Conqueror from the stars in Warhammer

The studies of a noble, especially one from a ruling house in a universe where everything was pushed to the absolute limit, could very well make even the most intelligent of humans feel like a limited and deficient fool. This is why, more often than not, advanced cybernetic implants were installed even in childhood. They didn't just serve as a mental aid to elevate one's cognitive abilities but allowed a person to bypass the old-fashioned hours of reading and learning.

Instead, they spent hours lying in a chair, wires connecting their mind to a vast computer system. Through this system, my cybernetic implants—ones that wouldn't seem out of place in the *Matrix* universe—began to expand my mind with an immense amount of knowledge on history, laws, and other subjects far broader than what I'd need to be an adequate noble.

In the lower corner of my vision, like a technological HUD, I could see notifications from my system as certain levels slowly climbed.

My basic stats were being forcibly expanded by the implants, giving me enhanced intelligence and memory almost on par with a computer. I didn't have the same processing speed, but I would at least have the necessary information stored for years to come, accessible through continuous automated learning.

This went on for over two hours before the machine finally powered down. I could hear the metallic footsteps of the tech-priest approaching me. His half-human, half-machine face, almost completely stripped of flesh, looked at me with a total absence of emotion as my natural senses slowly returned.

The smell of oil, incense, and the constant murmuring of what were likely machine-hymns filled my senses. I still remembered my first time here, six years ago, almost experiencing allergy symptoms in reaction to this place.

"Young lord, your introduction to basic knowledge is 88% complete. In the next session, we will cover the remaining foundations before introducing more advanced knowledge," his mechanical voice echoed. It was impossible to tell if this tech-priest of the Machine-God had once been a man or a woman; his voice was utterly devoid of any emotion.

Sometimes, I found this entire universe absurd, beyond the limits of human understanding—at least, of a simple 21st-century man.

"Understood. I appreciate the knowledge acquired today, Tech-Priest Z7X," I replied, offering him a slight nod as I made my way out of my learning chamber, which resembled something close to the Nebuchadnezzar ship.

My steps did not falter, yet I drank the antiseptic beverage handed to me, with a taste that defied description—disgusting, to say the least.

According to the tech-priest, this was an antiviral concoction designed to prevent me from experiencing severe headaches after disconnecting from the machine system.

"Then why connect all these wires when I don't even have an adult body yet?" Sometimes, I thought that humanity had simply given up on the basics of decency.

Taking a deep breath, I sat outside the chamber as Z7X's spider-like footsteps echoed beside his inseparable machadrite, a weapon somewhere between a long halberd and a gear-shaped blade.

"For your next session, young lord, you must report to these coordinates. A group of guards is ready to escort you," he announced. I stood, feeling slightly dizzy as I headed out of the quarters of a servant of the Machine-God.

"Thank you once again for your time, Tech-Priest," I offered him a final courteous nod. The two-meter-tall man gave a slight bow of acknowledgment in response.

Upon leaving, I was escorted by servants and guards who ensured my safety at all times. These soldiers had been raised since childhood to serve the nobility, outfitted with inhuman amounts of cybernetic enhancements, and they were accompanied by servants crafted from the ground up to be perfect: flawless bodies, built for eternal servitude to their lords.

"No wonder the nobles of this world are nothing but decadent and depraved," I thought. I hoped I wouldn't fall into the traps of arrogance, but sometimes, not even the holiest of men could resist natural temptations.

"It's unfortunate that I can't simply let go—not when demons are real, and I could attract one of them."

Taking a deep breath, my footsteps echoed down the long corridors, adorned with ancient stained-glass windows. The fortress itself bustled with activity throughout the day and night cycles, so different from those on Earth.

It felt even more alien when I looked at the star that lit our world.

A waning, scarlet-red glow—"Sargathar"—was the sole star in this system, casting its dim light over a simple world with gravity twice that of Earth. "Kronvar" was a minor hive world of half a billion souls, with a single hive city across the planet's frigid and arid climate.

Like any hive world, it was a colossal place of towering spires and scattered black fortresses. The lower levels were shrouded in darkness, and only the highest towers and fortresses provided a fleeting view of the radioactive star.

Centuries under this dying star had tended to alter the genetics of the inhabitants. One of these changes was their eye color, matching that of their parent star, while their skin grew perpetually dark, shielding those in the upper levels from its violent rays. The higher gravity forced bodies to be stronger than any child of my former life.

It was no wonder Sir Mandrick didn't mind hitting harder; the well-born of this world were never weak, their strong physiques built from over 8,000 years of genetic engineering and physical enhancements. They were far superior to Captain America or any ordinary soldier from low-gravity worlds.

"Young lord, we have arrived," the senior guard announced as I crossed into the training yard. Almost every area of the fortress was protected and built of dark stone, resembling a mausoleum but broad and circular, like a small combat arena.

There, I found myself once again with my weapons master, already prepared for our session. With an extra hour of training after my mental lessons for the day, I was once again immersed in my new passion.

The art of fencing.

But unlike what one might expect in a universe where laser weapons and spaceships existed, men of noble birth still gravitated toward the traditional duel, whether for martial honor or simply the desire to shed blood in close combat.

It was common for nobles to learn swordsmanship in their childhood, though most would abandon it once they reached adulthood in their respective worlds. There were, of course, exceptions, and not all worlds were alike, but mine was a simple mining world with little reason for heightened militarism.

"If having 50,000 soldiers in total can be considered low militarism by the Empire's standards."

"You're early, that's good. We'll have more time for practice," he said. The man was mostly silent, speaking only when necessary, something I could respect as I shared the same disposition.

My noble etiquette led me to speak only as much as needed and never display excessive emotions, as this was seen as a sign of weakness in a ruler.

"Sir Mandrick, what will I learn today?" I asked solemnly, though my curiosity remained.

"Combat and artillery. You may be good, but good does not mean the best."

I nodded, picking up a training sword. Heavier than any material I'd known in my old life, even half a cement bag couldn't compare.

But again, I had to accept the reality that humanity had evolved—maybe not to the level of the X-Men, but certainly stronger and faster, especially under the gravity of my "dear world."

"Let's begin."

And so, our dance of blades commenced. We spent hours switching weapons, never using just one type of sword—whether broad, chain, or heavy.

Although none of them were activated like the famous chainswords or power swords, they were still deadly weapons in the right hands.

Constantly, I found myself striving for improvement, pushing myself further. I wouldn't accept "no" just because my body was young; this universe was far too dark to simply wait for growth.

"Thank the Emperor I was able to start my training early." I still remembered my mother's horrified expression when I asked my father to let me learn swordsmanship at age six.

The tall man with dark skin had smiled at the time, though my mother looked as if someone had kicked her favorite pet.

"If this is what you want as a gift, then so be it. I expect great things from you, boy," was all my father had said.

He wasn't one to linger for long, and honestly, I was a low-maintenance child, not needing much to be content. Perhaps that's why I rarely interacted with my other siblings.

"The perks of being an adult in a child's body—you don't need things like parental love or the desire to make your new parents proud."