Chapter 1: Lower Hive Scavenger

Alvin’s vision was dark, as if sunk into a cold abyss, his body numb and rigid.

In a daze, it seemed a cold, pale sun had burst forth with blinding radiance, frozen like a brilliant star-ring in the black void.

His eyelids felt heavy as if chained, his head throbbing with a dull, hangover-like ache.

It took him a long time before he finally opened his eyes.

“Where... is this?” He gazed around, lost and bewildered.

The dark, damp alley was piled high with stinking garbage.

Above him, a dense web of crisscrossing pipes filled the space, blocking all sunlight; the oppressive air reeked of acrid decay.

The gray, hazy air floated thick with dust and smog; every breath coated his lungs in grime.

“Cough... cough... cough...”

Alvin, utterly unaccustomed to this vile environment, coughed violently.

“I’m talking to you, you deaf bastard?!”

A brutal voice, like thunder, shook his skull, snapping his thoughts back.

He lifted his head and saw a terrifying face—a jagged scar slashed diagonally across it, severing brow and lip, twisting like a worm with his furious expression, his cold eyes swirling with blood-red savagery.

“Answer me!”

The scar-faced giant kicked without warning, his foot striking Alvin’s chest like a cannonball.

Thud!

The force nearly stole Alvin’s breath.

He was flung backward, slamming hard against a drainage pipe.

The pipe cracked open, spewing foul sewage; the stench grew even sharper.

The scar-faced giant stepped forward, planting his foot on Alvin’s chest, then pressed a knife, its edge chipped and rusted, against his throat.

"If you don't deliver three units of supplies tomorrow, I won't mind killing you!" The giant leaned down, his eyes fierce and greedy, as if staring at livestock: "Understand? You little shit—don't make me say it a third time!"

He stared at the knife on his throat—its blade notched, caked with dark brown clots of dried blood.

Without doubt, this man was a ruthless killer, soaked in countless lives.

Adhering to the principle that one must bow when under someone else’s eaves, Alvin took a deep breath and spoke firmly: “Sorry, I was wrong. I’ll deliver the supplies on time tomorrow.”

The scar-faced giant sheathed his knife, glared at him with venom, and spat a thick glob of phlegm to the side: “If it weren’t for the Iron Hammer gang’s mess leaving us short-handed, I’d have cut your throat already.”

With that threat, he turned and left, leaving Alvin alone in the dark, damp alley.

Returning from the gates of death cleared Alvin’s fogged, stiff thoughts instantly.

Then, fragmented memories flooded his mind like a tidal wave—no warning, no buildup.

Explosive pain, as if a chisel had been driven into his pituitary and twisted violently—he clenched his teeth so hard his temples bulged with veins, fighting to stay silent.

Deep breath... deep breath... Fortunately, the agony came fast and vanished just as quickly.

Once normal again, Alvin removed the cheap gas mask from his face and stared up at the dense pipes above—his last flicker of hope... vanished.

Good news: he’d been reincarnated. Into Terra.

Bad news: Holy Terra.

This was the Warhammer universe!

A universe where every race, to survive, descended into utter, mad desperation.

Here, extreme militarism, lunatics, fanatics, extreme xenophobia—all imaginable horrors—would make even the most seasoned cross-dimensional army hesitate.

War was the eternal theme of this universe.

Every life here swam in a cesspool—not to see who could swim farther, but who would choke first.

Though he couldn’t see his own face, Alvin knew.

His expression, in net-speak, was like a goblin whose toe had just been stomped.

The body’s original name was Alvin—a scavenger in the lower hive of a hive world under the rule of the Human Imperium.

In plain terms: a bottom-tier garbage picker.

“Are you kidding me?”

Having absorbed the memories, Alvin collapsed like mud, eyes lifeless: “I just went to get a wisdom tooth pulled—how did I wake up here?!”

What sin had he committed in his past life? What crime had angered heaven?

What kind of damn tooth extraction could send him to the Warhammer universe?

But complaints aside, after venting, once his emotions steadied, Alvin had no choice but to accept reality.

The scar-faced giant was a member of the Blood Axe Gang, responsible for collecting protection fees from them.

In the Warhammer universe, even the lowest garbage picker must pay protection fees.

But lately, rumors said the Blood Axe Gang and the Iron Hammer Gang had been fighting so viciously, they’d nearly beaten each other’s brains out.

Blood Axe had suffered heavy losses, so they tripled the protection fee.

Did anyone resist?

Of course—but the outcome was always the same: their heads were cut off as warnings to others.

But clearly, Alvin, as a bottom-tier scavenger, often went three days with nine meals skipped—he couldn’t even afford food, let alone spare “supplies” to pay.

If he couldn’t pay, his fate would be either fed to Blood Axe’s genetically engineered hounds—or become the next warning.

Cornered, Alvin decided to risk it: he’d sneak into the garbage dump in the southeast, under Iron Hammer control, to steal something.

But his luck was terrible—he’d just picked up something that looked valuable when he stumbled upon Iron Hammer men talking to a figure wrapped in a black robe. Too far to hear clearly, he caught fragments: “skull,” “sacrifice,” and similar words.

Then he was spotted.

The robed figure merely glanced at him—and Alvin’s head exploded with pain, as if twisted, evil, chaotic whispers were drilling into his mind.

As if hundreds of red-hot steel needles had been driven into his brain and violently twisted.

In unbearable agony, Alvin clung to a shred of sanity, fled the dump, and collapsed in this alley, his soul shattered.

When Alvin awoke again, his soul had been swapped with that of a young man from the 2K era.

“From now on, I am Alvin.”

Alvin whispered softly; their memories fused, no longer distinguishable.

He lowered his head, looking at the torn bag at his waist.

Inside lay the thing his predecessor had died for—he opened the filthy, tattered bag and saw a wristwatch.

The strap, corroded by the environment, was rusted through; the joints nearly severed; the face was caked in thick, filthy black grime.

“Can this thing pay the protection fee?”

Alvin’s forehead darkened with three black lines—this thing wouldn’t even be picked up off the ground; if he tried to pawn it, they’d chop him to pieces and feed him to the dogs on the spot.

Still, it was the only thing his predecessor had died for—he couldn’t just throw it away.

“May heaven protect me... no—may the Emperor protect me!”

With his last shred of hope, Alvin dampened his sleeve with sewage and gently wiped the grime from the watch face.

When the black grime was gone, a delicate dial emerged.

Alvin stared at the dial, stunned by its intricate, complex internal structure—countless gears nested together, filled with mechanical artistry; the outer ring bore no time numerals, only symbols he couldn’t comprehend.

“What the hell is this?”

As Alvin stared at the precise dial, it suddenly changed.

Click-click-click...

The once-still dial began to turn.

Amid crisp, sluggish mechanical sounds, the countless gears at its center rotated, then flipped to the other side.

The central dial was dark and deep, etched with some script—characters lit up in sequence.

A mechanical voice echoed in Alvin’s mind.

【Respected Navigator, would you like to travel to... a new world?】

【Ding-ding-ding, warning! Insufficient energy!】

【Current reserve... 0.1 standard units】

【Interdimensional device requires 100 standard units to activate!】