After a few days of much-needed rest, Pierce and Harry were instructed to report to the quartermaster for equipment collection. They were completely baffled, but they followed orders and headed straight for the quartermaster's depot.
Once the quartermaster verified the manifest, he ordered his crew to roll out the gear.
"Is all this... for us??"
Pierce stared at the exoskeleton armor in front of him, totally floored.
The suit was kitted out with a shoulder-mounted cannon featuring an automatic target acquisition module. It also included life support systems capable of sustaining them in any harsh environment, along with emergency medical devices.
Gear this sophisticated was usually off-limits to low-ranking grunts like them. Typically, they'd be lucky to get a basic suit and a laser rifle—the one they all jokingly call a 'flashlight.'
"Yup, standard issue. Every trooper gets one," the quartermaster said, waving a hand impatiently. "It's yours now. All you have to do is suit up and put your lives on the line out there."
"Oh, and here's your pay. We're facing some serious budget constraints, so we can only hand over two months' worth of Sky Eagle Coins in cash. The rest will be paid in exchange vouchers. Don't worry about any back pay; we'll square up with you later."
The quartermaster's lousy attitude didn't bother Pierce; if anything, it fired him up.
"With this bad boy, taking down those traitors will be like shooting fish in a barrel."
Pierce affectionately stroked the exoskeleton armor assigned to him. His eyes were wide with sheer greed, like a kid on Christmas morning. The Magos was the real deal, a breath of fresh air compared to those corrupt bureaucrats. They delivered good gear and paid the troops what they were owed. Finally, someone showed up who wasn't just talking about risk and faith, but was also willing to put their money where their mouth is.
"No question about it, I'm all in with the Magos. Wherever he says jump, I'm asking how high. Whoever he says to point the gun at, I'll pull the trigger." Pierce dropped his usual cynical, veteran schtick and spoke in a serious, earnest tone.
Harry looked at the Eaglecoins and vouchers in his hand and nodded in solid agreement.
If those pencil-pushing bureaucrats' orders ever clashed with the Magos'... they would absolutely tune out what the bureaucrats were saying and steadfastly fall in line with the Magos' command.
The planet Atomal was still churning out large quantities of military supplies. A steady stream of freighters shuttled finished goods into low orbit, where they were transferred to larger cargo vessels for transport to the front lines.
Beyond conventional weapons and ammo, the shipments also included a batch of the newly developed Hound-class intelligent control mechs.
This was a brand-new intelligent mech, created by Magos Tina using her accumulated knowledge and the factories under her command. It was cheap, highly cost-effective, utilized a wet component control core, and featured a receiver port for military control. They were designed and built purely as cannon fodder.
Batch after batch of Hound-class intelligent mechs marched into the transport ship's hold, then shut down their systems, entering hibernation to await activation upon reaching the front line.
Ten massive, one-kilometer-long escort ships were docked at the Doraemon Workshop's dry docks. Following the successful trial voyage of the Natural Selection, Doraemon immediately greenlit mass production. These ten frigates were the results of that push.
Atomal itself boasted a highly advanced shipbuilding industry. After the players optimized the production chain, scaled up the number of Thinkers, and boosted automated production, manufacturing efficiency went through the roof.
According to Doraemon and other players' projections, production capacity could continue to surge; all they needed to do was build more void factories and streamline the supply chain. They could build warships around the clock, aiming to drown the enemy in sheer numbers.
Magos Casca oversaw the final inspection of the warships, etching gear markings onto various sections to bless the machines. Once everything was confirmed shipshape, these vessels would be handed over to the Imperial Navy.
Naturally, Doraemon Workshop didn't just take military orders; they also accepted commissions from players, often including special modifications to add more automated equipment. This allowed players to control the ship without needing a full crew.
Imperial warships were powerful, tough, fast, and resistant to daemonic incursions, but they cost an arm and a leg. For budget-minded players, buying a ship from Doraemon Workshop offered more bang for their buck. As far as the players were concerned, all the spaceship needed to do was fly, shoot, and have a working shield. Everything else was just icing on the cake.
Macragge
A magnificent fleet had assembled here. Guilliman had decided to embark on his pilgrimage to Terra.
He selected an elite contingent of battle-hardened Astartes from the Ultramarines to accompany him, including Sicarius, famed for his legendary deeds. Voldus, the Grand Master of the Grey Knights, also joined, bringing the Third Brotherhood with him.
Furthermore, various key Imperial figures—including the Emperor's Champion Amarridge, the Living Saint Celestine, Inquisitor Grefax, and Grand Magos Cawl—all requested permission to join the expedition.
Meanwhile, the remaining Ynnari forces announced their departure to meet up with Yvraine, the emissary of the Aeldari god of death, Ynnead, and other senior Aeldari figures. Though Cadia has fallen, many worlds still held intact Cadian Pylons (obsidian obelisks). The Ynnari would travel to these planets to secure those vital devices.
After a brief, polite attempt to persuade him to stay, Guilliman bid farewell to Yvraine, the Emissary of Ynnead.
"I wish you a safe journey and a successful endeavor. May you teach our common enemy a lasting lesson."
"May your might prevail, Roboute Guilliman," Yvraine responded, bowing. "One day, our destinies will intersect again—until then, please don't die on me."
"The Regent's wife is taking off already? They just got hitched! Why didn't she stick around for a few more days?!" The BaldCustodian said, looking bummed out.
The veteran player with the ID "Pighead," who was in the second batch to enter the game, chuckled. "They've been together forever; the honeymoon phase is definitely over. They need a little space. When they meet again, absence makes the heart grow fonder."
Mordecai shook his head, pushing back on Pighead's take. "Nah, I figure Guilliman has to check in with the Emperor, and he can't exactly bring Yvraine home to meet the parents, so they're on a temporary break."
The baldy grinned. "Now that you mention it, that totally gives me an idea for a soap opera about the Imperial Family that could run for at least fifty episodes."
The other players stared, urging him to spill the beans. Baldcustodian was instantly hooked and began to describe it vividly.
"Years later, the Emperor wakes up and hears about Guilliman and Yvraine's thing. He's livid and orders the Custodes to bring Yvraine to him." When she arrives, the Emperor throws a handful of planetary deeds at her and declares, "Woman, these are five hundred worlds. Dump my son."
Yvraine shakes her head. "Hard pass. We have genuine love, and I'm not leaving him for a stack of property titles."
Just then, Guilliman storms in, grabs Yvraine's hand, pulls her behind him, and glares at his father—the great Lord of Mankind—with fire in his eyes. Guilliman shouts, "Father, Yvraine isn't like the rest of the Aeldari! We're madly in love! You can't be so cruel as to rip us apart!" The Emperor roars back, "If you stick with that alien, don't you dare call me your father again!"
"A few days later, the Emperor finds a note left by Guilliman. For love, he had renounced his title as the Thirteenth Primarch and skipped town/galaxy with Yvraine.
Just as the Emperor is having a meltdown, Slaanesh embraces him from behind. "Don't sweat it, brother. I'm right here. I'll never abandon you."
The Emperor felt a sense of relief and was about to lean into the moment... but then they heard footsteps nearby. Erda had walked in. He was shocked and furious to see Slaanesh embracing the Emperor and screamed, "You told me I was the only one, you swore it! You played me, and after I did all the work, you went and found someone else!" After unleashing a string of curses, she charged and started fighting Slaanesh.
"...."
Baldcustodian's tale was so vivid the other players were hanging on his every word, eyes wide.
"Holy moly!"
"This plot is pure soap opera gold."
"But for some reason, I'm dying to know what happens next."
"No sequel? We riot!" Pighead glared playfully at the BaldCustodian.
Mordecai shook his head. "BaldCustodian, if the Emperor ever came back online, you'd be sharing a cell with Abaddon and Erebus. That level of heresy is just off the charts."
"..."
Guilliman shot a look at the antics of the Saints. Watching them laughing their heads off, he knew they were up to no good again. Of course, after all this time, he'd become completely desensitized to their behavior. If they ever stopped acting like total lunatics, that would be the real problem.
Just a few days after announcing the pilgrimage, Guilliman set sail with a massive Imperial fleet. Countless engines roared to life, tearing through the void as they headed toward humanity's home world.
The Warp erupted in chaos, and the Gods bellowed. The storms in the Aether were unusually violent. The pilgrimage fleet's voyage was a nightmare, with every Warp jump bringing new reports of ships lost or vanished. The expedition faced an absolute gauntlet. But they held fast and remained fearless, marching toward Terra, straight into the teeth of the storm.
On the other side of the galaxy, following the Battle of Fenris, Magnus initiated a ritual fueled by the sacrifice of a billion souls. They successfully dragged the Planet of Sorcerers from the Eye of Terror and placed it in the star system where Prospero once orbited. Additionally, over a dozen unformed Daemon Worlds were pulled into realspace and now circled the Planet of Sorcerers.
These planets were bristling with factories of corruption, either gifts from the Dark Mechanicus or stolen via the Warp from burned-out Forge Worlds. They were cranking out wave after wave of siege Daemon Engines, which spewed thick, black smoke into the aurora-shimmering atmosphere.
Meanwhile, in the magnificent city of Tizca, the Primarch Magnus was keeping tabs on Guilliman. He cracked a smile when he heard the other Primarch had set sail. The foolish, arrogant Guilliman was about to become his personal puppet.
Elsewhere, a world was utterly destroyed; the daemonic armies of Khorne had slaughtered every living thing. Crimson blood flowed like a river through the streets of the once-bustling city. The tormented, desperate roars of vanishing souls became the howling wind.
Angron's initial plan was to head straight for and wipe out the Pharos Lighthouse. Its radiant beacon was getting under his skin, fueling an unbearable rage. But the will of the Blood God overruled him. The master of the Brass Citadel required more bloodshed in the Materium—more war, more slaughter. Guilliman was the ultimate prize.
Angron submitted to the Blood God's will, directing his fleet to hunt down the pilgrimage group, intent on unleashing a bloodbath.
Somewhere in the Empyrean, through the whispers of the daemons swirling around him, Fulgrim also learned that Guilliman was heading to Terra. He let out a strange, delighted laugh, then ran his tongue across the edge of his sharp blade, making a vow in a cold tone.
"Guilliman, you are going to pay for humiliating me. You'll never make it to our foolish father's side."