Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

Martila's Orbital Space.

The missionary ship glided silently through the pitch-black void of space.

Its energy shielding system was activated, and the engines operated at minimal output to reduce the chance of detection by other vessels.

Near the observation window of the bridge, a group of saints clad in gray-and-white robes stood, gazing at the distant planet of Martila.

Most of the planet's surface was shrouded in gray, dotted with clusters of lights—Martila's hive cities.

Once the richest and most populous planet in the Goli Sector, it was now rapidly declining.

Suffering had spread across its lands.

The saints' eyes were filled with reverence and devotion.

"The Savior be praised. The ship has reached the fallen land foretold in the holy prophecy.

The poor souls here, unprotected by the Savior's light, are enduring unimaginable suffering!"

This was their new mission field.

The people here needed the faith of the Savior. Salvation was near at hand.

The missionary ship carefully avoided Martila's spaceports and the areas densely guarded by orbital defense arrays, maneuvering toward the planet's desolate regions.

"Prepare to board the landing pods. May the Savior protect us…"

A towering believer, standing before a holographic map projected on the console, addressed the group.

After bowing in prayer, the saints dispersed to make their preparations.

They would descend to Martila through landing pods, deploying covertly across the planet.

Inside the ship, servitors bustled about, scuttling through the corridors to fulfill their duties.

Other than the missionary saints, the ship's crew mainly comprised these cybernetic servants, tasked with operating and maintaining the vessel.

Suddenly, the ship jolted violently.

Many saints lost their balance and tumbled to the ground, while some servitors were thrown into machinery, causing bursts of sparks to fly.

"The ship is under macrocannon fire! Return fire immediately!" yelled a commanding saint.

Enemy ships had discovered them.

Halis had long issued orders for the navy to intercept any unidentified vessels, especially those arriving from Urth.

The saints and servitors scrambled to return fire.

But the missionary ship was ill-equipped for combat.

Its lance strikes barely caused ripples on the void shields of the enemy ships, dealing no meaningful damage.

Escape was also impossible.

Three enemy cruisers and several escort ships had encircled them, converging from multiple directions.

The kilometer-long missionary ship was like a lamb straying into a pack of wolves.

The enemy fleet focused its fire.

The ship's void shields shuddered violently before shattering in a single salvo.

With the shields down, interference macrocannon fire struck the ship, shutting down its engines entirely.

Inside the Bridge.

The saints exchanged silent glances, their faces heavy with resignation.

There was no escape.

The sound of the ship's hull fracturing and the intensifying cacophony of gunfire drew closer.

Enemy soldiers had boarded the ship.

"Advance!"

The captain of the palace guards shouted, leading the charge through a breach.

The guards swiftly entered the missionary ship, storming toward the bridge.

Gunfire erupted suddenly, bullets ricocheting off the captain's power armor with metallic clangs.

Scowling, he turned toward the attackers, his expression one of disdain.

"This is the enemy? What a joke!"

With a sigh, he cleaved a crude servitor in half, its feeble attack unable to even scratch him.

The palace guards easily tore through the ship's defensive servitors, finally reaching the bridge.

There, nearly 200 human saints knelt in the center, heads bowed, hands clasped to their chests as if performing a ritual.

"What are they doing?" a palace guard murmured, perplexed.

Another guard sneered, "I bet they're praying for mercy."

"Take them alive and interrogate them," the captain ordered coldly.

"Use every interrogation method you've learned. Extract the information we need from these zealots!"

The saints ignored the approaching guards, clutching their Savior pendants tightly and praying silently.

"Damn zealots!"

Frustrated by the eerie scene, one guard raised his bolter and opened fire, felling several saints.

Yet the others remained motionless, continuing their prayers.

The captain strode forward, seizing the lead saint and brutally snapping his arm.

"Speak! Where are you from?"

The towering saint raised his head, his expression serene and devout.

With a faint smile, he uttered,

"For the Savior…"

At that moment, the saint's body began to wither rapidly.

Nanite-infused silicon in his bloodstream consumed his flesh and destroyed his genetic structure.

Under the captain's bewildered gaze, the saint disintegrated into white sand, slipping through his fingers and leaving only his robes behind.

"What's happening?"

More cries of alarm followed as all the remaining saints simultaneously turned to white sand.

The palace guards froze, staring at the strange scene in disbelief.

This unsettling phenomenon was beyond their comprehension, confirming the enemy was no ordinary foe.

Then, the ship shuddered violently, its lights flickering out.

Red emergency lights cast an ominous glow over the guards' tense faces.

Realizing the danger, the captain bellowed,

"Retreat! Get out of here now!"

He sprinted toward the exit, and the rest of the guards hastily followed.

They knew exactly what was about to happen.

Their Emperor favored this tactic: ships rigged with hidden explosives that would detonate if control was lost, ensuring mutual destruction with the enemy.

Now, the tables had turned, and the enemy had used this strategy against them.

The guards ran for their lives.

Just one more minute, and they could escape.

But it was too late.

BOOM!!!

With a deafening explosion, the ship's bridge erupted, triggering a chain reaction that engulfed the entire vessel.

The fleeing guards were consumed by flames in the corridors.

In Space.

A dull burst of fire lit up the void as the missionary ship disintegrated into fragments.

Nearby escort ships, caught too close, suffered significant damage from the blast.

Aboard the Cruiser.

The fleet commander overseeing the interception watched the scene in silence, sweat beading on his forehead.

Moments ago, he had sent a victory report to the Emperor.

What now?

Martila's Atmosphere.

Hundreds of torpedo-like drop pods descended through the atmosphere, scattering across various regions.

The missionary ship had been a decoy, its true purpose to shield the descent of these radar-shielded pods.

Avoiding key defense arrays, the pods fell toward the desolate outskirts of Martila's hive cities.

As they burned through the atmosphere, they resembled falling stars...

(End of Chapter)

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