Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 269 - 270: Shock and Awe—The Emperor Sells His Body, Gives Birth in the Warp…
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Lion's Gate Spaceport.
Drydock.
Within one's field of vision…
A pilgrim vessel slowly came to port, its entire hull adorned in ivory-white paint that lent it the smooth, marble-like texture of polished stone.
On the ship's flanks were statues and runes of Living Saints, rendered in striking gold.
Under the sunlight, the entire pilgrim vessel shone brilliantly, exuding a solemn and sacred aura.
Even among the other pilgrim ships in the docking area, it stood tall above the rest.
"Isn't that the Devout?
The crew at Star Tower Spaceport did a pretty careful job, huh? Went way beyond what I asked…"
Eden recognized it immediately.
He knew it was the Devout because it used a Golden Age painting technique recovered from an STC on his territory.
Even though some of the paints used were relatively cheap, the overall finish still looked remarkably high-grade.
He then noticed something else:
"Wow, they even added the Savior's statue to the ship—and gave it center stage…"
In truth, Eden had only intended to have the spaceport do minor repairs on the Devout.
When it arrived at Star Tower Spaceport, there had been some slight hull damage.
Eden had merely mentioned it in passing.
Although his instructions were given with the best intentions, those beneath him had doubled their efforts.
The spaceport's director, hearing that the Savior himself was paying attention to this pilgrim vessel, rushed over in person.
He personally supervised the process to ensure the Savior's will was fully realized.
The shipwrights, brimming with enthusiasm, repaired the damaged areas in no time and even refurbished some other sections.
They gave the entire hull an immaculate paint job.
But the director felt it still lacked the proper degree of loyalty. How could such a grand vessel not display a statue of the revered Savior?
That simply wouldn't do.
Thus, he summoned the artisans again.
In the middle of the array of statues, he had them place an even larger, more eye-catching golden sun and Savior's figure.
Now, gazing upon his own likeness on the Devout, Eden fell silent.
Well…this works, in its own way.
He just needed to roll out more detailed regulations in the future to prevent too much overreach.
He had good reason to suspect that, were it not for preexisting rules, the spaceport personnel might have replaced the ship's engine outright.
They would have upgraded it with the latest Mk3 civilian warp engine—nearly on par with a small warship in performance.
They'd probably have thrown in some civilian-grade defensive cannons while they were at it.
This was precisely why Eden did not casually involve himself in day-to-day affairs below.
His status in the domain was too lofty:
Even a single offhand comment might affect countless people's lives and fortunes.
As Eden mused over these matters—
In the spacious terminal, a crowd of pilgrims gaped at the Devout. They vowed they had never laid eyes on such a resplendent and sacred vessel in all their years.
Throughout the Imperium, ships and vehicles lavishly coated in decorative paint are few and far between—
Such adornments cost a fortune.
Ordinary folk have no right to them whatsoever.
The Imperium is ardent about decoration: warriors adorn their armor with countless holy runes, relics, and embellishments—
Many even have officially ordained color schemes.
Hence, robust, ornamental, and durable paints run at exorbitant prices, often under monopoly by certain power blocs.
Once, an STC for a paint labeled "Substance 145XX22" was discovered jointly by the Adepta Sororitas and the Imperial Guard.
The paint's unique chemical composition made for quick application on military gear.
Its discovery provoked uprisings on hundreds of hive worlds crucial to paint manufacturing, and dozens of major noble houses with vested interests protested fiercely.
In order to quell the unrest, the responsible Imperial departments publicly claimed that the STC was "likely corrupted by Chaos" and locked it away.
It was not until centuries later that the Imperial authorities finally declared the STC untainted and fully endorsed by the High Lords.
One sees just how critical paint is to the Imperium.
Generally, only the Imperium's upper-echelon warriors can afford to fully lavish their armor in vivid paint—
Space Marines, Inquisitors, Sisters of Battle, and the like.
Such figures typically deal only with planetary governors—legends many mortals never so much as glimpse in a lifetime.
For common people, even the local PDF Provost is deemed a high-ranking official.
Under those circumstances…
A pilgrim ship like the Devout, covered in ornate decoration from stem to stern, was a shocking sight to the rag-wearing faithful.
Some knelt down on the spot to pray to those holy statues adorning its hull.
They never miss an opportunity to worship a sacred object—wherever they go, they kneel in reverence.
Inside the Devout:
Pilgrims trembled with fervent faith and excitement. After countless generations—a journey of centuries—
they had finally arrived on Holy Terra in their lifetimes, the Imperium's most sacred Throne World.
It was said that every inch of soil here exudes a holy aura, every building whispers some ancient tale, and each ray of sunlight lights the pilgrims' way forward.
Upon reaching their destination, the captain joyfully announced an extra meal for everyone, so they could greet this sacred realm with strength and vitality!
The pilgrims cheered.
At last, they could relish the delicacies of this holy ground.
Before its departure, Star Tower Spaceport had granted them a generous resupply; many pilgrims were moved to tears, profusely offering thanks for the Savior's blessings.
That food was far too extravagant for them. Usually, the captain allowed each pilgrim just a small bite, mixing it in with starchy fare— but it was enough to taste sublime.
Thanks to these high-nutrient provisions, they had barely experienced any hunger on this leg of the journey.
After handing out supplies, the pilgrims ate their fill, then received ration packs produced on Urth.
Satisfied, they returned to their quarters to don the white, soft robes gifted by Urth's holy land,
pinned on their pilgrim badges, and draped themselves in finely wrought Savior's crosses, bracelets, and other sacred items that they had redeemed with credit points.
In truth, these items were all bulk-produced by factories under the pilgrimage zone of Urth. But the workmanship was fine, and everything had been exposed to the sacred sun's radiance.
In certain cases, they could even resist mild Chaos corruption—better than many so-called relics.
Once dressed, they gathered in the main hall for the incense ceremony.
Before checking out from their rooms, the pilgrims had swiped all the incense—even from the bathrooms—believing its aroma to be profoundly sacred.
In the hall, special fragrances wafted through the air as pilgrims prayed, letting the smoke permeate their robes.
When the rite was complete, they suppressed their trembling excitement and officially set foot on Holy Terra.
They were full of hope:
Surely the Throne World of the Imperium would prove even holier than Urs!
Buzz—
As the Devout's pilgrims disembarked, they made their way down a corridor into the pilgrim terminal, only to be drowned in a cacophony of voices.
They saw a filthy, chaotic hall filled with destitute crowds.
Not long ago, they had all enjoyed that "pilgrimage-tourism experience" on Urth, and now, confronted with the jarring reality here, they felt a sense of disillusionment.
This place didn't seem too different from the holy sites they had visited elsewhere in the Imperium.
Still, they had yearned for Terra for far too long; they remained steadfastly devout.
As before, they stuck together, determined not to get separated or cause disruptions by colliding with something sacred.
Yet the Devout's pilgrims realized that the ragged masses surrounding them fell silent, unconsciously parting to make way.
The look in their eyes carried a hint of awe.
This reaction left the Devout's pilgrims bewildered.
In the past, no one paid them the slightest heed.
Almost always, they would shuffle along with the crowd, keeping their heads low for fear of knocking over some sacred relic and drawing harsh punishment.
It was no surprise that other tattered pilgrims would step aside.
But in this jam-packed terminal, everyone was in rags, half-starved or worse.
All of a sudden, a well-fed band of travelers in pristine white robes—garb usually reserved for high-ranking clergy—marched through.
They stood out powerfully, thoroughly at odds with the surroundings.
Who would possibly dare block them?
The Devout's pilgrims stopped in confusion, and the crowd also quieted.
Then Eden strode forward, speaking to the captain at the front:
"Captain, I'm Grant, a traveling merchant from the frontier. I've come to make my own pilgrimage. Mind if I join you?"
Because Shahim and the Imperial Fleet wouldn't arrive on Holy Terra for a while yet, Eden decided to make a visit to the Ecclesiarchal HQ first.
He planned to see Doni's mentor, the acting Cardinal, Loren Tis.
Journeying alongside these pilgrims would be more convenient—and he could learn more about the Ecclesiarchy's inner workings.
"My apologies…"
At first, the captain meant to refuse. But the moment he noticed the souvenirs from Urth's holy land that Eden had intentionally revealed,
his expression brightened. "You've visited Urth Holy Land too?"
Eden nodded. "Indeed, by the Emperor's grace, it's a marvelous place—especially the Emperor-blessed hot springs and saunas…"
"Truly!"
"Praise the God-Emperor!"
Hearing that, the captain and several pilgrims lit up, as if they'd discovered a kindred spirit.
They excitedly chatted with Eden about their experiences in Urth, soon welcoming him into their band of pilgrims.
Nearby, several ragged pilgrims overheard only scraps of their conversation and stood there dumbfounded: "By the Emperor…just where is that paradise?"
But seeing how the men in spotless robes had such an exalted bearing, none dared approach to ask.
After a few more pleasantries, Eden fell into step with the Devout's pilgrims as they carried on.
In that moment, the Devout's pilgrims also realized something: ever since they went to Urth, everything felt different.
They had personally embarked on a close-up pilgrimage to the Emperor's relics there—
That set them apart from other travelers.
Reflecting on this, they unconsciously straightened their backs.
"Honored pilgrims, please come with me…" A receptionist hurried over, greeting them with great enthusiasm.
Stepping closer, he caught a whiff of the expensive incense that clung to their robes, and his tone grew still more respectful.
Ordinarily, that variety of incense would only be seen among high-ranking warriors, nobles, or the senior clergy—
People a low-tier administrative clerk couldn't risk offending.
Observing this, Eden couldn't help thinking: So there are indeed dedicated reception staff here, after all. I figured there weren't.
But it did make sense.
Holy Terra receives tens of billions—maybe even over a hundred billion—pilgrims from all across the galaxy at any given time.
The bureaucracy is so bloated and antiquated that they have no practical way to register or monitor everyone.
All they can do is screen for Chaos corruption or xenos infiltration and call in armed forces to execute the unclean.
Under this messy form of governance, only specific special classes receive formal reception.
At the moment, Eden and the Devout's pilgrims happened to be classified as "special."
As for how the staff determined that?
This was just an ordinary reception hall; there were no sophisticated cogitators or watchers.
They couldn't very well search a thousand floors of dusty records for each arrival.
So they assessed "specialness" based on attire, bearing, insignia, etc.
If they saw no sign of Chaos corruption and you were well dressed, you had to be someone important.
Regular citizens couldn't possibly afford such clothing anyway.
Besides, ordinary folk seldom get a chance to come to Terra; they're usually laboring in the fields of some agri-world or tightening bolts in hive factories.
As for the possibility of shady types sneaking in—well, Terra sees tens of billions if not more come and go daily.
A few Chaos cultists or heretics slipping in is normal. They'd simply be tried and executed in due course.
In short order, Eden and the group underwent a simple registration under the enthusiastic guidance of the attendants.
Then they boarded a special shuttle line headed to the Ecclesiarchy HQ at the south pole.
Typically, pilgrims visited the Holy City there first, then proceeded from that city to various holy sites in circuitous fashion, finally passing through the Eternity Gate to reach the outskirts of the Imperial Palace in the Himalayas—where they would experience the Emperor's grandeur outside the palace walls.
…
South Pole. The Holy City at the Ecclesiarchy Headquarters.
Pilgrim's Path.
This was a thoroughfare three or four kilometers wide, stretching for dozens of kilometers to the grand ecclesiarchal cathedral at the end.
Standing on the path, Eden gazed at the dense, noxious smog in the skies. He frowned deeply.
He had not imagined Holy Terra's environment would be this grim.
Its natural resources had long been exhausted, its seas boiled away, its land stripped to dust, its atmosphere choked with toxic haze.
Apart from the Himalayan massif, nearly all mountains had been razed flat, replaced by a labyrinth of colossal constructions sprawling across the surface.
To make matters worse, a hundred trillion permanent residents crowded this one world—alongside an even larger floating population.
Aside from those working in Imperial agencies, the majority of Terrans lived in abject poverty, where pollution, mutation, and Chaos slowly gnawed away at them.
For many of these native underclasses, their only hope was that their children might someday find a place in Terra's bureaucracy or the Ecclesiarchy— even if only as a menial.
But openings of that sort were notoriously scarce.
Because all such posts tended to be inherited for generations by the same clans.
Eden had guessed that Chaos corruption might be less rampant within Holy Terra, but the reality was entirely the opposite.
On the way here, he had witnessed no fewer than several outbreaks of Chaos taint, with hundreds gunned down by the Frateris Militia.
Then again, it was hardly surprising—
Such a dizzying concentration of people from every corner of the galaxy, coupled with the Ruinous Powers' keen interest in Terra, meant corruption was inevitable.
Even if you purged the planet, as long as anyone remained, the taint would creep back in time.
Especially since Terra was also open to pilgrim traffic, leaving behind swarms of impoverished arrivals who never left.
Thoughts swirling, Eden pressed on in silence behind the Devout's pilgrims.
The trek itself was exhausting.
Alas, this was no Urs Holy Land, with convenient trams for travelers.
There was no way to reach the Grand Cathedral save on foot.
Perhaps Terran nobility had special flight routes, but with Eden's current status, he wasn't on that list.
As they went farther, Eden saw more and more ragged pilgrim camps along the path—those with truly nothing simply bedded down on the cold ground, huddled in thin cloth.
The entire thoroughfare looked like a massive slum.
Fortunately, they were near the very heart of the Ecclesiarchy, so every so often one would find a soup stall distributing Emperor-blessed food.
They couldn't let too many faithful starve to death on their own doorstep, after all.
Eden tried the fare; it tasted somewhat sour and contained all manner of impurities—
But to these starving pilgrims, it was a precious meal.
Another ten kilometers of trudging, and Eden took his leave of the Devout's pilgrims to hurry onward by himself.
He never realized that those pilgrims, having seen all they had seen, grew ever more subdued.
The jarring contrast between Urth's Holy Land and Holy Terra left them in a daze.
They remained devout to the Emperor, yet they felt even more compelled to let the faithful know of the Savior's existence.
Before long, these pilgrims began spreading word of the Savior's deeds to others, drawing the Ecclesiarchy's eye.
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It did not take long for the Frateris Militia to track them down.
…
Eden, meanwhile, was in high spirits—he could already glimpse the Ecclesiarchal Cathedral— perhaps a dozen kilometers out.
Moreover, by offering up a precious relic pocket watch, he had pried some intel out of a local priest:
That acting Cardinal was indeed alive and in power, not sidelined.
If the man still cared for Doni, Eden's Holy Land—and the Savior's faith—stood a decent chance of being acknowledged by the Ecclesiarchy.
They had to be quick, though, lest those who had already visited Urs run afoul of trouble.
Eden didn't demand that Urth be lauded with any great honors, only that it be formally allowed to propagate the faith.
The Ecclesiarchy recognized countless holy sites as it was.
They already had thousands, even tens of thousands, of "living saints."
All those who could not attain official recognition remained confined to their local circles.
After all, the Imperium spans millions of civilized worlds; nearly every world has its own local legends.
In many places, the local Ecclesiarchy fosters its own living saints to cement religious authority, building shrines dedicated to them.
If fortune smiled and the push was handled smoothly enough that the Ecclesiarchy formally recognized these saints, it granted enormous power to the local church.
They had to try. Otherwise, other Imperial organs would encroach upon the Ecclesiarchy's domain.
Eden sighed softly: in hindsight, preserving the Ecclesiarchy was wise.
Trying to found a wholly new faith from scratch would have been far too arduous.
Suddenly, Eden felt something off.
A pilgrim, staggering slightly, brushed past him and disappeared into the throng.
Eden realized there was now a piece of paper in his hand.
He took a look.
On it, two suns were drawn—one large, one small.
What the—!!
What was this? Had the "Little Sun" been exposed somehow?
Glancing down, he read the message.
Hiss…
This was heretical beyond belief!
It was full of outlandish rumors about the Emperor's early years:
Claims the Emperor once masqueraded as a she-wolf; that He sold Himself on the streets and begged for scraps; that He prostituted Himself to warlords in order to raise armies to unite Terra…
Unbelievable. The "Emperor's Brothel Tales?"
And more recent gossip, too, alleging some Navigator and Ecclesiarchy priest had personally witnessed the Emperor having illicit congress with some entity in the Warp—
And birthing a "Little Sun" from it.
Seriously, were rumors always this insane?
Aren't they afraid of the Emperor dispatching a Censure Host to obliterate them?
Eden turned the page over and saw the seal of a Slaanesh cult.
Oh…that explains it.
Indeed, only a Slaanesh cult would be so brazen.
In any case, these cultists were toast.
Eden now realized why the Imperium's upper echelons refused to simply purge all official historians and poured such effort into maintaining its record-keepers.
Because these "unofficial histories" were truly wild…
Bang—
A boltgun roared amid shrieking onlookers.
Eden glanced back.
The Slaanesh cultist who had slipped him that explosive rumor sheet lay dead, half his head gone.
A squad of Frateris Militia was sprinting his way…
(End of Chapter)
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