[{"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-577":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},1681347,2147,"Chapter 577 578 — “Woohoo—what tier is soloing a fleet?!”","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-577",577,"\u003Cp>[New Fanfic is Up!!]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>[Naruto: The Strongest Ninja System]\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Can a Primarch tank ship-mounted macro-batteries or melta weapons with his body alone?!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden went quiet for a moment, then sighed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You might as well ask if a Primarch can die and then pop back up.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This is realspace—we still play by physics. No matter how tough the flesh, there's a limit. It's not the Warp, where nonsense rules.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Take himself: with a top-end warsuit or high-order psykana, he could probably eat a volley from ship guns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Provided it's not too many.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Or he could rely on extreme speed—short-hop translations and spacefold jukes—to avoid getting hit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As for ultra-high-temperature melta—forget it. That cooks you to charcoal at the cell level. Even Greater Daemons struggle to tank that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It's a literal eraser for warp-taint and xeno residues.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even Eden's baseline body would have a rough time if he took a direct melta hit—though with psykana and spare clones, he doesn't plan on letting it get that far.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion, though, is different.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He doesn't throw witch-fire. He hasn't embraced his warp-nature. If he meets capital-grade barrages, odds are… bad.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Worse, the man's riding a dinky shuttle—no void shields, no proper translation banks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If the Ten Thousand Eyes spot him, they'll pin him with sorcery, constrain space—and then wash him from range with shipfire: plasma, melta, dark-matter beams—saturation strikes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At that point you don't just scour flesh or warp-taint. You sandblast principles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Optimistic take? Maybe they don't find him. Or those 'dutiful sons' won't murder their gene-sire outright.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden tried to think positive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Either way, they'd put him down to cripple and capture.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Best case, the Lion's shuttle gets slagged and he's left drifting in the void—or marooned on some rock—waiting for Eden's people to fish him out.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Beep-beep-beep—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Klaxons. Red strobes. Crew to stations. Fleet translating together into the Warp. Expect some chop.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With a grind of steel, the armored shutters slid over the observation dome; the light dimmed to iron gray.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ship shivered; prismatic glints leaked through seam-gaps.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Translation complete.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Redemption Fleet would ride a high-current warp-lane, arriving by echelons near Avalonis—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—to hunt a fight and to retrieve the Fallen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Eden dispatched orders to search for and rendezvous with the Lion, then flopped back, stealing rest during the long translation—banking focus for the war to come.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Warp light painted his face in murk and shifting color.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Man… I hope the Lion's okay.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zzzla—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A feral world.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Three suns baked the ochre canopy; the jungle ran to a heat-hazed horizon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In a clearing not far from the tree line, a broken shuttle sat half-buried in a crater, spitting sparks.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The damaged voice-announcer crackled the same line on loop:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Warning, warning, hull integrity at—zzzt—percent. All personnel… evacuate…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion stood before the wreck, silent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Behind him, Zahariel and some twenty knights in personal panoply wore matching frowns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Your Highness.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel tried to speak—to lighten the mood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After all, led by their gene-sire, they had… wiped out. Stranded on a world with nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Worse than that jungle death-world Kamas.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion raised a gloved hand to still his son. The Lord of Caliban's knights remained steady.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Do not worry. We can repair the ship, and then—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>BOOM—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Before he finished, the shuttle ripped apart in a blossom of flame—torn to glowing shards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A lone bolt flew from the blast and smacked the Lion's brow, then pinged away—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—leaving a faint red mark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The First Primarch's face tightened—shadowed. The air itself seemed to hold its breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one dared speak. The legend looked… a little shut down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"What a fate…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion worked the tension from his jaw, drew a deep breath, forced down the weight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It felt like something—luck, doom, a hand—kept pressing him into misfortune. Every step.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But he would not let his black mood poison his men. That was not the way of Caliban's lord.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not long ago—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He'd been chugging along in the shuttle with his knights, hunting the Fallen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They broke the Warp's skin—and blundered straight into a hostile Chaos flotilla. Barrages followed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>By superb piloting he saved the ship from immediate annihilation and re-entered the Warp, but the hasty jump bucked them senseless.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When they crashed back into realspace, control was gone. A feral world's gravity well snared them and slammed them down.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Bad. Very bad.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The road home had barely started—and now slammed shut.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Gravity at one-point-five gee; oxygen half standard; water scarce; no sign of civilization…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion checked the vambrace display, brow narrowing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Surviving here would be harder than on Kamas. The whole party would be back to wildcraft and last-stand living.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shuttle had spat a distress pulse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>How long until that signal drifted through the stars—and actually reached Imperial ears? How long until a ship came?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He could already see it—they would be savages here. For a long, long while.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"The Savior… might be in a nearby volume.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>For some reason, the Lion thought of that arrogant 'self-crowned Emperor.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Mostly, he missed the man's supply drops—warm tents, field kitchens, clean water, ships.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If that fellow could just seed this world with crates—or catch the SOS and send a ride.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He gave himself a wry smile—and then snapped his head up to the sky.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because… a ship came.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A vast shadow slid in from afar, covering the light—eclipsing the suns.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Realspace trembled; eldritch gleams flickered. A fleet, all teeth and knives, wavered out of a prismatic rent like deep-sea predators.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not Imperial Navy—an irregular Chaos flotilla, types all over the place.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the fore, a Slaughter-class cruiser, saw-toothed hull soaked in old blood; then three barbed light cruisers.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At the center loomed a battleship named Oath of Blasphemy, her plates veined with crawling meats, tentacles idly tasting the void.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Escorts swarmed around them like flies.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A small Ten Thousand Eyes task group—sniffing down the shuttle's trail—hungry for a truth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Oath of Blasphemy, command deck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Holos crackled and danced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Found you.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The warhost's controller, Belaral the Impostor, smiled a thin, cruel smile. The twisted First Legion sigil on his armor marked him for what he was—a Fallen in thrall to Chaos.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He tapped a rune.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lines of light resolved into the image of a Khornate champion—the Crimson Vakkan—all murder-haze and breath like hot iron.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Impostor!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Vakkan's voice bled slaughterlust.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Did your witch truly find him—and why did you halt my strike?!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Yes. The Lion is very likely aboard—and he crashed on the planet below.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lord Seraphax foresaw his return.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral's pulse quickened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A returning Imperial Primarch—their gene-sire—and the only confirmed one at that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If they caught him—and executed him—the glory…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too bad their lord forbade killing the Lion. He wanted him alive—to savor pain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral's mouth soured.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"By our lord's order: if he's shipboard, no total destruction—board and seize. If he's groundside, no orbital cleanse—land and assault.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>We muster more troops and coordinate the drop.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Unfortunate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My warriors already made planetfall—to hunt the Lion.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Vakkan bared a grin like a trap—acid-scarred fangs catching the light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As they spoke, the tac-plot bloomed red pips.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Above, dozens of Dreadclaw assault pods burned like meteors—vanishing into the atmosphere, streaking toward the beacon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Khorne's hounds never wait.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"If they kill him, that's not on me. You know how my boys get.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral seethed. The Ten Thousand Eyes weren't pure Fallen; they'd drawn in many other renegades.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He despised these low-grade beasts—and couldn't fathom why his lord tolerated them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were never truly his. They were owned—by the ugly entities called gods in the Immaterium.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They knelt to false divinities. Their loyalty was suspect.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral's gaze hardened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You truly think that handful can slay a legend—slay my gene-sire?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Vakkan shrugged, knuckles cracking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Who can say? Besides… I will go myself.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He'd never cared for legends.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They were just old men of ten millennia past. He had Khorne's favor. Why shouldn't he win?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their channel filled with continuous bolter-thunder—then a roar that clawed the spine—then screaming. Wet. Rending.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Something enormous—something merciless—was making meat of men.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Silence fell on the bridge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral and Vakkan went still—newly aware of the foe they faced.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the briefest span, multiple Khorne packs were gone—Terminator elites among them, even a Dreadnought or two.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Unthinkable for any of them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Tha… that is the Lion?!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Vakkan's throat bobbed. His rage shook.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had underestimated the Lion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Imperium's side would gain its deadliest champion. Perhaps the deadliest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Even that whispered figure from across the Warp—the 'Savior'—wasn't this overpowering, was he?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Maybe the Savior was all smoke and shine—while the Lion was proven myth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>If such a Primarch led the Imperium, the Ten Thousand Eyes would be in dire straits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zzzla—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I am Lion El'Jonson, faithful son of the Emperor—an unbending warrior of the Imperium…\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The voice rolled like a battlefield drum, iron and scorn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Whoever you are—you sent too few. This number won't do. Perhaps send more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Do try not to tremble and bolt, you shivering cowards and sniveling wretches. I'll be right here—waiting.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Raaagh—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lion! I, Vakkan the Crimson—Khorne's champion—will kill you. Landers—down!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Humiliation curdled in Vakkan's gut. He would lead more warriors and daemon-engines to the hunt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Legend or not—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion stood alone. No one could stand against an army.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Vakkan, stand down. We need a plan!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral tried to leash him. Too late—the channel cut.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Soon, multiple landing barges dropped toward the surface.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"…Trouble.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Belaral watched the plot flood with more red—each a barge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He narrowed his eyes.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew too well what it meant to fight a Primarch—what it meant when it was his gene-sire.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Vakkan's recklessness would give the Lion exactly what he wanted—a window to counterstrike—and their encirclement would fail.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps something worse.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the ground—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The field was a churned scar, as if ploughed by machines—choking with cordite fog.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chaos bodies lay in quarters—scattered like dice.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Lord Lion!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Hada stared, slack-jawed, at the towering figure on a Chaos Dread's carcass—cloak snapping in the heat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Their sense of his power had multiplied. Their hearts bowed. Worship came easy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We follow an invincible legend,\" Hada whispered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Zahariel shook to the soul.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His gene-sire was stronger than ten millennia ago—near unstoppable—hope incarnate against the dark.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most of all, he was unchanged in the ways that mattered. However bleak the odds, he seized the turn and broke the foe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When the Chaos fleet arrived, Zahariel had felt only despair.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion reversed the board.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>From the pit, they had a path to strike back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The son of the Lion looked skyward, hope blooming.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Heh. They're coming.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion watched the plunging landing barges and smiled.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At last they dared to descend. Numbers didn't scare him—only the thought that they would skulk in low orbit, sniping from afar.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>There, he'd be stymied.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But if they brought him transports full of troops… he could board them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seize the barges.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Blast up through atmo.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Leap to a capital hull.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>All he needed was proximity—to the enemy's warships.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In low orbit, their formation was packed tight. Plenty of chances to break their order—board—steal their flagship.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yes—the Lion intended to solo the entire Chaos flotilla.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Ten Thousand Eyes' hundred-meter landing craft dropped through clouds—closing fast.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"No more waiting.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion sealed his helm—and fired the jump pack—screaming up toward the nearest barge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had to bet before the fleet realized what he was—had to gamble on their contempt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On their slow reaction.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thump-thump-thump—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The barge sensed the incoming threat, flak spitting to swat him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion never flinched—flickering through the bursts—then, as he knifed across the forward quarter, he lobbed a string of melta grenades.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Good thing the Savior packed enough breaching toys. Otherwise I'd be sawing at her plates all day.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The charges bit—temperatures spiked—steel ran cherry-red and softened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion didn't pause. In the instant the glare peaked he slammed through—shoulder first—ripping into the ductile plate.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When the glare died—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was already in the corridor, blade nailing a Khornate warrior to the bulkhead. Still-molten iron dribbled down the armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Clean. Efficient.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At first contact, the hallway's defenders were gone—never even reacting.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was what a Primarch meant.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion was older now, sterner, colder—beyond what he'd been—beyond what his brothers had been.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Perhaps no Primarch still abroad could match him. He radiated absolute authority.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Dee-dee-dee!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Alarms wailed; more Berzerkers charged.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You cannot bar my path.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion's voice was steady—native certainty. Irrefutable.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Force rolled off him—like a field of will.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His blade flared—his body blurred—soft sounds of parting meat answered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"No—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A warrior of Khorne stared in infant terror—then his knees hit the deck and his upper torso slid askew—blood painting the ceiling.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Th-the Lion… that's the Lion… no one can stop him!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Another heretic stumbled back until his spine hit the bulkhead. His chainsword clanged to the deck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The champion of Khorne had never known fear like this.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion was already gone—down the corridor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Only the butchered lay behind—walls raked deep—holes punched through—Chaos blood slicking the plates—fear like oil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>KRASH!!!\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The bridge bastion blew inward; a black form hurled across the decking—armor smashing like pottery.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A dead Terminator.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Traitors. I… am here.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The Lion strode into the bridge—eyes like winter on a panicked champion of Khorne.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A sleeper had awakened—irresistible—declaring a legend's return.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He would set his hands on the helm of the Imperium…\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>",2230,"2026-06-06T13:29:18.240Z",1,"novelbin.me","176421fbec953123184a6febda3b4be2a01855d9346d763fd4151653bf6853a3","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-578","warhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-chapter-576",771,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fwarhammer-starting-as-a-planetary-governor-cover.jpg"]