The air deep within the Underhive tunnels grew noticeably colder.
The deafening buzz of countless plague flies almost drowned out the thunder of exploding bolter shells.
Thick clouds of dark green toxic mist poured continuously from the cracked sewer conduits.
Then— Shapes emerged from within the fog.
More than a dozen towering daemons advanced slowly, dragging enormous rusted greatblades across the floor.
They were Plaguebearers.
The rank-and-file daemons of Nurgle, yet still vastly more dangerous than ordinary Plague Zombies.
Each possessed a single glaring eye.
Their swollen abdomens had split open, exposing rotting entrails crawling with swarms of plague flies capable of infecting and killing ordinary mortals within moments.
One Plaguebearer fixed its baleful eye upon Roya, who stood at the very front of the assault.
It shrieked hideously.
Its plague blade, dripping with corrupt filth, swung downward toward Roya’s head.
Roya immediately summoned a square shield from his inventory.
Clang!
The plague blade slammed against the shield.
Sparks exploded.
The simple shield—crafted from nothing more than wooden planks and iron—remained completely undamaged.
Even the corruptive power of Nurgle failed to erode its edges.
A trace of disbelief appeared in the daemon’s single eye.
Roya gave it no opportunity to recover.
His muscles tensed.
The iron sword thrust forward like lightning.
The blade pierced directly through the Plaguebearer’s eye.
Bang!
The daemon convulsed violently.
Its body flashed crimson.
Before it could even scream— It dissolved into white smoke.
Gone completely.
Roya stepped through the fading particles without slowing.
His sword flashed again.
A sweeping strike severed the arm of the second Plaguebearer.
A reverse slash shattered the knee of a third.
Within the Minecraft system…
There was only one rule.
If an attack connected— Health was lost.
It made no difference whether the target was a mortal…
Or a daemon of Chaos.
Within seconds, Roya alone cut down every Plaguebearer blocking the assault.
The remaining daemons barely had time to react before several Terminators charged in.
Massive power fists smashed through diseased flesh and shattered corrupted bodies into clouds of gore.
On the right flank— The newly forged Contemptor Pattern Dreadnought carrying Ancient Darrell advanced like an unstoppable fortress.
Its enormous power claw suddenly shot forward.
A Plaguebearer attempting to ambush the formation was caught effortlessly.
Hydraulic pistons roared.
Crunch!
The daemon was crushed completely in half.
Corrupt green ichor splashed across the Contemptor’s pristine ceramite armor.
Ancient Darrell casually opened his claw.
The mangled remains dropped to the ground.
Yet…
He did not continue fighting.
The towering war machine stood perfectly still.
Its crimson optical sensors slowly rotated.
Instead of watching the enemy…
They remained fixed upon Roya.
Far ahead— Roya had seized an enormous bloated plague zombie by the throat.
With nothing but raw physical strength…
He swung the creature overhead.
The several-hundred-kilogram corpse flew through the air before smashing straight through a line of metal support columns.
Inside the Contemptor’s sarcophagus…
Ancient Darrell’s thoughts raced.
Within this brand-new body…
There was no constant agony.
No burning nerves.
No phantom pain.
For the first time in over a century…
His mind was perfectly clear.
And with that clarity…
A shocking possibility gradually formed.
Not far away— Chief Librarian Kalcuris unleashed another surge of psychic power.
Ghostly blue lightning erupted from his force staff.
Dozens of plague zombies were instantly reduced to ash.
As the last echoes of psychic energy faded…
Kalcuris noticed something unusual.
Ancient Darrell had completely stopped fighting.
Concerned, he hurried toward the towering Dreadnought.
“Ancient.” “Has your machine suffered a malfunction?” The deep mechanical voice emerging from the Contemptor carried an unusual intensity.
“Kalcuris.” “Watch Lord Roya carefully.” Kalcuris instinctively turned toward the battlefield.
“My lord’s combat ability is extraordinary.” “He has no fixed sword forms.” “He simply overwhelms every opponent through absolute speed and overwhelming strength.” Ancient Darrell remained silent for several moments.
Then he spoke again.
“Is that truly all you see?” “The white liquid he produced…” “It completely erased Nurgle’s corruption.” “He forged this flawless Contemptor.” “And somehow bypassed every sacred ritual the Mechanicus claims is necessary to awaken a machine spirit.” “He fights with mortal flesh…” “Yet neither fatigue nor injury slows him.” “That strength already exceeds the physical limits of the Adeptus Astartes.” Kalcuris tightened his grip around his force staff.
“My lord is the Emperor’s chosen champion.” “He carries out the Emperor’s will.” Ancient Darrell’s voice became quieter.
But far more solemn.
“Have you…” “In all your years of service…” “Ever witnessed a chosen champion like this?” “A flawless physique.” “The power to create miracles that ignore every natural law.” “Even the ordinary food he provides can accelerate the implantation and maturation of gene-seed.” He paused.
Then continued slowly.
“Consider every one of those abilities together.” “In the entire history of the Imperium…” “There is only one type of being who fits every one of those descriptions.” Silence.
Inside Kalcuris’ helmet…
Even his breathing stopped.
One forbidden title surfaced within his thoughts.
A name almost never spoken.
One preserved only in the oldest legends of the Imperium.
“…Primarch.” Kalcuris’ voice trembled.
“Ancient…” “That’s impossible…” “You cannot mean…” Ancient Darrell slowly inclined his massive head.
“I do.” Kalcuris immediately objected.
“But the Emperor created only twenty Primarchs.” “Nine are revered by the Imperial Cult…” “The remaining traitors are erased from public history…” “There can be no others.” Ancient Darrell remained unmoved.
“The Warp hides countless truths.” “What if…” “…Lord Roya was separated from the Imperium by some unimaginable accident…” “And only returned ten thousand years later?” “What if…” “…even he does not yet know who he truly is?” The longer Ancient Darrell analyzed Roya…
The more convinced he became.
This explanation fit every impossible event they had witnessed.
Kalcuris stood frozen.
His thoughts drifted back to the day Roya transformed him into a Minecraft villager.
That overwhelming loyalty…
That instinctive reverence buried within the depths of his soul…
Had it truly come only from the system?
Or…
Was it something far older?
Something written into every Space Marine’s very genes?
Kalcuris stared silently at Roya, who continued cutting through daemons with effortless ease.
“He creates ancient relics as though they were toys…” “He summons limitless resources from nothing…” “He even repairs flaws that have plagued gene-seed for ten thousand years…” He swallowed hard.
“Power that completely transcends reality itself…” “…only the Emperor…” “…or one born directly from His own genetic lineage…” “…should possess such authority.” Beneath his helmet, Kalcuris’ face had gone pale.
His voice shook uncontrollably.
“Ancient…” “Are you saying…” “…Lord Roya may truly be one of the Emperor’s lost Primarchs?”