Life Spirit used the corrupted webway Mortarion had constructed to instead purify the entire world of Espand.
A world once ravaged by disease was now undergoing a visibly miraculous recovery.
The yellow-green haze that had smothered the cities and exuded a sickly sweet, rotten stench vanished in an instant, like a stain wiped away by an invisible hand.
Brilliant sunlight now poured unimpeded onto the once-tortured land. Its radiance did not scorch; instead, it held a gentle warmth that could move one to tears.
The ground's surface was cracked and hardened, still mottled with fungal blotches. Yet tender shoots of soft green grass and pale wildflowers were sprouting at astonishing speed, covering the scorched earth and dried bloodstains.
The air had turned fresh and clean, filled with the scent of rain-soaked soil and new vegetation; the nauseating stench of plague had completely vanished.
Even the twisted, mutant plants shed their pustules and thorns under the gentle emerald light. They stretched into strange but now harmless shapes—odd, yet in their own way, beautiful.
And that great brass bell which had once been the very heart of rot and a font of terror…
It too had undergone a complete transformation.
The entire structure now possessed a warm, smooth, jade-like finish, as if carved from living emerald. The three clock-faces were clear as crystal, and it seemed that within them spread a tiny, vivid world: a living forest, a running stream, and a star-filled night sky.
The deep tolling of the bell no longer brought pain and despair. Instead, like a mother's distant humming, its sound was soft and reassuring, heard far away yet settling the heart.
What radiated from it now was no longer waves of corruption, but a ceaseless, tranquil vitality.
This power flowed outward from the center, not only purging what taint remained, but also accelerating the restoration of Espand's natural ecosystem.
In an instant, this once-depraved heart of corruption had become a marvelous relic that nourished the world.
As the faith of the people continued to pour into Life Spirit's body and replenish his energy, a strange light erupted from him.
The Changeling and the Masque of Slaanesh floated at his side.
Silently watching this miraculous scene, both realized that they were unconsciously wearing distinctly human grimaces.
To be honest, this chubby kid was really, truly lucky.
The Changeling felt a surge of hidden jealousy and resentment.
Pugh was just a low-ranking, utterly insignificant Nurgling—so low-ranked that even turning him into cannon fodder would have been a waste of Father Nurgle's benevolent gifts.
After joining the Nameless, instead of being casually killed or used as an experimental subject,
he had instead received the blessing of the Imperium of Man's faith-power.
Now, the Nameless had personally taken action and helped him seize a portion of the Plague God's authority by brute force.
If things continued this way, one day this tiny creature might actually accumulate enough power of his own.
They had snatched away a chunk of the power cake directly from Nurgle's hand.
That was something even countless daemons could never dare dream of—yet this Nurgling had really done it!!
I was the one here first, so why are you the one getting all the benefits?!
The Changeling clearly remembered that he had been the first daemon to swear allegiance to the Nameless.
Daemons, too, were supposed to have some sense of order and hierarchy, right?
The Changeling carefully reviewed the situation, and suddenly a thought struck him.
That idiot… Kairos.
Kairos had been summoned by the Nameless while on pilgrimage to Terra, to fight Skarbrand.
His performance was abysmal. After being killed, he fled and reformed in the Warp.
That Nameless guy must think I'm unreliable—a liability who fails at the critical moment and then runs away because of him.
That was why he preferred to train Life Spirit.
Kairos, you really are the worst! If it weren't for you, I would have been the one to get a shot at godhood!
The more the Changeling thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was the truth.
He quickly ground his teeth and added Kairos's name to his personal revenge list.
Don't you dare let me see you again, Kairos. If I do, I'll definitely drag you down and beat you into the ground.
Then I'll torture you a hundred times over—a full hundred!
The Masque of Slaanesh's emotions were equally complex—and difficult to untangle.
Her loyalty to the Dark Prince Slaanesh was beyond question.
Yet the benefits of following the Nameless were very real and deeply enticing.
She had never imagined that a day would come when she might actually earn the trust of the Imperium of Man.
The more the Imperium expanded its territory, the mightier it became.
The stronger the power of faith, the more terrifying that power grew.
If, under the Nameless's influence, the Imperium of Man ever succeeded in unifying the entire galaxy, its population would explode.
The scale of the faith-power at that point would be truly monstrous, enough to affect even the Immaterium itself.
But as such a future loomed closer, her own heart began to waver, and her loyalty to the Dark Prince was no longer pure.
Realizing this, the Masque of Slaanesh slapped herself hard across the face.
What a fool I am. I'm already no longer anyone, yet I'm still thinking of other things.
I, the Masque of Slaanesh, am the sworn nemesis of the Chaos Gods.
Skarbrand, meanwhile, spared no such thoughts, and paid little heed to Life Spirit.
There was room in his head for only one thing: the thrill of battle.
He roared several times, then slammed the daemon Qaramar at his feet to the ground, pummeling him until the wretch screamed.
Of course, one day, the Nameless might command him to slay his former master, the Blood God Khorne.
Skarbrand would likely not hesitate. Things had come this far; there was no turning back. All that remained was to charge ahead.
This was never what I wanted, my lord Khorne.
Never did I intend to lead an army against you. We conquered countless realms side by side and bathed in oceans of blood together.
But you betrayed me. You ignored my pleas and attempts at atonement, and cast me into the desolate fringes of the Warp.
If you will not permit my return to the Bloodlands, then let us make war.
Let the flames of war blaze from the skies above the Brass Citadel to the uttermost edge of the Warp.
Boil Chaos itself. Slay the gods.
Even if the last drop of daemon blood must be spilled, I will return once more to the worlds of war and slaughter.
If humble prayers cannot win your forgiveness,
then by blood and butchery, let us decide who is the true master of war and carnage.
Among all of them, Zarhulash remained the calmest.
They had no interest whatsoever in the power struggles raging through the Warp. They simply floated quietly in the air, like a detached observer.
…
News that Life Spirit had inverted Mortarion's plague webway was swiftly relayed to the Macragge's Honour.
Guilliman and the others were stunned when they heard it.
The Imperial Regent's initial plan had been to locate Mortarion's great work and destroy it, severing the tendrils of corruption.
He had never even considered the possibility of inverting the daemonic plague webway and transforming it into something beneficial to the Imperium.
Once again, the Nameless had given him an enormous surprise.
Guilliman immediately ordered that all relevant intelligence and data be transmitted to him.
Mortarion's corrupted webway had originally been designed to warp reality and spread despair and pestilence.
Its purpose was to force innocent humans, in torment, into Nurgle's embrace and drag the Imperium into chaos and collapse from within.
Purified and reversed by Life Spirit, that same webway now produced the exact opposite effect.
It healed souls, accelerated the growth of life, and granted resistance against the poisons of plague.
A wild strategic idea flashed through the Primarch's mind.
If we can wrest the Dark Hand—the ultimate artifact that controls the entire Ultramar plague webway—from Mortarion's grasp…
And if, with the help of the Nameless, we invert it as well…
Then the blasphemous ritual that currently threatens all five hundred worlds of the Ultramar sector will instead become a bulwark against Nurgle.
At that thought, even Guilliman—famed for his composure—could no longer contain his excitement.
This was not merely a battlefield victory. It was an opportunity that could completely overturn the course of the war for Ultramar, for the Imperium, and for the entire struggle between realspace and the Warp!
…
"Th-This… does this really work?!"
Aboard the Eldar vessel shadowing the Macragge's Honour, Farseer Natase stared blankly at the detailed report on the Espand System in his hands.
Where exactly were the limits of the Nameless?
No—did that man even have a limit?
Ever since accepting the mission to aid the Emperor's sons, Natase felt that the worldview he had spent centuries constructing was constantly being shattered and rebuilt.
Each time he believed he had finally seen through this Nameless one's strategies, he would confront him with a new trial that far outstripped the bounds of his understanding.
Because of this one being, the destiny of the Imperium had become utterly chaotic, and no one could predict what the future would look like.
…
Thus the Battle of Espand ended with the annihilation of the last remaining Death Guard and a shockingly swift transformation of the planet's ecosystem.
The reversal of fate was now complete.
The Imperium had once again secured a glorious victory.
As the Imperial banner, embroidered with the golden double-headed eagle, was slowly raised atop the highest spire in Espand's hive-city, it fluttered in the pure, gentle breeze.
Datch received the mission completion notification.
[Quest Purification of Espand complete.
You have successfully aided Hero Felix, defeated the Death Guard, severed the root of corruption, and rescued a great number of citizens.]
[Quest Rewards: 1200 XP, 1200 Points, +200 Reputation, 1× Mechanical Warhorse]
A new icon—a mechanical warhorse—appeared in Datch's game inventory.
He mentally equipped it in his mount slot, then quietly summoned it.
Bzzz—
Light twisted slightly in the open space before him, and a tall, imposing warhorse appeared.
It was no living creature, but a masterpiece of combined technology and bionics.
Its skeleton was forged from reinforced alloys, sheathed in advanced composite bionic skin that balanced elasticity and durability. The skin reproduced vivid musculature and even simulated the rise and fall of breathing.
A compact fusion reactor built into its body provided a near-limitless energy source.
According to the specifications, this mechanical warhorse possessed a shield system that would protect its rider during a charge.
The force of its impact was sufficient to knock a fully-armored Astartes flying.
Datch vaulted into the saddle, and the effects of his Lich King skin automatically spread outward, transforming the technological construct as well.
The bionic skin turned bone-white and corpse-pale, while the metal plates became wreathed in eerie, icy-blue frost patterns.
The blue light in its eye sockets faded into a ghostly green, and its mane and tail transformed into streaming wisps of icy mist and shadow.
Thus was born a necromantic, mechanical warhorse exuding the chill of death.
Playfully, Datch holstered his Star Spear on purpose and instead drew a massive Moon Greatsword, shrouded in a faint, frigid aura. Gripping it one-handed, he angled the blade down toward the ground.
In that instant, mounted upon his deathless steed, wielding an ice-cold greatsword, and clad in fearsome armor, he perfectly embodied the legendary Death Knight King.
"Beg for mercy from the Lich King, you fools."
Datch whispered toward the empty ruins, then pulled on his invisible reins.
"Neigh!"
The undead steed neighed, hooves smashing against the ground. As it sped through the ruins, its body blurred into a trail of pallid afterimages.
Datch tested it with short sprints, sudden halts, and jumps to make sure there were no issues.
Everywhere it went, it left behind faint traces of frost.
…
At that very moment, across the hive city, survivors began pouring out from shelters, basements, and pipe networks where they had hidden for Emperor-knows-how-long.
Most were emaciated, dressed in rags. On their faces warred disbelief, wonder, and the disorientation of those who had somehow survived an unimaginable catastrophe.
It began as whispers, then rose into choked cries, until at last their voices merged into a deafening, tearful chorus praising the Emperor, echoing throughout the city.
War Apostle Matthew instantly recognized this as the perfect opportunity to reveal the Nameless to the wider world.
Leading from the front, he brought a missionary team of Battle Sisters and fanatical devotees up to the surface.
Walking the streets that were slowly returning to life and moving among the gathered crowds, he spoke in a compelling, resonant voice about the greatness of the Emperor and of the Nameless.
Thanks to his efforts, new slogans began to mingle with the familiar cries of,
"Long live the Emperor! May the Emperor protect you!"
Now, people also shouted:
"Thank you, Nameless One!"
"The Nameless One are supreme!"
Among Espand's surviving clergy was an elderly bishop who, even in the darkest days of pestilence and daemonic rampage, had relied on devout faith and exceptional leadership.
In the Emperor's name, he had sheltered and united countless rebels and resisters—old men and women who had fought unbendingly, as well as many others.
Naturally, during the reconstruction, he was chosen as the central secular and spiritual authority.
After extensive discussions with Matthew, the old bishop made a momentous decision.
When Espand was rebuilt, the icon of the Nameless would be enshrined beside the icon of the Holy Emperor.
His rank would be set above that of all recorded saints, and he would be regarded as the supreme viceroy of the Emperor incarnate among humanity.
Furthermore, Datch's pets were also interpreted as sacred beings and revered as holy images.
Zarhulash and Skarbrand each received statues for the first time in history.
The former was depicted as a silent arbiter, guarding the faith.
The latter was carved as an incarnation of furious wrath, shattering all evil.
A new narrative of faith, fusing the orthodoxy of the Imperial state religion with the characteristics of the Nameless, swiftly took root and began to sprout across this reborn world.
…
Aboard the Macragge's Honour, within the grand strategic chamber.
The think-tank staff combined records of Mortarion's and Guilliman's past conversations with tracking of the corruption webway and various prognostications.
They had finally pinpointed the location of the Daemon Primarch Mortarion:
the world of Parmenio.
"The Espand mission has been successfully completed. It's time to depart for our next destination."
Guilliman stood before a massive star map, his gaze fixed on a galactic marker glowing ominously red.
After a brief moment of thought, he made his decision:
They would go to Parmenio and there engage Mortarion in a final battle.
"If possible, we must slay Mortarion in this engagement, seize the Chaos artifact known as the Dark Hand from him, and—"
"And with the Nameless's power, we can invert it as well…"
"In that case, Mortarion will suffer a total defeat, and the war against Nurgle will be reversed at its very roots."
"Have you already begun to look forward to your final showdown with him?" Tribune Carken ventured, guessing the Primarch's intent.
"Yes," Guilliman replied, concise and resolute.
"To be frank, this is far too dangerous, my lord," Carken warned.
"First, we should systematically root out the Plague Primarch's corruption nodes scattered throughout the Ultramar Sector, gradually weakening him before we attempt the final confrontation."
"Speed is of the essence, Carken. Besides—" Guilliman turned, his voice filled with absolute confidence. "We possess a trump card that will decide the outcome."
"The Nameless?"
"Exactly. As long as he stands with us," Guilliman said with a faint smile,
"I cannot imagine what trick Mortarion could possibly use to hand me a defeat in this war."
"In this struggle—Nameless versus Nurgle—the advantage lies with me."
"So long as we go on the offensive, everything will fall into place."
Carken could barely restrain himself from dousing the Primarch's optimism with cold water.
To imagine that the Nameless would simply obey his commands—just how much counterfeit amasec had the Primarch drunk?
But the moment Guilliman finished speaking—
Without warning, a green teleportation portal irised open in the middle of the strategium's central empty space.
Datch leaped down from his still-menacing necromantic warhorse and landed solidly on the deck.
He patted the creature's neck. The warhorse dissolved into motes of light and vanished. Then Datch stepped forward calmly toward Guilliman.
"Lord Regent, is there any task you would entrust to me?"
Guilliman glanced at Carken beside him.
"You see? As I said—we make the perfect team."
Then the Primarch turned his full attention on Datch, his expression returning to firm seriousness.
"Of course, Nameless one. We have located Mortarion's trail. He has established a new plague foothold on the world of Parmenio."
"We hope to rely on your strength once more: travel to Parmenio, slay him, seize the Chaos relic, and bring this Plague War to an end."
[Mission: Travel to the World of Parmenio and Slay Mortarion]
The Daemon Primarch Mortarion is plotting a blasphemous ritual on Parmenio that could overturn Ultramar itself.
Imperial Regent Roboute Guilliman requests your aid in journeying to this world, confronting the Primarch, foiling his schemes, seizing the Chaos artifact, and ending this war.
Mission Rewards: 1500 XP, 1500 Points, +300 Reputation, 1× Human Alliance Fleet Summoning Card
"I guarantee the mission will be completed."
Datch's gaze slid down to the reward list.
The Human Alliance Fleet Summoning Card was similar to the previous Corrupted Imperial Fleet Summoning Card.
Both involved summoning an already-ascended, overwhelmingly powerful void fleet.
Datch pulled out his teleportation gun, opened a teleportation portal, and stepped back aboard the Astral Express.
Passing through the tunnel of light, he returned to the driver's cab.
Pam bowed her head to him.
"Honored Nameless one, you've returned. Is it time for another journey?"
"Yes," Datch nodded, entering Parmenio's coordinates.
"Target locked, train departure imminent," Pam announced as she finalized the jump parameters.
"Let us set forth toward the future and the unknown. One day, our rails will cover all the stars, and the wishes of those who yearn for freedom will be fulfilled."
As Pam finished speaking, the train thundered forward, invisible rails unfurling ahead, piercing through the fabric of space.
A brand-new stellar route toward the Parmenio system was quickly forged and stabilized.
In the blink of an eye, the Astral Express completed its jump and track-laying process.
As soon as the train came to a halt, Datch noticed a golden exclamation mark appear on his minimap.
Opening it, he found an icon marked "Emperor"—represented by a loli-girl avatar.
"Is the game bugged? Old Emperor should be on Terra. How is he here?"
"And what kind of nerve does it take for a towering guy, several meters tall, to use a young girl's picture as his profile avatar?"
Datch frowned at the icon. He decided to go see what Old Emperor was up to.
Abandoning the Golden Throne to cosplay as a loli?