Living Saint

Imagine an ordinary world without any Reality Warping. Everything in that world followed patterns that could be understood and observed objectively. The laws people knew held true wherever they applied, and no anomaly could change them on a whim.

The common quality shared by all those things defined reality—indeed, it might be reality's only defining quality: objective existence.

To measure how objectively real an object was, the Foundation's researchers created a physical quantity called Reality Strength.

A Reality Warper's unusual gift was the ability to control the Reality Strength field produced by their own body. (Note)

Their bodies also tended to have higher Reality Strength than baseline reality, while their surroundings tended to have lower Reality Strength. The greater the difference, the stronger the Reality Warper's abilities.

And what Rowan intended to do now was transfer some of his own Reality Strength directly to Lucia, turning her into a new Reality Warper!

A minute later.

"That should do it..."

Rowan estimated Lucia's Reality Strength. Once he found that it had reached the level of a first-tier Reality Warper, he immediately stopped the transfer.

A Reality Warper's thoughts could affect reality, even at the weakest tier. Lucia had the willpower to endure a Living Saint's ascension for this long; this much help would be more than enough.

Unfortunately, transforming Lucia had consumed all the growth Rowan had gained from killing those Chaos Space Marines. If he wanted to advance further, he would have to start over.

Rowan didn't mind. That many souls would have been difficult to obtain in the Foundation Universe, but in Warhammer, they were nothing special. He could make up the difference by finding any Hive World in the throes of rebellion.

More importantly, he now had a Living Saint to guard him—one who could heal, resurrect, and inspire others. For Rowan, whose physical body was still extremely fragile, that mattered most.

The golden flames gradually faded. The silver-white skeletons crumbled into dust, one after another, and Lucia, kneeling on the floor, finally opened her eyes.

As if by a miracle, Lucia's charred skin peeled away to reveal an unscathed body beneath. Luminous white hair grew rapidly from her head, and a faint golden halo appeared above it.

A pair of pure-white wings burst from her back. With one sweep, Lucia soared toward the vaulted ceiling and hovered in midair.

Rowan looked up and met her golden, radiant gaze.

He had to admit, the old Emperor had excellent taste.

Lucia slowly descended and landed before Rowan. She knelt on one knee, her voice calm and firm.

"Lord Rowan, by the Divine Emperor's will, I shall be the sword in your hand and defend you to the death in this dark Galaxy."

"You said the Divine Emperor's will?"

Rowan was a little surprised. "What did the Empe—what did the old gentleman tell you?"

"He told me to protect you with everything I have, because you are his Contractor, the star of hope in the long night, humanity's savior, a treasure beyond compare, the Terminator of endless suffering..."

Lucia was still speaking with perfect solemnity when Rowan waved both hands and cut her off.

"...That's enough. You don't need to go on."

Ridiculous. Big Gold One had learned how to talk to people!

Where was this tact during the Great Crusade ten thousand years ago?

Then again, after sitting for ten thousand years on one of the most formidable instruments of torture in the entire Galaxy, the Emperor had finally glimpsed a chance to clock out. His reaction was understandable.

"Did he say what we should do next?" Rowan asked curiously.

Clearly, the Emperor was in much better shape than when he had been rambling incoherently through a fractured mind. He could even give relatively clear instructions now.

"No. He said you may decide your next course of action yourself, as long as it remains within the terms of the contract."

Lucia shook her head.

"But there is something else. I can sense two loyal survivors on the Bridge. If we reach them in time, they should be able to help with whatever you do next."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Rowan made up his mind at once.

Anyone who had survived an attack by Chaos Space Marines while fighting back was bound to be no ordinary person.

At that very moment, on the Bridge.

A fierce battle was raging.

Bang bang bang bang bang!

Bolters poured fury upon the Enemies of Mankind.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The Traitors answered with grenades.

Crackle...

At last, all the gunfire and explosions ended beneath arcs of Psy-lightning that streaked through the air like silver serpents leaping across the sky.

The Chaos Space Marines withdrew. It was only temporary, but it gave the Bridge's last two loyalists a rare chance to catch their breath.

The dazzling blue psychic light in Sibyl's eyes slowly faded. She drew a heavy breath, recovering from the mental strain of sustained psychic exertion.

The dark muzzle of a Bolter extended from beside her and pressed against her forehead.

"Well? Can you keep going?"

Sibyl neither reacted nor showed any anger. She only replied calmly.

"...There's no need. I am not fated to die here. The Emperor still needs me to do my duty."

She understood her temporary companion's reaction perfectly.

Psykers had always occupied a delicate position in the Imperium. They could be found in almost every Imperial institution, including the Adeptus Astronomica, the Inquisition, the Imperial Navy, the Astra Militarum, and the Adeptus Astartes Chapters.

But Psykers were directly connected to the Warp. Most suffered from mental illness to some degree, and worse, every Psyker's projection in the Warp shone like a beacon to Daemons. A Psyker could become a doorway through which Daemons entered reality, unleashing terrible destruction at the slightest lapse.

Sibyl had just used her psychic powers to force back a charge by more than a dozen Chaos Astartes. If her mind broke and she became a Warp Rift, it might be enough to bring Greater Daemons into reality!

She turned to look at her temporary companion.

He was a man over three meters tall, clad entirely in black robes. He had just fought a fierce battle, single-handedly killed more than a dozen Chaos Astartes, and slain a Chaos captain in direct combat. Yet his breathing remained steady and unhurried.