Conqueror from the stars in Warhammer

**Years Later**

- **William Wimbledon**

- **Age:** 15 years

- **Class:** Noble (Prince)

- **Active Psyker Gene** (Warp Initiate)

- **Species:** Human (High Human)

### Psychic Abilities:

- Concealment

- Telepathy

- Telekinesis

- Psychic Bolt

- Meditation

- Psychic Shield

- Ethereal fire

Physical Skills:

- Swordsman:** Adept of the Blade

- Marksman:** Veteran Sharpshooter

- Hand-to-Hand Fighter

Looking at my status, I felt a mix of pride and irritation. It took over a decade and a half to reach this level—constant training and uninterrupted meditation.

"Even after nearly fifteen years, I'm not strong enough to take on a space cockroach."

Thankfully, that didn't matter at the moment, not when I was about to officially reach adulthood in this world.

With an adjustment to my attire and a quick psychic scan of my surroundings, I decided I was ready. As I exited, I was greeted by guards who escorted me to a private event.

I wanted to say I wasn't nervous, that I had no problem with the significant increase in people populating the grand gothic corridors. But the truth was, I was terrified.

For the first time in nearly half a decade, I would be formally introduced to the greater nobility of this world.

Technically, I outranked them all. However, I was merely one of the younger sons of the high nobility, while the other noble houses were far more numerous.

"My Lord, we have arrived," one of the guards announced as I struggled to maintain a serious and focused expression.

The massive doors opened, revealing a grand hall resembling a gothic mausoleum. Black stone pillars reached skyward, lit by a mix of candlelight and artificial illumination, giving the space an embellished and artistic aesthetic.

From what I knew, this hall was likely the result of my mother's work as the house's internal administrator, while my father oversaw external and high-priority matters.

"Presenting the seventh son of House Wimbledon, William Wimbledon, on his 15th birthday!"

The announcer was a tall, dark-skinned man with familiar red eyes—almost all nobility shared these traits, though some, from other worlds, had established their own unique appearances.

The applause was polite yet resonant as I nodded, taking measured steps forward, now flanked by just two guards.

My mother was the first to greet me with a subtle smile. My father, ever reserved, merely raised a glass in acknowledgment, as did my brother.

"Come now, boy," my mother said with the poise and eloquence of high society, her gestures elegant and deliberate. "You are finally of age in this world and for the Empire."

"God, how I hate politics," I thought, forcing a smile as I bowed to my parents before stepping closer as was customary.

"I'm honored to be here, Mother, Father, Brother," I said.

Looking around, I noticed one person was conspicuously absent. My sister.

Knowing what I was thinking—or perhaps preemptively addressing the matter—my father spoke first.

"Unfortunately, your sister's flight to the main hive was delayed by a damned storm."

I nodded. While I was safe within the hive city, its towering black spires blotting out the scarce light of this world, it was a fact that the planet was still classified as a death world—whether due to its high gravity, limited sunlight, or the simple reality that nothing grew properly in its desert-like, red wastelands.

"I hope she's alright. I heard her wedding is approaching, correct?"

My father nodded, his social battery clearly depleted. My brother, on the other hand, pulled me aside to talk about weapons and combat as our parents mingled with the nobility—a euphemism for engaging in conversations laden with veiled intentions.

Frankly, I lacked the patience for such trivialities, though it was unfortunate that I had to participate.

"Come, little brother, let me introduce you to some of my friends," Gael said.

He led me to a small group of young nobles from Kronvar. From their appearance, it was clear they hadn't abandoned the practice of combat—a rarity among nobles who often lived lives of comfort.

Even now, I noticed many adult nobles were overweight, their women overly modified for beauty and voluptuousness, appearing almost artificial, reminiscent of the old AI-generated images from my past life.

"Brother, let me introduce my friend Izius of House Ozen, skilled with both axe and sword. And here we have Ezquel of Vagorvig and Daarius of House Rozen."

I nodded politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you all."

They greeted me with firm handshakes and bright smiles.

"Gael tells me you're a fencing enthusiast," Izius commented with a grin.

"Indeed. I aim to become the best I can with the sword. Unfortunately, I'm running out of sparring partners."

Izius's eyes lit up, his grin widening. "Oh, I have plenty of slaves at my estate. I can send some your way to practice with—don't worry about keeping them alive; they've served their purpose."

I nodded, though inwardly I considered how best to spare these poor souls. If it was anything like what Gael did with his last slave, I pitied what worse masters might do to their property.

"You and your obsession with fighting, Izius," Daarius said with a laugh. "Don't mind his manners, young Prince. He didn't even think to offer you a proper gift."

I raised an eyebrow at the word "gift."

"Thank you for your generosity," I said, knowing full well that declining a gift in this world was tantamount to an insult—a rejection of friendship itself.

Daarius nodded, signaling to one of his servants—a figure I had shamefully failed to notice earlier.

"Well, servants are hardly worth noticing," I thought. "They exist solely to serve their masters."

"This is Mira," Daarius said. "She'll deliver a slave to you—an acquisition from some associates of mine in the trade."

I nodded, taking a moment to process the situation. It was clear that Daarius and Izius were deeply involved in the slave trade, a common industry among their houses.

Gael seemed pleased with our interaction, conversing with Ezquel, though Ezquel responded sparingly, fitting the type of the quiet observer.

Still, Ezquel turned to me with a polite bow.

"It's an honor to have my house represented here. Please accept this as a gift."

With a snap of his fingers, a servant handed me a sword, kneeling as he presented it.

"The honor is mine, and I humbly accept this gift," I said.

The weapon was a wide-bladed power sword—a relic capable of cutting through almost anything. Accepting it, I noted that it was no simple item. Nobles, ever eager to outshine one another, had clearly lavished resources on their gifts.

Gael turned to me with a grin. "Well, little brother, what do you think? Was it to your liking?"

I smiled, despite my mixed feelings about the slavery aspect. The sword alone made the event worthwhile.

"Absolutely, brother. I look forward to testing this blade, and Izius's war slaves will undoubtedly prove useful."

Izius nodded, smiling, while Daarius laughed heartily.

"Don't forget to enjoy your new toy," Daarius added with a smirk.

"I certainly will," I replied.

We laughed, and I found myself mingling with the nobility, navigating the web of alliances and expectations. Many of the noble daughters—and some sons—viewed me as desirable prey, but I forced myself to ignore their gazes.

By the end of the night, I was exhausted but satisfied. My preparations had been worthwhile, and as I returned to my expanded quarters, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

Lying down, I was ready to sleep when the alarm chimed, pulling me from my rest.

"Who could it be at this hour?"

Activating the door mechanism, I expected to see a servo-skull or human servant announcing their presence.

"Lord William, I am Mira. My master sent me to deliver your gift."

Rising, I opened the door to find the petite servant accompanied by an exotic beauty.

Unlike the pale lower classes, this woman had a striking presence: tall for a human female, with golden curls and simple white garments. She was, by any standard, a rarity.

"Introduce yourself," I ordered.

The tall woman bowed. "This one presents herself to serve her new master."

"Name?"

"This one has not been given a name, my Lord."

"Very well. Your name shall be Sara, and you will serve me from now on."

She bowed again, entering my chambers. I wasn't concerned about espionage; slaves were rarely involved in such matters—at least, not in this society