The Planetary Governor stared, dumbfounded, at the Emperor's Angels unleashing a storm of savagery in the heart of the enemy formation.
While in the wars Zhou Ye fought, a Space Marine might not seem all that different from a guardsman, for most worlds in the 41st Millennium, the mere presence of an Astartes was enough to shatter a cultist's will. Now, faced with such a brutal slaughter, the entire cultist army instantly broke.
Massive transport aircraft descended from the sky, landing before the embattled planetary defense forces. The cargo bays opened, revealing racks upon racks of gleaming lasguns. Along with the weapons was a banner designed to resist corruption—a battle-standard created by Zhou Ye. It was a vastly watered-down version of his personal relics, but for a place that couldn't even summon a Nurgling, it was more than sufficient.
More drop pods fell, disgorging several thousand aggressive soldiers who followed the Space Marines, swallowing the enemy host in moments.
"Gulp..."
The governor looked at the lasgun in his hands, then at the ferocious Space Marines. They had already found the enemy's high priest. Tossing aside their weapons, they were now pummeling him into a bloody pulp with their bare fists. The Rogue Trader's private army was much the same, each soldier fighting as if possessed by Khorne.
According to Zhou Ye's regulations, every Rogue Trader fleet was required to have a permanent detachment of Space Marines and Solar Auxilia. Unlike other Rogue Traders who cared only for profit, all of Zhou Ye's subordinates were obligated to cleanse any corruption or xenos threats they encountered along their routes.
As for these so-called "private soldiers," they were all Zhou Ye's own Astra Militarum. Just like the Space Marines, the lowest-scoring batch of recruits were all kicked out to serve on merchant ships for five to ten years. Of course, these ships were equipped with dedicated training chambers, and any soldier who wasn't too lazy would spend their free time training relentlessly.
"Gulp..."
The governor looked at his own newly-armed men, then back at the battlefield. With the arrival of the Emperor's Angels and the armored vehicles of the trader's army crushing everything in their path, the mob of several hundred thousand cultists was wiped out before they could even mount a resistance.
Soon, more vehicles descended from the sky and began the recovery and cleanup operation. The Planetary Governor had yet to even distribute the lasguns. For a relatively poor world like his, lasguns were the perfect armament.
"Here, then, is your bill of debt. I will return in one year to collect the original payment. You can, of course, refuse. But when that time comes, do not blame me for being discourteous."
"Gulp. Yes."
Staring at the receipt, the Planetary Governor swallowed hard. Even without the implicit threat, he wouldn't dare to default. This Rogue Trader was so reliable he barely seemed like a person from the 41st Millennium. He arrived exactly when he said he would, and he was the governor's only stable source of off-world supplies. His prices were also incredibly fair, practically benevolent compared to the other murderous, sky-high prices of other Rogue Traders.
"Whew. Excellent. Let's return to Trailblaze for a crew rotation," Dobitek said to his subordinates, looking over the receipt and his data-slate. It was time for a rotation. This particular squad of Space Marines had been serving on his fleet for five years. As the first batch of unlucky bastards assigned to ship duty, it was time for them to return to their chapter in glory. It was also a good time for him to resupply.
What Dobitek failed to notice was a pair of cold, indifferent eyes watching him from the shadows.
"I cannot see his future. Interesting. Very interesting indeed."
A flicker of excitement appeared in the eyes of the hidden figure. He had a strange feeling that his lucky day was just around the corner. He had been tormented by prophecy for so long. Truthfully, the Custodes' containment measures could never have held him; he simply no longer wished to see those wretched visions. To now encounter someone whose future he could not accurately predict—and more than one of them—was enough to thrill him.
This was exactly what he had longed for. He was now eagerly anticipating meeting this brother he had never known.
"Shadowmoon Wolf Pack, World Eaters, Death Guard, Emperor's Children, Imperial Fists, Ultramarines, Iron Warriors... this brother of mine has a rather... complex collection of warriors."
The figure looked on, a hint of confusion in his eyes, as he observed the squad of Astartes. So many different origins mixed together—how had this chapter not imploded on itself?
But soon...
"???"
Konrad Curze felt a flash of light, and in the next instant, he had left that planet and arrived at a completely new one.
"No Warp travel. And that was a jump... what was the distance? And so fast... no wonder..."
Curze was beginning to understand why his "father" had been so agitated. After all, his father had crippled himself and shattered his own being for that damned Webway project.
"Excellent. My good brother, let me see how many surprises you can offer me. Since that's the case, allow me to present you with a gift. I will capture you and bring you before Father."
As the massive battleship slowly entered the starport, the interest on Konrad Curze's face grew more intense. In his line of sight, two private soldiers at a corner were about to collide with an approaching Space Marine. But the outcome was different from what he foresaw: one of the soldiers slipped on a banana peel someone had thrown on the ground and performed a full-on prostration before the Astartes.
This was far too interesting. The future was not fixed.
And what was that he had just slipped on? A banana? Damn it. He had never even eaten that fruit before. If he remembered correctly, wasn't it a passing soldier who had been eating it?
"Find out who littered. And make sure to dock that bastard's fruit rations for a week. My Lord is merciful enough to provide a fruit ration for everyone, and some people still throw their trash on the ground."
"Yes, sir!!!"
As the Astartes who gave the order walked away, the unlucky soldier who had slipped rubbed his forehead. It was common knowledge that Zhou Ye didn't pay salaries. Even though he had issued a unified currency across his thirty worlds and used his supercomputer to ensure market stability, he still didn't pay wages. It wasn't that Zhou Ye was cruel; it was simply that in the beginning, there was no currency, only benefits and material provisions. Later, he had simply forgotten about it. And why had he forgotten? The enthusiasm for military service was so high that it had completely overshadowed the issue of compensation.
But it wasn't a major problem. For the past few years, Zhou Ye had been madly expanding his army and preparing for war, squeezing the potential of his thirty worlds. But his "squeezing" at most meant people had no spare cash. They had more than enough to eat and drink well, with balanced nutrition. Compared to the bone-grinding exploitation of other Imperial worlds, he was practically a living saint. After all, most of these people had been living on the brink of death on their original worlds.
What Zhou Ye didn't know was that as he assembled his vast merchant fleet, news of how people lived on other Imperial worlds constantly reminded the citizens of the Thirty Worlds of their good fortune. There is no harm without comparison. If Zhou Ye hadn't forbidden it and ordered them to worship the Emperor instead, his statues would likely be everywhere. To repay their benevolent lord, many now worked with a fanatical fervor, wanting to offer more and more to him. You couldn't even use purges to control these people; if you sent someone to kill them, they would believe it was a glorious sacrifice for their lord.
Finally, the ship slowly docked in the port. Unseen by anyone, a shadowy figure slipped out of the vessel and plunged into the bustling starport of Trailblaze.
---o---
Within Zhou Ye's vast and luxurious palace, he was currently receiving two guests.
The three Word Bearer brothers from Macragge. Their purpose for being here was simple.
"My Lord, the Word Bearers company has been fully assembled."
Looking at the two proud figures before him, Zhou Ye couldn't help but rub his forehead. Seeing everyone else's chapters flourishing, these three had gotten anxious. They had come to Zhou Ye, saying they too wanted to advance, but Zhou Ye's reply had been cold and merciless.
"I don't have any Word Bearer gene-seed. While I have the technology to rapidly create it, I still need a prototype."
The three had returned, dejected. Less than three days later, Zhou Ye heard a piece of news that left him dumbfounded. The three of them had simply chosen one of their own, harvested his progenoid glands, and then stuck him in a Redeemer Dreadnought. The Contemptor pattern was too expensive, and each of his legion-structured companies typically only had one spare Contemptor chassis. The rest were all Redeemer Dreadnoughts, colloquially known as "Oven Dreadnoughts." So getting a Redeemer wasn't surprising. But surgically removing a brother's gene-seed and stuffing him into a Dreadnought... Zhou Ye swore he had never heard of such a thing.
But since they had already done it, what was there to say? He went ahead and cooked up another hundred or so gene-seeds for them. Having them around was useful anyway; they helped him manage the messy affairs of his state religion. All the new seeds were laced with a heavy dose of his own private modifications, making the resulting Astartes his personal vassals. Just look at the new Emperor's Children, who didn't even blink when they saw Fulgrim. Their original gene-father held no sway over them. So…
"My Lord, why do they all believe in the Imperial Truth?"
Though the two Word Bearers were proud, they were also in a bit of a bind. Why was it that after carefully studying the holy texts of the Imperial Cult, their newborn brothers had all concluded that the Imperial Truth was the good stuff? They had all converted. Of course, given the current political climate, they still preached the Lectitio Divinitatus publicly. But then, their converts had formed an inner circle of their own... an inner circle dedicated to the Imperial Truth. This left the original two Word Bearers utterly bewildered.
"Ahem, it's not a major issue."
Zhou Ye offered an awkward but polite smile. His tendency to mutter to himself and his wicked sense of humor had struck again. While he was preparing their gene-seed, his mind had been filled with all sorts of weird stuff from the fanfiction "Roboutian Heresy." So, he had added a few "special ingredients," and a group of Word Bearers who believed in the Imperial Truth was the result.
Zhou Ye found it quite amusing, though the two before him were thoroughly confused. Fortunately, while the new recruits believed in the Imperial Truth, their attitude toward the Imperial Cult was, "Well, it is what it is." They continued to promote it, so while the three founding brothers were baffled, it was manageable. What else could they do? At least they weren't fighting.
"And your company?" Zhou Ye asked, not knowing how else to respond. There was no way he wasn't going to tamper with the gene-seed. Their own gene-father was a traitor. Who knew what would happen if he didn't add some extra safeguards and they ran into him? This was a minor side effect, not a big deal. The three originals were now an absolute minority anyway, so no fights would break out. The new recruits treated them with the respect due to elders, humoring them like one might humor a child. It was like a young person dealing with their grandparents in modern society.
"They are currently undergoing extreme endurance training, after which they will move on to simulations."
After all, they were all top graduates from Macragge. Though their gene-seed was different, they still retained many Ultramarine habits. The Ultramarines' selection process didn't require candidates to reject their mortal selves. If an Ultramarine had the time, they would still return to their mortal homelands to attend the weddings of their descendants. The Salamanders were even more integrated, living completely among mortals and even debating what gifts to get for people from their village. Zhou Ye greatly admired these aspects.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Just then, Zhou Ye's emergency intelligence channel began to chime.
"Hm?"
He immediately opened the channel. The scene that appeared on the screen made him freeze.
On the display, over a hundred bruised and battered Astartes were hanging from crucifixes made of two wooden posts, swaying in the harsh wind.
"Blasphemy!!!"
The Word Bearers talking to Zhou Ye roared in fury, pulling out their croziuses and flamers, ready to charge out.
"Wait. Both of you, come back. That person held back. I have to say... it's just like you..."
Looking at the familiar scene, Zhou Ye instantly guessed who was responsible.
The Night Lords.
But there was only one person who could pull this off on his turf.
Konrad Curze.
Damn it. The Emperor was playing dirty; he threw a Primarch at me.
---o---