The Power of Faith

Turbines spun up, and five Reapers ignited twin exhaust plumes that launched them into the air, letting them vault onto a nearby building with ease.

The Reapers' visors provided infrared vision, quickly locking onto the hidden Nurgle Psykers, while terrain mapping scanned the surroundings and plotted optimal routes in an instant.

"Target locked! Take them out!"

Seeing the Reapers closing in fast, the Nurgle Psykers roared in fury.

"Stop them! Don't let them near me!" Though they didn't know who these soldiers were, they felt the threat of death bearing down.

The Plague Flies switched targets and dove toward the Reapers, but their speed couldn't keep up with the Reapers' rapid movement.

The Reapers bounded and shifted between buildings and across the ground without pause.

Even the flying Plague Flies couldn't keep pace, let alone the Living Dead.

A few cultists tried to man the autocannons and Hellguns, but before they could swing the barrels around, the Reapers opened fire with twin P-45 electromagnetic pistols.

"Swing! Swing, damn it!"

Every time a Reaper paused, it was for a precise shot, and each shot was followed by an immediate reposition.

One Reaper alone might not have enough firepower to drop a Nurgle-blessed follower instantly, but five Reapers could achieve a swift kill.

These Nurgle cultists, capable of channeling Nurgle's sorcery, weren't true powerhouses—they were still thugs at heart, clumsy with the sudden strength they'd been given. Any Combat Psyker in the Imperial Navy could probably take them down.

One Reaper used his jetpack to soar over the autocannon and Hellgun position, dropping a KD-8 grenade onto the emplacement as he passed.

After a brief delay, the explosion sent nearby enemies flying and obliterated the position.

Whenever a Reaper sensed encirclement closing in, they'd toss one of these concussive, damaging grenades to blast their way out.

"Nice work! Reform ranks! Push forward!"

The enemy's front line was heavily drawn in, and with the Plague Flies neutralized, Damon led his nearby soldiers into a counterattack.

The Nurgle cultists panicked, losing their greatest asset.

The moment they abandoned their Plague Fly summoning and tried to slip away, their fate was sealed.

The Reapers, no longer needing to dodge the flies, each charged their designated target.

A burst of bullets, a grenade—all in one fluid motion.

By the time the Reapers' turbine jetpacks spooled down, every Nurgle cultist who had been summoning Plague Flies was dead.

"The deeper the Chaos corruption, the more crystals I get from killing them."

Gao Yi noted that a single heretic capable of using Nurgle's psychic powers could yield him at least 50 Psionic Crystals.

"Clean up the remaining Living Dead. Firebats, burn every corpse you can! You few, set up a perimeter in case of a counterattack!"

Damon was furious. In the last fight, they'd lost eleven Machine Gunners, and one Firebat had taken a direct autocannon hit to his fuel tank, detonating on the spot.

Still, the Reapers' intervention had prevented even greater losses. Damon's face was grim—this was the heaviest casualty toll he'd faced since arriving in this world. What he didn't know was that in the Warhammer universe, such losses would be hailed as an epic victory, especially when psykers were among the enemy.

His side, aside from their equipment advantage, were still mortal men. In this world, lives were cheap.

C-14 in hand, Damon led his men into the Church.

Inside, the Church was a scene straight out of hell.

When the outer walls collapsed and the soldiers fired their last rounds, they'd been forced to draw melee weapons and keep fighting the Nurgle cultists. Even the soldiers in Combat Suits had struggled, let alone the survivors taking refuge inside.

What had once been a packed Church was now a wreck. Soldiers were nearly all dead, bodies piled high—some crewmen, some Living Dead.

The Church's priest and a few clergy members sat slumped on the ground, Chainswords in hand, the blades caked with shredded flesh. Behind them, a cluster of laborers trembled in fear.

The priest's robe was torn to shreds, and the body beneath was covered in countless wounds. Plague had already seeped into him.

When he saw Damon enter the Church, the priest forced himself upright and charged, roaring for the God-Emperor.

"We're here to save you! We're soldiers of the Rogue Trader! Stop!"

Hearing Damon's voice, the priest wiped the blood caked over his eyes. When he saw that the newcomers weren't the mutated monsters, he collapsed, unable to hold on any longer.

"Connie! Get the other two Medics over here to help!"

Damon knelt by the priest, studying his face and cross-referencing it with the database. He confirmed this was the priest who had sent the distress signal and claimed to have intel.

"Elias Barnes?"

"Yes... it's me... praise the God-Emperor... you really came for us..."

Connie did a quick check of his injuries. She had no idea how this man was still alive—by all logic, blood loss alone should have killed him, yet he'd stayed conscious the whole time.

"You held off their attack with just this few people?"

"Cough... I only became a priest later... before boarding this ship, I was an officer in the Imperial Navy..."

And the plague that would have killed an ordinary soldier outright seemed weakened inside him?

Was this what the commander called the power of faith in this world?

Still, as long as he wasn't dead yet, the Medics could top off his health.

Under the Nanites' healing, Elias's body recovered.

But while physical wounds could be mended, the mental ones were his alone to bear.

The wounded were carried out of the church one by one. To their credit, those priests fought with terrifying fervor under the blessing of their faith—thirty-odd church members, along with some devout Shipworkers, held the breach until Damon's reinforcements arrived. In the end, only five church members survived, and barely any of the Shipworkers who joined the fight remained.

Only those who had cowered and avoided battle were left alive.

A member of the Enforcer Squad, clad in CMC armor, strode furiously up to the survivors who had shirked the fight and roared at them.

"You cowards! You have failed the Rogue Trader and the Dynasty! Every single one of you has received the Rogue Trader's grace! If we didn't still need your lives to serve the Dynasty, you'd all be hanged! When this riot is over, you and your clans will be punished!"

Damon merely watched from the sidelines. To him, these Shipworkers were just pitiful commoners—he didn't understand why they had to be treated so harshly. But Gao Yi had told him not to interfere with the Enforcer Squad's affairs, so he said nothing more.

"Elias! You said you had important intelligence to report? What is it?"

"I—I saw that Lord Ludwig was not in good condition, but he still led the Praetorian Guard to the Lower Deck! It seemed they were searching for something."

"We already know that. Is this the important intelligence you mentioned?"

"No—there's more. I saw the Master of Discipline at Lord Ludwig's side. My instincts tell me something is wrong."

"The Master of Discipline?!"