[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor":3,"chapter-warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-572":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1681342,2147,"Chapter 572 - 573 — The Lion: “Uh-oh, they’re coming straight for me. And what in the warp is a ‘Savior’?!”","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-572",572,"\u003Cp>\"There is still hope for our Imperium…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel looked over the knightly cohort the Lion had drilled, and the auxiliaries and logisticians each at their posts; a weathered face showed a thread of expectation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As this world's Guardian, he had founded his own holding and knew exactly how hard it was to raise such an army in so little time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet his gene-sire—the First Primarch—had done it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Over the years Zahariel had tried to form troops of his own.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But when tribesmen faced warp-tainted abominations, terror smothered them; the will to fight would not spark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a psychic blight, a pall on the spirit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The First Primarch's soldiery, though, not only did not fear—they could stand against a stampede of twisted beasts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How astounding was that?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Watching them after the beast-tide, Zahariel saw no fear and no grief.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In solemn order they tended their dead, then re-formed and marched on.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As if nothing could shake or bar them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the seed of a great army.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could imagine what they would become once gene-work was begun and power armor donned—how terrible their strength would be.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such is a Primarch's greatness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They are the emblem of unbending will—leaders who gather men from nothing and forge mankind's mightiest hosts: the Space Marine Legions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the First among them was foremost—not only unmatched in war, but in the arts of command and governance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now that he had returned, the Imperium had new hope.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This scene is familiar, is it not?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion watched the troops he had honed, eyes bright, voice sure. \"In those days men lived apart in the jungles, fighting to survive; in every dark hollow some ravening beast coveted our flesh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Zahariel, you are Terran-born; you did not live those days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Do you know what I did?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"My lord, it is a famous tale,\" Zahariel said, dipping his head in respect. \"Every Dark… Angel knows it. You gathered that world's humans, trained more knights, and slew every beast.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Saying the Chapter's name brought a flicker of hurt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Declared traitors and kin-slayers, cast out and hunted by former brothers, the exiles had named themselves the Fallen; they skulked from world to world, or were dragged into the light and executed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Fallen's blood and tears had stained half the galaxy; some broke for Chaos.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The faithful Fallen still endured and hid—and did not forget.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So Zahariel remembered the Dark Angels' strictures and the legend of the First—the Lion who led Caliban's Orders to scour the beasts and found a Legion's homeworld.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The mistake is mended. Brother against brother will end. The Dark Angels' wound will heal,\" the Lion said, though a thread of sorrow remained.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Scars remain, even when the flesh has knit—reminders of Caliban's tragedy. The dead would not return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the Primarch was the leader he should be; he leashed the grief quickly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He fixed his gene-son with a steady gaze. \"A hard march begins. We will do it again—purge this world of blasphemous life.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To save a dying Imperium would take long years.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This world was the first step, and not an easy one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were trapped on a jungle planet where civilization lay in ruins; no machines in sight meant no spaceflight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not fear hard ground.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If civilization was broken, then they would rebuild.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion had prepared for the worst.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If no vessel could be found, they would hunt the ruins and construct from zero.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By hand, if they must.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As a Primarch, he had the mind, memory, and learning; his brain—and the armor's cogitator—held deep vaults of lore. He did not yield even to brothers famed for the forge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had simply preferred not to spend himself thus.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By his estimate, the plan's odds were good.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even if it took two or three centuries, piecing a new civilization from remnants to craft a shuttle for short warp hops—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Or a grand signal spire to speak betwixt stars—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That would be victory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he could hail nearby Imperial bastions or reach the nearest world, open the board, and muster legions and fleets.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And… summon home all exiled sons, ending the tragedy of ten millennia.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We will follow you and kindle Kamas' flame of civilization,\" Zahariel said, jaw set.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He, too, saw how harsh the road would be, how much must be spent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before long, the column moved again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hada and the Iron Knights formed again on the train, guarding the wagons.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He saw a chunk of meat fall from a cart and hurried to toss it back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Precious food.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those hundred carts of sour beast-jerky and roots were stores hoarded for a long while; they could spare the other holding its hunger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Perhaps only under this lord's aegis do we have a chance to eat our fill,\" Hada thought, proud and fortunate as he watched the two towering figures ahead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the jungle, death and hunger were the rule; a safe roof and a belly with food were every tribesman's dream.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Angel had brought those—and would bring hope to more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"My lord, with this food our people needn't starve,\" Zahariel said, lighter of heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was this tribe's Guardian; he could not bear to see them die of hunger.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But in blasphemed lands, food was hard to find; much of plant and beast was venom to men.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even an Astartes could do little to change that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fortune that his gene-sire had found a way to render the meat and had listed edible rootstocks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The tribe would taste better days.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel now felt the gap between him and a Primarch with brutal clarity—the cleft between a warrior and a leader.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Zahariel, this drivel is Roboute's brainchild?!\" the Lion snorted, unsealing his helm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had just scanned—through helm optics—a classic by the Primarch of Ultramar, that Imperium-bestseller, the Space Marine operations manual: the Codex Astartes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tamped down the anger. \"It's refuse. Too stiff even for wiping. Those pages will wound the Imperium. If Father still sat the field, he'd flog that fool to death.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From his son's report the Lion had the gist of the realm. If the Angels of Death still fought by that book, the Imperium would break.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the Codex's small, elite warbands, the realm could not answer wars of scale—nor prosecute grand campaigns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Having read it, the elder brother's itch to thrash Roboute only burned hotter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pity the man was dead; they said the body lay upon Macragge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Given the chance, the Lion would spit upon that corpse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Alas—he's dead. I cannot beat him anymore…\" he muttered, and the loss hit home.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If he could, he would still have his brothers alive—fighting shoulder to shoulder to save the Father's Imperium.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A Second Imperium? Fine—let it be.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But this time he would claim the regency by right; Roboute's record proved that self-certain man could not steward a realm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Better he command a Legion—and leave empire to others.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beep-beep-beep—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An alert chimed in the Lion's bracer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Ah. Another find.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The First Primarch—glory of the Imperium—smiled in satisfaction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He vaulted seven or eight meters, landed by a world-tree's root, and cheerfully started cutting dirt with his sword, like a man on a treasure hunt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon he levered free a half-meter steel pipe—some kind of power conduit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flicked it aside, dropped prone, and dug again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A Lion bows to no hardship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>These days he wandered far, salvaging the leavings of the old world—slowly hoarding resources to arm his knights.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Scavenging, then hammering plate and blades—same for the agri-tractor turned light tank.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"My lord…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Watching, Zahariel's heart twinged. What anguish had the First and his seed endured these ten thousand years—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To be brought so low.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seeing his gene-sire still working the earth, he ran to help.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Primarch and son, bent to the dirt, huffing under a tree—like scavengers from a hive-world's sump.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hunting useful machine-treasure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At last they turned up a grime-clogged machine engine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Both smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was the cost of raising a civilization again: hunt and cherish any resource one could use.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This power unit's not too far gone. I can make it run—pity we've no artificers. I'll do it myself,\" the Lion said, rubbing his hands, pleased with the day.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As the First Primarch he had ranged wide across knowledge and craft; not the equal of brothers famed for tech—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But enough.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Many a tactic and field-repair trick for engines and war-gear had first passed through him before they spread to other Legions.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He reckoned no one could do better in such a cruel place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Least of all that self-regarding Roboute.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The two felled the nearby giant and knocked together a rough sledge, loaded the conduit and engine, and passed it to the supply crews.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Zahariel, you'll study the mechanical arts under me. Aim for a master artificer's grade,\" the Lion said, clapping his son's shoulder and leaving a muddy handprint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To regrow a civilization, one must have lineages of craft. Astartes live long—well suited to hold and pass the flame.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then raise a new cohort of scholars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Father built the Imperium step by step, did he not?\" the Lion thought.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Terra's civilization had once guttered, fallen to barbarity; at the Himalazia's feet the Emperor had built laboratories and trained scholars.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So science rose again, even gene-craft was born.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The son would learn from the Father: restore this world's science, then go to mend the Father's realm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The First was ready to root, to till and build.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The column held formation and pushed on toward the site of the great blast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As they neared the crater, bright light spilled from the open waste beyond, and a tremor of unease ran the length of the line.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By the Emperor…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Knights and tribesmen gasped.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The towering trees lay almost wholly erased; the gray sky glowered. Filthied flesh lay flung everywhere.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Like a god-wrought catastrophe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Some muttered prayers in their hearts, begging the Emperor's ward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion frowned at the ruin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No weapon of this world had birthed this—alone the crater ran for hundreds of meters, scouring near everything clean.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It also explained the beasts' mad flight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Force on that scale would send even those butchers running in fear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Do the heretics beyond the forest have the means to strike so hard?\" the Lion asked his son.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel shook his head. \"Never saw such weapons, my lord.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Had the enemy fielded engines of that weight, he would not have survived their hunts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion and Zahariel dropped one after the other into the crater, seeking any sign to name the hand behind the blast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This is… Imperial munitions,\" the Lion said at last, having found traces—the propellant elements were undoubted marks of Imperial ordnance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Promethium.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Near a universal staple of the Imperium—fuel for most engines and vehicles, and heart to countless explosives.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From frag grenades to ship-guns—promethium was there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Nor only war; dyes, plastics, pharmacopeia—promethium found its way into all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even the Imperium's classic \"corpse-starch\"—the synthetic protein bars—leaned upon it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A material for every need.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Where there was promethium, there was the Imperium.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Xenos scarcely used it—let alone ate it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Finding it, the Lion was pleased.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If Imperial arms still lingered on this world, fortune indeed—and his road off it shortened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beyond that, there was little. The heat had erased the rest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The charge may have been emplaced and triggered now—or it may be old, set off by beasts by chance,\" he mused, no firm answer in hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Either way it was a true clue; he could sweep the world later.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If a resistance force hid here, he would draw them out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After logging a few readings, he vaulted free of the pit. \"We go to your holding. We'll comb this later.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel's tribe still starved—and might be in peril from the maddened beasts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They must make haste.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He would not have a single tribesman die for delay.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In these days, any life was a precious ember.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel nodded, worry gnawing—he had been gone more than a month.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The column skirted the crater and quickened its pace toward the Guardian's hold.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There was still a way to go.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the approaches to the Pasong tribe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel's holding lay deeper in the forest; the world-trees rose yet higher there and stood farther apart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even the underbrush thinned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By luck of ground and fewer beasts, predators did not hunt often in that quarter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A safer place to dwell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Long days in the jungle had wearied the column. Knights' armor was soiled; most faces were begrimed and wild-haired.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the destination near, spirits rose.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The rough banner of the First Primarch—the golden Lion—stood high and flapped in the forest wind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Iron Knights straightened with pride, step strong and even.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a fearsome display.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind, quartermasters dragged cart after cart of sour beast-meat, roots, and a heap of scavenged steel parts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All of it the things this tribe most craved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They meant to show the First Primarch's might—and the strength of his host.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion walked easy at the head with Zahariel, ready to take possession.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was used to it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wherever the Lion went, the Emperor's people gave welcome and worship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But when he rounded a giant trunk and saw the tribe, he stopped dead—eyes wide—pupils tight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By the Emperor…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The rumble spread through the column; men cried out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before them stood a wall of special concrete nearly ten meters high, bristling with heavy machine-guns; the face was even washed in a film of dark gilt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It looked every inch an Imperial redoubt of respectable make—and even a little luxurious.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once the Lion's column crossed into the wall's fields of view and sensors, alarms rose at once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This is—your holding? Or did we take the wrong road?\" The Lion snapped his head toward Zahariel, a look that said, \"Are you playing me?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By his son's tale—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This holding had been on the brink: short of weapons and food; its palisade often torn by beasts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He ground his teeth as his gaze slid over the heap of mutant carcasses at the foot of the wall.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This fortress did not look like anything broke it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By the Emperor, I… I'm not lost,\" Zahariel murmured, stunned. \"When I left, it was nothing like this.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The change hit him like a blow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Who would not be dazed to see a mud village reborn into the Imperium's newest age?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When he left, the wall had been timber; the tribe could scarcely muster iron, let alone heavy guns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Such a transformation…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion's doubt only deepened, tinged with wonder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He flicked his optics across the battlements. Besides the heavy guns, two vast honor-banners hung to either side.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Upon them a gilt lion blazon—glare-bright—and lines of script:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Things like \"Grant Family,\" \"the great and merciful Savior,\" \"the Unbeaten Primarch,\" \"the Imperium's Supreme Emperor,\" and the like.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most of all that golden lion so like his own—so bright it pricked the eyes…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>(End of Chapter)\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Get +20 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on \"Zaelum\"]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Every 500 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Thanks for Reading!]\u003C\u002Fp>",2498,"2026-06-06T13:29:18.240Z",1,"novelbin.me","14b152a0206beef61e62fb208a1bbf15882e4d93ddc7e4813d1acff8db34a53c","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-573","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-571",771,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fwarhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-cover.jpg"]