On the surface of a nameless planet, the plain of deep red gravel gleamed with a metallic luster under the light of two suns. The oppressive heat caused distant scenery to blur and waver. Datch's figure dashed across the silent wasteland, bounding lightly as he moved.
He was becoming increasingly adept at the art of consecutive jumps. With it, he could ignore physical laws completely, gliding through the air, striking all sorts of cool landing poses. After trying out various ways to exploit this bug, Datch glanced up at the cloudless sky and started bounding ever higher. Each jump took him meters upwards, and with every leap, he soared higher and higher toward the sky.
As he went up, the air thinned, temperatures dropped, and the view widened: the crimson soil below spread out in all directions, the planet's curved horizon revealing itself in a vast arc. Who knew how much time had passed, but Datch came to realize he was now free from the last restraint of the planet's thin atmosphere, floating in total silence and darkness.
Behind him spread the gigantic, curved, red sands of the planetary surface; before him yawned the vast, bottomless void of space. Smiling quietly within the vacuum, Datch savored the freedom to defy conventional physics. His Lich King set was just a skin—the core was still his original, forged power armor beneath. So, he figured, staying in space would be no problem.
"This skill is totally awesome! To be able to jump that high… Did the developers leave this bug here on purpose?"
The Warhammer Universe boasted a cutting-edge physics engine, recreating physical effects with high realism in-game. Every planet had an advanced gravity system. Yet now, he had actually vaulted from the surface of a planet into space. No explanation but a bug seemed possible.
Don't ask why you'd even want to spend all that time bouncing from ground to orbit! The game itself was fun. Exploring and finding bugs was the most enjoyable part.
Not too far away, a Changeling and a Masque of Slaanesh floated together in the vacuum. As daemons of the Warp, they adapted easily to the cold and oxygen deprivation of space. The Masque of Slaanesh floated gracefully, her purple dress clinging tightly to her alluring figure, the curves so captivating as to tempt one into crime itself. She twined a lock of hair around her finger, watching the nameless one's bounding leaps with vibrant curiosity.
He hadn't just broken through the atmosphere—he continued to leap even in the vacuum. At this rate, he could probably jump to another star system; it would just take a very long time.
Beside her, wrapped in a gray robe that cast a shadow beneath its hood, the Changeling turned his gaze away. The voice echoed not aloud but in the mind—still sweet, still inquisitive.
"Why do you suppose the Nameless Ones aren't bound at all by the rules of reality?"
Even daemons born in Warp-space would be constrained by physical law upon setting foot in the real universe. If their bodies were destroyed, they'd be banished back to the Warp.
The Changeling turned away, refusing to engage with the Masque of Slaanesh.
"Hmph. Why should I indulge the pointless questions of a fool blissfully soaking in depravity?"
"Were it not for our current predicament, your attitude would be enough to warrant a spell that could melt a battleship."
"Remember—we are eternal enemies. Our current alliance is only temporary, forced upon us by the power of the Nameless."
The Masque of Slaanesh didn't get angry at all. Instead, she covered her mouth with a hand, letting out a pleasant, quiet laugh. Suddenly, she thought of something amusing that brought her joy. Floating light as a weightless violet vision, she drifted in front of the Changeling, repeating her question with her ever-present smile.
"Why do you think the Nameless aren't bound by reality's laws?"
The spirit turned away the other direction—his posture clearly saying don't come closer. But the dancer pursued, gliding after him like a shadow, her smile never wavered, repeating herself.
"Tell me… Why…?"
"Get out! You wretched, depraved filth!"
The Changeling spirit's anger surged, echoing in the dancer's mind. His robe and sleeves stirred, even without wind; faint arcs of electricity and illusory wings flashed for a moment before being forcibly suppressed. Because of the contract, he could not attack his companion"
Realizing her counterpart couldn't touch her, the dancer's smile only grew brighter; far from feeling insulted, she secretly felt a bit happy. It would probably be even more fun if he'd shout insults and whip her, as well. Over and over, she drifted back to him, asking the same question.
"Enough!!!"
The spirit's shout was full of despair, as if he would break any moment. Never had he realized Slaanesh daemons could be so shameless! He himself had once been a high daemon of the Prince of Darkness—didn't he have any shame at all?
"The Nameless transcend the universe's fundamental laws; of course they aren't bound!"
"Transcend the rules?" The Masque of Slaanesh tapped her chin, lost in thought. "Well then, how does he accomplish it?"
"You're asking me? Who should I ask, then?" The Changeling's shadow quivered violently. "This kind of question strikes at the heart of things—even the so-called god who rules all might not have a clear answer. If I knew, would I still be trapped here, treated like a pet by those people?"
"I intend to return to the Crystal Maze—to have that old man leave in my stead, so that I myself can walk a path of endless change."
"Ah… So you plan to rebel and become the new master of all mutation and change, hmm?"
The Masque of Slaanesh's tone was mocking, her words slow.
"Yet it seems your ever-changing faction is not so great after all. You boast of wisdom, but there are plenty of things you still don't understand."
"Like you lot are any better!" snapped the spirit of change. "At least we seek knowledge and change. We're a million times better than you wastes who know only how to chase fleeting pleasure."
"Oh, but here's the thing: We pursue pleasure, and at least we achieve it, while your lot pursues knowledge and change, and can't even answer the most fundamental questions. You're just like us, aren't you?"
"Kick off, stay away from me, don't come near."
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere, nowhere."
"Splish… splish…"
A soft green light blinked as a living being appeared beside the Changeling and the Masque of Slaanesh. It blinked in puzzlement, failing to understand why the other two were arguing again.
"This is pointless. There's nothing to say. You are forbidden from speaking with me anymore."
The Shapeshifter forcefully clamped down on his anger at Slaanesh's creation, turning to face Life Spirit. Within the shadows of his wizard's robe, countless invisible eyes tracked and analyzed Life Spirit.
He was highly curious as to how the Nameless had turned Nurgle's corrupted daemon—once covered in plague and pus—into this current embodiment of pure life.
Because of a blessing of faith, the little child's growth had accelerated. Now, they possessed the power to invert an entire planetary ecosystem. Perhaps, given time, they'd grow as mighty as Nurgle himself… The Nameless clearly had great ambitions.
"I want to decompose and study this in detail…"
The capricious spirit muttered this to himself, at which point semi-transparent tentacles, composed of light and dust, stretched out from the shadow.
Life Spirit instantly moved to a defensive posture, scooting back several meters while softly flashing with green light, making a petulant "Puuuu!" sound. Turning away, it shot off towards the freely falling Datch, who was still experimenting with weightlessness in space. Life Spirit grabbed tightly onto the Lich King's cold pauldron, as if it were the world's safest refuge.
"They're extremely cautious,"
muttered the Changeling, retracting his tentacles. His shadow calmed, and he fell into solitary contemplation.
…
After enjoying for a time the wonder of floating in zero gravity, Datch spread his arms and slowly let the planet's gravity pull him back down, accelerating as he plummeted towards the surface. The planet's dark red land swelled rapidly in his vision; winds roared past. Just as he was about to collide—
Whoosh… Datch used Blink to instantly negate all momentum, landing feather-light atop the soft, warm sand, not even leaving a proper crater.
"Time to go back."
Datch brushed off imaginary dust, drew his Teleport Gun, punched in the Primarch's coordinates on his minimap, and opened a portal.
Passing through, he found himself in the Primarch's laboratory aboard the Macragge's Honour—a space bathed in soft artificial light, filled with ancient texts and tactical models.
Guilliman sat behind a large desk, speaking with a visitor seated before him. The visitor wore a plain but crisply pressed white robe, like a Catholic priest; a massive, state education volume hung at his waist, bound by chain. The chain scraped the cover, producing soft metallic sounds.
The priest seemed in his forties or fifties, his forehead shaven; the crown revealed a bluish scalp dusted with short, fine stubble. Covering his entire forehead was an intricate tattoo of a double-headed eagle, the wings reaching the temples. Biblical verses were written all over his exposed skin—cheeks, neck, and hands—revealing his deep piety.
Above Gulliman and the priest, a golden exclamation mark hovered—signaling they were in the midst of a story dialogue or decision event.
Datch could drag the timeline to sleep, skipping forward, or simply wait; meetings like this rarely lasted long given his standing.
Instead of another fast jump, Datch glided casually over and opened the info panel for the church priest.
The priest, Father Matthew, a high-ranking Anglican cleric known for his devout faith and zealous preaching, was considered a leading candidate for Apostle of War. Evidently, they were in the process of appointing a new Apostle; when the meeting ended, a new mission would be granted.
Datch's arrival quickly drew the attention of both men. As he approached, Matthew immediately leapt up, performing the Aquila salute.
"Glory to the Supreme Emperor! And to you, incarnation of miracles who walks the earth, Nameless One—praise be to you!"
He bowed deeply, the tattooed muscles on his face twitching with emotion.
"Your mercy and power are a beacon defying the darkness, delivering millions of lost souls from suffering and guiding them to the Emperor's glory."
"To witness the visage of the Divine today is the greatest honor of my life, Brother Matthew!"
Guilliman, still seated behind the desk, watched quietly, his fingertips drumming softly on the polished surface. His eyes flashed again with a complex expression: religious fervor, absolute devotion, even a flicker of longing for self-sacrifice.
He was privately glad that the Nameless One never engaged in empty ritual. He'd always tried to project a transcendent, mysterious, and slightly ironically detached image, no matter the audience.
The state religion had become extremely fanatical. Even the Emperor himself—if he one day stepped down and declared he was not a god—might well be burned as a heretic by such zealots.
Religion created fanaticism, blinding people, leading them to forget reason and science. Once a religious mythology was in play, objective truth ceased to matter—what mattered was stance. Your posture decided everything. In such an environment, people no longer judged by fact, but by their own side. Countless wars had begun this way.
The resultant misery and slaughter only empowered and multiplied Warp daemons and evil gods.
Unfortunately, the Imperial Truth proclaimed during the Great Crusade ultimately failed, because gods and daemons are objective reality. Deny them all you like—they're still there.
"Father Matthew," Guilliman said, voice dignified and authoritative, gesturing to the opposite chair.
"Please, sit. We have much to discuss."
The previous War Apostle had collapsed from overwork and died during prayer. In keeping with custom, the state religion would soon select a replacement to serve the Indomitus Crusade. But Guilliman had resolved to intervene—he needed a War Apostle with restraint, not a zealot.
The power of religion had to be kept in check: while zealotry could unify, it also bred ignorance and prejudice—the very calamity Guilliman most wished to avoid, as negative emotion only fed Warp daemons, worsening mankind's situation.
Matthew's gaze remained riveted on the Nameless, his face aglow. It took truly immense willpower to turn his eyes back to the body before him. Matthew pressed a button hidden in his palm, activating the electric shock device implanted in his body.
A surge of indescribable pain contorted his expression just a little. Through this self-punishing method, he forced himself to suppress his emotions, regaining composure and seriousness. Sweat made the double-headed eagle tattoo on his brow stand out even more clearly.
"My sincerest apologies, my lord." Matthew's voice was now calm.
"I was simply overwhelmed—so close to a living miracle."
"This is unprecedented, even for one loyal to the Emperor."
Guilliman sighed inwardly, knowing without doubt that this Anglican priest would lay down his life in an instant at a snap of the Nameless One's fingers. The Nameless's reputation was only growing; it was predicted he'd soon be worshipped as a living god among men by force of faith.
"It's fine," Guilliman waved gently, steering the conversation back.
"As I mentioned, the position of War Apostle is now vacant. After careful investigation, we're convinced you're presently the very best choice."
"Of course, this is not compulsory. If you have any doubts or hesitation, we can recommend someone else."
On this, Matthew glanced at Datch, who stood quietly by, waiting for the discussion to finish.
War Apostles oversaw both propaganda for the Crusade and State Church activities, making them prominent figures. If he became War Apostle, he'd be interacting frequently with cold, hard men—just the thought made Matthew's heart race. Taking a deep breath, he looked directly at Guilliman.
"I am honored to accept, my lord. To devote my life to such a noble and sacred cause is my highest wish. But what matters even more is that this task lets me… draw closer…"
He quickly tacked on:
"…It is my greatest honor to further serve the future of the Imperium."
Guilliman: "…"
When I recommended you a moment ago, you said you'd consider it; but as soon as the Nameless appears, that becomes a supreme honor. In other words, my status—as Regent, Primarch, and de facto ruler of the Imperium—is lower than that of an unknown outsider?
The cold… so cold! Will people ever stop underestimating natives like me?!
I, Roboute Guilliman, am your Lord Regent!
"Excellent," Guilliman thought quietly, though his tone remained calm. He picked a data slate off the table and handed it to Caul.
"These are some of the promotion plans I've drawn up, and topics on which I hope for your blessing…"
The subsequent conversation delved into practicalities: doctrinal interpretation, propaganda strategy, liaison with other Imperial institutions, and so on. Despite a dazzling exterior, Matthew proved astute and realistic, offering insightful opinions on many points.
With all formalities complete, he bowed deeply to Guilliman and Datch, then left the study. The door closed quietly behind him.
Datch immediately slid up to the desk, eyes alight with expectation.
"Lord Regent, have any tasks for me now?"
Guilliman seemed relaxed; after all, he always felt most comfortable in the Nameless's company.
Really, all you had to do was assign him work—nothing else was required.
The Primarch activated the starmap projector on his desk, flooding the room with information.
"I've ordered Issei Kestorian to temporarily take command of the First Fleet.
"Next, the Imperium will establish defensive lines using the Paradis star system as a base, integrating multiple systems to halt the expansion of the Necron threat.
"At the same time, I've issued top-priority research orders to Mars and all major Forge Worlds to develop anti-necromancy weaponry and equipment.
"Belisarius Cawl is on his way elsewhere; he will oversee extensive reverse-engineering in hopes of finding weak points in the dead zones."
The Primarch's fingers glided across the star map, finally pausing on the Ultramar system. His gaze hardened.
Necron technology in the galaxy was unfathomably advanced; victory at the Battle of Pardis had belonged entirely to the Nameless's heroic efforts.
Without him, the Imperium would have certainly lost.
But there was only one Nameless One, and reclaiming lost ground would still depend on the full might of the Imperial military.
To fight the undead in space, the Imperium needed more power. Military equipment couldn't be conjured from thin air; building it took time.
Meanwhile, Guilliman was planning to confront Mortarion's threat to Ultramar and block his sinister designs. He traced a long dotted line from Pardis to Ultramar on the starmap, finally fixing Datch with a pleading gaze.
"The Great Rift's fracture has permanently altered warp currents and routes.
"Many once-safe passages are now infested with psychic reefs and perilous maelstroms; entering them risks disorientation, shipwreck, even mass loss of life.
"Time is our most valuable resource. Nameless One, please chart and open a safe route to Ultramar for the Imperial fleet.
"Reducing needless warp wandering and loss will increase the survival odds of millions in Ultramar."
As soon as he finished, a mission notification appeared, just as expected:
[Mission: Help the Imperial Regent find the safest, shortest route back to Ultramar!]
Many once-safe warp routes are now impassable due to the Great Rift and the shining of the Astronomican (the light of the stars). Entering these regions risks catastrophic loss. Roboute Guilliman hopes you can find a safe route to Ultramar, reducing losses and travel time.
[Mission Rewards: EXP 2000, Points 2000, Rep +1000; Power Sword ×1]
Datch's eyes sparkled. This job was like a gift fallen from heaven.
After all, he'd gotten the Astral Express as a reward for the last mission—perfect for road construction.
It was time to start the galaxy-scale infrastructure project!
"I'll find you a safe, fast route,"
Datch nodded, accepting the quest.
He skipped to the window, pulled out the model of the Astral Express, and activated it. The model, ignoring the solid desk and bulkhead, dissolved into a soft, pure silvery-white light. Like an illusion, it flowed through all material barriers and soared out into the vast void outside the Macragge's Honour.
Just off the edge of the ship, the silvery light drew out a gigantic chain over a kilometer long, glowing softly with star-like radiance and floating quietly among the stars. At the train's head, two blue lights flickered open, like the eyes of a massive beast.