Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 327 - 328: Envy and Jealousy — The Savior Is Truly Wealthy!

Chapter 327 - 328: Envy and Jealousy — The Savior Is Truly Wealthy!

Eden flipped through the files on the Ogryn units.

Ogryns were a typical abhuman strain of humanity—large and immensely strong.

Their average height reached three meters.

These hulking brutes were about the same size as Astartes and were often employed by the Astra Militarum as shock troops.

They were among the most ferocious soldiers in the Imperial Guard.

They had exceptional qualities: staggering strength and unwavering loyalty.

Even after taking what would be fatal wounds for regular humans, they would fight on, completely unfazed.

Unfortunately—

While Ogryns had powerful physiques, their intelligence was severely lacking.

They were easily confused, loved the roar of battle, and enjoyed shooting endlessly, burning through ammo like wildfire.

Because of this, Ogryns' heavy ripper guns had to be fitted with limiters to keep them from overfiring—

Otherwise, they'd run out of bullets far too quickly.

Despite these flaws, all things considered—

They were excellent warriors. Once indoctrinated into the Imperial Creed, they displayed a dogged loyalty.

Of course—

Their individual intelligence wasn't enough to support any kind of organized battle.

To solve this, the Imperium selected certain Ogryns for neural enhancement surgery, installing connectors and correction implants.

After the surgery, these Ogryns gained a spark of intelligence.

Many could remember their own names, count their fingers, and even understand basic orders.

Some could come up with slightly better tactics than "smash everything in sight."

These enhanced Ogryns proudly called themselves Bone'eads.

They could serve as commanders of Ogryn squads, holding limited authority.

"Excellent! These are exactly the kind of warriors I want!"

Eden was thrilled with the Ogryns—strong, loyal, and heavily armed!

As for their ammo usage? That wasn't a problem at all.

The Savior's domain had no shortage of ammunition, and logistics were perfectly maintained. If anything, he was worried they wouldn't fire enough.

Currently, more than 20,000 Ogryns remained on Higanbana, overseen by several Bone 'eads.

He had already decided: once the war ended, he'd take all of them with him.

These Ogryns were mere Astra Militarum mercenaries—not part of any formal regimental command.

And now that most of the Imperial reinforcements had been shattered—

There was no centralized command structure.

Now that they all served under the Savior's unified command—

They might as well fight for him instead.

After all, mercenary work under the Savior meant more firepower, better food, and less starvation.

Much better than starving three days out of five under the Imperium.

Later on, he'd even look into their home world—

Round up the whole tribe.

They could become another powerful military asset for his domain.

He'd design an entire set of custom heavy-firepower gear tailored specifically to the Ogryns' size and strength.

Much better than sending them into battle half-naked.

"But even that's not enough..."

Eden pondered further.

What if these guys could undergo gene-enhancement surgeries, receive gene-seed implants, and become specialized Astartes?

Wouldn't that be terrifying?

They're already three meters tall—after blessings and gene modification, they'd be walking Dreadnoughts!

For the Imperium, gene-seeds were sacred and extremely rare.

They would never waste such a resource on abhumans.

But Eden wasn't like those poverty-stricken Chapters.

He had recently acquired a large batch of gene-seeds—he could afford to experiment.

Gene-enhancement tech in his domain was already stable and safe.

And he was confident—

The Ogryns' powerful physiques could endure gene surgeries and become monstrous Astartes.

And beyond that—

He could even educate them.

Like sending these big guys to kindergarten at the Loyal Sons Academy, train them from an early age!

Besides the Ogryns—

There were also over 100,000 Cadian Shock Troopers he could bring under his banner.

Now that Cadia was gone—

The Shock Troops were homeless.

They wandered the stars, defending worlds with the vow to fight humanity's enemies until death!

These brave warriors deserved a better life.

The Savior's domain would offer them new equipment—

And a new home.

As for other Imperial reinforcements—

They were under formal command, like General Meron's Astra Militarum, or the Vostroyan Firstborn Armored Regiment.

Eden wouldn't overreach.

Taking too much could stir political backlash.

Besides—

They didn't quite fit his standards anyway.

Buzz—

The command tent trembled slightly.

Another transport ship passed overhead.

Then—

Its rumble faded.

That meant the last transport had arrived.

Eden put away his dataslate and stepped outside.

Time to inspect the defensive fortifications.

According to recon—

A new Tyranid wave was amassing, with its sights set on the last bastion of Higanbana.

...

Helos Spaceport.

The vanguard Hive Fleet had gone all in—

They'd dropped nearly every spore pod they had, deploying massive bio-weapons.

They were dead-set on annihilating the stronghold.

In about four to five days, the main force would hit the first defensive line.

Currently, the Savior's forces on Higanbana included:

Carter and his 1,000 Thunder Warriors

Big Barrel leading 20,000 Sons of Humanity

Storm Group Titans, Imperial Knights, and Heavy Armor Divisions

Together with the Blood Angels and Imperial support troops—

This was enough for a major campaign.

Not to mention—

He had also delivered more weapons, vehicles, and supplies.

And not just to Higanbana.

Planets like Lesios also received support from the Savior's forces.

War Angels, Void Angels, Battle Sisters, and Storm Group units were being dispatched across the region to hold off the swarm—

And to evacuate civilians.

But no matter what—

Higanbana remained the crucial front.

This was where the largest vanguard wave was coming.

If it fell—

The Hive Fleet would have enough strength to support attacks elsewhere.

It would cause a total collapse of the front lines.

After leaving the Savior's temporary HQ—

Eden went straight to inspect the defenses.

Outside the Blood Angels' camp—

Dozens of Thunderhawk gunships were parked, ready to deploy Astartes or Sons of Humanity wherever needed.

Blood Angels and Sons of Man bustled around, preparing for the coming war.

Dante was speaking with Captain Karlean and others—

But their gazes kept drifting toward the Sons of Man's camp.

On the open ground—

Nearly a thousand Centurion suits stood in neat formation.

Hundreds of Dreadnoughts moved supplies back and forth.

At least a third of the Sons wore brand-new Terminator armor, gleaming with sanctified oils and divine craftsmanship.

In contrast—

The Blood Angels had only around 200 Dreadnoughts and a few dozen Centurions.

Their armor was mostly ancient—battle-worn, patched up, and scarred.

Many had been in use for over a century, if not a millennium.

Seeing the disparity—

Dante suddenly realized how poor the Blood Angels truly were.

His desire to retire only grew stronger. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"Lord Dante, where do they get all this gear?" Karlean asked, brushing a hand across his own patched-up armor, nearly a hundred years old.

"If we had those, we'd be crushing xenos and heretics like bugs! Sigh... we really are poor."

"Maybe you should go ask them," Dante replied dryly, glancing at the Captain. "I'm going to inspect the camp..."

He turned and walked away.

In his heart—

He was seriously considering handing the reins to the younger generation.

Karlean didn't notice the shift in the Chapter Master's mood.

After saluting, he turned his eyes back to the Sons of Man's camp.

He wasn't wrong.

The Blood Angels were an ancient Chapter of the Imperium, but unlike the Ultramarines backed by 500 worlds—

The sons of Sanguinius had only the Baal system.

Which was already barren and lacking industrial support.

It couldn't meet the resource needs of a full Chapter.

Most of their gear was slowly accumulated over centuries—

A lot of it ancient relics, glorified as "holy artifacts."

They hit harder—

But mostly because they had no other choice.

The truth?

Other than a few sacred weapons—

Most of these "artifacts" couldn't compete with modern arms.

Time had taken its toll. Components were decaying. Machine spirits were cranky, damaged, and disobedient.

Techmarines and servitors had to appease them constantly.

Otherwise, they'd risk malfunctions in battle—weapon failures, jammed mags, or worse.

Meanwhile—

The Sons of Humanity's gear was cutting edge, with stable and lively machine spirits.

Just by looking at them from afar—

Karlean could feel the power radiating from their weapons and armor.

And—

They had so many massive vehicles too!

"Our gear's just not up to par..."

Karlean muttered, gently wiping his boltgun with a cloth soaked in sanctified oil—

Afraid the old thing might get offended and break down.

"What a waste!"

A nearby Techmarine grumbled. "Why are they leaving all that Centurion gear sitting out in the open?"

Centurion armor deserved to be in hangars—

Surrounded by incense, blessed oils, and sacred rites.

Even on the battlefield, at least put a tarp over it!

"Exactly!" Karlean agreed, glancing again at the Sons' camp.

"And what are those two brats from Squad Festla doing over there all the time?"

He spotted two of his own battle-brothers—

The "traitorous" brats who'd been rescued by the Sons and given the chance to pilot Centurion suits.

They'd grown so attached they didn't want to return the gear.

These past few days, they kept going over to the Sons' camp.

Was it really that good over there?

As Karlean and the Techmarine discussed—

The Sons of Humanity's camp suddenly stirred again.

Rows and rows of long tables were being set up—

Followed by all sorts of strange contraptions.

It took Karlean a second to realize:

They were about to eat.

And as the first row of portable stoves flared to life—

The Sons of Humanity donned aprons and gathered in front of their cooking stoves, showcasing their culinary skills. For them, breakfast, lunch, and dinner were sacred rituals.

Even if conditions were lacking—they'd make them work.

They were determined to eat well.

Moreover—

Not just anyone could become a cook.

Only those with exceptional skill, recognized and respected by their battle-brothers, earned the right to prepare meals.

Soon—

A mouthwatering aroma wafted over to Karlean.

"...That smells amazing," he muttered, eyeing his own high-protein ration pack and a tough slab of roasted meat.

Suddenly, he had no appetite.

The Blood Angels' meals back at the monastery were actually decent—plenty of meat.

But out in the field? Standards dropped drastically.

Resources across the galaxy were stretched thin. Some Astartes Chapters were surviving on little more than nutrient porridge.

And even back at their fortress monastery—

The Blood Angels couldn't compete with the Sons of Humanity.

Karlean gazed toward the long tables being set up in the Sons' camp.

He saw an incredible spread: meats, grains, vegetables, fruits—everything imaginable.

Some ingredients he couldn't even name.

And then, he watched as one Son of Humanity dragged out a still-squirming Tyranid, bled it dry on the spot, and began prepping it.

The Sons had truly embraced the Savior's philosophy on food: fresh, healthy, and flavorful—even bugs should taste like bugs.

"...WHAT?!"

Karlean stared, slack-jawed.

"You can eat that?"

The aromas drifting over from the Sons' camp were becoming harder to ignore.

Feigning nonchalance, he wandered over—poking here, inspecting there. He stood for a while beside a Centurion suit, pretending to study it.

Truthfully, he owned a Centurion suit too...

Or rather, he had one—back in the monastery, undergoing emergency salvage repairs. No one knew if it would ever function again.

And he couldn't exactly ask for a replacement—

Each suit had a bonded pilot, cultivated through decades of compatibility.

Just then—

"Brother Karlean!"

A booming, friendly voice called out.

Karlean turned.

It was Big Barrel, Chapter Master of the Sons of Humanity.

Caught off guard, Karlean awkwardly gestured toward the massive wargear beside them. "Uh... Lord Barrel, your... your equipment is really something..."

"Of course!" Big Barrel was in high spirits. "The Savior treats us well. Our Chapter gets only the best—as much as we need!"

You'd never guess that, not long ago, he'd been so poor he had to fight in Tyranid chitin.

And even then—he'd never once complained.

"Brother Karlean, want a Centurion suit?"

Big Barrel clapped a hand against the nearest suit. "I'll give you one!"

The two had fought side-by-side all the way back to Helos Starport.

That counted as a life-bonded brotherhood.

And Barrel never stinted when it came to comrades.

Besides—

Centurion suits weren't some sacred treasure. Since the mining operations in Charalton spun up, production lines were booming.

Newer models were already on the way.

To the Savior's domain, these were consumables.

Once the next-gen suits dropped, these would be decommissioned.

The rate of upgrades was enough to make most Chapters in the Imperium weep.

"Wh-what?"

Karlean swallowed hard.

"By the Emperor—how... how could I possibly accept such a gift?"

Giving away something this sacred?

"C'mon, we're brothers-in-arms! No need to be shy!"

Barrel waved it off with a grin. "Just pick one you like and drive it home!"

"Brother..."

Karlean was deeply moved.

He wanted to refuse—this gift was too much—

But he just couldn't say the words.

How could he? Barrel was too generous!

"Oh right—do your men know how to pilot these?"

Barrel scratched his head. "If they do, I'll hook them up too..."

Karlean nearly blacked out.

"Brother... you... you can't mean that...!"

Was he going to give out even more?

Well—no.

Not exactly.

This was only a temporary transfer to the Blood Angels.

Barrel's men lacked proper Centurion training. Many couldn't operate the suits effectively.

At present, over 300 suits were unused.

The war with the Tyranids was at hand—

Better to lend them out than let them collect dust.

It finally dawned on Karlean just how rich the Savior truly was.

He had surplus Centurion suits!

Overjoyed, he accepted the transfer: "No problem! The Sons of Sanguinius will honor these suits with their strength!"

Even if it was just a loan—it was a game-changer.

These precious vehicles would greatly ease the Blood Angels' combat burden.

Then came the Sons of Humanity's lunchtime bell.

Barrel threw an arm around Karlean's shoulders with hearty warmth.

"Let's go, brother. Time for lunch. You have to try our cooking today!"

And Karlean didn't refuse.

After all, the smells were simply too good to resist.

He'd save his ration pack for later.

Not far away—

A red and a dark green giant stood face-to-face, conversing in electronic tones.

A Blood Angels Dreadnought and a Sons of Humanity Dreadnought were deep in discussion.

They seemed to be hitting it off.

Suddenly—

"Apologies, brother."

The Sons' Dreadnought stopped mid-sentence as the lunch bell rang.

"I need to grab lunch. Let's talk again later."

With that—

Its cockpit opened, and a heavily-augmented warrior disembarked, jogging toward the dining area.

He had lost most of his body in combat—

Only these prosthetics allowed him to pilot a Dreadnought.

It was the only way he could continue fighting for his Chapter.

The Blood Angels Dreadnought watched in silence.

Then slowly bowed its head.

It felt... melancholy.

—

Helos Starport – Outer Defense Line

The area had been ravaged by previous battles.

Everywhere, ruins upon ruins.

Eden invited Dante to join him on an inspection tour.

To rally morale.

Truthfully—

Morale was already high.

The Savior's domain had delivered massive supplies and weapons.

Giving the soldiers hope of repelling the Tyranid swarm.

The warehouse zone was nearly bursting.

Plasma guns, melta rifles, mines, grenades, artillery—anything you could imagine.

More than enough to fully arm every soldier, with plenty of ammo to spare.

Dante was stunned.

And this was only one warzone on Higanbana.

He knew the Savior had sent reinforcements to multiple planets—

Likely outfitted just as well.

He couldn't begin to fathom the industrial might of the Savior's domain.

Even more terrifying—

The logistical capacity.

They'd managed to deliver all this into the Warp-shadowed system!

Eden and Dante made their way through each sector—

Letting the troops see their commanders.

At the Heavy Armor Zone—

The Vostroyan Firstborn had finally quieted down.

They used to be proud.

With rich backing from Forge Worlds, they boasted the finest gear in the Guard—outshining even the Loyal Sons Stormtroopers.

But then—

They saw the Storm Group's elite divisions.

In terms of personnel, equipment, tanks—

They were utterly outclassed.

The Storm Group's forces all used super-heavy tanks, a full tier larger.

And far superior firepower.

Now—

They'd swallowed their pride, queued up to receive new weapons, vehicles, and artillery.

Fortunately—

The Savior's heavy gear came with semi-automated systems and friendly machine spirits.

Far better than the clunky mechanical controls they were used to.

Later—

Eden and his team inspected the Cadian Shock Troops and Ogryns.

The soldiers saluted, full of pride and gratitude.

"Eat well, everyone. A full stomach wins battles," Eden said warmly.

They were digging in happily.

Whole grains, real meat, even fruit and yogurt—

All standard rations for the Savior's mortal armies.

Hot, too!

None of them had ever imagined such luxury—

Especially in a warzone!

For most of them—

It was the best meal of their lives.

Tears welled up in many eyes.

The Savior had given them more than weapons—

He had given them dignity.

And hope.

Medical teams were also on site—

Tending to the wounded.

The Ogryns beamed with joy, their hearts overflowing.

"That big golden guy's so nice! Gives us yummy food and big guns and tons of bullets!"

The Bone 'eads saluted.

"Thank you, Savior sir!" they boomed.

RUMBLE—

The ground shook violently.

All eyes turned.

The Warp Gate shimmered.

And from it emerged—

Gargantuan war engines, tall as mountains.

Thankfully—

No one panicked.

They'd been briefed.

These were the Savior's God-Machines.

Emperor-class Titans.

The Savior would deploy 10 Emperor-class and 30 Warlord-class Titans to this sector.

Together, they'd form a massive Redeemer Titan formation.

Alongside them—

Over 800 Imperial Knights.

All to fight off the largest Tyranid vanguard wave.

Following that—

The armored corps and mortal troops would handle stragglers that slipped past the line.

The Astartes would fill crucial gaps—

And take out high-value Tyranid synapse creatures.

The mortal soldiers stared at the Titans in awe.

For the first time—

They felt safe in war.

All because of—

The great Savior.

Dante stood, overwhelmed, gazing at the divine Titans.

Even the Mechanicus couldn't muster this many!

Then—

"What are those?" he asked.

A few unusual Titans were hard at work.

Leveling ruins, digging trenches, helping with construction.

"As you see," Eden said. "They're engineering Titans."

They were simply doing their real job.

The Savior's domain had brought not only weapons—

But entire construction divisions.

Using local rubble and fast-drying composite concrete, they were building new fortifications.

—

Five Days Later.

The outer defense line of Helos Starport had been completely transformed.

Behind the Titans, several 10-meter-high fortified walls now stood tall.

Artillery emplacements and force field generators were being installed.

The warzone was reborn.

"By the Emperor..." Dante whispered.

"What kind of war is this?"

His entire understanding of warfare had been shattered.

"Lord Dante," Eden said calmly.

"We're ready to face the swarm."

He looked to the horizon.

The sky had darkened.

A wall of black churned on the edge of sight—

The shadow of the Tyranid swarm.

This time—

He was going to bleed the Vanguard Hive Fleet dry.

Let them learn—

What it meant to face a fortress of steel—

And a mechanized storm!

(End of Chapter)

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