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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
Chapter 2: Adaptation
Chapter Text
Six months had passed.
Capheus Cain, an infant with the mind of a commissar, had made some… remarkable progress.
He could crawl now. It wasn't much compared to what he had done once in full armor on the battlefield, but for his new body, it was the pinnacle of possibility.
He could also lift lighter objects — a piece of wood, a small bowl, sometimes a toy his parents placed near the crib. Not much, but he cherished every chance to explore.
His world was slowly becoming understandable. A house, a village made up of a few similar houses, fields, and an animal pen. Each day he got to know his surroundings, still limited by his body, but increasingly aware of the place he found himself in.
And the language.
The first weeks had been torture. Every word, every sentence sounded foreign, completely different from the standard, low Gothic of the Imperium. But over time, as if his brain had adapted to the alien tones, he began to understand the meaning of simple statements from his parents, instructions from the maid, short phrases in the village. He was proud of himself — an infant who could think, analyze, and… translate a foreign language.
But there was also unease.
His "brother"… behaved strangely.
He watched him for hours — the way he moved his little hands, the way he looked at their mother, sometimes the way he glanced at him. Strange twists of the mouth, fleeting glimmers of awareness, more conscious than an infant should be.
"Oh no… no…" Cain thought, tensing his infant muscles and tongue in a silent, internal scream.
"Wait a minute… if I was reborn… maybe he was too? Who was he in his first life? A soldier loyal to the God-Emperor? Or… oh no, no… a follower… of Slaanesh?! Damn it, Emperor, save my nerves…"
His heart raced, though his body was still limited to infant functions: eating, crying, defecating.
"No… it can't be… That's paranoia, Cain!" he quickly shook his tiny head, his cheeks flushed with indignation. "The followers of that perverted Chaos god are far more… degraded, corrupt, and depraved. And he… well… maybe he's just confused. Maybe he behaves like… a normal, albeit strange, infant?"
Finally, his parents gave him a name.
"Let it be… Alaric," said his father, and his mother smiled broadly, stroking his little head.
Cain rolled his eyes inwardly. Alaric. Sounds like a knight from some fairy tale scholars read while deciphering ancient texts from Holy Terra.
Though his body was now an infant's, in his mind he was still Capheus Cain — a commissar who had seen more battles than most people could endure in a lifetime.
His brother, with the unsettling gaze, was named Rudy. Short for Rudeus Greyrat. They had a family surname, so it was certain they were minor nobles… though influential enough to afford a skilled maid to maintain order in the household.
And his twin brother was "probably" in love… if one could even call this infant's almost obscene, heretical, lewd behavior love…
Cain still didn't know what to make of him — sometimes his behavior was strangely aware, other times outright infantile. Yet observing Rudy had now become his duty as a blood brother and… a strange sense of responsibility.
Half a year had passed, and he was slowly beginning to appreciate this new, strange existence.
"Peace, quiet…" he sighed inwardly, savoring this treasure for his poor soul. When had he last slept well? Or eaten properly? The constant fight against mutants, Chaos god heretics, and vile xenos had been simply too exhausting for him.
Now he lay on his back in a small wooden crib, staring at the ceiling beams.
The silence was broken only by the crackling of the fire and Rudy's quiet breathing beside him.
Peace.
True, untouched by alarms, without the smell of gunpowder and burned corpses.
Cain closed his eyes.
Memories returned on their own.
Battlefields. Mud mixed with blood. Shouted orders. Soldiers who looked at him with a mix of fear and admiration. People he led into combat — and often to death.
He had been a commissar of the Imperium of Man. A symbol of courage. A propaganda hero.
The truth?
The truth was that he survived because he was careful. Because he could read the situation. Because he knew when to flee and when to feign courage.
And there was always someone standing beside him.
Jurgen.
Loyal. Reliable. Smelling as if he had just emerged from an ammunition store after a month without ventilation — yet more faithful than half the regiments.
And more effective.
Cain almost heard his monotone:
"Commissar, shall I use the flamer?"
And then everything exploded.
Demons torn by flames. Psykers losing focus in his presence. Heretics screaming in agony.
Jurgen never asked "why."
He never hesitated.
He just was.
Cain felt a strange pang in his chest.
Did Jurgen survive that battle?
Did his soldiers think he had died a hero?
Had the Imperium even noticed his absence?
Or had they long since replaced him with a new commissar in the same cloak and identical doctrine manual?
He opened his eyes.
Wooden ceiling. Smell of bread.
No banners with eagles.
No prayers to the Golden Throne.
Only a quiet hut on a planet that didn't appear in any registry he knew.
"Why?" he thought.
Why had the God-Emperor sent him here?
If it was His will — and Cain, despite his cynicism, had never doubted the Emperor's ultimate authority — there had to be a purpose.
The Emperor did not act randomly.
Maybe a test?
Maybe a punishment?
Maybe a mission?
Was this planet a forgotten colony?
A world lost during some ancient Warp storm?
Was he to rebuild faith here?
Find something?
Destroy something?
His gaze slowly shifted to Rudy.
The infant slept peacefully, an innocent expression on his face.
But Cain remembered that look. Too sharp. Too aware.
"If I was reborn… maybe he was too."
And if so — maybe that was the point.
Maybe he wasn't sent here by chance.
Maybe his task was to oversee.
Protect.
Or… stop.
The Imperium had many enemies.
Some were born with mutations.
Some with the psychic gift.
Some with ambition greater than their loyalty.
Cain felt his infant hand involuntarily clench into a fist.
"If this is a mission… I will carry it out."
Even if it meant growing up from scratch.
Learning to walk.
Speak.
Fight with a sword instead of a bolt pistol.
Even if it meant observing his own brother for signs of heresy.
Because if the Emperor truly sent him here…
…it meant this world would become a battlefield in the future.
And if so — Cain intended to be ready.
He lay a while longer, listening to the silence.
For the first time in a very long time, he didn't have to lead anyone to death.
And maybe… just maybe…
the God-Emperor had given him not only a mission.
Maybe he had given him a second chance.
Small. Fragile. Wrapped in diapers.
But a second chance nonetheless.
CRASH!
The door creaked softly.
Cain flinched instinctively — or rather his infant body did, for his mind was long ready to assess danger.
A figure filled the doorway.
A tall man with light hair, a face worn but gentle. For a moment Cain almost expected the commissar's cloak, the symbol of the Aquila, a weapon at his side.
Instead — a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a wide grin.
"How are my little heroes doing?"
Father.
The word still sounded foreign.
The man approached the crib and suddenly made an absolutely grotesque face — eyes wide, cheeks puffed, pretending to be a monster.
Rudy squealed with delight.
Cain… froze.
It was absurd.
Commissar of the Imperium of Man, legend of several campaigns, terror of heretics — and now someone was making silly faces at him in a thin voice:
"Oh no! A great monster is coming from the north!"
Cain felt something strange.
Not danger.
Not suspicion.
Something… soft.
Warm.
And it was more unsettling than any Chaos cult.
"This must be an illusion."
"A test."
"Some damn psyker is playing with my mind."
He had been almost certain of it for the first few days.
A world without the Imperium?
Without prayers to the Golden Throne?
Without suspicious glances at anyone showing the slightest difference?
Impossible.
But the more he observed, the harder it was to find cracks in this reality.
His father — Paul.
An ordinary name. Simple.
Not "Prefect." Not "Magister." Not "Sector Administrator."
Just Paul.
His mother — Zenith. A strange name, yes, but he had seen worse in the Imperium. Especially in hive worlds, where parents tried to give children "uniqueness" against concrete towers and smog.
And yet there… in his first life… he had parents too.
Ordinary people.
Not fanatics. Not heretics.
Loyal to the Emperor, but not madmen. A family trying to survive in a world where survival was a luxury.
That memory was dangerous.
Because it made this situation… familiar.
Paul lifted him carefully.
Cain immediately analyzed the hold — stable, secure, no signs of aggression. He smelled of wood, sweat, and fresh bread.
Not ozone from psychic power.
Not incense from a chapel.
"Here we go, Alaric," his father murmured softly. "Smile, little sweetie." he chuckled, rolling his eyes.
It still sounded surreal. His new name spoken without fear, without respect for rank.
Simply the name of a son.
So that's it. He understood.
Paul.
Zenith.
And the maid — Lilia.
Lilia was young, maybe twenty. She had reddish-brown hair tied in a half-bun, with strands falling to her chest on both sides. She was a loyal servant to the family, faithful in her duties and exemplary as a maid.
And she absolutely disliked Rudy.
Cain quickly understood why.
Rudy — despite being an infant — looked at their maid with an intensity entirely unfit for a child. Too long. Too consciously.
Once… he even smiled.
Not childishly.
It was the same smile Cain had seen on corrupt officers discussing "interrogations."
Lilia shivered.
"That little one is strange," she muttered once under her breath.
Cain could not disagree.
"If this is an illusion, it's exceptionally well-crafted."
But if it wasn't an illusion…
If this was truly a second life…
Then Paul was not a psyker.
There was none of that elusive aura of tension Cain sensed with sanctioned sorcerers.
He was simply a father.
Making silly faces.
Laughing when Rudy tried to grab his nose.
Cain felt that strange feeling again.
In the Imperium, "family" was a luxury.
A weakness.
Something often taken away before it could be appreciated.
Here?
Here someone held him carefully, as if he were the most precious thing in the world.
It was… disorienting.
Dangerous.
Cain closed his eyes, feigning sleep.
"Very well," he thought coolly.
If this is a mission — I observe.
If it's an illusion — I endure it.
If it's a second life — may the Emperor witness… that I will use it better.
But for now, he let Paul make silly faces.
And for the first time in a very long time, he didn't analyze every movement tactically.
He just listened to laughter.
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