Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 306 - 307 – Danger, the Xenomorphs Are Coming?! Lord Ka’Bandha, All Is Well

Inside the Brass Hall.

Blood and shadows churned around the throne, seething crimson energy flooding the entire chamber.

Several Greater Daemons of Khorne were being scorched, unable to suppress their howls of agony. The others dared not raise their heads under the crushing pressure.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

"A pity..."

A demonic voice sighed faintly.

Ka'Bandha's massive figure stepped into the chamber, head held high, resisting the oppressive force without a hint of fear.

"By the Blood God's will, this war against the Devourer was bound to fail. We underestimated the true power of that being..."

He sounded regretful. "Had I not missed this campaign, perhaps I would have severed the Devourer's head myself!"

This confident posture, among the daemons, was like a firefly in the dark—so stark, so radiant.

It perfectly reflected his unstoppable dominance as the First Daemon, the Supreme Bloodthirster.

But in truth, this First Daemon was inwardly anxious.

The Khorne warband had suffered a heavy defeat this time, and Ka'Bandha had even pulled back early. The chance of being punished by the Blood God was very real.

Still, his experience told him—this was exactly when one could not show weakness.

Ka'Bandha took a deep breath.

He had braced himself for the punishment. He might fear many things, but enduring pain wasn't one of them. In that department, no one surpassed him!

Punishment was punishment.

But the demeanor of the First Daemon had to be maintained. No matter what, he could not let himself appear weak or disgraced.

He understood all too well.

The other Greater Daemons of Khorne had long doubted his power, never truly accepting him as the First.

Especially the former First Daemon—Angrath. That one was restless, constantly seeking a chance to reclaim his throne through combat.

If Ka'Bandha failed to maintain his intimidation, a tidal wave of challenges would surely follow.

And that would be troublesome.

Ka'Bandha was confident in handling the others—but Angrath? That one still gave him pause.

He couldn't guarantee a decisive win in a duel to the death.

If he slipped up and was defeated, the shame and mockery from the other daemons would utterly shatter the image he had carefully built.

A social death, really—the worst nightmare for an arrogant being.

However—

As Ka'Bandha stepped into the hall, he immediately sensed the stares from the assembled daemons.

They brimmed with something he had never felt from them before: deep reverence.

"…What?"

This sudden change caught him off guard. He hadn't done anything unusual, had he?

He'd merely gone to the galactic fringe and hacked away at some foul-smelling parasitic creatures. How did that warrant such a massive shift in attitude?

Though puzzled, he accepted their reverence calmly and walked toward his place.

He'd have Bary investigate what had happened once this was over.

Ka'Bandha approached the First Daemon's seat.

Just like always, Angrath stood blocking the way. The seat wasn't something one could take by right—it had to be yielded by another Greater Daemon.

Or taken by force.

It was a form of dominance.

Whenever the Blood God summoned the legions, it was common for daemons to pull out axes and start brawling right on the spot for seats.

The Blood God encouraged this.

If the First Daemon couldn't suppress the others, he wouldn't even be able to take his seat—an immediate disgrace, and likely the loss of his title.

Ka'Bandha readied himself to ram Angrath aside as usual—

—but the old First Daemon suddenly stepped aside.

With eyes full of fear and head lowered, he dared not even meet Ka'Bandha's gaze.

"…Huh?"

Ka'Bandha was even more confused.

He looked at Angrath, stunned.

The daemon's horns were broken, his body battered, his former aura completely gone. He even seemed timid in Ka'Bandha's presence.

So pitiful...

What had happened to him? Was it the Devourer?

That thought made Ka'Bandha's daemon-heart twitch.

That being's strength had grown terrifyingly fast. With that dreadful weapon in hand, he had become a formidable force in the Immaterium.

But defeating Angrath with brute strength alone?

That seemed a bit much—even a Primarch couldn't easily crush a former First Daemon.

Ka'Bandha was deeply suspicious.

He studied Angrath and asked calmly, "Was all this the work of the Devourer?"

At the mention of that name, the old First Daemon's pupils shrank—as if recalling something horrific.

Then, as if resigned to his fate, he answered, "…Yes. I was no match for him."

Angrath looked at Ka'Bandha, ashamed.

"I once underestimated your power. You are the true warrior of the Blood God, the rightful First Daemon."

"Perhaps only you can defeat the Devourer…"

At all times, Khorne's daemons respected true strength.

The Devourer had bested Angrath with sheer might, a fact beyond dispute.

Such a powerful being—

—and to have publicly declared Ka'Bandha as the only daemon worthy of being his rival, his lifelong foe—

—was a supreme validation of Ka'Bandha's strength.

That alone earned the First Daemon the respect of all others.

Angrath thought back to all the times he had provoked Ka'Bandha and was filled with shame.

Now it all made sense.

Ka'Bandha had never accepted his challenges because, like the Devourer, he thought Angrath unworthy.

And if Ka'Bandha didn't seem all that strong—

—then, like the Devourer, he must have been concealing his true power.

The similarities in their behavior and demeanor…

No wonder the Devourer regarded Ka'Bandha as his true rival—his eternal enemy!

And not just Angrath—every Greater Daemon of Khorne in the chamber thought the same.

At this moment, Ka'Bandha was rather impressed with his own luck.

Good thing he avoided that fight. If even Angrath had been beaten this badly, he would've fared no better.

Amid the reverence of the daemons, Ka'Bandha finally reached the First Daemon's seat.

And faced the Blood God directly.

Upon the Brass Throne—

Khorne, seeing Ka'Bandha, eased His rage slightly.

Though the campaign had failed, the Khorne daemons had suffered minimal losses—only two Greater Daemons had fallen.

In fact, compared to the others, their side had the least damage.

Internal duels often caused more casualties anyway.

Besides, they had inflicted significant pain on their enemies—and with the Devourer's help, had massacred nearly half of Tzeentch's daemon forces.

It wasn't a total loss.

In terms of pride, they'd held the line—unlike the other Chaos legions.

And now, the Supreme Bloodthirster Ka'Bandha had earned the Devourer's personal recognition, becoming the only daemon he acknowledged as a rival.

This highlighted the incompetence of the other legions.

In this war—

Khorne's view of the Devourer had changed. The pain inflicted on the Tzeentchian daemons had brought great satisfaction.

He now saw the Devourer not as a schemer, but as a warrior to be recruited.

Khorne didn't care about background or origin.

Any being that could unleash sufficient carnage earned His favor.

Such warriors became His power's very source.

With the war's embers fading and the Dark Lord slain—

The Devourer's name spread like wildfire across the galaxy and the Immaterium.

Many powerful entities were forced to acknowledge a new truth:

The Devourer had officially stepped onto the stage of the Hellish Galaxy, becoming a force in the Great Game that would shape the fate of the Imperium.

Of course, who would have the last laugh remained to be seen.

Khorne pondered the current situation, then turned his gaze toward Ka'Bandha, who stood tall and proud. A rare glint of appreciation appeared in his gaze:

"You have done well..."

???

Ka'Bandha was caught completely off guard by the Blood God's sudden praise.

What... had he even done?

Over the past years, he hadn't earned any major victories worth mentioning.

Well... perhaps not entirely without merit—after all, the Devourer's recognition was the greatest glory of all. Far brighter than any mere battlefield feat.

The other Khorne daemons had hacked and slashed endlessly, yet still ended up utterly routed.

Clearly, one could not survive in the Warp on brute force alone.

BOOM—

Slaughter energy surged, destructive pressure filled the hall.

The surrounding daemons all looked on with envy.

It was the mark of Khorne's blessing descending—targeted squarely at Ka'Bandha.

But this time, there was no jealousy in their eyes.

Because Ka'Bandha had earned the respect of all daemons. He deserved such a reward. He would be the one to face the fearsome Devourer on behalf of all Khorne's legions.

He was the hope of Khorne's domain.

In a daze—

Ka'Bandha received another blessing from the Blood God, even gaining a portion of Khorne's own slaughtering authority.

The First Daemon's form expanded again, becoming even more towering and terrifying.

Runes of blood and carnage slithered like living things across his crimson form. Nourished by the power of slaughter, every muscle grew even more solid and potent.

His very existence radiated endless rage and bloodlust.

This power... was enough to crush any other Bloodthirster present with ease!

Khorne looked upon this newly forged Supreme Bloodthirster with satisfaction, already anticipating the coming deathmatch with the Devourer...

Without a doubt—

Ka'Bandha had won once again... by doing absolutely nothing.

...

Brass Fortress.

Upon the throne—

A massive daemon body burned with bloodflames, exuding a terrifying aura.

Suddenly—

That figure jolted upright, sighing with emotion:

"That Devourer... what a good guy!"

After returning—

Ka'Bandha had learned more about what had transpired during the war. It was the Devourer who had spread tales of his strength, elevating his fame among the daemons.

"But why would the Devourer do such a thing?"

Ka'Bandha pondered, eventually drawing a conclusion:

It must've been their past encounter. The Devourer must have overestimated his strength... or maybe had some other reason.

Regardless—

It was clearly a good thing for him.

"I must make full use of the Devourer..."

Ka'Bandha's lips curled into a smug grin:

"The stronger that being becomes, the more my own renown will rise!"

The First Daemon had made up his mind—to praise the Devourer even more.

And yet—

A shadow of worry crept into his heart.

That so-called duel to the death with the Devourer.

The entire Warp had heard of it. It was now the focus of endless speculation and attention. Sooner or later, he would be forced to face that terrifying being.

The thought alone made Ka'Bandha's black heart seize.

He could already sense it.

If the day came that he faced the Devourer in true combat... he would likely suffer a crushing defeat. Maybe even die.

"What should I do...?"

Ka'Bandha thought carefully.

After receiving multiple blessings from the Blood God, his power had surpassed that of most Greater Daemons. Not even a Primarch could defeat him easily.

Even if Sanguinius returned from the dead, Ka'Bandha was now confident he could kill him.

At this point, there was no one he feared—

Except the Devourer.

In every past encounter, that being had left a deep psychological scar upon him—like a splinter in the soul. Just thinking of him filled Ka'Bandha with dread.

He racked his mind, desperate for a solution.

Suddenly, a spark of inspiration:

"What if I speak with the Devourer? Maybe we could negotiate, make a deal... convince him not to come after me?"

But the idea was crushed almost immediately.

Absurd.

Ka'Bandha instantly rejected it.

The Devourer loathed Chaos Daemons. Few survived their encounters with him.

If Ka'Bandha sought him out, it would only be seen as weakness. More likely, the Devourer would initiate the deathmatch on the spot—and Ka'Bandha would die a humiliating death.

The hulking daemon's vast, red-glowing body trembled again. His bloodflames and daemon aura shook the very space around him.

Outside the fortress, lesser daemons quaked in terror.

Their master's power was becoming ever more terrifying.

Sigh…

Ka'Bandha suppressed his fear and let out a deep sigh.

Given the current state of affairs—

All he could do now was delay. Delay the inevitable.

And pray that the Devourer would stay quiet a little longer...

...

Corevax.

The smoke of war had cleared.

...

Temporary Encampment.

Eden stirred from his slumber and stepped outside to stretch. He sighed deeply:

"Ka'Bandha... what a good guy."

If not for that brute shouting his name across the Immaterium, helping the little sun absorb all that daemon faith and wrath...

He never could've defeated the Dark Lord.

But it was all over now. He had won.

Now it was time to collect the spoils.

All across his view, transports and construction machines bustled to and fro.

The loot from this campaign was rich.

This planet alone held an immense trove of wealth.

Most importantly—

Beneath the surface lay ancient Chaos machines... and Blackstone.

Especially the Blackstone.

It was essential for constructing forbidden tech and weapons—capable of both suppressing and amplifying Warp energy.

Even his most critical artifact—the Webway Blackstone Gate—was made from this rare substance.

All major races fought tooth and claw over it.

Until recently—

Eden had been scratching his head over how to get some for research.

The material was so rare, most of it hoarded by top-tier factions. The only known major source was on Vigilus.

But Vigilus was a hot warzone for every major faction. Even Abaddon had failed to claim it.

Better to let them fight it out and burn their strength.

Fortunately—

The Blackstone problem was now solved.

After blowing up the Dark Lord's vaults, Eden found quite a stockpile here—at least a ton or two.

Not enough for massive constructions, but enough to launch his initial Blackstone research projects.

Aside from that—

There were other high-value assets here.

The Dark Lord had transferred most of Vashtorr's legacy to this planet—following his theft of the Daemon Smith's secrets.

Floating landmasses were scattered with Soul Forges, brimming with forbidden knowledge and lost technologies.

All his now.

Eden had already tasked his research divisions with investigating them—hoping to uncover some treasure maps.

He vaguely recalled—

Vashtorr had once searched for an Old One vault hidden within the Webway, hoping to ascend and become the fifth Chaos God using its ancient artifacts.

But the Dark Lord had stopped him.

If Vashtorr had found its general location…

And Eden now had the clues—

Then his technological power was about to skyrocket.

Suddenly, a faint Warp taint wafted through the air.

Eden snapped alert—but quickly realized:

It was the residual aura of the Dark Lord.

"Found it?"

His eyes lit up as he looked in the direction of the presence.

Not far away, several War Angels were carrying a massive set of four-meter-long black wings toward him.

Seeing them, Eden nodded in satisfaction.

"Good. Freeze them immediately for preservation!"

Not long ago, during his fight with the Dark Lord, he had torn off those demonic wings—then tossed them aside, forgetting where they landed.

Once the battle ended and his mind cleared, he immediately sent out search teams.

Thankfully, they had been found.

Those demon wings were no ordinary trophy—they were remnants of a demigod's body.

If possible, Eden intended to have them studied and perhaps forged into a weapon of some kind.

And if that failed… well, once Big Barrel returned, he could always stew them into a soup—see if it boosted physical vitality or something.

Eden only had one principle:

Use everything to its fullest.

Save where you can, spend when you must.

A war had been fought—if you didn't strip the battlefield down to bedrock and get a return, what was even the point?

The logistics department had already drawn up official procedures to collect everything left behind in the wake of the battle.

From massive warships, Chaos Titans, Chaos Knights, mutated machinery—down to the smallest scrap.

Even sold off as junk, they'd be worth a fortune.

As for contamination?

No worries.

Once hauled back to the orbital ring, the Holy Light would cleanse them thoroughly. Sterilized from top to bottom.

What could be salvaged would be reused. What couldn't would be melted down into raw materials.

A solid way to address the territory's resource shortage.

What Eden hadn't expected—

Was that these leftovers were in hot demand.

The Ork Management Association had already sent in an official request.

The document stated:

A few brilliant Big Mek boyz from the Steeltoof Clan in the Webway had made a breakthrough and wanted to build something massive—requiring large quantities of wreckage and forbidden tech.

That delighted Eden.

Because what his domain lacked most right now were big things.

The top factions each had planet-class fortresses, battle satellites, and superheavy defense platforms. Eden's side? Just the Dreamweaver. And that was a miniature battleship.

If he actually went toe-to-toe with one of those heavy hitters…

He might just get flattened.

So, Eden quickly approved the application—told the Orks they could haul off whatever they needed.

The sooner they finished building that "big guy," the better. It would give his domain a much-needed capital-scale deterrent.

He couldn't afford to be someone else's doormat.

The Blackstone and forbidden knowledge gathered were just bonus loot.

The most important prize of all was the Charalton region.

Per his agreement with Lord Regent Guilliman—

Now that Eden had reconquered Charalton, he would be granted dominion over the entire region, with exemption from the Imperial tithe.

To Eden, the tithe exemption was even more valuable.

From the Imperium's perspective—

Charalton was a dead zone. Heavily corrupted, practically abandoned. Even if they pumped in resources, it'd take centuries to recover.

Tax revenues would be negligible.

So why waste investment when those same resources could go into new, fertile regions?

But Eden's domain had the means to purge that corruption fast.

Which meant Charalton would recover swiftly—and under his influence, flourish.

And Charalton wasn't just a single sector. It was a collection of multiple star sectors. In both size and planetary count, it dwarfed the Goliath Sector.

More importantly—it contained immense mineral reserves and multiple Forge Worlds.

Once integrated into Eden's territory, the domain would expand nearly fivefold, instantly solving the critical mineral shortages and massively increasing its planetary and population count.

A fortune.

An absolute, blood-drenched win.

Eden finally understood why the Emperor was so keen on the Great Crusade. Beyond ensuring humanity's survival—if you kept winning, war was the fastest path to wealth.

Territories. Resources. Populations. All pouring in like a tidal wave.

Who wouldn't get addicted to that?

A month passed.

With the tireless work of transport ships, engineering machinery, and labor forces, almost everything salvageable on the shattered planet had been stripped away—even surface-level ores.

The debris fields in orbit were likewise swept clean by the Orks and the logistics teams.

After one final inspection of the Warp Curtain and confirming it had stabilized, Eden led his Custodians aboard the Dreamweaver.

Ready to depart—to claim Charalton.

But before jumping to the Webway—

At the military department's request, he stayed one extra day, holding a small victory celebration for the Savior's fleet.

That night—

The stars were lit with plasma-burst fireworks.

Within the warships, the warriors celebrated wildly—feasting, drinking, and reveling in their victory.

...

In the Savior's Sanctum—

Eden sat in a miniature garden, watching plasma trails bloom in the sky with a faint smile.

Pop—

He opened a bottle of sparkling wine—gifted by Arye, a specialty of the garden world Rhaedar—and savored the rare moment of peace.

No more premature champagne popping.

Now, he could finally celebrate properly.

The next morning—

The Dreamweaver roared to life, entering the Warp alongside the fleet and departing the sector.

Shortly after—

Whoosh whoosh whoosh—

An Imperial fleet emerged from a short-range jump, arriving in the same region.

After extensive meetings and bureaucratic wrangling—

The High Lords had finally responded to the Primarch's summons, cobbling together a support fleet.

Since nearby territories had refused to commit troops, the fleet numbered only around sixty capital ships with supporting battlegroups.

They were well aware—

This force couldn't stand up to a full Chaos fleet.

They advanced cautiously.

Truthfully, the fleet could've arrived much earlier.

But after detecting plasma residue in the region, they paused for several hours to form battle formations before entry.

That delay proved… ironic.

On the flagship bridge—

"Once all battlegroups arrive, search for enemy ships at once! Open fire at will!"

The commander barked the order, nerves taut in anticipation of battle.

But then—

Silence.

The comms channels went quiet. No enemy sightings. No orders to engage.

At last—

A confused officer asked, "My Lord… are we sure we've got the right coordinates?"

"What nonsense—of course the coordinates are correct!"

The fleet commander angrily double-checked the nav charts. They had indeed arrived at the correct sector.

???

He gazed into the target space—

Only to see an eerily clean void and a stripped-bare planet.

Moments later—

A transmission arrived, broadcast from the Savior's fleet to the entire Charalton region:

"The great Primarch and Savior has led his fleet to annihilate the Chaos invasion. The Charalton region shall now know lasting peace. Henceforth, the Savior will tour the region, aiding its worlds and restoring prosperity."

...

Holy Terra.

The news that Primarch Eden had reclaimed the Charalton region finally reached the High Lords after weeks of routing.

Lord Regent Guilliman also sent a formal transmission from the frontlines—congratulating Eden and announcing that the Charalton region would be placed under his governance, along with exemption from the tithe.

This made several High Lords quite unhappy.

Charalton was one of the Imperium's key mining hubs—even in its polluted state, it shouldn't be handed off so lightly.

Worse—

Some among them had interests in the region.

It affected their profits.

In response—

Several High Lords convened a private meeting to attempt blocking the transfer.

They believed—

Many planetary governors and forge-lords in the region would be reluctant to accept the Primarch's rule.

Though Guilliman's decree was hard to defy, if the local rulers showed strong resistance—and had the High Lords' backing—

Then maybe, just maybe, the Primarch would be forced to give up some planetary control.

At the very least, they couldn't let him take the entire Charalton region for himself.

However, just as those High Lords were still enthusiastically scheming in their secret meetings—inciting resistance and devising countermeasures—

New intel arrived.

Every single planet in the Charalton region had collectively submitted a formal request to be placed under the Savior's rule.

After repeated requests, the Savior had agreed to accept their petition and formally assumed control, offering them protection.

???

In the midst of the secret meeting—

The High Lords fell into silence. What had been a heated discussion now felt like a punchline.

The suddenness of the news left them completely stunned.

That fast?

They hadn't even made a move yet.

And now it was already over?

For a moment, they simply dropped the topic.

Since it was now a fait accompli, there was no point resisting.

Besides, Charalton was little more than a contaminated wasteland. Restoring it would cost massive resources.

Let's see just how this new Primarch planned to rebuild it…

...

Forge World – Steel Sphere.

A planet constructed almost entirely of metal, filled with the sounds of pistons pounding, blazing furnaces, and layers upon layers of industrial waste.

During the Chaos invasion, its core regions were almost completely corrupted—

Overrun by unprocessable flesh-bulb tumors.

In one of the remaining defense sectors—

The planetary Fabricator-General stood with a cadre of Tech-Priests, all awaiting their honored guest.

As the lander touched down—

A tall figure descended: dark, covered in cybernetics, and radiating presence.

"Magos Kaul…"

The Fabricator-General and the others rushed to greet him.

The atmosphere was electric.

They had long revered Magos Kaul, a legend within the Mechanicum forums.

He wasn't just the leader of the Mechanicus Temple of the Machine-God—that alone earned him unshakable reverence among all tech-priests.

Moreover—

Kaul had arrived bearing sacred constructs, tools meant to purge the corruption from their world's core.

After some brief formalities—

The sacred ash-grenades Kaul had brought were deployed in the most tainted regions. As they detonated, holy solar fire swept across the zone, annihilating the corruption at blinding speed.

...

Dreamweaver.

Savior's Sanctum, Miniature Garden.

Eden sat at his office desk, working through state affairs.

These days, he had received numerous snide and veiled congratulations from the High Lords. They were discreetly monitoring Charalton's reconstruction and offering to "help manage" the region.

He rejected them all with cold firmness.

Eden had long anticipated that the High Lords wouldn't just hand over the region without a fight.

Thus—

While he fought the Dark Lord on the frontlines, the reclamation of the rear sectors had already begun.

The Forge Worlds were the easiest. Kaul handled them in the name of the Omnissiah, encountering no resistance.

As for Ecclesiarchy-dominated planets—

They were assigned to the Church of Earth. Bishop Doni personally carried the High Ecclesiarch's decrees from planet to planet.

Smooth and swift.

The remaining worlds were approached with a mix of sincere diplomacy, massive aid packages, and overwhelming shows of force.

And this combo?

Worked perfectly.

Most planetary governors chose to submit voluntarily—many even enthusiastically so.

In a galaxy teeming with existential threats, having a powerful patron was a blessing few would reject.

As for the stubborn few tied too closely to the High Lords—

They had already been sent to labor camps.

Perfect opportunity to elevate fresh blood and tighten control.

Eden's decisive and aggressive approach provoked protests from the affected High Lords. Some even screamed for the Inquisition's intervention or sought to invoke administrative sanctions.

But the moment Eden hinted that he was preparing a pilgrimage to Holy Terra—

The protests vanished instantly.

After all, the last Primarch who went on a pilgrimage… was Lord Regent Guilliman.

And he'd left a trail of High Lords in ruin, consolidating unprecedented power and draining their holdings.

If another Primarch arrived—

Would they even have any skin left?

The rumor alone made the High Lords shift their tone overnight.

Now they sent messages filled with warmth and concern—practically begging Eden to stay in Charalton, enjoy his meals, and please never come to Terra.

And so—

Eden securely claimed the Charalton region. But restoring it would require much time and effort.

Worse yet—

With this massive territorial expansion, security became an even greater concern.

The territory now bordered several extremely dangerous zones, with sightings of Necrons, Tyranids, and Orks increasing.

The Orks were manageable.

But the Necrons and Tyranids? These two apex threats were not something his domain could handle head-on.

Especially the Tyranids—

The ones currently plaguing the galaxy were only the vanguard.

If their main swarm ever arrived, even the combined might of all galactic races might not be enough to stop them.

"This isn't going to be easy…"

Eden sighed.

He had stepped from a local ruler to a galactic figure—and the pressure had only grown.

He urgently needed to develop greater power.

He added dozens of initiatives to his developmental protocols, refining them piece by piece.

But for now—

His top priority was rebuilding the Charalton region.

Closing the files, Eden rose and headed out.

The Ministry of Interior had scheduled a years-long inspection campaign across Charalton's planets—to personally supervise the reconstruction.

At the same time—

Let the people witness their Savior with their own eyes.

Which meant—

He was about to get very busy.

...

Dreamweaver.

Savior's Sanctum.

After washing up, Eden collapsed into his soft bed. He pressed a button to activate rest mode in the chamber.

The environment simulation system kicked in.

Above him, the ceiling lights dimmed gradually like a setting sun, slowly drowning the room in night.

Replacing the glow was a field of starlight.

Beneath the serene sky—

A gentle breeze stirred, brushing across the garden trees beyond the glass. The soft rustling of leaves and the chirps of insects filled the air.

These whispers of nature gradually pulled him away from the chaos of daily life.

Soon, Eden began to doze off.

The strain of high-intensity operations over the past weeks had worn on him. All he wanted now was a deep, restorative sleep.

Beep—

Suddenly, the datapad in his hand blared an alert, jolting him awake.

It was a high-level incursion alert.

Another Chaos invasion?

He hastily opened the file—

And saw an icon bearing a long-faced skeletal mutation.

That insignia belonged to the xenos.

"Hssss... xeno invasion?!"

Eden bolted upright, fully alert—his scalp tingling.

This was bad.

If it were Chaos again, at least his forces had weapons to counter them.

But against xenos incursions?

They had no specialized countermeasures.

They'd have to fight head-on.

He scrolled further through the report, muttering prayers under his breath:

"By the Emperor, please don't let it be Necrons, Tyranids, or Orks..."

He really didn't want to deal with those terrifying races right now.

That would mean another massive campaign, bleeding the domain dry right after its last war.

Then, he saw a circular key emblem in the report—

Followed by several attached images.

Inside were photos of savage, vulture-like beastmen, blue-skinned humanoid aliens, and various weapon systems.

Seeing this—

Eden let out a long sigh of relief and fell back onto the bed:

"Oh, it's just the T'au. That's fine then..."

(End of Chapter)

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