Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

Gauss carefully closed the little booklet and tucked it into the inner layer of his lower back storage pouch, then hoisted the massive power axe onto his back.

His movements carried a touch of elegance, lacking the usual brutishness of most Ogryn.

As the High King Warband Commander and a Primaris Ogryn, the 'Big Smart Head', he always considered himself a being of intellect, not inferior to any human.

He deliberately mimicked the behaviors of learned men – wearing spectacles, inserting proverbs and idioms into his speech (most of which were quotes from the Savior's scriptures).

Then, leading several Primaris Ogryns, he marched in neat formation towards the gathered Primaris warriors of the Regent.

Gauss spoke politely. "I am Gauss, High King Warband Commander, Ogryn Grand Wisdom… May I ask if you require anything from me?"

"Phew…"

Dovaro exhaled, and even the Primaris warriors behind him showed faint surprise.

Only when these Ogryn warriors approached did they truly feel their terrifying size, forcing even Primaris Marines to look up.

They could also sense the immense power contained within their bodies.

"Brother Gauss, we're just… having a look around, that's all…"

Dovaro looked a bit awkward, then asked tentatively, "Were you… reading just now? What book was that?"

As he spoke, the other Primaris Marines pricked up their ears, curiosity overcoming all else.

It was common knowledge throughout the Imperium that Ogryns were big dumb brutes.

Even the smarter "Bone'ead" variants only possessed rudimentary intelligence – understanding orders was a feat in itself, let alone reading.

They couldn't believe that even gene-modified Ogryns could become so intelligent.

"By the Savior… you all like reading too?"

Gauss seemed deeply interested in the topic and listed off some of his favorite books, including Imperial works on art, mathematics, and theology.

He even recited a famous Ecclesiarchy hymn on the spot, trying to spark discussion.

Meanwhile, the honest-looking Ogryn warriors behind him all pulled out tiny notebooks, wearing expressions of eager students ready to take notes.

"Uh… the books you mentioned, I'll… I'll check them out later," Dovaro muttered awkwardly.

He felt overwhelmed. While Space Marines did study knowledge and battlefield tech, it was mostly combat tactics or equipment maintenance.

In short, they were roughneck soldiers with no concept of culture or arts.

"…Perhaps you should work on your cultural literacy," Gauss said, pushing his small spectacles up his nose, glancing at the Primaris Captain before quickly losing interest.

He wore the look of a scholar who'd grown bored of talking to uncultured folk.

Glancing at his chrono, he bid farewell in refined tones. "It's time for our culture class now. We have painting lessons. Excuse me."

Within the High King Warband, alongside tactical drills, they now included classes in High Gothic, painting, music, mathematics – anything to improve the cultural sophistication of Ogryn warriors.

Such education greatly aided intellectual development.

For the physically mighty Ogryn, any gain in intellect was a qualitative leap in combat capability.

Of course, the courses weren't too advanced – roughly elementary school level at the Loyalist Academy, approximately one-fourth of the Savior's cultural standard.

After all, not every gene-modified Ogryn was as intelligent as Gauss, but it was still remarkable progress.

Over the years, the Loyalist Academy had become an elite institution with extremely rigorous standards.

According to top-secret internal data, even the Savior himself only achieved an intermediate academic rank within the Academy.

But outwardly, he was hailed as its Highest Honorary Scholar and Supreme Chancellor – titles representing unmatched wisdom and knowledge.

When the Savior saw the IQ test results of these modified Ogryns, he himself was stunned.

Some of them were almost as intelligent as average humans, with certain individuals surpassing expectations entirely.

He briefly suspected the Lord of Change had interfered, but no traces were found.

In the end, he attributed it to a combination of secondary blessings and the brain-enhancing surgeries – perhaps just a fortunate accident of nature.

"By the Emperor… this is insane…" Dovaro muttered, realizing he had just been looked down upon by Ogryns for lacking cultural knowledge.

The absurdity of it sent a tremor through him.

He and his fellow Primaris watched the Ogryns march off in formation, reciting hymns as they went, and exchanged helpless, bewildered looks.

"It's… it's just wrong…" he whispered.

"…Hey, do you think we should study culture too?" he blurted suddenly.

Otherwise, imagine the shame of being known across the galaxy as 'less cultured than an Ogryn.'

That was on par with being called a groaning Nurgling trod underfoot – humiliating beyond words.

...

High King Warband Base

In the art studio, silence reigned.

The Ogryn warriors sat upright and disciplined like model students.

"Today's painting theme, class, is to praise our great and merciful Savior," the art instructor declared in his refined, slightly effeminate voice, dressed in simple yet elegant robes as he stood before the class.

"The key is capturing his broad-shouldered, regal yet compassionate figure. This is not an easy task."

He unveiled the cloth covering the reference painting with trembling hands, tears welling in his eyes.

"This is an original sacred painting, personally approved by the Savior himself, displayed in the Tower Hall. It is… my own work. I am… so honored."

The Ogryn warriors applauded enthusiastically, focusing their attention on every brushstroke as he explained each detail – what emotion each gaze conveyed, what symbolism lay behind each line.

Of course, he also taught them practical painting techniques.

When the lecture ended, it was time for the Ogryns to practice.

They sat on specially reinforced alloy stools, mixing pigments and hunching over their canvases with surprising patience.

Most of their work was crude, mere scribbles resembling stick figures with slightly clearer Savior-like features.

But that didn't matter.

These classes mainly aimed to cultivate patience and temper their savage impulses, so they could remain calm and rational amidst the chaos of war.

"Emperor above… Gauss, you're… you're a natural-born artist!"

The instructor gasped, covering his mouth in astonishment as he saw Gauss's painting.

In it, Ogryns knelt with arms outstretched in desperate devotion, while the Savior hovered above them, casting a gaze of benevolent pity like a divine monarch.

Though the painting was rough, the emotion embedded within it was unmistakable. It could easily be displayed as a sacred artwork in any chapel.

"Heh heh… it's all thanks to your teaching…" Gauss chuckled bashfully, scratching his bald head, smearing paint across his forehead.

Then he carefully picked up his brush once more, pouring all his emotions into the canvas.

Hours later, the painting lesson ended.

Gauss summoned a small transport sphere, gently placing his highly graded artwork and a short essay titled "My Gene-Father Savior" inside.

This was his homework for the Savior.

Lately, the Savior had been paying special attention to the High King Warband's education and progress – an immense honor that left other warbands envious.

Some even began submitting 'homework' of their own to the Gene-Father. The Sons of Man warband, for example, directly sent a team to prepare a magnificent barbecue feast for him.

Their choice of meat was their greatest trophy from the Plague Wars: a captured Greater Daemon of Nurgle.

They butchered the revolting beast, marinated it, and roasted it to perfection – it was delicious.

It showcased the pinnacle of the Sons of Man's culinary skill.

Yet to their dismay, the Gene-Father, the great Savior himself, seemed rather unimpressed.

They… had fallen out of favor.

The Savior's most cherished and beloved force had now become the High King Warband.

Whoosh—

Gauss activated the transport device. The spherical carrier shot off at incredible speed toward the Savior's temporary sanctum, disappearing into the sky.

…

The Temporary Savior's Sanctum

"Not bad. There's clear progress…"

Eden finished reading the impassioned essay titled "My Gene-Father, the Savior", looking quite pleased.

These Ogryn warriors were performing better and better in their studies – a sign of growing intelligence.

That would help them tremendously on the battlefield.

After all, Astartes were elite single-unit or squad-level operatives. Blind brute force never worked; you needed intelligent brute force.

"Old G, take a look at this painting. Not bad, huh? A gift from the High King Warband…" Eden stood up and gestured proudly at the painting on the wall: "The Great Savior" by Gauss. He was showing off like a proud father.

Primarchs often felt a paternal attachment to their gene-sons.

Of course, it wasn't as deep as the Emperor's connection with his Primarchs.

But Eden, as a false Primarch, felt no different from the real ones in that regard.

"This painting is… filled with emotion."

Regent Roboute Guilliman nodded, recognizing the dedication within it – the respect and devotion of gene-sons to their gene-father.

For a brief moment, he thought of his own sons. They had never given him anything like this.

He felt a faint sense of loss.

Guilliman valued interpersonal bonds. They reminded him that he was still a man, not some god to be worshipped.

He despised that feeling of deification.

He preferred being around people who didn't fear him – like that rogue trader woman daring enough to give him nicknames.

But no matter how hard he tried to close the distance between himself and his sons or subordinates, there remained an unbreakable barrier.

They viewed him only as an object of veneration.

He glanced at Eden, feeling a tinge of envy at the man's relationship with his warriors. Even though Eden tried to build himself as a god to worship, there was still a deeply human warmth in it.

"…Here, try this. The Sons of Man's handiwork."

The Savior's warm voice carried as a stasis-field lunchbox floated over, preserving piping hot skewers within its eternal suspension.

Leftovers from yesterday.

"What's it made of?" Guilliman asked casually, taking a skewer and biting into it. It was delicious, with a texture he couldn't quite identify.

"Ahem… that's… Nurgle beast meat…"

Eden cleared his throat awkwardly, revealing the truth about the ingredients.

Barbecue made from a mutated Great Unclean One's flesh – was it any different from eating literal shit?

Well… the difference was that a Nurgle beast's flesh was a hundred times more putrid and disgusting.

Technically, it was the culinary equivalent of turning shit into safe, edible barbecue-flavored delicacy through horrifyingly advanced techniques.

It truly looked, smelled, and tasted great. Eden only realized what it was after devouring it himself.

And misery loves company.

Guilliman froze, staring at the empty skewer in his hand. He'd eaten the whole thing.

He had been tricked.

"…It's quite good," he said after a moment of silence, forcing a stiff smile. He then collected the entire stasis box.

There were still many skewers left.

According to Tzeentch's hints, the Lion was still alive. Perhaps he'd let him try them next time…

After this little episode, the two walked onto the balcony.

Before them, the world of Arcus Hospitaller bloomed into lush greenery, almost like a planetary garden.

The Savior's forces had transformed this world at astonishing speed, providing abundant resources and turning its hospitals into virtual resorts.

In the distance, Tech-Priests were withdrawing as the towering machine spires of the core zone had been completed.

These spires formed a sacred wall encircling the corruption core.

The energy needed for it was already secured. The Holy Spires had long been secretly built and could be activated at any time.

Meanwhile, waves of elite Astartes, Primaris, and Grey Knights were arriving at their assigned sectors.

Arcus was fully prepared for war.

They would purge every last corrupted machine from this world.

Boom boom boom—

At that same moment, thunderous gunfire erupted across the defensive sectors as warriors cooperated with Grey Knights to exterminate hidden Plaguebearers before they could sow chaos in the coming battle.

"This world has seven Warp-corrupted engines… Mortarion really went all in…"

Eden let out a long sigh.

Even Martilla, one of his realm's most important worlds, only had a single corruption engine. Here, there were seven.

That meant Nurgle would commit an invasion force at least seven times greater than before.

More powerful entities would descend.

All of Ultramar would be engulfed in even greater turmoil, forcing him to deploy every hidden army under his command.

This was going to be an apocalyptic war spanning countless star systems.

Guilliman clenched the Emperor's Sword, his expression resolute. "Everything is in place now. No matter how many monstrous armies they send, we will ensure none return alive…"

This was the best-prepared war he had ever fought – and he would fight it alongside his brother. Failure was simply not an option.

...

The Fungus Abyss

In a dim chamber, the ticking of clockwork gears quickened, heralding some fateful moment.

"Why… why can I no longer see the fate of rot so clearly…"

Mortarion leaned upon his massive scythe, his clouded eyes filled with unease.

Ultramar's situation was becoming more bizarre by the day.

Recent intelligence revealed an influx of enemies converging on the sector.

The Savior's reinforcements had arrived in force.

The Aeldari and Necrons had raided an outer plague base. The Orks had randomly smashed an approaching Chaos fleet. The unknown Terror Legion struck the northern corruption network.

It didn't seem random anymore. These were coordinated offensives.

For the first time, the Death Lord felt surrounded, as if Ultramar was being encircled by even more terrifying foes.

But that was only a suspicion.

Neither intel nor divination confirmed it.

"…Perhaps some power is influencing events?"

Mortarion thought of a certain ever-shifting entity, suspecting its hand in all this.

Fortunately, there was some good news.

The ruler of the Terror Legion, the so-called Dark Prince, seemed to harbor deep hatred for the Savior.

He had led his legion to attack the Savior's fleet, nearly driving them back entirely. He raged against the Savior, vowing to kill him in single combat and end his charlatan existence.

Perhaps he could be… persuaded. A useful ally, if only temporarily.

Mortarion contacted Grandfather Nurgle, sharing his concerns that Tzeentch might be meddling in this war.

But the Plague God showed no concern. The Changer of Ways was no longer his equal. Its petty schemes posed no threat to his great plan.

As for these new enemies – they could simply be slain. None could resist the will of plague.

Grandfather Nurgle bestowed further gifts upon Mortarion, augmenting him with greater power and legions of elite warriors.

"Go forth, my child," Nurgle intoned. "Ultramar will rot. Let it bubble, twist, and churn until all lands run with poisoned bile…"

When the ritual ended, Mortarion's aura of decay thickened further, and two new rotting wings sprouted from his back.

His power had grown again, and new armies now answered his call.

As the bell tolled ominously, Mortarion's breathing rattled like death itself.

"Then… let the war begin. Let Grandfather's foul gifts spread across the False Emperor's realm. All shall rot…"

He had resolved to annihilate every foe daring to step into Ultramar.

With his command, the entirety of Nurgle's armies began to move, launching an even greater invasion.

Ku'gath, Karamoth, and other Chaos Lords led vast hosts towards the vital warzone of Arcus.

Their objective was to activate its corruption network, fully seize the planet, and brew the ultimate doomsday plague – Godpox.

Ku'gath boarded his plague cauldron barge, the massive artifact vessel bestowed by Grandfather Nurgle.

The colossal plague barges sailed out of Nurgle's Garden into the void, drifting like rotting whales upon a still ocean.

There were seven of them.

Each barge had once been a living creature – void whales larger than any ship. Perhaps they still lived, enslaved by Nurgle's will.

The plague barges moaned their lament, their fins and tails limp and rotting.

Their swollen bodies seethed with maggots beneath thick layers of corpse-fat, their hollowed interiors reeking with unbearable stench.

Now they teemed with Nurgle's spawn.

As their mournful whale-song echoed, the rotting armada drifted further into the void…

...

Elsewhere in the Immaterium

On endless barren plains, the legions of Khorne gathered.

Ka'Bandha, Exalted Bloodthirster of Supreme Fury, heeded his lieutenant Barl's advice not to appear in Ultramar just yet, to avoid alerting their prey.

These monstrous hosts craved war, awaiting the perfect moment.

And now, that moment had come. The war for Ultramar had begun.

OOOO—

Warhorns sounded as Khorne's legions roared and advanced.

They would join the battle, unleashing their fury upon Nurgle's armies and claiming glorious slaughter.

"DAMN IT! SUCH INSOLENCE!"

Upon his brass chariot, Ka'Bandha burned with rage, his blazing aura staining half the sky crimson.

News had just reached him: some arrogant Dark Prince had declared war upon the Savior and challenged him to a duel.

Unacceptable.

Only he had the right to challenge the Savior.

To the Exalted Bloodthirster, it felt like a third party intruding upon a duel of sworn nemeses. Intolerable.

Ka'Bandha's eyes glowed blood-red. "Dark Prince… I will rip off your head and grind it to dust!"

(End of Chapter)

[Check Out My Patreon For +20 Extra Chapters On All My Fanfics!!][[email protected]/zaelum]

[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[Thank You For Your Support!]