Luka emerged from the box, shaking off the disorientation of crossing worlds.
"Governor succession ceremony completed. Novice quest finished. Rewards: 500 experience points, 200 quest points. Current authority: Level I (500/1000). The Emperor is pleased, granting a Master-crafted Power Sword (dueling style)," the servitor skull announced.
Luka planned to linger, savoring the Planetary Governor's luxurious life in the 40k era. But the banquet's exotic fare—Winterscale Creepers, Thornthroats, Ant-Cows—deterred him. He tasted briefly and left.
Normal foods existed, but the feast prioritized "noble bravery" with rare ingredients. Bread and pastries were absent, and fruits, precious on this frontier world, were scarce even for a Governor.
In Warhammer, a single alien fruit could buy a Hive City palace. The galaxy-spanning empire had poor material circulation, with wildly unbalanced prices. A 3k-era trinket could buy a 40k-era planet.
Luka planned to exploit this. In 40k, natural grape wine was unattainable for Hive City nobles, and premium vintages were priceless. Transforming Rostov II into a wine-rich paradise world would bring wealth.
Success hinged on Sage Ovilia terraforming Rostov II from desert to paradise. Even if she failed, Luka wasn't fazed. Warhammer's cruelty rivaled starvation; reducing toxic gases would suffice.
As a Biological Sage, Ovilia's grape cultivation was key. Quality assured, wealth would follow.
Warhammer Governor? No, interstellar wine magnate.
Wine profits would fund weapons, planetary development, and more. Population and resources weren't constraints—money bought surplus populations or penal world prisoners. Even tech issues could be solved by hiring the Adeptus Mechanicus for profit.
"Next, buy wine grape seedlings for Ovilia to cultivate on Rostov II," Luka decided, eyeing the box. A scimitar-shaped power sword lay on golden dust.
"The Emperor's gift?" Luka grasped it. Surprisingly light, it felt custom-made, fluid in one hand.
"Master-crafted, incredible!" he marveled. The slender, curved blade, ideal for slashing, bore High Gothic inscriptions of the Emperor's motto. The gem-encrusted, gold-wrapped metal hilt was luxurious. A Purity Seal adorned the force field generator, which could tear matter apart atomically. A holy icon hung at the hilt's end.
A true work of art.
"I'll snap pics for the group—they've never seen such Warhammer merch!" Luka photographed himself with the sword, posting to his Warhammer group: "Master-crafted Power Sword! For the Emperor!"
The group erupted.
"Holy crap! That's tens of thousands!"
"Adeptus Mechanicus work! Share your contact!"
"Flaws in the sword—send it to me!"
"Omnissiah! A real Power Sword? Dueling style? Are you an Emperor's Champion?"
Luka grinned at the frenzy, his goal achieved. The skull mentioned recruiting others to Warhammer. Could he bring his group?
Warhammer fans wouldn't miss the chance. Luka trusted their reliability, despite limited real-life bonds. For the Emperor, it seemed feasible.
"No rush. I'm still in the novice phase. Bringing them now is hasty," Luka decided, placing the sword on his model shelf. "First, secure my safety—psychic talent or Astartes enhancement."