"Then I'm Roboute, Lord of Ultramar."
Hearing the warp-shrouded figure in the white light once again insist he was the former master of the Ninth Legion of the Adeptus Astartes—the Primarch Saint Gilles—Zhou Yun twitched at the corner of his eye and said:
"Hello, I'm Kiriman. Actually, I'm not dead. I'm just in stasis and need fifty credits to help Belisarius Cawl finish the Destiny Armor to save me. Transfer me 50 now, and when I'm revived I'll make you Solar Lord."
Saint Gilles, one of the twenty-one Primarchs created by the Emperor, had been cast into the galaxy by the warp at his birth, like his brothers.
Saint Gilles landed on the scarlet wasteland of Baal near Ashford, a Primarch with pure white wings, like an angel of legend.
And his noble character was worthy of the angelic name.
Of course, Zhou Yun was willing to accept the guidance of Saint Gilles—if the warp entity before him really was Saint Gilles.
In Warhammer, something with wings wasn't necessarily Saint Gilles—it could just as easily be Tzeentch's Greater Daemon, the Changer of Ways.
Just like a double-headed eagle wasn't necessarily the Imperium—it could also be the Fateweaver, Kairos.
"My loyalty to the God-Emperor shines like the sun and moon!"
"You warp trash, don't try to fool me!"
Zhou Yun spoke righteously, full of indignation.
Ever since arriving in M41, he had occasionally encountered this winged figure in half-dreams and half-waking moments.
The figure always claimed to be Saint Gilles, guiding him toward his destined mission.
But to Zhou Yun, this seemed more like some Changer of Ways trickster playing games with him.
In the Warhammer universe, anyone with half a brain would suspect a "grandfatherly voice" in your head was Chaos corruption.
Systems, childhood sweethearts from the sky, mysterious martial arts and weapons, little green bottles, castles on gray mist—all things you'd suspect were Chaos corruption.
Systems and old grandfathers reeked of Tzeentch; childhood sweethearts and beauties from heaven smelled of Slaanesh; little green bottles and tonics of Nurgle; martial arts manuals and blood weapons of Khorne.
Even his own dimensional pouch—Zhou Yun sometimes suspected it was some contraption made by Vaul.
"Friend, I really am Saint Gilles. I need your help."
"The galaxy is about to be torn apart. Baal will be covered in blood. Terra will be defiled by abominations from the warp."
"I need you to go to Baal, to my remains."
"If you follow my guidance, I can return to the material universe."
The winged figure shimmered in Zhou Yun's vision, muttering a prophecy that might or might not be true.
The galaxy torn apart—the Great Rift.
Baal covered in blood—the Tyranid invasion of Baal, the Battle of Baal.
Terra defiled by warp abominations—not the first time.
All of these matched "Saint Gilles'" prophecy.
But as for reviving Saint Gilles… well, Erebus once revived Horus, didn't he?
That kind of thing reeked of the warp.
Even if there was some truth to it, Zhou Yun couldn't even leave the hive city right now, let alone go to Baal.
Even if he believed it, what good would it do?
At least the figure didn't interfere with his scavenging.
Let the Primarchs, Astartes, and the God-Emperor worry about tearing the galaxy apart—as long as it didn't mess with his scavenging.
As for the so-called danger ahead…
Zhou Yun hesitated a moment, then decided to be cautious. He took out a vial from his dimensional pouch and dripped some on his finger.
"Friend, I really am Saint Gilles."
"Please believe me."
The winged figure hovered around Zhou Yun, pleading.
But Zhou Yun ignored him and kept scavenging through the rubble.
He found another section of polonium conduit and stuffed it into his pouch.
Looking in the direction the pipes ran, he noticed that all the exposed conduits converged deeper into the ruined district.
That seemed to confirm his earlier guess: this area might once have been part of the old Polonium Guild.
The number and quality of the damaged machinery here surpassed anything he'd found in other districts.
And at the end of those pipes… there might even still be a polonium reactor.
Zhou Yun looked into the depths of the ruins.
This district had only been buried for a hundred or two hundred years—far less dangerous than Dark Age or Great Crusade-era ruins.
Going a little deeper shouldn't be too risky.
Thinking that, Zhou Yun checked the liquid on his finger, confirmed it was safe, and followed the pipes deeper into the ruins.
When the poisonous crimson sunlight dimmed slightly, he saw a towering, decrepit machine rising from the rubble not far away.
It was about seven or eight meters tall, its steel platform collapsed, leaving only a deep-red tank standing, covered in rust.
Zhou Yun's eyes lit up slightly.
It was an abandoned polonium extraction transfer unit.
The Hive's Polonium Guild had used these to pump polonium to the factories.
Even a damaged polonium transfer unit could fetch a good price.
If it still contained some residual polonium, Zhou Yun would be much closer to his goal of the anywhere door.
Thinking that, he quickly slid down the rubble and approached the transfer unit.
The massive, rusted tank—seven or eight meters tall and three or four meters wide—blocked his view.
He reached out and tapped it with his finger. A hollow echo came from inside.
Circling it, he soon found a man-sized round opening where pipes had once been attached.
He stuck his head inside and saw it was empty—none of the viscous gel he'd hoped for.
Polonium, the Imperium's most common fuel and chemical material, was normally a viscous gel. It could be used for making antibiotics, synthesizing polymers, producing lho-sticks, even brewing alcohol.
But it seemed that when this district was abandoned, the valuable polonium had already been shipped out, leaving only the industrial husk of machinery behind.
Luckily, for Zhou Yun's dimensional pouch, moving this massive transfer unit was no problem.
He reached out, hugged the rusty tank, and with a little effort…
It folded like soft cloth and was stuffed into his palm-sized pouch.
[Item Name: Polonium Extraction Transfer Unit]
[Origin: Hades Shield System – Ashford – Mechanicus Spire]
[Appraisal: The heart of the Polonium Guild. Once pumped highly flammable polonium.]
[Manufactured: 705.M41]
[Condition: Lightly Damaged]
[Value: 8000 credits]
If the tank had contained any polonium, the recovery value would have been even higher.
But Zhou Yun had no time to dwell on that, because as soon as the unit disappeared into his pouch, seven or eight black-robed figures appeared in his vision.
They must have been sitting on the other side of the tank, hidden from Zhou Yun's view until now.
And they didn't seem to notice that the tank was gone, nor had they spotted Zhou Yun yet.
Sweat beaded on Zhou Yun's back. Meeting a group of black-robed strangers in an abandoned district like this—had he stumbled into a cult?
Those who worshipped strange warp entities, lurking in the dark underbelly of the hive…
The leader of the black-robed figures raised both hands in prayer.
"Praise to you, merciful Emperor!"
Hearing that, Zhou Yun relaxed slightly—so they were just devout followers of the Imperial Creed—
But then the leader's sleeves fell back, revealing mottled, chitinous arms.
"May your star-embracing four arms also embrace us! May you bring us salvation! Merciful Four-Armed Emperor!"
"…Damn!"
(End of Chapter)
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