Warhammer: Empire Reboot

As the largest human settlement in Klein-IX, its skyline is low and expansive, with the tallest building no more than thirty stories high.

The city stretches along the central river valley of the Arctic continent, spanning more than 80 kilometers from east to west, and is surrounded by a 15-meter-high flood control and defense wall.

Inside the city walls is a continuous granary area, with hundreds of domed warehouses arranged radially, each capable of holding tens of thousands of tons of grain or dried seaweed.

This is an iconic building in the agricultural world city.

In the agricultural world of the empire, the granary was everything.

Grain is tax, currency, and the foundation of power.

The Governor's Mansion is located in the very center of the granary district. It is not much higher than the surrounding warehouses. It is a solid stone fortress with reliefs of the Imperial Eagle and the Goddess of Harvest carved on its walls.

When Lawson looked down at the city from 500 meters above, his first thought was that it looked like a village compared to the capital of Obolus.

But the village is crammed with 28 million people.

Scattered plague travelers can already be seen outside the city walls.

They drifted slowly through the ruins of farmland three or four kilometers away, like jellyfish left on the beach after the tide has receded.

Every fifty meters along the city wall, there was a heavy laser cannon and a heavy bomb gun. The PDF soldiers at the gun positions stared nervously at the gray-green figures in the distance.

The scene inside the city walls was even more unsettling.

Lawson's psychic perception penetrated the city walls, revealing the entire city's bioelectric field within the swarm's mind.

Twenty-eight million heat sources are crammed into an 80-kilometer-long river valley, a density far exceeding normal levels.

In the southern part of the city, almost every building was packed with people.

Half of the warehouses in the grain storage area have been converted into temporary shelters, with makeshift tents and cots set up under the dome.

Too many people.

Most of these people are not native to Casablanca; they are refugees who fled from other occupied towns in the Northern Hemisphere.

The psychic perception also captured deeper information: a long line stretching for kilometers stretched in front of the ration station in the eastern part of the city, with each person receiving only a small piece of compressed rations and half a liter of clean water.

But Lawson could see that the granary behind the distribution station contained enough reserves for three years.

Someone is artificially restricting the supply.

Lawson lowered its altitude, folded its metal wings, and landed on the top of a watchtower on the northern section of the city wall.

Vera landed behind him, her golden wings standing out starkly against the gray sky.

The PDF soldiers on the city wall raised their weapons the moment they saw Lawson.

A giant 2.3 meters tall descended from the sky wearing an unprecedented black and gold power armor; anyone would be nervous in that situation.

But then Vera landed as well, her wings of light enveloping half of the city wall in a warm, golden glow.

The most recent PDF sergeant paused for half a second, then slammed his knees onto the stone slabs of the city wall.

"A living...living saint!"

One by one, the soldiers on the city wall knelt down, threw their weapons at their feet, and made the gesture of an eagle with their hands in front of their chests.

On the streets below the city wall, civilians queuing to receive their rations also saw the golden light in the sky.

A cacophony of shouts erupted from the crowd; some pointed to the sky, some knelt on the ground, and some hugged the people around them and wept bitterly.

The news spread throughout the city at an astonishing speed.

Lawson ignored them.

He walked to the edge of the guard tower, and his psychic perception pushed information about every street, every building, and every underground passage into the swarm mind, constructing a complete three-dimensional model of the city within three seconds.

Then he noticed something was wrong.

The Governor's Mansion in the city center is located underground.

Psionic perception detected an unusual source of subspace disturbance there.

The signal was very weak and deliberately suppressed by some kind of shielding method, but it had nowhere to hide under the high-precision analysis of swarm intelligence.

The energy characteristics of that disturbance source were highly consistent with those of the Nurgle demons that Lawson had encountered before.

But its strength far exceeds that of ordinary demons.

Lawson's eyes narrowed.

The council chamber of the Governor's Palace is on the second basement level.

The planetary governor of Klein-IX has been dead for five months.

During the first week of the Plague Legion's landing, a Plague shell hit his vehicle directly.

The governor's body swelled into a two-meter-wide ball of flesh within three hours, and was eventually incinerated by PDF using a flamethrower.

After the governor's death, power fell into the hands of the three planetary senators.

This is the political tradition of the agricultural world. Unlike the hive world, where a single governor holds absolute power, the agricultural world of the Empire involves too many stakeholders in grain production: the Planting Guild, the Transport Guild, and the Imperial Tithe Collection Bureau. The governor is more like a coordinator between these various forces. With the governor gone, the coordinator is gone, and the three councilors each represent a faction, so none can completely dominate the others.

The council chamber was a low-ceilinged stone room, with a star map of the seventeen agricultural worlds of the Klein system hanging on the walls.

Three people were sitting at the long table.

Seated in the main seat was Hax Moriarty, the president of the Plantation Guild, 62 years old, bald, with wrinkles on his face like cracked earth.

He controlled all the seaweed farms and grain-growing areas within a 300-kilometer radius of Casablanca, and naturally took the largest seat after the governor's death.

To his right was Greta von Hess, the fifty-four-year-old, thin head of the Transport Guild. She controlled the city's logistics network and distribution system.

The man sitting to my left is Durant Payne, the chief assessor of the Imperial Tithe Collection Bureau, responsible for calculating the annual grain tax payable to the Empire. He is forty-seven years old and has a kind, round face.

He had no army or logistics network, but he possessed authorization documents from the Imperial Central Committee. Theoretically, he was the only one of the three to hold the status of an Imperial representative.

At this moment, the three people are arguing.

"The ration cannot be reduced any further."

Moriarty slammed his fist on the table: "Right now, each person only has 200 grams of compressed rations and half a liter of water per day. If that goes down any further, the refugees in the southern district will riot."

Von Hess chuckled. “Let them riot. There are two hundred thousand PDFs and enough ammunition for three months on the walls. I’d like to see how a bunch of starving refugees manage to riot.”

“You,” Moriarty’s face flushed red.

“Enough.” Payne raised his hands, maintaining his amiable smile. “Gentlemen, we’re not discussing rations. We’re discussing how to survive.”

This statement silenced both Moriarty and von Hess.

"You are all aware of the situation at the front."

"The Ultramarines' company commander and his small force can't stop the Nurgle army. Maybe they can hold them off for a month, maybe two, but eventually the city will be submerged. By then, all 28 million people will become Plague Walkers. Including the three of us."

“So I propose,” Payne spread his hands, his smile deepening on his round face, “that we live in a different way.”

Moriarty and von Hess both looked at him.

“A loving father’s arms are always open to his children,” Payne said.

The temperature in the council chamber seemed to drop two degrees when those words were spoken.

Moriarty's face turned from red to white, and von Hess's eyes narrowed.

“You’re insane,” Moriarty’s voice trembled. “You’re talking about heresy.”

“I’m talking about survival,” Payne corrected him. “Do you think the Emperor will come to our rescue? Do you think the Imperial reinforcement fleet will make it through the dark warp storms to this godforsaken, rural frontier world?”

He shook his head: "No, Moriarty. Five months have passed, and not a single reinforcement ship has arrived. We can't even get a communication signal out. We've been forgotten."

"Even if forgotten, surrender to chaos..."

"It's not about siding with Chaos."

Payne interrupted him: "It's a deal with the Father. We retain administrative control of the city, the right to distribute food, and everything we have on this planet. In exchange, we offer some cooperation."

"What kind of cooperation?" von Hess asked.

Payne glanced at her, his smile unchanged: "I'm glad you asked, Ms. von Hess. The specific details..."

He tilted his head slightly.

"It's more appropriate for me to say it."

The sound did not come from Payne's mouth.

It came from the shadows in the corner of the council chamber.

Then, a figure emerged from the shadows.

It is over three meters high.

The outline still reveals the basic structure of the human skeleton: two legs, two arms, and a head.

But every part of it was twisted to its limit by Nurgle's gift.

Its legs transformed from the knees down into two thick hooves, thumping heavily on the stone slabs.

The length of its arms exceeded normal proportions. The left arm ended in a giant hand covered with suction cups, while the right arm, from the elbow down, transformed into a corrupted greatsword fused with the bones.

The face that once graced his head had completely vanished, replaced by a flat, pus-covered face.

The eyes were sunken deep in a layer of swollen fat, and the pupils were the characteristic yellowish-green of grime.

His lips were rotten, revealing two rows of uneven, black teeth.

A row of crooked bone spurs grew from the back of his head to his spine.

Nurgle's evil prince.

It was once a human, a traitor who offered his soul to Nurgle a thousand years ago, exchanging countless sordid deeds for the blessing of ascension.

Human form has been stripped away, replaced by this twisted creation that lies somewhere between mortal and demon.

Moriarty's chair tipped over.

He scrambled back to the corner, his face drained of all color. Von Hess, at least, remained seated in his chair.

Payne stood up, walked to the side of the demon prince, and bowed.

“You two,” Payne turned to Moriarty and von Hess, “this is Lord Vikrian, the demon prince chosen by the benevolent father. He infiltrated Casablanca three months ago.”

"Three months?" Moriarty's voice was off.

The demon prince Vikrian looked down at the two trembling mortals, a smile skewing across his rotten face.