"That big guy's pretty tall, huh?"
The War Angels captain stared at Rogal Dorn's back, and a faint sense of wrongness prickled at him.
"That can't be right. Even an abhuman can't be built like that…"
Just a moment ago, out of the corner of his eye, the captain had glimpsed a warrior of enormous stature, taller even than their Chapter Master.
But when he looked again, the figure didn't seem quite so gigantic.
His auspex-lenses and the readings from his helm displayed nothing abnormal.
Even so, instinct kept him wary. He lifted a hand and pointed, about to order someone to stop that big man and run an inspection.
Just to be sure there wasn't a problem.
Before the War Angels captain could speak, an urgent transmission cut in.
Per orders from the Departmento Munitorum, they were to rally at a new objective zone to guard against an enemy strike, and to receive the arrival of the great Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, in the Sol System.
"Maybe it was just a trick of perspective. It should be fine."
"And besides, a being like that wouldn't just appear in public without anyone noticing. It would be detected."
The War Angels Chapter Master didn't dwell on it. He ordered his warriors to assemble, disembark the pilgrim ship, and proceed to their new assignment.
Still, before leaving, he casually gave the ship's administrator a few instructions.
Have the crew keep an eye on things aboard, and if there was time, take a look at that big man's records.
The captain didn't accuse the big man of being xenos-tainted or heretical. He merely expressed curiosity about the abhuman and asked the administrator to submit the man's details to the ship's security system.
A simple note. A routine report.
"Sorry for the trouble."
Elsewhere, the instant the War Angels captain's gaze swung over, Dorn tensed.
He realized his earlier action had made the forbidden relic's disguise a little unstable.
Of course, it didn't help that the captain's alertness was unusually sharp.
Even within Dorn's own Imperial Fists, that captain would have counted among the finest commanders.
Fortunately, under the relic's influence, so long as Dorn was not fully exposed, anyone within its coverage would unconsciously lower their guard.
Dorn followed the short veteran, keeping his stride steady, and subtly adjusted the relic again.
The disguise stabilized.
Good. If the captain had come over to interrogate him personally, the odds of exposure would have been high.
Dorn still had things to confirm. He didn't want to meet the Savior too soon.
Even so, the ship's security detail seemed to have received instructions. They quickly moved in, stopping Dorn for questioning and verification.
The short veteran and the others froze, confused, turning their eyes toward the commotion.
They told the security team that this big man had also fought bravely in the defense of the ship.
"I, I didn't do anything wrong, right?"
"I'm the Emperor's most loyal believer. Please, don't throw me off the ship…"
Dorn put on a dumbfounded, nervous act, fully inhabiting the role he'd chosen.
A simple, honest giant from a fringe world, terrified that some bureaucratic snag would cost him his chance to make pilgrimage.
The squad leader asked a few questions, then gave Dorn a once-over while scrolling through the slate.
He read as he spoke, his tone gentle.
"Big guy… ahem. Sir. This is just a routine check. No need to worry."
The data confirmed it. No irregularities, no signs of xenos infection or heretical corruption.
Just… big.
And psychologically, remarkably stable.
"Dorn, right? Your file's fine. Rest easy. Safe travels."
After submitting the updated report, the squad leader smiled and handed the registration card back.
He didn't press further.
After all, before the War Angels departed, they had run another full scan of the vessel, ruling out any suspicion of xenos or heretical presence.
Yes, the big man had no formal citizen identity.
But he'd already passed inspection and quarantine when boarding and had completed registration.
A temporary identity, and that was sufficient.
Besides, the big man's suspicion rating was low. This was about as serious as asking someone for a citizen number.
A safe, straightforward subject of the Imperium.
Minimal risk.
In earlier times, the Imperium could never have managed records this detailed. But now the Machine God's reach was growing, with databases nearly fully networked.
The Imperium could record far more identity data across its population.
"By the Emperor, I told you, I'm loyal!"
Dorn maintained the act, accepted the registration card with an honest grin, and turned to leave.
"Wait."
He had barely turned when the voice stopped him again.
Dorn paused, then looked back to see the squad leader's friendly face.
The man held out a neatly wrapped packet of candied fruit.
"Big guy, have a taste. Candied berries from our Arela Agri-World."
"It's our signature specialty. Way better than the dried fruit from Saint Laira. Their sunlight's terrible."
"By the Emperor, I don't know why all the traders keep buying Saint Laira's stuff…"
The squad leader had just come out of a fight, blood and grime still on his armor, yet he kept that warm camaraderie Imperials showed one another.
He even used the moment to plug his homeworld's local goods, with a little complaining on the side.
With the webway routes linking sector to sector, the Imperium's economy had begun to show real vitality, building a cross-regional commercial system.
Citizen demand was rising too. People wanted more than simply a full belly.
An Imperium that only ate to survive had no vitality, no development to speak of.
So the Department of Commerce actively encouraged each civilized world to develop local specialties, whether arms production or food, consumer goods, anything that fit their conditions.
Arela's delicious berries led them to develop a long-lasting candied-fruit product.
But the moment they finished their first successful line, they discovered a neighboring sector's Saint Laira Agri-World had launched a similar product first, expanding rapidly and becoming popular.
That agri-world surged ahead on the back of that industry, earning a reputation across multiple Imperial sectors, its economic level rising sharply.
To Arela, it was humiliation. Their candied fruit was more delicious, yet hardly anyone knew it existed, and trade channels were difficult to open.
The merchants all went to Saint Laira.
Arela had its pride. They were determined to push their candied fruit into the wider Imperium rather than let it be overlooked.
It had become a habit.
Arela folk living off-world seized every opportunity to recommend their planet's specialty candied fruit.
To make sure people knew.
This, too, was the Imperium as it stood now.
The territories under the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, had sufficient security. They were slowly recovering from war.
There was decay, yes, but also tremendous latent energy and opportunity.
In this environment, any civilized world that grasped a development window could accelerate rapidly through webway trade, which in turn boosted the Imperium's broader economy.
Put simply, the Imperium was shifting from an extremely closed, backward, city-state style economy into a commercial one.
Regions traded more. They exchanged more.
That was one of the conditions for prosperity.
Dorn didn't know what to make of it, but the kindness from a stranger warmed him.
He took the candied fruit and ate one.
Sweet berry flavor flooded his mouth.
Dorn realized he hadn't tasted human food in a very long time, and the sensation was good.
He thanked the squad leader and promised to help spread the word about Arela's candied fruit.
The squad leader beamed, then handed some out to the short veteran and the others too, and the mood turned easy and bright.
After that, Dorn and the other pilgrims who had taken part in the fighting followed security guidance to a designated area for disinfection and cleaning.
Once processed, they returned to their quarters, changed into fresh robes, and headed for the ship's dining hall.
The group chatted nonstop about the customs and scenery of their homeworlds.
Most of the time, Dorn said little. He simply listened.
He had fully settled into the role he was playing, savoring this rare stretch of calm.
Not long after, Dorn and the others were directed to yet another destination: the central cathedral square on the bridge level.
A pilgrim ship could not be without its religious spaces.
Just moments earlier, the captain of the vessel had announced a celebration, both to reward this victory and to honor those brave enough to stand up and protect others.
By the time Dorn arrived, the cathedral square was already packed and festive.
Honor banners and luminous strips hung overhead, and long tables covered the plaza, loaded with an abundant spread of food.
"An宴会, huh. It's a bit like a noble banquet, but without the extravagance…"
Dorn looked out over the vast square, thinking quietly.
In truth it was a blend: noble banquet, religious ceremony, and the Savior's homeworld-style communal feast, plus music and dancing.
A new-Imperium flavor.
The point was simple: let everyone celebrate and enjoy themselves.
The variety of food exceeded even Dorn's expectations.
This was nothing like the Imperium he remembered.
And judging by the short veteran and the others, Imperial citizens weren't starving.
In fact, in the reclaimed regions, hunger had been driven back completely.
Even lower and middle citizens were shifting from "eat enough" to "eat well." They could get meat now and then.
Proper nutrition pulled them out of that dried-out, skeletal look, gave them clearer minds and stronger bodies for work.
Not the old days, when people wandered in a daze, ready to collapse in the street from hunger at any moment.
To Eden, the Savior, ensuring people could eat their fill was the bare minimum for a civilization.
The old situation, famine everywhere, in an interstellar empire that could cross star systems, was pathetic.
Especially the old Imperium's Adeptus Arbites, flying massive starships across the void to collect the tithe from feudal worlds.
Forcing feudal peasants to surrender the wheat they'd grown with backbreaking labor.
It was disgrace piled on disgrace.
So Eden had decided to change it. An interstellar Imperium, and it still couldn't solve farming?
He leaned hard into the "grow and build" instincts in his blood.
Using Golden Age cultivation technology, Eden planted crops everywhere possible. If it could be farmed, it was farmed.
Now he was eyeing barren worlds too, considering solar-powered greenhouse arrays.
The Department of Agriculture was even researching asteroid-belt cultivation. Even this pilgrim ship carried a small growing facility.
Fresh vegetables, supplied right onboard.
This explosion of agriculture even caused one food institute's painstakingly developed carbon-dioxide-to-starch synthesis tech to fall out of favor.
With plenty of fresh food available, who wanted synthetic starch?
At best, it became emergency rations for long-range campaigns, with far fewer use cases.
A number of tech-priests in the starch synthesis field promptly pivoted to new research directions.
The unluckiest were the Mechanicus students who'd specialized in that field.
They graduated only to find the whole sector had collapsed, and regretted not choosing civil engineering and industrial construction instead.
One of the hottest disciplines in the Imperium right now.
In the banquet crowd, Dorn felt the people's vigor, their living energy.
That, too, was normal in the reclaimed Imperium. Pure suffering had become rarer.
What remained, more and more, was hope for the future.
The Lord of the Phalanx found himself increasingly moved. This Imperium was more alive, more hopeful, than even the Great Crusade era.
That outcome was inevitable.
At the very least, the new Imperium had a more rational taxation system instead of a brutal one-size-fits-all, protecting each civilized world's own development.
Keeping the Imperium running in a healthy cycle.
"Big guy, eat more. In the unreclaimed regions, it's not easy to get full…"
The short veteran, far too friendly, shoved a cup of wheat beer into Dorn's hand.
He was in high spirits.
"Too bad you don't have citizen status, or you'd get a lot of honors this time. But you've got a temporary identity, so you can probably apply and patch it later."
"Heh. I killed plenty of heretic traitors. My citizen grade should go up another level."
The decorated veteran rambled cheerfully, letting Dorn see a corner of the Imperium.
It also helped Dorn understand why everyone had rushed to fight with such high morale.
Faith was part of it, but so was self-interest. The Imperium would not shortchange any sacrifice.
In this battle against an invasion of heretic traitors, every being who stood up would receive corresponding honors and rewards.
Under the supervision of the psychic network, officials from the Department of Citizen Affairs would tally every contribution and every due honor as thoroughly as possible.
The loyal would be treated better.
That was one of the greatest differences between the new Imperium and the old.
In the old Imperium, loyalty meant selfless suffering with no progress bar, endless torment and uncertainty, often without even basic honors.
Worse, internal fractures and political infighting meant countless loyal souls were wronged.
Whether you were loyal depended on your will and persistence.
In the end, the old Imperium had failed. Most of its enemies came from within.
Traitor Primarchs, renegade Space Marines, the constant corruption rising from civilization after civilization.
The new Imperium was different.
More effort meant more reward.
Work extra today, earn more. Kill one more xenos or heretic, gain another honor and bonus.
The loyal would not be forgotten. They would be respected, and that respect showed up everywhere in daily life.
Even the most ordinary citizen could see it clearly, plainly, searchable in the record.
Soldiers had special honor benefits.
Not like the Astra Militarum of old, dying in confusion, never making it home, their names dissolving into nothing.
As for betraying the Imperium and running to Chaos, that had become far rarer.
For most Imperial citizens, if you can live a good life, why follow a bunch of reeking beggars?
Under the old Imperium's absurd governance, the fact that citizens endured so long before breaking was proof of how loyal and iron-willed they were.
If it had been humans from the Savior's homeworld, they'd have been firing rifles until the triggers sparked, rebelling against Imperial tyranny.
Now the Savior was beloved not merely because of the Emperor's backing or the title of Emperor of the Imperium.
It was admiration for the man himself.
People knew that following the Savior meant respect, and a better future.
Even if the Emperor stripped the Savior of power tomorrow and branded him a heretic and traitor, the overwhelming majority of Imperial citizens would still make their choice through pain.
They would shoulder their weapons and follow him to Holy Terra to "remove corrupt officials," and then, for good measure, drape him in a yellow blanket to keep him warm.
To hell with the Emperor. The Savior is the Imperium's true legitimacy.
Dorn faintly sensed the people's devotion to the Savior, and something strange stirred in his chest, though he couldn't name it.
He didn't chase the feeling. He simply continued to blend into the banquet's warmth.
If not for his worry over his father's condition, and the responsibilities he still carried, he truly wished he could vanish into anonymity and live in today's Imperium.
Clatter, clatter.
Food slid across the long tables. Some utensils fell and rang against the floor.
"The ship stopped. Another attack?"
Dorn felt the change in the pilgrim ship's state and immediately went on alert.
At the same time, the once-noisy cathedral square quieted, and the atmosphere shifted.
But there was no fear.
Then the shipwide broadcast carried the captain's excited voice, and everyone learned what had happened.
The stop was not due to an attack.
It was to salute the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, and offer the highest reverence.
Just now, His Majesty's flagship had passed close by this pilgrim ship.
Then came further news.
The Savior had heard of the ship's ordeal and the pilgrims' brave resistance, and he had decided to offer them encouragement.
The cathedral square erupted into stunned joy. Before anyone could fully react, the Savior's sacred hymn began to play.
It was an audio signal projected from the Dreamweaver, directly taking over this ship's sound-emitter arrays.
"Bzzzt…"
"Faithful pilgrims, I am the Savior, the Emperor of the Imperium, Eden Grant…"
(End of Chapter)
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