[{"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-574":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},1681344,2147,"Chapter 574 575 — The Lion: “Damn it… he made me lose so completely!”","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-574",574,"\u003Cp>Boom—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lances of heavy flamer washed out, incinerating the heap of monstrous mutant raptors that clogged the gate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They crumbled to charcoal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Pasong tribe's Sentinel walkers cleared the obstacles with brutal efficiency, opening a path for the new Guardian's column behind them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By the Emperor…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Iron Knight Hadda watched, half in awe and half in worry.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could not help picturing what that fire would do to him if it touched—his iron mail would never stop such heat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Pasong tribe's army—armed to the teeth by the Savior's materiel—dealt the Lion's own Iron-Knight host another heavy shock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The weapons gulf between the two tribes was vast, enough to bruise the knights' morale.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They had long thought themselves the strongest army in the jungle, every man burning with pride.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But these steel beasts and towering armored warriors pricked their illusion like a bubble.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The gap was of entire ages—as if apemen of a primal tribe had met a modern armored brigade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Resistance or rivalry hardly even entered the mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Learning that the Pasong tribe's arms and armor were gifts from the Savior, the Iron Knights unconsciously carved that name into memory.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yet they did not let it crush them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A true knight must keep his pride, face the gap, and bow to no hardship or foe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We came to aid Pasong; we can't let them look down on us.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Iron Knights know no fear.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Stand tall!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They rallied their spirit and escorted the precious food deeper into the settlement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Pasong may have mighty arms and armor, but they cannot possibly have the meat our tribe enjoys.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hadda thrust out his chest, refusing to glance at the daunting wall and those steel monsters.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His tribe had its merits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On this world, meat was a treasure; most beasts carried venom, and countless tribesfolk had lived their whole lives without tasting flesh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Meat existed mostly in old stories, passed down by elders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sometimes the people would gather by the fire to hear the shamans tell how the forebears feasted—the Emperor's Ascension revels, the banquets of palace and king.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the Lord Lion had found a way to render flesh safe to eat, letting the tribe taste the legendary food once more—what greatness was that?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hadda still remembered his first bite—his hands trembled as he bit down, the sour, fatty savor almost making him shake.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Many had wept then—partly for the flavor, partly because Lord Lion had let them touch the afterglow of yesteryear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before Kamas' sky had been devoured and the end had fallen, their ancestors had eaten just so.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The Pasong people will be struck dumb when they see this meat.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Swallowing, he eyed the carts piled under broad leaves.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could not help a flicker of anticipation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Once inside, perhaps the Lord Lion would declare a feast, and all would share the savory game.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then Pasong would sing the Lion's greatness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His gaze swept the convoy to the tall figure at its head—the being the Iron Knights followed—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The First Primarch, the Lord Lion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A presence whose shadow meant safety and the promise of a better life.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hadda had already planned it: as soon as they entered Pasong he would throw back the cart-leaves—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Let them see what bounty the Lord Lion had brought.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other knights agreed; they had braved danger to bring aid—they should show their worth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And proclaim the Lion's wise generosity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We're here…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The convoy passed the high wall into Pasong; the Iron Knights raised the Lion's banner and strode in with martial pride.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They whipped back the cover leaves to reveal cart after cart of dark-red, almost black, dried meat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Brothers of Pasong!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hadda filled his lungs, voice deep and steady, drawing every eye.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He seized a thick strip of jerky and lifted it high, so all could see this precious flesh.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Behold—give thanks!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is the Lord Lion's gift to you—purified meat fit for our tables, the food of our forebears!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is the Lord Lion's handiwork—what greatness—he—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stalled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His raised hand clenched upon the meat without thinking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had finally seen what lay ahead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A carnival of a feast—steel machines lined up with racks groaning under whole cuts of meat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not black, sour jerky—but great slabs of fresh flesh, marbled red and white in perfect ratio.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They looked irresistible.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Fat dripped onto iron plates with a sizzle, and a wave of impossible fragrance rolled over him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His mouth watered; his stomach growled, betraying him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Shame washed in after, deep enough to drown him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Gulp—th-this…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hadda stood frozen, jerky aloft, under a hundred stares—helpless as a child.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Several Pasong tribesmen gnawed grox steaks, grease shining on their lips, waiting to hear what this stranger would say next.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not understanding, they twisted the knife: \"Do you want some? His Majesty the Savior's marinated cuts—so fragrant…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hadda almost broke. He shoved the dark jerky back into the cart and wished he could vanish.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pasong was throwing a vast open-grill banquet—and he had just finished shouting praises for the Lion's rank, sour jerky in front of everyone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was mortifying—dragging the Lion's pride through the dirt alongside his own.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beneath the giant trees, the feast sprawled among hastily pitched army tents; several six- or seven-meter field galley trucks lined up, roasting a variety of meats.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There was toasted bread and baked potatoes, too, and heaps of fruits and vegetables.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A riot of color, scent, and savor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Pasong folk reveled in the Savior's bounty—throwing the Lion's jerky into cruel contrast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Worse, the knights had shouted it aloud.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The scene doubled in awkwardness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now they stood, at a loss, eyes locked on the field kitchens, longing to crane forward and steal a bite.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That raw, gene-deep hunger for pure food was almost impossible to suppress.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the head of the line, two tall figures had turned to stone.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Under the people's looks, they even felt the itch to turn and run.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Y-Your Highness… we should let the knights join the feast. They've eaten little these last days.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel let out a long breath, trying to bleed off the mortification.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could barely stand to look at the men swallowing hard and pretending composure.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was too shameful.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>More shameful still was his gene-sire, the Lion—perhaps the most embarrassing moment the First Legion had ever suffered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their lord had hauled carefully prepared supplies across hazards to conquer this tribe—only to look like a beggar at their feast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was brutal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For one who prized honor, this was a blow to the face—the unforgettable kind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"…Mm.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion took a long time to push out the single syllable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Humiliation flooded him until his armored toes squeaked in their boots; he had never felt so awkward, so small.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Slapped down by the Savior at a distance—his head rang.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel still held authority here as Pasong's Guardian, and swiftly had the elders seat the Iron Knights at the feast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sent food to the convoy's tribesfolk as well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon no one spared a thought for the Lion's \"rank jerky.\" They gorged themselves upon the Savior's fare, tears running down their faces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When humans taste the pinnacle of flavor, they weep.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion found the scene absurd.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A primitive tribe dotted with Imperial army tents and modern gear; tribesmen, armored troopers, and Iron Knights sitting together over a spread fit for nobles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Poverty and backwardness fused with advancement and luxury; the Savior's materiel had transformed the tribe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jungle hardship had become enjoyment.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"These are… the Savior's theater-level field-supply systems?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seated in a tent, the Lion paged through a multi-lingual \"user booklet,\" glanced out at a six- or seven-meter field galley truck, and felt the absurdity deepen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Was the Imperium truly so wealthy now?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even during the Great Crusade the logistics had never been like this; with a few tins and some self-heating synth-food you counted yourself lucky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the Savior's train served all fresh food; not even on Caliban had the Lion eaten so well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was, in truth, no miracle. The Savior commanded numerous agri-worlds running Golden Age farm techniques—the yields were staggering.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With such stores, the army should be fed well—not pinched and starved like the Old Imperium's troopers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soldiers bled on battlefields; if you did not fill their bellies, how were they to fight?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back on Old Terra there had been a famed army whose logistics strove to serve hot, balanced meals; some kitchens cooked to order, and provisioning vehicles climbed any terrain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Compared to that, the Savior's feeding plan might even be conservative.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There was still room to learn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion sipped juice, savoring the taste on the tongue.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Since waking, he had hardly eaten a normal meal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before the laden tables, a thought struck him; his face darkened; a small ache tugged at his heart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A possibility—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That the Savior had plundered the Imperium's scant stores, squandering them to pamper his troops.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Imperial hive-worlds already strained under the Tithe; if more were heaped upon them, how brutal would the suffering be?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Damn him!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His fist knotted; sorrow creased his brow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such luxury, such waste—how many Imperial subjects must starve, how many die?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How could such exploitation be forgiven?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he opened another booklet—and stalled again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This one spelled out, with images and captions, the source of every food item in the supply—farm vistas, safety standards, harvesting—complete with \"green food\" marks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Per the text:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All field rations came from the Savior's own agri-worlds—the top grades at that—guaranteeing both flavor and health.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was so detailed it bordered on pedantry—even the provenance of every cut was logged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion did not know the truth: the agri-ministry had compiled the booklet to curry favor—desperate to show they worked hard, because their output was otherwise too efficient to look impressive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If they could not flaunt effort in toil, they would in documentation—especially when delivering to the war office.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"…?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion stared at the familiar-yet-strange script until even his grief could not keep its shape.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If these foods all came from the Savior's worlds, what crime was it to feed his soldiers well?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Were the Lion able, he would have done no less.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He frowned, feeling—again—that he had lost to this Savior on another front.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That made two in a row.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He shoved another steak into his mouth to refill his reserves; a Primarch could fight long without food in extremis—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—but matter was still matter, and this was a material world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The fellow's food does taste good.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So he thought.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Music swelled—the Savior's hymnals rolling over the tribe, verses praising that great and gracious presence from every angle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pasong's elders came out to give thanks and led prayers of praise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That was the point of the feast—to give thanks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From the crate's \"holy texts\" they had learned that today was the Savior's Descent Day, when all His subjects held grand celebrations in His honor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Descent Day\" had once been Urth's Reclamation Day, but as the realm widened the festival was renamed for easier spread.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The singing and thanking flowed on, joyous—yet it did not gladden the Lion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It grated. The joys of men did not converge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Every note and word felt like the Savior whispering mockery in his ear, reminding him how far less welcome he was.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most of all when he saw his tribesfolk join the hymns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He did not know why, but he kept measuring himself against the Savior—call it the magnetism of two warlords, or simply the first real failure in a long, long time.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His food turned to paste. He swallowed, rose, and slipped from the feast to clear his head.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He skirted the great trees toward the rear of the settlement.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Your Highness…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel followed, the veteran trying to soothe his sire's mood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This may be a blessing in disguise. With these resources, we can leave this world far sooner.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You're not wrong.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion let out a breath. \"Pity the man dropped so little on Kamas; nowhere near enough for our plans.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such supplies could win songs and prayers—but for rebuilding a planetary civilization, they were scant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"If he'd given us more, I'd thank him properly—koff, koff—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked up with a bleak little quip—and almost choked on it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In his view stretched hills of war-stock, rolling away like low mountains.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the same time, his vambrace auspex howled; the metal mass ahead had spiked beyond easy count.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The giant trees had screened the rear—he had not seen any of this before.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel stared with him, stunned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Your Highness… we may truly owe the Savior thanks.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion stood, numb, before the wealth of a small crusade.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Was the Savior targeting him—forcing such a complete defeat?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The thought flashed—and then he laughed, broad and genuine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whatever the bruised pride, this was fortune; he would not have to build civilization from one.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Very lucky indeed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A few great bounds carried him onto the \"supply mountain,\" twenty meters high and stretching on and on—and his surprise deepened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There was simply too much: construction machines, building materials, and a greater pile of arms and armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A dozen Sentinel walkers were strewn like toys; nearby lay racks with perhaps two hundred suits of personal combat armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Perhaps these were lost cargo, not a deliberate drop.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>So the Lion guessed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To seed a primitive world with such treasure was near waste—like dumping wealth in a river.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even at the height of the Great Crusade, the First Legion's lord would have balked at such extravagance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In truth, the Savior's realm shipped standardized kits by design, scaled to arm locals to fight horrors—and to jump-start development.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The new machinery tended toward simplicity, Golden Age design thinking in embryo—mostly foolproof to operate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Still far from the true Dark Age of Technology.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Back then, complete STCs and true machine intelligences could raise a world almost on autopilot.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Savior's realm reached for that—but dared not field AI at scale; systems held only ordinary smart logic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No selfhood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At best, they were fortified machine-spirits—servitor-skulls with better manners and human-facing interfaces.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"At least the fellow did a good thing.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion muttered the concession around a mouthful of pride.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He kept his word as ever.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His voice steadied, a current of confidence beneath it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Zahariel—we can quit this world soon. With these tools and parts, I'm confident we can lay down a shuttle within five years.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then he could reach the Imperium's centers, seize the levers, and call his sons home—especially the Fallen, scattered and suffering.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were his sons as well.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And then… he would meet this Savior, face to face, and learn what manner of man he was.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Your Highness… we may not need that long.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel nodded toward a sector of the yard, excitement edging his voice.\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>",2470,"2026-06-06T13:29:18.240Z",1,"novelbin.me","56a95bf1e600dc9048f778095227ed7de3b991504aa7455817e3170a7ab00ce5","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-575","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-573",771,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fwarhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-cover.jpg"]