of the surrounding officers offered him curt, respectful nods.
"Stand," Stanton tVance, his voice perfectly level. "You are an escort, not an attendee."
Vance immediately straightened his posture, stepping two paces behind Stanton's chair. From this vantage point, he had a clear, sweeping view of the entirety of Heliopolis. He could also see... the other escorts standing behind various officers. Their gear was virtually identical to his: standard-issue Imperial Army uniforms, laspistols holstered at their hips, and lasrifles slung over their shoulders.
But the IDs floating above their heads were pitch black.
[Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe]
[Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan]
[I Just Like Sleeping In]
[All According to Plan]
Four IDs, four distinct meme references to the Chaos Gods, currently standing behind four different officers. And those four officers... three Lieutenant Colonels in the Imperial Army, and one Colonel in the Solar Auxilia...
Vance's heart skipped a beat. For days, he hadn't seen a single Chaos player speak up in the regional chat.
So... it's a channel quarantine, he realized, piecing it together in his head. The System separated the regional chats of the Loyalist and Chaos factions. You can only communicate with players of the same faction within a certain radius, like being on the exact same ship.
What did this mean? It meant that within this very fleet, the Loyalist players had no idea the Chaos players even existed, and vice versa. Unless... they physically laid eyes on the IDs floating above each other's heads.
And right now, Vance was looking right at them.
The four Chaos players had clearly noticed him, too. Their eyes swept over the crowd and landed on the glowing gold ID above his head: [The Imperium's Purest Inquisitor]. Three of them broke into amused, predatory grins. Only the player named [All According to Plan] averted his gaze, his expression completely unreadable.
"Silence."
A single voice rang out, instantly drowning Heliopolis in a pin-drop quiet. Everyone... including the four Chaos players... snapped their attention to the chamber's entrance.
Fulgrim strode into the room. He wasn't wearing his power armor today; instead, he was dressed in a deep purple military dress uniform. The immaculate tailoring perfectly accentuated his towering, three-meter-tall physique, the golden phoenixes on his epaulets glittering under the light. His long white hair flowed freely over his shoulders, the tips grazing his belt. A gentle, reassuring smile graced his flawless features. As his large, friendly eyes swept across the assembly, every single person whose gaze he met instinctively sat up straighter.
"Gentlemen," Fulgrim said, coming to a halt before the black marble throne. He stood perfectly positioned within the spotlight of the dome, his hands clasped casually behind his back.
"The intelligence on Laeran has been fully compiled.
The Laer: an amphibious, serpentine-humanoid species, averaging two meters in length, possessing four arms and grey-blue skin.
Civilization classification: planetary scale.
Technological tree: heavily inclined toward energy weapons and shielding.
Population estimate: eight hundred million to one point two billion.
Military strength: unknown, but considering their fleet was able to effortlessly annihilate our recon vessels, they are not to be underestimated."
Fulgrim paused, his gaze settling on a Tech-Priest seated in the front row. "Magos Sion, your analysis?"
The Tech-Priest rose to his feet, his synthesized, metallic voice echoing through the grand chamber...
"My Lord, based on the anatomical data from the three scouts we captured, combined with orbital scan results, we can confirm that the Laer possess a fatal physiological weakness."
He raised his mechanical arm, projecting a holographic image into the center of the room. It was a three-dimensional anatomical model of a Laer. "Their respiratory system is adapted for both aquatic and terrestrial environments. This necessitates a highly complex lung structure, requiring significantly more thoracic space. Simultaneously, their four-armed anatomy results in abnormally overdeveloped scapulae, which further compresses their chest cavity volume."
Magos Sion's mechanical optic sensor pulsed with a red glow. "The cardiopulmonary function of the Laer is relatively fragile. High altitudes, low-oxygen environments, or any toxin specifically targeting the respiratory tract will inflict disproportionate damage upon them."
A low murmur rippled through the room. Fulgrim nodded, gesturing for the Magos to take his seat.
"Excellent." He turned, facing the entire assembly. "Then, our battle plan is as follows."
--
Meanwhile, on the lower decks of the Pride of the Emperor, in the Solar Auxilia barracks.
[Love Eating Grox Cans] crouched in the corner of a corridor, the portable reclamation tool in his hands emitting a faint hum. The device was pressed flat against a wall... right over a conduit housing communication fiber optics. A line of text glowed on the tool's screen:
[Reclaiming: Low-Purity Fiber Optics (3 meters)]
[Estimated Conversion: 1.2 Imperial Coins]
"Hurry up..." [Love Eating Grox Cans] muttered, nervously checking both ends of the hallway. This was a relatively secluded maintenance corridor, but a Tech-Priest or servitor could wander by at any moment.
Ever since he, Vance, and fifty other players had completed their first fatigue duty seven days ago and unlocked the shop function, this group of Loyalist players had embarked on a massive money-making operation.
There was simply too much good stuff in the shop.
Basic Physique Enhancement (100 Imperial Coins, boosts physical stats by 30%), Basic Neural Reflex Enhancement (100 Imperial Coins), Basic Psychic Awakening (500 Imperial Coins, chance to activate a psychic talent). There were also all sorts of weapons, armor, and even... gene-seed.
But all of it cost Imperial Coins. And currently, they only knew of two ways to get them: completing quests issued by the System, or using portable reclamation tools to scrap materials around the fleet.
The former was completely up to chance. The System had only issued three quests in the past seven days, and none paid more than twenty Imperial Coins. The latter... was incredibly risky.
Beep. The device stopped vibrating.
[Reclamation Complete]
[Acquired: 1.7 Imperial Coins]
[Current Imperial Coins: 48.3]
[Love Eating Grox Cans] quickly stashed the tool, casually standing up and acting as if nothing had happened before strolling back toward the barracks.
[Regional Chat (Light of the Emperor)]
He opened the channel and was instantly hit with a wall of text.
[You're Not Loyal]: "Everyone! Massive news! I was just on guard duty and overheard two Tech-Priests chatting. They said Fulgrim is already holding a war council in Heliopolis! The Cleansing of Laeran is starting right now!"
[For the Regent Yellow Guilliman]: "Holy shit! Already? We aren't even close to being ready to mess with Fulgrim!"
[I'd Even Be the Emperor's Dog]: "Damn, he really is the Primarch obsessed with perfection. He moves fast. But... what are we supposed to do?"
[The Imperium's Most Loyal Soldier]: "What do you mean 'what are we supposed to do'? We're just Imperial Auxilia grunts. We just do whatever the brass tells us to do."
[You're Not Loyal]: "Are you stupid? How did the novels write it? Fulgrim's fall to Chaos starts right after the Laeran campaign! He's going to find a sword in a temple on that world... the Blade of the Laer! There's a Slaaneshi daemon trapped inside it! We're in the Imperium faction now. Are we really just going to sit back, do nothing, watch the Emperor's Children fall to Chaos exactly like they did originally, and let him chop off Ferrus's head with his own hands?"
The chat fell silent for a few seconds. [Love Eating Grox Cans] couldn't help but chime in: "So... we need to stop him from getting that sword?"
[You're Not Loyal]: "Stop him how? You're a grunt who doesn't even have power armor, and you're going to march up to a Primarch and say, 'My Lord, this sword has bad vibes, please don't touch it'? Watch him mash you into a meat paste on the spot."
[For the Regent Yellow Guilliman]: "But we can't just stand by and watch!! Doesn't that mean we're just letting those Chaos faction scumbags get a free win while lying down? We always call them heretics when we flame each other on the forums... Now that we finally have a fully immersive, holographic Warhammer simulation game... I refuse to lose to those heretics. This stupid game is way too realistic, I don't want to get my account banned! I still want to become an Ultramarines Company Captain!"
[We Are All the Emperor's Little Coins]: "You're right. But the problem is, what can we actually do? It's not our fault their faction bosses are overpowered. Those four sneaky bastards have been plotting in the Warp for God knows how long... The entire Laer race is already fully devoted to Slaanesh... Besides, we're just baseline grunts with a few minor stat buffs... How could we possibly stop Fulgrim from getting the Blade of the Laer? It's not like just anyone can wield that sword anyway; it literally has a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh inside it."
The channel went quiet again. Just then, a new message popped up. The sender was [The Imperium's Purest Inquisitor].
"I just got out of the Heliopolis war council. Fulgrim has issued the battle orders: in seven days, the first wave of drop troops will assault the primary Laer floating platform, the Sky Corals. The objective is to destroy the central energy pillars and send the platform crashing into the ocean. Simultaneously, fifteen companies of the Emperor's Children will launch a subterranean naval assault, utilizing asphyxiation toxins to exploit the Laer's weak cardiopulmonary systems. The campaign is projected to last four weeks. In the final week, Fulgrim will personally lead his Phoenix Guard to storm the primary Laer temple... That is where the Blade of the Laer is kept."