Silas accepted the data slate from one of the communications operators and activated the recording.
The footage shook violently, clearly captured by scouts fleeing for their lives.
Deep within the polluted waterways beneath the underhive…
There were no Orks.
Instead…
A shambling horde of grotesque humanoid figures slowly emerged from the darkness.
Their uniforms had long since rotted into filthy rags.
Bloated abdomens dragged across the ground.
Intestines, yellow pus, and decaying flesh hung from ruptured bodies.
None carried weapons.
Their jaws hung unnaturally open as they released low, guttural moans.
Then— The recording focused on an Ork Boy’s corpse.
Several shambling creatures surrounded it.
Within moments…
The green corpse blackened.
Its flesh swelled.
Putrid mushrooms erupted from every wound as the body rapidly decomposed.
Silas stopped the recording.
His voice had become noticeably hoarse.
“My lord.” “They’re Plague Zombies.” “Servants of Nurgle.” “The horde is enormous.” “They’re advancing through the lower industrial pipelines.” Roya silently stared at the frozen image.
Followers of the Plague God.
If Nurgle’s corruption reached the refugee shelters…
The five million civilians hidden beneath the hive would become an army of plague-ridden corpses.
Eventually…
The entire planet would belong to Grandfather Nurgle.
Fortunately…
They had arrived too late.
Roya was already here.
He quietly closed the recording.
“So…” “Things just became interesting.” He looked toward Phoros.
“Chapter Master.” “Send your brothers back to orbit immediately.” “Bring down the two suits of Terminator Armor.” “As fast as possible.” Without hesitation, Phoros turned toward the communications officer.
Several Lamenters immediately sprinted toward the waiting Thunderhawk.
Roya lowered his gaze toward the bottom of his vision.
His experience level had risen to 12 after annihilating the Ork horde.
Converting one Villager required 5 levels.
That meant…
He could convert two more people.
His eyes slowly moved between Kahn and Phoros.
One…
A veteran Ultramarines sergeant.
The other…
A respected Chapter Master.
Both represented invaluable combat power.
“Kahn.” “Phoros.” Roya’s voice echoed through the tunnel.
“You’ve witnessed this power.” “So tell me…” “Are you willing to receive…” “…the Emperor’s blessing?” Naturally…
He omitted any mention of Minecraft.
Blaming everything on the Emperor made life much easier.
Kahn didn’t hesitate.
He struck his chestplate with a clenched fist before kneeling immediately.
“My life belongs to the Emperor.” “And to you, my lord.” “The Ultramarines stand ready.” Phoros, however…
Remained silent.
Several veteran Lamenters behind him unconsciously lowered their heads.
Their grip tightened around their boltguns.
No Chapter carried a heavier burden than the Lamenters.
Generation after generation…
They had endured betrayal.
Disaster.
Misfortune.
Near annihilation.
They always rushed to save innocent lives…
Only to receive suspicion in return.
Finally…
Phoros spoke.
“My lord…” His voice carried deep exhaustion.
“The Lamenters are a cursed Chapter.” “Wherever we go…” “Misfortune follows.” “Can people like us…” “…truly receive the Emperor’s blessing?” Roya looked quietly at the scarred Chapter Master.
For a brief moment…
Even he felt sympathy.
He stepped forward.
Looking directly into Phoros’ eyes, he spoke firmly.
“Listen carefully.” “Every sacrifice your Chapter has made…” “Every drop of blood spilled…” “Every civilian you’ve protected…” “The Emperor has seen it all.” “He has never abandoned you.” “And He has always been proud of the Lamenters.” Silence.
Complete silence.
Several Space Marines began trembling.
One veteran lowered his head.
A single tear rolled beneath his helmet lenses.
Then another.
Then another.
These warriors…
Who had never retreated before Orks…
Never flinched before Tyranids…
Never surrendered to despair…
Now found their emotional defenses shattered by a single sentence.
Phoros slowly removed his helmet.
Countless scars covered his weathered face.
Tears silently flowed down his cheeks.
He dropped to one knee.
“My lord…” “I accept.” Roya immediately chose the system option.
Convert Targets: KahnPhoros Experience Cost: 10 Levels Confirmed.
Ding.
His experience level instantly fell from 12 to 2.
At that exact moment…
Golden light burst from Roya once again.
Warm…
Majestic…
Sacred…
It illuminated the entire tunnel.
The surrounding corruption seemed to retreat instinctively.
Inside, Roya sighed helplessly.
“The Emperor’s freeloading on my visual effects again…” The radiance slowly faded.
Kahn and Phoros opened their eyes.
The world had changed.
Everything now possessed subtle cubic outlines.
Items shimmered faintly.
When they looked toward Roya…
Their loyalty had become absolute.
Titus immediately approached.
“Sir.” Roya nodded.
“Take them to the mob farms.” “Teach them how to identify drops.” “And how to use the Crafting Table.” “Understood.” For the first time since becoming a Villager…
Titus felt strangely proud.
After all…
He was now teaching his own sergeant…
And even a Chapter Master.
Standing before a Crafting Table…
Titus placed several Oak Planks into the crafting grid.
Click.
A Wooden Pickaxe instantly appeared.
Kahn and Phoros both froze.
They carefully picked up the tool.
Their expressions gradually became vacant.
“…No Machine Spirit?” “…No sacred oils?” “…No maintenance rites?” Phoros asked weakly.
Titus shook his head.
“None.” “As long as the materials are correct…” “The recipe always succeeds.” “It’s one of Lord Roya’s rules.” He then demonstrated crafting…
Building…
Water currents…
And mob farming mechanics.
The two veteran Space Marines listened with complete concentration.
Neither dared miss a single detail.
It felt as though everything they had learned over centuries had just been overturned.
Half an hour later…
The roar of Thunderhawk engines echoed overhead.
The gunship descended through layers of industrial smog before landing nearby.
Its ramp lowered.
Several Lamenters carefully carried down two enormous armored containers.
Behind them walked a crimson-robed Techmarine.
His body had been extensively augmented with bionics.
Servo-arms extended from his back.
His optical sensors glowed bright red.
“Chapter Master.” “The Terminator Armor has arrived.” “Although damaged…” “The Machine Spirits remain strong.” “I recommend a full restoration ritual lasting at least two weeks.” The containers slowly opened.
Inside rested two massive suits of Tactical Dreadnought Armor.
Even damaged…
Even scarred…
They radiated overwhelming power.
Roya immediately walked forward.
His eyes gleamed.
Phoros smiled.
“My lord.” “As promised.” Roya nodded.
An Iron Pickaxe appeared in his hand.
The Techmarine’s optical sensors immediately focused on it.
Instinctively…
He felt danger.
Without saying a word…
Roya swung.
Bang!
The Iron Pickaxe struck the Terminator breastplate.
Black Minecraft cracks spread across the ceramite.
“STOP!” The Techmarine roared.
His voice distorted through mechanical speakers.
“That is sacred armor!” “You are desecrating the Omnissiah’s blessing!” He surged forward.
Servo-arms extended.
Weapons activated.
For the Adeptus Mechanicus…
Destroying priceless relics was a sin greater than murder.
Just before he reached Roya— A massive blue gauntlet landed upon his shoulder.
Karkullis quietly blocked his path.
His psychic hood shimmered faintly.
“Brother Techmarine.” “Wait.” “…Watch.” “But he’s destroying the Terminator Armor!” “Our Chapter only possesses two suits!” The Techmarine struggled desperately.
Roya ignored everything behind him.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
His swings accelerated.
Finally— Pop.
The entire suit of Terminator Armor vanished into white particles.
Not even a single bolt remained.
The Techmarine’s jaw literally locked open.
His optical sensors froze.
He had just witnessed one of the greatest relics of the Imperium…
Disappear completely.
Floating in its place…
Three pale gray fragments slowly rotated in midair.
Each emitted a faint purple glow.
Roya smiled.
Exactly what he had been waiting for.