The sky grew faintly bright.
On the horizon of the Redblaze Wasteland on Aurelian IV, a dull red sun slowly rose, dyeing the firmament in a shade of dark crimson.
Paul stood in front of two well-tended acres of reclaimed land.
His height had now reached two point four-five meters. Even standing perfectly still, his post-Astartes augmentation physique cast a heavy, imposing shadow in the morning light.
Row upon row of tender green stalks broke through the dirt, growing stubbornly in Aurelian IV's barren soil.
This was the first crop planted using the [Special Modified Potato Seeds] redeemed from the shop.
One hundred Imperial Coins a bag, bearing the labels: "High Environmental Adaptability," "Short Growth Cycle," and "Medium Yield."
On non-agricultural planets, these crops were the top choice for refugees and pioneers. They didn't require fertile soil; as long as they were watered, they would survive—at worst, the yield would just be slightly reduced.
But Paul closed his eyes, feeling the entirely new, massive system of power surging within his body.
Storm-Tier psychic power and an S-Rank All-Rounder Talent surged like a docile river deep within his consciousness.
Guided by his will, a pale green light slowly emanated from the surface of his body. Like mist in the morning dawn, it gently blanketed the potato field.
This was the outward manifestation of the Compassion trait.
In the lineage of Champions in the Warhammer universe, the power bestowed upon a Champion often reflected their core traits.
Tzeentch's Champions excelled in deceit and knowledge; Khorne's Champions pursued blood and glory; Nurgle's Champions spread plagues and his twisted fatherly love; Slaanesh's Champions drowned in excess and perfection.
As for the Emperor, Paul had only ever seen Games Workshop hand out nerfs and buffs—balance was entirely at GW's whim.
But the five great traits Paul had acquired—Hope, Compassion, Resolve, Pioneering, and Wisdom—were unique Champion traits forged by Lucian using over thirty million units of physical and emotional energy.
The power of the Compassion trait didn't stop at mere healing.
Restoration, acceleration, curing—it could even apply a 'Compassion Buff' to allied warriors on the battlefield!
A 30% increase in total vitality, a 20% increase in recovery speed, and a heightened resistance to fatal blows!
It was safe to say this was a god-tier ability!
The other four major traits had their own unique characteristics as well!
As long as he had enough psychic energy, he could use them infinitely!
Compared to other Champions, although there was no direct infusion of divine power, his abilities possessed incredibly potent growth potential!
The moment the pale green psychic energy seeped into the soil, the potato sprouts began to grow at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The stalks shot up, the leaves unfurled, and the tubers beneath the ground rapidly expanded.
This wasn't time acceleration; it was a direct infusion of life energy, pushing the plants' innate growth potential to its absolute limit.
Five minutes later, the soil beneath the first potato plant bulged slightly.
Paul crouched down. Given his current size, he had to be exceptionally careful not to crush the ridges of the field. Using fingers that, despite his Astartes augmentation, still possessed pinpoint control, he gently brushed the dirt aside.
A fist-sized potato rolled out.
The skin was a healthy, earthy yellow. It was plump and showed absolutely no signs of disease or mutation.
Paul picked it up between two fingers and rested it in his massive palm.
In a hand capable of effortlessly lifting ten tons, the small tuber looked like an insignificant little bean.
But his eyes were incredibly solemn.
This wasn't corpse starch.
It wasn't that grey paste synthesized from underhive organic waste, industrial slag, or unknown biomass.
This was true food, grown from the earth.
It was the crystallization of life—born from seeds, soil, water, sunlight, and a little bit of help from his trait abilities.
Frankly speaking, this tiny potato meant nothing to the Imperium as a whole. The Emperor had never once considered solving the plight of the Imperium's remote, impoverished agri-worlds.
"Chapter Master...?"
A hoarse, awe-filled voice came from behind.
Paul had sensed his approach long ago. His augmented senses were terrifyingly sharp. He could hear a heartbeat from a hundred meters away and differentiate dozens of distinct scents carried on the wind.
He slowly turned around, his movements unhurried and composed.
Aska stood three meters away, carrying two crude wooden buckets used for hauling water.
The old miner, who was in his forties, looked much better than he did half a month ago.
Some color had returned to his cheeks, his hunched back had straightened a bit, and his eyes were no longer filled solely with numbness and despair.
But right now, those eyes were glued to the potato in Paul's palm. His pupils were dilated, his lips trembling.
"Is... Is that..."
Aska's voice choked up.
Paul nodded.
"The first fully grown potato."
Paul's voice was calm, yet carried a power that set the listener's heart at ease.
He had deliberately adjusted his vocal cords, making the deep, augmented resonance of his voice sound closer to the original Zeke.
And not the Paul who had scraped out a living in the ruins of the illusion.
After all, deep down, he was still Zeke.
Paul was simply the name he chose to present to this world, and a public declaration of his newfound conviction.
Thump. Aska dropped to his knees.
It wasn't the fearful kneeling of the oppressed before a tyrant; it was the devout prostration of a believer witnessing a miracle.
He pressed his forehead to the ground, his calloused hands digging into the dirt, his voice thick with tears.
"Thank you for letting us grow real food... Thank you, Chapter Master... You are our savior..."
Paul looked down at the man kneeling before him.
He remembered Aska bowing and thanking him while holding those two children in the industrial transport tunnel.
He remembered the sight of Aska shoving his last half-ration of nutrient paste into a child's hands on a freezing night in the wasteland.
He remembered the light slowly returning to this old miner's eyes as he led the workers in building the base over the past month.
"I am not a god."
"Stand up, Aska."
Paul spoke slowly.
Aska froze, then looked up.
Paul extended his right hand—a hand that could easily crush a skull—and gently rested it on Aska's greying hair, ruffling it softly.
The movement was incredibly gentle.
Then, he gripped Aska's arm and firmly hoisted the man, who was nearly a meter shorter than him, to his feet.
"The nobles and the consuls made you kneel to accept their slavery."
Paul looked directly into Aska's eyes, enunciating every word clearly.
"I want you to stand up."
"To stand tall as a human being. To possess everything you were always meant to have—food, shelter, dignity, and the right to choose how you live your life."
He gently placed the potato from his palm into Aska's trembling hands.
"This is the first potato."
"I am giving it to you. Organize the workers, and use it to make the first real meal of your new lives."
Aska cupped the potato as if it were the most precious gemstone in the world.
"When you eat the food made from this potato, I want you all to remember a few things."
Paul continued, his voice carrying far on the morning wind.
"First, this food did not come easily."
"It was not charity handed down by the lords. You earned it with your own two hands—by reclaiming the land, planting the seeds, tending them day and night, and trading your sweat and labor for it."
"Second, this is only the beginning."
"Two acres of potatoes in the farming zone are fully mature. After breakfast, organize a crew to harvest them. Set aside the best tubers as seeds for the next season; the rest is your food."
"Then, plant those seeds again. Rinse and repeat, and we will have an endless supply of food."
"Third..."
He paused, looking toward the sun rising higher in the east.
"Remember how you feel right at this very moment."
"Remember what it feels like to have a full stomach, and what it feels like to have hope."
"And then ask yourselves: Why is it that you can slave away until you drop dead in the Aru Group's factories, yet you couldn't even earn a single potato like this?"
"Why do those high and mighty lords in the Hive get to casually decide whether you eat nutrient paste or eat the lash of a whip?"
Aska's tears finally fell.
A turbulent surge of complex emotions—gratitude, hope, rage, and resolve—all crashed together at once.
"I understand, Chapter Master."
He wiped his tears away fiercely and clutched the potato tightly to his chest.
"I will make sure every person who comes after us remembers this day... remembers that we are no longer consumables. We are human beings."