A Day in the Life of the War Hammer's Slacking Primarch

Chapter 1: A Day in the Life of a Slacking Primarch

842.M30, Segmentum Solar.

Alicia is a beautiful planet; compared to the various Death Worlds within the Imperium, it could almost be called a little paradise.

But in this desperate and cruel universe, no place can truly be called a paradise—after all, this is the Warhammer universe.

To be honest, when he realized he had transmigrated into the Warhammer universe, Hogg felt like a Grot who had just had its toes stepped on. It was only thanks to his strong willpower that he didn't break down in tears.

Even though he used to joke around with his fellow shitposting group members about throwing each other into the Warhammer universe for a "good time," he now thought: I don't want to be in this shithole, dammit!!

"Sir, sir! I'd like a crispy grilled meat wrap."

A crowd had gathered in front of Hogg's BBQ Fast Food in the upper levels of the Hive City. Most were women, though there were plenty of men as well, all of them gazing at Hogg behind the counter with dazed expressions.

"Coming right up, please wait a moment." Ignoring their stares, Master Hogg began his busy work.

Standing two meters tall behind the counter with a handsome face, Hogg moved with great agility. One hand placed pre-skewered meat onto the promethium stove to sear, while the other spread a crispy flatbread.

Two minutes later, a wrap filled with grilled meat and spiced sauce was ready. Paired with a fruit-flavored drink he had carefully concocted, Hogg leaned over and handed it to the elegantly dressed lady.

After declining the 1,452nd ambiguous invitation from what was clearly an upper-crust noblewoman, he began preparing food for the next customer.

With the crisp clinking of Throne Gelt, his wallet grew heavier, and Hogg felt a sense of satisfied happiness. (Let's just use Throne Gelt! I couldn't find the official currency system.)

In the evening, after closing the shop, Hogg carried a massive insulated box on his back, slowly walking down the dilapidated plastisteel stairs of the Hive.

His destination was the entrance to the lower Hive, about one kilometer down. Inside the box was a delivery ordered by a customer that morning.

A Hive in the Warhammer world is not like the cities we generally imagine. If one had to draw a comparison, it would be like Chongqing from his past life—though, if you actually thought that, there would be no need.

A Hive is a massive, three-dimensional artificial city. Some people here have never even seen what the sky looks like. Of course, that only applies to the residents of the Underhive; those living at the top of the Hive enjoy ample sunlight and fresh, artificially treated air.

Ding! As the indicator light flickered on, the massive freight elevator, capable of holding several tanks, began to move. Soon, Hogg arrived at the bottom of the Hive.

He was met with the eternal, stagnant exhaust fumes of the Underhive. It is said that in some places, the air is thick enough to choke a person to death. Perhaps it was a difference in constitution, but for Hogg, these fumes had no effect on him; he even found them slightly sweet.

Hogg soon spotted the person he was meeting: a sturdy soldier of the 4th Defense Company, wearing green flak armor, with one arm replaced by a metallic prosthetic and a lasgun slung over his back. Upon spotting Hogg, he walked over.

"Hey! Hogg," the two embraced warmly.

"I can't believe you've grown this big. I remember when you were just a tiny thing, haha!"

Facing the two-meter-plus Hogg, Bruce tried to pat his head, but lacking the height, he could only pat his arm instead.

"Uncle Bruce, I'm already 12 years old. It's normal to be tall, isn't it?" Seeing Bruce made Hogg very happy, and the two chatted as they walked toward the nearby Defense Company barracks.

"Look who it is! Our 'Walking Meteor,' Hogg Menethil, has arrived."

Bruce's rough voice rang out through the camp, and soon a group of burly men and fierce women poured out of the surrounding rooms, surrounding Hogg.

Facing everyone's enthusiasm, Hogg had to open the package and distribute the wraps, responding with a smile on his face.

To be honest, Hogg was a bit socially anxious and wasn't quite used to such lively occasions, even though they were all his friends.

Back in his shop, lying on a three-meter-long bed made of metal, Hogg shed his usual composure and calm, beginning his daily routine of emo soul-searching.

Twelve years ago, Hogg was just an ordinary graduate returning home from work. While playing games and losing a ranked match with his friends, he spotted a Meteor in the sky.

Hogg prepared to make a wish, closing his eyes and clasping his hands together, muttering:

"I want a colorful life. I don't want to live so dead and boring. If possible, I want a girlfriend—preferably a cute beast-ear girl, or an elven royal sister would do, I'm not picky."

Before he could even finish his sentence, Hogg opened his eyes to see the Meteor make an abrupt 90-degree turn and smash right into him.

Then there was no "then." Hogg transmigrated into an infant and appeared in the wilderness, beginning his struggle for survival.

At one year old, Hogg began wandering the wilderness. When tired, he would dig a hole and crawl in to sleep; when hungry, he would find food. Hogg had eaten every beast in the Alicia wilderness.

At that time, the civil war on Alicia had just ended. The 4th Defense Company, sent to collect supplies, discovered and took him in. The old company commander, who was the most learned among them—equivalent to an elementary school graduate—gave him the surname [Menethil].

Honestly, Hogg felt the surname Menethil was a bit ominous. Not for himself, of course, but for his cheap father in this world.

However, combining it with the information he knew, he figured that even if he grew up, it was unlikely he would be able to stage a scene of "fatherly kindness and filial piety."

After all, according to Hogg's deduction, his cheap old man was likely that very man.

The one who sat over most of the galaxy, commanded millions of transhuman soldiers, shattered shards of C'tan with a single blow, tricked Chaos Gods into burning the Warp, the one Slaanesh dreamed of climbing into bed with, the one Khorne would offer a cigarette to, the one who would still have a mouth left to scream "I am not a god" even if the entire universe were destroyed, the one who loved gold above all else—the golden giant, [The Emperor].

Sigh. "Since I'm already here, what else can I do?" Hogg twisted his body, wrapping himself tighter in his small, fuzzy blanket.

As one of the 21 offspring created by the Emperor—a Primarch—each possessed a powerful body, and their skills were nothing short of astonishing.

Take Hogg, for example. He possessed an incredibly strong physique and monstrous vitality. Even at 12 years old, he could shatter the primary building materials of the interstellar era with a single punch. His brain was comparable to the most powerful computer; he could learn anything after seeing it once.

Ordinary weapons could barely break his defense. Even if injured, as long as he didn't die instantly, he could heal and regenerate at an inconceivable speed, comparable to the bio-monsters from his past life's games. He didn't even care about the conservation of mass and energy; he could survive by eating dirt if he were hungry.

Moreover, Hogg felt that his special abilities hadn't even awakened yet. If they did, he would only be more tyrannical! More powerful!

This was something Hogg experienced firsthand after being hit by a concentrated barrage from a unit during the civil war. If you ask what happened to the other side, let's just say they should be more careful in their next life.

After half a year, the Hive where that unit was stationed was completely wiped off the map. This was the fundamental reason the civil war ended.

But so what if he was a Primarch? Although it was the 30K era and the Imperial Truth was in full swing—not the disgusting, desperate world of the 40K era—even a Primarch, without awakening their Warp essence, was nothing more than a high-level pawn!

If Hogg could punch a Chaos God to death, he would show the Four Gods what a madman truly was.

In summary, if you don't have hacks in the Warhammer universe, you can only be a background extra. Dark despair is the only theme of this world.

"Where are the cute beast-eared girls and elven queens I was promised? Meteor, you son of a bitch, get back here! I demand after-sales service!! Damn it, I'm just going to rot. If nothing else, I'll just coast through life, or maybe I'll just throw..."

As if Hogg's grumbling had taken effect, a sound of overwhelming power echoed through the small room. With a sharp "slap," Hogg felt himself struck heavily by a golden palm.

Hogg stopped squirming on the bed, watching his body emit an eerie glow, and felt several repulsive gazes from the void staring down at him.

Red, blue, green, and purple—four rays of light flickered and intertwined, only to be swallowed by him.

He seemed to hear a roar as blood-red light surged toward him incessantly, yet it too was devoured, until a beam of golden light struck, accompanied by a miserable dog's howl, and the red light finally ceased its futile offerings.

Then, a voice resonated within his mind:

[Found you (Gold text)]

"W(Д)w Ahhhhh, oh, I think I know which four bastards those were. All I can say is, thanks for the tip, Big Brother!"

With a look of shock, Hogg felt that his future life might not be very peaceful. The good news was that his dad was coming, but the bad news was that his cheapskate old man was coming.

Rubbing his skull, Hogg wondered if that big guy had heard what he said earlier.

Sigh! It is what it is, time to sleep!!!