Silas projected the intercepted transmission onto a makeshift hololithic display.
The signal was weak and filled with static, but several key phrases could still be distinguished.
Waste Processing Sector…
Southwest…
110 kilometers…
Surrounded by Nurgle’s plague-ridden undead…
Requesting immediate assistance…
The distress call had been transmitted forty minutes earlier.
“Magos Hades,” Silas read aloud from the sender’s identification code before looking toward Roya.
Roya dismissed the hololithic display with a wave of his hand and returned his attention to the layout of the new mob farm he had been planning.
“A Magos…” He quietly repeated the title.
“There should be plenty of valuable technology in his possession.” Silas simply waited for further instructions.
“We’ll finish our preparations first.” Roya placed a Crafting Table onto the metal floor.
“The plague zombies aren’t going anywhere.” “We’ll rescue them after we’ve finished here.” No matter how quickly Nurgle’s undead advanced…
They could never match the speed of an Ork Waaagh!
Silas nodded before leaving to reinforce the communications station.
The battle at the front progressed even more smoothly than Roya had expected.
Phoros led eighty Terminator-armored veterans and more than three hundred fully equipped Lamenters through the tunnels like an unstoppable wall of steel.
The thunder of Grenade Launchers gradually faded.
Soon…
Only the sounds of cleanup remained.
Occasional chainswords finished off wounded Orks.
As the Lamenters rounded a collapsed manufactorum wall…
Kahn suddenly raised one hand.
“Halt.” The entire formation stopped immediately.
Ahead…
Seven armored women stood among the battlefield’s wreckage.
They wore black power armor trimmed with crimson.
Each bore the fleur-de-lis of the Adepta Sororitas.
Holy icons hung from their armor.
Flamers rested across their backs.
Chainswords hung at their waists.
One Battle Sister knelt beside a wounded companion, calmly bandaging her injuries without ever taking her eyes off the surrounding ruins.
The instant Kahn’s force appeared…
She rose.
Chainsword already in hand.
“Ultramarines?” Her eyes swept across Kahn’s blue armor…
Then across the bright yellow Lamenters…
Finally stopping on the eighty pristine suits of Terminator Armor.
Her brows slowly furrowed.
“…What exactly am I looking at?” Phoros stepped forward, removing his helmet.
“Chapter Master Malakim Phoros.” “Lamenters Chapter.” “And you?” The Battle Sister stared at him for several seconds before replying.
“Sister Superior Ilya.” “Order of the Martyred Lady.” Her eyes drifted toward the Terminators again.
“…Did you just say…” “…eighty suits of Terminator Armor?” “That’s correct.” Silence.
Ilya looked as though she had forgotten how to speak.
Phoros understood exactly what she was thinking.
Calmly, he explained, “We encountered one chosen by the Emperor.” “Everything you see…” “…was provided by him.” The seven Sisters exchanged uncertain glances.
After several long moments…
Ilya finally asked, “…You’re absolutely certain this isn’t the work of Chaos?” “Our Chief Librarian personally verified him.” One of the Lamenters’ Captains answered firmly.
“There is no trace of Warp corruption.” Ilya slowly sheathed her chainsword.
Turning toward the Sisters behind her, she gave a brief hand signal.
“We’ll accompany you.” “I want to meet him.” Meanwhile…
Roya remained crouched beside a newly marked construction site.
Several recently converted Villagers stood according to the positions he had assigned.
Two separate Mob Farms were already under construction.
Each remained within Minecraft’s loading distance.
Cobblestone continued arriving from nearby storage chests.
Water channels gradually took shape.
Collection pits were steadily expanding.
Most nearby Orks had already been eliminated.
For the first time…
The underhive felt strangely peaceful.
“My lord.” Phoros returned with the Sisters.
“They were trapped while we were clearing the battlefield.” Only then did Roya stand.
The seven Battle Sisters instinctively froze.
The faint golden aura lingering around Roya…
Made their hearts tremble.
Almost simultaneously— Every one of them knelt.
“The Emperor protects.” Roya smiled politely.
“You may rise.” His gaze swept across their armor.
“Order of the Martyred Lady…” He quietly searched his memories before asking, “Do any of you know…” “…Saint Celestine?” The seven Sisters exchanged confused looks.
“Saint…
Celestine?” Ilya frowned.
“My lord…” “I’ve never heard that name.” Roya nodded thoughtfully.
So…
Celestine had probably not yet risen to prominence.
Or perhaps…
She had not even been born.
Games Workshop’s timeline really was frustratingly vague.
“You’ll know her someday.” He casually changed the subject.
No one questioned him further.
Instead…
Roya’s attention shifted toward the small pendant hanging from Ilya’s neck.
Inside a transparent capsule…
Several tiny golden grains rested quietly.
“Wheat?” Roya asked.
Ilya blinked.
She looked down at the pendant before nodding.
“Yes.” “They’re wheat seeds from my home world.” “I always carry them with me.” Roya smiled.
“May I borrow them?” Without hesitation…
She removed the pendant and handed it over.
Roya carefully poured several wheat seeds into his palm.
Nearby…
Between two rusted support columns…
A narrow crack in the metal floor contained a thin layer of accumulated soil.
That would be enough.
A Crafting Table appeared.
Moments later…
A Wooden Hoe emerged.
Roya stepped toward the patch of earth.
Swinging the hoe several times…
The soil transformed into neat rows of farmland.
He planted each seed carefully.
Then walked toward a leaking pipe.
An Iron Bucket quickly filled with clean water.
Returning…
He poured the water into a shallow trench beside the farmland.
Instant irrigation.
Throughout the entire process…
The Battle Sisters remained completely silent.
Their expressions became increasingly difficult to describe.
“My lord…” Ilya finally spoke.
“…What are you doing?” “Farming.” Roya answered matter-of-factly.
The Techmarine’s optical sensors emitted continuous scanning beams.
He recorded every movement without saying a word.
Then…
Roya walked over to one of the Mob Farm collection chests.
He retrieved several pieces of Bone Meal crafted from Skeleton Bones.
Sprinkling the white powder across the newly planted farmland— Everyone watched in stunned silence.
Tiny green shoots burst from the soil.
The wheat grew visibly.
Seconds later…
The stalks matured.
Golden ears of wheat swayed gently despite the stagnant air of the underhive.
Within the polluted depths of a hive city…
Surrounded by rust, toxic waste, and machine oil…
A flourishing patch of farmland had appeared out of nowhere.
Even the Battle Sisters forgot to breathe.
Roya smiled with satisfaction.
“Perfect.” With wheat now available…
Bread was only a matter of time.
Then another thought crossed his mind.
Minecraft food restored health.
Would bread…
Also heal wounded soldiers in the Warhammer universe?
His eyes slowly brightened.
That experiment…
Was definitely worth trying.