The Nachmund Gauntlet

Over the next few minutes, a veteran of the Astra Militarum and a Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus engaged in some very physical communication.

They thoroughly got to know each other, then delved into their differing opinions on the Bolter's range and power. After sacrificing a door, several windows, and a number of smashed chairs, they finally brought their warm and friendly exchange to an end.

Alvin cowered behind cover, trembling, cold sweat beading across his forehead.

Who on earth had said that Tech-Priests were all calm?

The Tech-Priest in front of him was clearly a hotheaded bastard. At the slightest disagreement, he'd whip out a Bolter—and the mechanical arm on his back could even wield a Power axe for some vigorous, friendly communication!

That first encounter with a Tech-Priest had been terrifying. It left Alvin with a massive psychological scar.

So much so that whenever he encountered anyone from the Adeptus Mechanicus afterward, the scene from that day would reflexively come to mind.

"Now, tell me. What do you want with me?"

The Tech-Priest sat down on the steps without a shred of decorum, accepted the cigarette Tuck offered, lit it with practiced ease, and stuck it in his mouth like a lifelong smoker.

Alvin's worldview shattered all over again.

What the hell? A Tech-Priest sitting on the ground and smoking? Could this guy be a fake?

"Allow me to introduce you. This is Aruman Vella, a Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus."

Tuck lit a cigarette as if nothing had happened, then draped an arm around the displeased-looking Tech-Priest beside him and said with great enthusiasm, "Come on out, kid."

"Uh, hello, Priest Vera."

Alvin's mouth twitched. He slowly poked his head out from behind the pillar and awkwardly greeted him. "My name's Alvin Valshius. I'm a... scavenger from the Underhive."

"What, have you taken up charity work?" Aruman glanced at Tuck and shook the arm off his shoulder in disgust. "What do you want with me? Spit it out. I don't have time to waste."

"Do you remember the Hadley Family?" Tuck took a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes seeming to conceal a ferocious beast.

"I remember. You were thrown into the Underhive after killing the Hadley heir, weren't you?" Aruman replied slowly.

"There are signs of a Chaos Cult in the Underhive. It appears to worship the Blood God."

Tuck crushed his cigarette butt in his bare hand, turned to Aruman, and said each word distinctly, "Now I'm sure of it. The Hadley heir was definitely connected to that cult."

"You should go to an Inquisitor, not me, Tuck."

Aruman, however, remained perfectly calm, nowhere near as riled up as Tuck had expected.

"Don't be stupid. If I could find an Inquisitor, would I have come to you?"

Tuck swore furiously. "Did you forget to oil your brain? The gears are all jammed! I'm a criminal now. Even if I tried to contact an Inquisitor, I'd have to rely on you!"

"Don't say 'gears' again, or I'll shoot you first, you bastard!"

Aruman was furious too. He roared, "I'm a Tech-Priest, not a Star Whisperer! Where am I supposed to find someone for you? Why don't you contact the Department of the Munitorum?"

At the mention of the Department of the Munitorum, Tuck burst out laughing. "The Department of the Munitorum? By the time I get through to them, that cult will have blown the whole planet to hell!"

Alvin nodded in agreement from the side.

That was true. Given the speed at which the Department of the Munitorum handled business in Warhammer, by the time they found the distress signal, the planet would probably have already fallen to Chaos.

That was no exaggeration. Some planets sent out distress signals, only for the Department of the Munitorum to discover them after a long, convoluted approval process. By then, either the problem had been resolved—or the people involved had been dealt with.

The Department of the Munitorum and the Department of the Interior were both so inefficient it was downright infuriating!

If they waited for the Department of the Munitorum to send reinforcements, they'd be lucky to get them in the next life. They might as well find a way to handle it themselves.

"Then how the hell am I supposed to contact an Inquisitor? I'm a Tech-Priest, a Tech-Priest! Do you even know what that means?!"

Aruman launched into a stream of profanity, mixing in binary languages that were completely incomprehensible. He nearly drowned Tuck in spittle.

"I know, I know you're a Tech-Priest!" Tuck wiped the spit from his face. "I mean, try contacting your mentor. He'll definitely know what to do."

"Get lost. Not a chance!"

Aruman sneered and stood up to leave. "I'd rather have a Chaos Gang cut my head off than contact that old bastard!"

"Look at the situation we're in! You're still holding a grudge over that little spat?"

Tuck frowned, glanced at Alvin, then switched to another language and lowered his voice. "Don't forget, we're right by the Nachmund Gauntlet. Do you want what happened on Cadia to happen all over again here?!"

Wait, wait a second. Alvin's mind suddenly went haywire, and cold sweat soaked his back!

Had he just imagined what he'd heard?

The Nachmund Gauntlet—the only passage leading to the Dark Imperium through the tides of the Warp's raging power after the Great Rift opened?

No, no, he must have heard wrong!

As Alvin strained to listen, Aruman fell silent for a long while before speaking hoarsely. "Tuck, you know very well that if the Hadley Family has ties to a cult, it means Planetary Governor Garken is probably crooked too."

"That's exactly why I came to you, Aruman."

Tuck's expression was grave. "This planet's location is too important. If the Imperium wants to reclaim the Dark Imperium, which has been cut off by the Curse Scar, it has to pass through the Nachmund Gauntlet. If a cult takes control of Losel, Chaos will gain complete control of this vital route!"

At last, Alvin had heard the answer straight from Tuck.

This was Losel Planet, a Hive World in the northern Segmentum Obscurus, near the Nachmund Gauntlet!

In an instant, Alvin felt utterly hopeless.

He'd thought that being transmigrated into the Underhive of a Warhammer Hive World was bad enough. Who knew there'd be an even worse surprise in store?

The Nachmund Gauntlet was the only vital route to the Dark Imperium after Cadia fell and the Curse Scar split open the Great Rift. It was a place every military strategist would fight to control.

So here was the question: what usually happened to places in Warhammer that were described as "vital strategic locations"?

No! This was too terrifying. Just imagining it made him feel like he was going to die!

"Emperor Lord, is this how you treat your loyal subjects?!"

Alvin silently shed tears inside. Was it too late to choose a different place to be born?

Just then, the Tech-Priest Aruman noticed Alvin's suddenly racing heartbeat and stared at him suspiciously. "Kid, can you understand High Gothic?"

Tuck's suspicious gaze fell on Alvin as well.

He'd deliberately switched to High Gothic to keep Alvin from hearing what they were saying. Who would've thought the kid could understand it?

Under the two men's gazes, Alvin was utterly thrown into disarray.

Crap, he'd almost forgotten. The Underhive spoke Low Gothic.

Under normal circumstances, there was no way a scavenger from the Underhive could understand the Imperium's official language, High Gothic!

What about the Navigator System? Someone help me out here!

Just a quick note: the update usually goes up around midnight every day. I don't post only one chapter a day; I release two chapters at once.