Datch stood atop Mount Pharos, gazing down at the revitalized landscape. The Tyranid fleet had plundered far too much.
Restoring Sotha to its original state... couldn't be achieved with just the Weather Sprite and Life Spirit. Moreover, merely returning it to its past form was not enough—he needed to give it an artistic touch. Art was, after all, the essence of the game. Of course, he wasn't cynical enough to build some damn mountain power plant. Datch waved his hand, opened the editor interface, and prepared to make comprehensive adjustments to Planet Sotha.
On the screen, Planet Sotha slowly rotated, with various parameters displayed in concise datastream format. Datch's gaze moved swiftly over the interface. He lightly tapped the air with his finger, fine-tuning Sotha. When he clicked on the atmospheric reconstruction project, a complex parameter table expanded. He adjusted the nitrogen-oxygen ratio to Terra standards and injected suitable amounts of carbon dioxide and inert gases. He built a stable ozone layer to block harmful radiation, set the seasonal pressure and wind belts... After adjusting the atmosphere so the weather system could form a stable self-circulation, Datch also designed floating regions where majestic mountains appeared to be suspended in the air.
Upward vortices were created to collect clouds. At the summits of these floating mountains, clouds condensed into water, which then flowed down under gravity's pull, forming waterfalls. When sunlight appeared, the mist it created would refract into beautiful rainbows. Once all parameters were set and the preview looked proper, Datch chose "OK," and allowed Sotha to shape the land as desired. With everything complete, the weather sprite and spirit of life turned into beams of light and returned to his side.
Sotha had undergone a complete transformation. No longer was it a desolate, dead world. Azure skies floated with white cumulus clouds, dappled with a warm, gentle sunlight. Rolling hills were lush with green grass, dotted by wildflowers. Newly grown trees flourished along both banks of the rushing river. Lakes of various sizes reflected sunlight like sapphires embedded in the earth. In the distance, where once the sea had dried up, it was once again vast and blue, the faint sound of waves carrying on the breeze. The air was filled with the fresh scent of plants and soil.
Most important of all, the hanging mountains were verdant, their plunging waterfalls casting magnificent, dreamlike rainbows. On this land once marked by death, a vibrant and tranquil pastoral world had been born.
The warriors of the Scythes of the Emperor rushed out of Mount Pharos, their hearts full of complicated emotions. Oberdeii removed his helmet, feeling a real breeze caress his awe-struck face, a face that had endured much hardship. Apothecary Aratus walked to the roadside and knelt, gently stroking an unknown small blue flower sparkling with dew. Its soft touch and palpable vitality brought tears to the eyes of this veteran who had witnessed so much death and iron.
The other Scythe warriors showed various emotions: shock, joy, disbelief. None of them ever expected to see Sotha regain its former glory. Only those who have truly lost something, who have struggled through utter despair and exhaustion of body and mind, could truly understand how precious was the living scene before their eyes.
Oberdeii walked solemnly toward Datch. The other soldiers did the same, as if by silent agreement. Each placed a fist to their chest, armor clattering dully, their voices trembling with excitement:
"Nameless Lord, the Scythes of the Emperor collectively offer you our highest honor and deepest gratitude. You have not only restored our homeland and saved our honor but have brought our world back from eternal death to a new life. The Scythes of the Emperor will never forget this debt. Should you ever call, the Scythes of the Emperor shall answer and dedicate all—our very lives—to you."
The others murmured in unison:
"Glory to the Emperor, glory to the Nameless!"
Datch looked at the excited, fervent gazes of these NPCs and chuckled. Every time something like this occurred, these NPCs got so worked up. Was this a hidden game mechanic? By bringing hope to Warhammer's desperate world, could he gain the loyalty and gratitude of NPCs? Would a hidden storyline open up at a certain intimacy level?
Wait, why did someone wrap a yellow robe over his shoulders? His loyalty to the Emperor was clear as day and night! You really brought me so much suffering, so much pain!
This little galaxy is split into so many worlds. That's a betrayal of our ancestors in all but name. Organize armies, launch crusades, unify the realms. Unification is a must.
…
The Pharos Lighthouse database was immense, requiring time to download, decrypt, and classify. The great sage Cawl and his retinue camped for several days within Mount Pharos. After securely backing up the core protocols, Cawl issued a shutdown command to the lighthouse. All necromancer constructs entered deep standby mode, consuming only minimal power. Their green-lit eyes went out, their bodies becoming metallic statues in the underground halls.
Pharos Lighthouse, after all, was an undead creation. Who knows what foundational protocols, security loopholes, or other measures they left behind? If not kept in check, what hidden dangers could arise?
After the great sage Cawl finished his work, a notification popped up to Datch:
[Congratulations on mission completion. With the cooperation of the venerable Belisarius Cawl, you successfully surveyed and acquired data from the Pharos Lighthouse and ensured its safe deactivation.]
[Reward: EXP +1700, Points +1700, Fame +200, Teleportation Liquid *5]
Five bottles of glowing green Teleportation Liquid appeared in the game inventory. Datch was overjoyed, wanting to jump up and cheer. Five bottles! These would last a good while. Anywhere you want to go, go! No more needing to weigh every decision carefully.
With the mission complete and rewards collected, Datch took out his Teleport Gun, preparing to leave. As his finger pulled the trigger, he paused. Upon close inspection, he felt his appearance was a bit monotonous. His eyes gleamed with a sudden good idea.
Datch took out a monster ball and summoned the Changeling and Masque of Slaanesh. The shapeshifter concealed its extra arms and inhuman features, shrouded most of its face with a hood, and transformed into a wizard in gray robes. Holding a staff set with black crystal, he floated half a foot above the ground, radiating a mystical, calm aura. The Masque of Slaanesh kept her previously designed appearance—white hair, purple dress, black stockings—her aura now more reserved, graceful, and controlled.
After a bit of thought, Datch released the round Life Spirit again, who fluttered around him trailing green light.
"Mm, this is much better. Having pets and followers, this is what being a pro gamer looks like."
Datch nodded in satisfaction at his new look. Immediately, he picked up the Teleport Gun, fired at the ground, and used the resulting portal to leave Planet Sotha.
…
Great Sage Cawl observed this quietly alongside Oberdeii and the Scythes of the Emperor. Those terrifying warp demons appeared shockingly docile and obedient to the Nameless. This utterly subverted their previous understanding of warp and demon-kin. Even a Chaos traitor blessed by the dark gods couldn't possibly enslave three daemons at once.
…
The offices and study of the Primarch aboard the Macragge's Honour. Suddenly, a green teleport portal appeared. Datch stepped out, materializing precisely in the room's dark corner. Looking around, he saw Guilliman sitting behind his desk, conversing with a tech-priest. A golden exclamation mark hovered above the Primarch's head—a clickable indicator showing the NPC was in storyline dialogue.
"Looks like I'll have to review the plot one more time," Datch muttered in his heart, then walked to the side. There was nothing to do but wait in this scenario. Skip dialogue only applies to player-NPC interactions, not between NPCs themselves. Only by sliding the timeline could individually skippable lines be skipped.
Datch's sudden arrival attracted the Primarch and the Magos' attention. Confirming the newcomer was not hostile, they turned back and resumed their chat, discussing an incident in which a Martian expedition attempted to excavate a stellar necropolis for the undead, only for their entire army to be destroyed by the Necron dynasty's attack.
Just FYI, these motor enthusiasts are truly reckless when it comes to death-defying stunts—none can compare. Dig up a Necron's tomb every day, and when the tomb-protectors awaken, lose your home and end up sitting in a stasis field as a decoration.
In less than a minute, Datch grew bored, wanting to do something. He began wandering around the holographic star chart, tactical sand table, weapon racks displaying trophies, and rows of bookshelves. The wizard in gray, the masked Masque dancer, and the cheerful Life Spirit followed behind.
Guilliman noticed the nameless man gliding about, a faint smile on his lips, eyes full of playfulness. Abstract as it was, it was just right.
When he turned towards the envoy from Mars—his smile disappeared, his eyes filled with anger. The Mechanicum's representative, fearful under the Primarch's angry glare, cowered inside her red robes. The datapanel trembled slightly in her hands, and the servo-skull behind her didn't dare lift its eyes.
"Is this your doing?" Guilliman asked coolly, though his fury was clear. "Greed is Mars' greatest weakness. You endangered the entire Imperium and countless worlds, just like a beast war."
"My Lord, I must protest!" Sobel-Fe's voice cracked from the strain. "The intensified conflict with the undead isn't Mars's fault alone! We're victims too. We may be greedy, even predatory, but after the Great Rift, the awakening of the star-necromancers accelerated, and—"
Guilliman cut her off. "Regardless, you cannot escape responsibility. You deliberately concealed the growing xenos threat to protect your own interests. When things went out of control, you came running to me for help, hoping the Imperium and I would clean up your mess."
"The situation is complicated," Sobel-Fe tried again, "there are many agreements regarding command appointments, some private matters—"
"To me, all causes and effects are clear. The Imperium of mankind is once again at risk because of your greed and folly."
Guilliman shifted his gaze back to Datch. Some of his anger subsided. Thankfully, the Nameless was there; otherwise, the Adeptus Mechanicus would have made things even worse. If he'd known the Necron anomaly involved Necron psionics, he'd have been more cautious. There's still no word from the whole Kalides battle group—grim indeed.
Regaining his composure, Guilliman addressed the envoy:
"I'll review this matter and formulate an action plan. You may go."
Relieved, Sobel-Fe bowed her head.
"How should I respond to the Fabricator-General and the High Lords?"
"Tell them," Guilliman said with a glance at the star chart, "we've already discussed it, but I'm not satisfied. Now, go."
Sobel-Fe dared not say another word, bowed deeply, and hurried out. As she passed Datch, she even bowed in respect. Datch didn't reply, and she didn't dare utter a complaint.
Guilliman looked at Datch, waiting for him to speak and trigger the quest. But even after a while, Datch kept sliding around.
Strange.
Before, he'd have hastened forward to take the quest and set off. Why didn't he seem in any hurry now? Did this guy just want to stay by his side? Tch, don't think just because you patiently accompany me in silence that I'll be the one to greet you. Do you think I still care like before? My heart is as cold as a chainsword that's slaughtered xenos for three centuries!
Guilliman averted his gaze and focused on his work. Next up was Eldar Farseer Illiyanne Natasé.
…
The audience chamber was crowded and noisy. Natasé, as a representative of the xenos allies, was privileged with a private meeting room, separated from the main gathering of external VIPs. Through the door crack, Natasé could see humans—governors, generals, planetary representatives, high officials—resplendent in lavish attire. They held thick documents, exchanging deep looks and talking quietly. The atmosphere was thick with power struggles, calculation, and tense anticipation.
Everyone waited for the study doors to open, eager for the Regent's summons. Yet all appeared calm—showing anxiety in politics was weakness. Nobody wanted to seem weak.
Natasé was a little dissatisfied. His presence in the First Fleet wasn't a secret. His accompanying wraithbone battleship was currently moored beside the Macragge's Honour—its presence alone a forceful statement. The great seer Eldrad originally meant for Natasé to reside directly on Macragge's Honour. Only mention of the mysterious Nameless caused the Eldar to realize they needed to show themselves; otherwise, they'd have quickly been despised by humanity.
Ultimately, this proved correct. With the Nameless's help, humanity no longer needed to rely on the Eldar. For their audience with the Primarch, the Eldar insisted on a separate chamber—not wishing to wait with the other humans. This was deliberate isolation, a polite form of humiliation. He wasn't a dignified envoy, worthy of equal discourse under the sun, but a secret ally to be kept hidden.
Those damn, arrogant, shortsighted monkeys! The elves had helped them so much, but hadn't even received basic thanks.
The study door opened, and the Martian envoy emerged with a grim face. Immediately after, Sicarius walked toward Natasé's room. The Eldar seer instantly resumed his seat as if roused from meditation—he refused to let anyone see his inner distress or frustration.
Sicarius knocked on the door:
"Honored Farseer, the Regent is calling for you."
In the main hall, people frowned and whispered amongst themselves:
Why did xenos get their own room? Why did Sicarius personally fetch the Xenos? Humanity was the noblest race in the galaxy! That accursed xenos should wait with everyone else!
Suppressing his emotions, Natasé forced a smile and followed Sicarius toward the heavy doors. As he entered, the door closed quietly behind him. The study was quiet, save for the low hum of equipment. As he was about to greet the Primarch, Natasé noticed Datch and the Masque behind him.
For an instant, time seemed to stop, and the Eldar seer's pupils slowly dilated. Next moment, he shrieked like a startled rodent. All blood drained from his face, composure vanishing completely. He staggered back half a step, trembling as he pointed shakily at Datch's Masque.
"Impossible... How did you get here?"
Natasé's face twisted with terror. He spun to flee, only to find the door already shut. All he could do was pound on the door, crying out:
"Open the door!"
Even if masked and shrouded, he could never mistake that figure. The Masque behind the Nameless was none other than the Masque of Slaanesh banished by Slaanesh, who once invaded the world of Ark.
"My life is over..."
Natasé's first thought was that the Emperor and the Dark Prince had joined forces—he was doomed.
But the Masque of Slaanesh neither attacked Datch nor even looked at him. She simply followed behind. Guiliman watched helplessly.
"Ignore the daemon. It's just the nameless' pet."
"Pet..." Natasé felt weak at the knees. The Masque of Slaanesh was once Slaanesh's favored, chief handmaid, her combat power among the strongest of all warp-daemons. Even after banishment, she still served the Dark Prince's ends. And yet, he's now just a pet? Was this Nameless truly human? Or some hidden warp god of old?
"Alright, to business. Farseer, why have you come?"
Watching Natasé's performance, Guilliman let a small smile play at his lips. The Nameless did have a way of making people proud. The Eldar always considered themselves superior to humans, and now, here they were, looking utterly wretched.
But were the Eldar truly so afraid of the Dark Prince?
Natasé was both a seer and a warrior—yet still so frightened. The commotion drew Sicarius and other honor guards, who opened the door with concern.
Guilliman waved them off: "It's fine. You may leave."
Sicarius bowed and withdrew.
Natasé shot a glance at the Masque of Slaanesh, relieved she hadn't moved. He forced a smile, stifling his fear:
"During meditation, I counted the threads of fate and foresaw a coming tragedy. Do not attack the cosmic undead."
Guilliman frowned: "No such operations have been announced yet. How did you know?"
Since the Indomitus Crusade's inception, the Nephilim Sector had fallen into uncanny silence. No shouts, no calls for help. The warp realm was like a stagnant pond, showing no reaction. The Kalides battle group was deployed to investigate, but after entering the Nephilim Anomaly, all further contact ceased.
Based on information from Mars and other spy agencies, it was learned that stellar necromancers were enacting some unknown, evil plan in the area—using some sinister technology to silence the entire warp.
Guilliman had planned to see what happened for himself.
"I read all this from the threads of fate," Natasé said. "The rulers of the necromancers are returning, gathering an unprecedented army."
Guilliman nodded in agreement with the prediction.
"No wonder their actions are so coordinated. They must have a central leadership."
"Son of the Emperor, don't hastily confront them. If you do, you will surely perish. If you fall, the Imperium will be left to Sanguinius alone."
Natasé had followed the First Fleet to Baal, personally witnessing Sanguinius's return and his appointment as the Imperium's new Regent in dark times.
"Is my death unavoidable?" Guilliman asked.
Natasé shook his head. "No, there are a few—very few—ways to avert disaster."
"Then, unfortunately," Guilliman responded, "I'll need your help to find them. We cannot ignore this threat."
"That would be a foolish choice," Natasé replied. "Your best option is to give up."
"No," the Primarch fixed his gaze on Datch, still gliding about, "I believe the Nameless will help us."
"He is under no one's control," Natasé said, knowing exactly whom the Primarch referred to. "He will not consult with you about the future. He is an outsider."
At this point, Datch noticed the exclamation mark above the Primarch's head had become a question mark, signaling the story was ready for him to accept the quest. He "slid" over to Guilliman.
"Regent, is there anything I can assist you with?"
Guilliman smiled at Natasé, then turned to Datch.
"The Kalides battle group investigating the Nephilim anomaly has vanished without a trace. There is no news of them. I also plan to go there myself. But we may have to face the terrifying rulers of the undead. Your help would be much appreciated."
As the Primarch finished, a mission notification popped up for Datch:
[Mission: Protect Primarch Roboute Guilliman from the prophesied death.]
Farseer Illiyan Natasé of the First Fleet has foreseen that the Primarch will die at the hands of the Necron Overlord—the Silent King. Guard him and ensure he survives.
[Mission Reward: EXP +2000, Points +2000, Fame +500, Astral Express x1]
"Astral Express??" Datch gasped. This reward was incredibly powerful.
The Astral Express originated from the Honkai universe, built by the Aeon Akivili. To operate, it depends on a special mechanism that absorbs Trailblazer fate energy. One of its unique features is the Path of Trailblaze: wherever the train goes, a Path of Trailblaze forms, allowing any spaceship to travel rapidly along it.
With this magical tool, Datch could finally implement his long-imagined Star Path project. To let humans travel easily among the stars, he would need to repair all planetary star orbits. Once completed—and with long-range communications established—human civilization's future would be limitlessly bright.
Now was the time to bring this infrastructural power to bear in the world of Warhammer. Roads must be built—thoroughly!
Datch noticed the question mark above the Primarch's head indicated another task.
"I will protect you. Is there anything else you need?"
Guilliman hesitated, then added:
"The Word Bearers is secretly spreading dark doctrines and inciting rebellion against the Imperium. The core world of Antopi has rebelled under their influence, and the White Ravens Chapter has been sent to suppress it. If possible, please go there yourself. Minimize casualties and help the world recover, strengthening loyalty to the Imperium."
A task interface appeared.
[Mission: Help the White Ravens reconquer Antopi while minimizing casualties.]
Excessive demands from the Imperium pushed the locals to abandon faith in the Emperor, leading to revolt. The White Ravens forces will inevitably cause significant casualties reconquering the planet. The Primarch wishes for you to go in person and find a way to reduce the bloodshed.
[Quest Reward: EXP +1200, Points +1200, Fame +200, Lich King Skin Set x1]
"The Lich King Skin Set—is that from Warcraft IP? Looks cool, but it kind of makes me look like a villain..."
Datch nodded at Guilliman.
"I shall undertake this task."