At the absolute limit of the Astronomican’s light, in the halo zone on the outer rim of the galaxy, lay a tiny star system known as Faya.
Small, sparsely populated, remote, and devoid of resources, the Faya system had managed to escape the galaxy-spanning fires of war, existing in quiet obscurity on this forgotten frontier as if it didn’t exist at all.
Russell was born in this backwater wasteland, a place so remote that even the Imperium’s tax collectors, the Administratum, had forgotten it existed.
When he first opened his eyes on a soft maternity bed, the first thing he saw was a kindly, benevolent icon of the Emperor hanging on the wall of the delivery room.
A chill of pure despair washed over the newborn baby.
He instantly realized exactly where he was.
The Warhammer universe—a godforsaken clusterfuck teeming with monsters and madmen, a setting that consistently ranked in the top three of “fictional worlds you would least want to be transmigrated into,” and often took the crown.
In a hopeless universe where chaos, extremism, tyranny, and terror were the defining themes, Russell felt there was a high probability he wouldn’t survive long enough to learn how to walk.
It was a classic case of bankrupting before the grand opening, liquidation upon registration.
If it were a simple death, he could just treat it as a bad run and restart.
But this universe had Chaos Gods.
The unlucky didn’t even get to rest in peace after death; their souls would be dragged into the Warp to suffer eternal torment.
Yet, as a space opera enthusiast, right before he transmigrated into the Warhammer universe, he had actually been playing Stellaris.
In that particular save file, he had chosen to become the crisis.
The Commonwealth of Man, which he controlled, had constructed an Aetherophasic Engine capable of incinerating the entire galaxy in the Deneb system.
The moment he clicked the launch button, the engine fired, the save reached its final screen, and Russell lost consciousness.
When he opened his eyes again, he was on the maternity bed.
Was there a connection?
Russell didn’t know.
But as it turned out, his luck wasn’t entirely terrible.
He was born into a peaceful, isolationist frontier system.
Although it lacked resources, had outdated technology, and its social structure had regressed to a feudal state, it was spared the horrors of war.
It was poor, but life was bearable.
Russell’s identity here was the son of the Planetary Governor.
Though “Governor” was his official title, in practice, he was no different from a feudal lord.
He didn’t mind slacking off on this worthless rock, which was so barren even the Adeptus Mechanicus wouldn’t bother mining it.
After all, while the average Imperial citizen lived in utter misery, the ruling class still enjoyed a decent standard of living.
And so, slacking off year after year, Russell successfully inherited the position of Planetary Governor from his late father at the age of twenty-four.
And on that very day, his peaceful life came to an end.
A massive starship emerged from deep space, barging into the Faya system and settling into a geosynchronous orbit over the small planet.
It hovered in space like a third moon.
Russell received the news almost at the exact moment he took hold of the governor’s seal.
The long-neglected defense satellites in the atmosphere hummed to life, entering high alert, though some short-circuited and blew up in the process.
The ship’s colossal silhouette was clearly visible even from the most remote polar regions.
Instantly, the entire planet fell into utter chaos.
The vessel hovering in orbit had a bizarre design, completely unlike any known Imperial ship.
It looked like a sleek, elegant silver spindle, with arcs of blue-purple electricity rippling across its hull.
If it wasn’t Imperial, it was an enemy.
In the Imperium of Man, the entire universe was an enemy.
Although Faya’s societal system had regressed to feudalism, knowledge left over from the Imperial colonization era meant the nobility still knew that such a titanic vessel would never travel alone; it had to be the flagship of a massive fleet.
Yet even before any escort fleet appeared, the sheer, crushing presence of this single flagship was enough to induce despair.
This was not a force a barren rock like theirs could hope to oppose.
Reports flooded into the governor’s mansion through every channel.
Nobility everywhere scrambled to secure the few ancient vessels left in the starport to flee.
Under these circumstances, organizing any coordinated resistance against the giant ship was utterly impossible.
…Well, technically, he could still organize something.
He could rally the fanatic Ecclesiarchy zealots from the cathedrals to launch a holy crusade.
But Russell felt that sending flesh-and-blood humans to fight a titan-class warship was a bit absurd.
They weren’t Space Marines; they couldn’t just pull off a death-defying boarding action.
At this moment, he wasn’t particularly afraid.
It was more a sense of relief.
The past twenty-four years of peace had kept him on edge, making him wonder if this was actually the Warhammer universe.
That doubt vanished today.
Upon learning that the system he governed was about to be destroyed, Russell’s only thought was, *Now this is Warhammer.* Humming a familiar tune from his past life, he resigned himself to his impending doom.
Looking out the window of the governor’s office, he could faintly make out the silhouette of the colossal ship on the horizon.
For some reason, the design looked incredibly familiar.
“A few defense satellites are still functional. Let’s get a good look at this ship first.”
Ignoring the army regiments assembling outside, Russell returned to his desk and skillfully brought up the monitoring interface.
Whether to praise the Adeptus Mechanicus tech-priests for their craftsmanship or not, the feeds returned by the defense satellites—constructed generations ago—were surprisingly clear.
They perfectly demonstrated the signature durability of Imperial manufacturing.
A total of fourteen satellites sent back footage from various angles.
After processing, they formed a 3D holographic projection hovering over the round table.
The moment Russell saw the projection, he froze.
If seeing a mere glimpse of the ship’s silhouette had merely felt familiar, seeing the complete vessel projected before him sent him into a state of absolute shock.
To him, this ship was far more than just familiar.
He had literally called this ship his “waifu” every single day.
“Grey Wind?” Russell murmured to himself.
“It is I, Commander.”
The response was a soft, feminine voice, too natural to be synthesized.
Without him noticing, the ship’s hologram on his desk had transformed into a human-looking teenage girl.
Her attire and features were so incredibly familiar that he could hardly believe his eyes.
The Gray Tempest of the L-Cluster, a collective of ancient nanorobots, the eccentric entity he had dug up from a graveyard of stars, and…
the Sector Governor of the Commonwealth of Man’s core sectors: Grey Wind.
She had transmigrated to the Warhammer universe along with him.
“How did you get here?” Russell’s hands unconsciously tightened around the edges of his sleeves.
The 3D projection of the girl placed an index finger against her lower lip in thought before replying, “I don’t know!
“I was stationed in geosynchronous orbit above the Commonwealth’s capital, tasking myself with defending the system where the Aetherophasic Engine was located. But just as the engine was about to fire, I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was in a completely empty void of space.”
The “Commonwealth” she referred to was the Commonwealth of Man that Russell had controlled in Stellaris.
At this point, Grey Wind flashed a bright smile, as if she had suddenly figured something out.
“Commander, I believe I must have been thrown outside the galaxy by some kind of shockwave.”