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Rating:
Mature
Archive Warning:
Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category:
F/M
Fandoms:
Warhammer 40.000無職転生 異世界行ったら本気だす - 理不尽な孫の手 | Mushoku Tensei: Isekai Ittara Honki Dasu - Rifujin na Magonote (Novels)無職転生 ～異世界行ったら本気だす～ | Mushoku Tensei: Isekai Ittara Honki Dasu | Jobless Reincarnation (Anime)
Relationships:
Paul Greyrat/Zenith GreyratLilia Greyrat/Paul Greyrat
Characters:
Ciaphas CainRudeus GreyratPaul GreyratZenith GreyratRoxy MigurdiaLilia GreyratSylphiette (Mushoku Tensei)Ghislaine DedoldiaEris GreyratPhilip Boreas Greyrat
Additional Tags:
CrossoverParodySlice of LifeIsekai and TransmigrationReincarnationPoliticsWarAI-TranslatedOriginal TextSurvivalMagicguanoWorldbuilding
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:2026-02-28Updated:2026-06-10Words:212,710Chapters:29/?Comments:145Kudos:240Bookmarks:70Hits:13,522
Alaric Greyrat: Hero of Six-Faced World (crossover Mushoku Tensei / 40K)
KsiadzRobak21
Summary:
When the "hero" of the Imperium of Man wakes up in the body of a child in a world of magic, he quickly realizes one thing — this is not the universe he knows.
There is no Imperium.
No Guard.
No chain of command.
Reincarnation?
Of course. Why not.
A new world, magic, monsters, and noble politics.
A twin brother — a perverse genius obsessed with the teacher's underwear.
Father — a former adventurer.
Mother — saintly patience.
And somewhere in the background, someone who suspiciously resembles a chaos god is trying to influence the future.
If this is punishment for my previous life, it is exceptionally creative.
Chapter 1: New life
Chapter Text
Darkness.
Not the familiar, starry void between worlds.
No, the malevolent depth of the Immaterium.
This was… a tight darkness, dense and motionless.
Capheus Cain blinked slowly and realized his eyes were already open.
But he saw nothing.
"Is this the Warp?" — flashed through his mind.
He did not feel the insane laughter of demons. He did not feel the touch of Chaos.
Nor did he feel the presence of the Emperor.
That chilled him.
The only memory that forced itself upon him was vivid and painful: the battle with his own army, explosions, soldiers' screams, death, and the chaos of the campaign.
And now… now nothing made sense.
He tried to move.
Mistake.
The walls around him were soft. Warm. Moist. Pulsating.
He froze.
"This is some kind of organic cocoon. Bio-heresy."
He pressed with his hands — small, weak, disproportionately tiny.
Only after a moment did it dawn on him that something was wrong.
Tiny.
He did not feel the weight of armor. He did not feel the scars. He did not feel the shoulder pain or the blood spilled in the service of the Emperor.
He felt nothing that belonged to the former Cain.
He tried to clench his fist.
Instead of a firm, strong motion — a clumsy, weak flutter.
"…What…?"
Then he heard muffled voices.
Distant. Distorted. As if through thick layers of matter.
Rhythmic thumping echoed all around him.
It was not the firing of guns. Not artillery fire.
It was… a heart.
Understanding came slowly. Too slowly.
Warmth.
Moisture.
Walls contracting around him.
"No."
The world suddenly shook. The muscles around him tensed brutally. They began to squeeze him.
The darkness became motion.
"NO!"
Cain tried to shout a command. To utter even a single word of prayer to the Emperor.
From his lips came only a squeaky, helpless sound.
The fluid around him surged violently. He was pushed.
Squeezed.
Expelled.
The darkness began to crack.
...
...
...
...
The world exploded with light.
Pain.
Cold.
Air tearing his lungs.
He screamed — this time truly.
But it was not a warrior's scream.
It was a cry.
Someone lifted him. The touch was immense. Inconceivably immense.
The voice — clearer now — warm, feminine.
He did not understand the words.
He did not know the language.
He did not know this world.
He blinked slowly, eyes flooded with tears and light.
And then he saw them.
The vibrant scene finally quieted, and for the first time in ages he could perceive a coherent object… or rather, a person.
The first sight he saw was a woman, radiating incredible warmth from her smile as she looked at him with equal measures of love and surprise.
Her lush blonde hair fell in loose waves down her back, drawing attention to the delicate line of her neck and the soft, pale skin that seemed to glow in the bright room light. But it was her eyes that truly hypnotized him — a bright, penetrating shade of blue that seemed to shimmer with life of its own. They shone like diamonds, captivating and intense — at once icy and inviting.
This had to be a mother.
He felt a tangible pull toward her… The sensation would not leave him, as if he felt attachment? Damn, he had never felt anything like this, as if someone had bewitched his mind… is she a psyker?!
NO! YOU WILL NOT TOUCH MY MIND! I AM A FAITHFUL SERVANT OF THE EMPEROR, YOU DAMN PSYKER! IN SERVICE TO THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND!
YOU WILL NOT RAPE MY MIND!
...
...
...
Ah… wait a minute, it's just an infant instinct, right?
Newborns formed bonds with their parents from the very first gaze…
Damn, he really had forgotten such things… or maybe it was because he had never had that attachment? With his mother, he had never had that attachment.
He felt as though some foreign emotion had been implanted in him, and somehow it gave him comfort. She drew him closer, and he felt her full lips brush his head, then his cheek, as she smiled at him again.
"What… what happened? Why… why am I… a child?!"
The faithful servant of the God-Emperor of Mankind tried to shout all his frustration, every ounce of anger and despair.
But instead of the powerful voice of a commissar, only a squeaky wail emerged.
Another figure approached and stood before the woman. Holding another infant. Cain looked up and saw a child with a few brown strands of hair on its head, exactly like the man holding it, and a pair of strikingly green eyes.
Despite being a newborn, its face bore a lecherous expression.
"Kid?"
Cain had never had a brother. Never. It was a strange experience, completely new.
But that gaze… the gaze of this child was… different.
Dangerously attentive.
Unsettlingly aware.
"There's something off about this kid."
The commissar felt something he could not immediately name: a mixture of fascination and… unease.
Cain muttered slowly, processing further details.
Light fell through a small wooden window. The humid air in the room smelled of freshness, morning sun, and something like baked bread. Yes… it seemed to be morning.
And then he looked at them more closely.
His new parents.
Young. Much younger than he had been as a commissar in service to the Emperor of Mankind. Faces untainted by battle fatigue and the burden of responsibility. Blonde hair, light eyes, smooth skin. No scars, no discolorations, no signs of malnutrition. Ordinary, healthy people. Most likely peasants of some local lord, judging by the clothing.
"What a relief…" he thought, though the voice in his head sounded like an old man trying to speak through an infant's throat. Had he been reborn as an abhuman… he would have ended up in the meat grinder immediately, or in a military experiment unit.
And here? Here… ordinary people. Fresh blood, no deformities. Safety? Maybe… for a while.
Cain tried to move, though his body was still so clumsy that every movement required enormous concentration.
Hands that once held a rifle and pulled men from the inferno of battle were now almost useless. Every attempt to analyze the situation ended in crying or an irritating scream that sounded like… well, a baby.
"Damn…" he thought. "I'll have to figure out if I can contact the Imperium… whatever that means."
But how the hell was he supposed to explain his situation?
"How do you send a message across thousands of years and galaxies when… you're a child?!"
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts.
Was this some joke of the Chaos Gods?
Were they playing with his miserable fate, giving him reincarnation into the body of a defenseless, squealing creature?
Cain opened his eyes again. He looked at the world.
Blonde hair, light eyes, a simple wooden room… and inside it, two people who could be his parents.
And beside him… an infant who looked innocent, yet its gaze… something pricked at him.
"Okay, Cain," he muttered in his thoughts. "First thing: survive. Second: find out who rules here. And then… then I'll find a way to send a message to the Imperium. Damn, this will be a longer campaign than any battle."
And with that thought, he lifted his infant hands, determined to survive the first day in a world he did not understand.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
A month passed.
Capheus Cain, once a great commissar in service to the Imperium, glorious "hero," loyal servant of the God-Emperor… lay in his small wooden crib, beside him the infant he was still supposed to consider his "brother."
And he concluded that… he was screwed.
From every tiny detail he pieced together a picture of the situation, trying to restore at least a shred of logic to this chaos:
The world, technologically… backward. Feudal. People rode horses, built wooden huts, and most communication was oral. No machines, no rifles, no signals from the Imperium. Cain still harbored grim doubts about whether he was even within the Imperium's borders.
"Maybe it's just a feudal world… yeah, that's possible…"
A hut. Wooden, simple, thatched roof.
Parents. Normal. The father seemed like an ordinary man, though intuitively Cain sensed he was more than an average peasant. The mother, normal, breastfeeding. Delicate, warm, smiling with care. Well-built, healthy — completely unlike the Imperium.
A maid. That was a sign he could not ignore. "They are not ordinary peasants. Oh no. This must be a family from some local elite or noble class."
And beside him… that strange "twin brother."
Cain tracked his gaze, which sometimes seemed to shift unnaturally, as if the infant was aware of more than it should be. Especially when the brother looked at the mother's breasts.
"Damn…" he thought, squinting at his twin. "This kid is weird…"
The night sky only deepened his unease.
The stars were alien. Constellations unknown. And a single moon — bright, full or thin, motionless in orbit. No orbital station signals, no technology.
"No way this is the Imperium…" he thought, staring at his tiny hands. "And if not the Imperium, who the hell reincarnated me here?"
A month passed, and Cain was still a damn child.
Daily life: pooping diapers, eating mush, drinking milk, helpless wailing and crying.
Every day was a struggle to preserve even a fragment of adult dignity in an infant's body.
Every movement, every gesture, every facial expression mattered — he still tried to read the hierarchy in the house and around him, though his body limited him to infant functions: pooping, eating, and crying.
"Survive… observe… analyze… learn everything about this world…" he thought in his free time, and he had plenty of it.
"And then… find a way to send a message to the Imperium. Damn, this will be a longer campaign than any battle I remember."
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