Conqueror from the stars in Warhammer

My steps echoed through the long corridors as the usual gothic aesthetic gave way to a mural of war and battle art, with colossal statues of warriors and the occasional giant effigy of the God-Emperor.

Foreboding, as only this universe could be, dim artificial lights were all I could see as I walked. My guards were silent except for the sound of their boots echoing with each step. Kronvar's night cycle had arrived, plunging the entire hive city into darkness.

But this wasn't much of a problem for my eyes. Millennia of adaptation and genetic engineering had made the nobility capable of seeing in the dark, as long as there was some degree of light present.

I passed through an entire corridor before boarding one of the many train-like automated vehicles that moved even faster than the bullet trains of my old life.

The fortress was vast—far too large to walk from one end to the other. Fortunately, these vehicles conveniently connected the main access points nobles frequented.

In my case, it was to visit my brother, where I was preparing for a sword-training session.

I honestly didn't know what to expect, so I spent the next few hours in deep meditation. It was fortunate that my skills were progressing to a new level.

It was becoming easier to quiet my mind, to let emotions flow without becoming a danger to those around me. Moreover, it prepared me for action—body and mind focused, as Sir Mandrick would say: *"A weak mind leads to a weak warrior, but a strong mind can elevate even a weak warrior."*

I had no illusions. Compared to others, the art of war still eluded me. I was just a boy in a universe where war had become the norm.

On the other hand, I had never experienced true violence. All I knew was how to shoot and wield a sword, and I subconsciously hoped that would be enough.

*"They say hope is the last to die, but what happens when hope has been dead for ten thousand years?"*

"My lord, we have arrived," one of the guards announced, and I quickly stood with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

Without much thought, my steps soon brought me to the immense training yard. My brother's wing was larger than mine, as was obvious.

The stationed guards were always alert as I watched the men—and even some women—fighting each other with swords.

One significant observation was their lack of protection beyond simple cloth garments, leaving their skin exposed to the elements.

*"Even though our skin is more resistant to the light of our star, I suppose I should thank the Emperor that it's night."*

I thought to myself as I was guided to a sort of VIP section of the yard—a large room with a perfect view of the training area, resembling a miniature coliseum.

Sitting on an opulent, throne-like chair, his jet-black curly hair perfectly styled, and dressed in the finest garments, my brother caught my attention for a moment as I was announced. He turned toward me, rising to his feet.

"Brother, you've arrived just in time," Gael smiled at me, gesturing for me to sit by his side.

"How is your training going? Do you think you're skilled with a blade, or are you more like Elendora, better suited for social talents?"

"I prefer the blade, but I wouldn't say I'm good with it yet. There's still much to learn," I replied sincerely. Knowing all the horrors of this universe, I was nothing more than a bacterium thinking itself important if I acted arrogantly.

"Wise, but Sir Mandrick always sings your praises. Perhaps it's only you who doesn't see your skills?" Gael mused, as if thinking aloud, though I suspected he simply wanted to stir some competition.

Why he would do that, I couldn't say. It didn't matter to me, though; all that mattered was honing my skills.

"I suppose there's always room for improvement. Don't you think?" I asked, prompting him to glance at me with a faint smile.

"Yes, there's always room for improvement. That's why I brought you here. You know, brother, I sponsor a combat club for men and women of our class. You'd be most welcome."

*"I don't recall hearing anything about this at the knowledge table."*

"Oh, I see that look of surprise. Brother, you'll learn that not everything is taught at a mere knowledge table. Some things are better learned through practice."

"I understand. So, how does this club work?"

"Nothing complicated, really. Normally, you need to be recommended by someone already in the club, and of course, I'll recommend you. But first, you must prove yourself worthy," he explained, sounding like he'd done this countless times before.

"In a duel, I presume."

"Obviously. There's no better way to test someone's prowess with a blade. Come, let's have some fun."

We left quickly, descending a flight of stairs into the training yard. My brother, taller and dressed in far more flamboyant attire—a golden-red and black ensemble—approached a few fighters, commanding their attention with the sheer charisma of his voice.

"Attention, gladiators! This is my younger brother, William, who wishes to test his skills."

There was a tone of excitement in his voice, one I didn't quite understand, but I chose to remain silent.

I watched as the gladiators nodded rigidly before a young man stepped forward, escorted by one of the burly warriors. His measured steps and robust physique—far exceeding my still-developing muscles—caught my eye. A bionic red eye on his left side and the scars of someone who'd fought in battle made his experience evident.

Despite all this, I would say he wasn't more than a year or two older than me, standing slightly taller and carrying himself like someone well-versed in combat.

Gael turned to me, introducing what could only be a gladiator—or more precisely, a fighting slave.

"This here is my newest acquisition, born from the lineage of two of my finest gladiators."

The thought of a child being enslaved was disgusting to me, but I kept my expression neutral. This was the way, the culture ingrained in this world, and I doubted I could change it.

"He seems well-trained," was all I said as I observed him.

His dark skin tone was more common among noble houses, and upon closer inspection, he bore some cybernetic enhancements on his head, though I couldn't discern their purpose. His collar was thin, almost resembling a choker.

"Yes, he was also raised and enhanced by the best gene-engineers in my service," Gael said, pride evident in his tone as he boasted about surgically modifying a child of our own species.

"So, he's my opponent?"

My brother nodded, bringing us two swords.

"I heard you're good with blades. X7 here is an excellent swordsman for his age, but he's not ready for serious fights yet. So, do your best, little brother."

Taking the sword, I noticed it was sharp, a long weapon but lighter than I was accustomed to.

Gael asked if I was ready.

I nodded seriously, keeping my emotions in check as Sir Mandrick taught me: *"Always remain calm in battle; do not succumb to anger, rage, or fear—they will be your downfall."*

X7 looked at me, his gaze devoid of emotion, showing only disinterest. Then I heard a click. From the corner of my eye, I saw my brother holding some unknown technological device.

"Rahhh!"

In an instant, the calm facade of the slave vanished. He charged with the fury only myths of berserkers could rival.

Experience and reflexes were all that allowed me to parry his strike, though a kick sent me stumbling back.

I was lucky not to fall, as the lunatic advanced again, attacking with a ferocity I could barely hold off while I brandished my blade defensively.

Each step pushed me further back, and I realized I couldn't keep this up if I wanted to win. I had to attack.

Blocking his strike, I deflected his blade aside, my free hand forming a fist that collided with his face. Twisting, I struck at his sword arm, though he dodged, my blade grazing his arm enough to draw blood.

I worked my footwork constantly, striking where I could, evading when I couldn't, keeping up the dance. But X7 fought harder, more erratically, fury in his eyes. And something else—something I hadn't expected to see: **despair.**

Deep, entrenched, and as visible as the scars on his skin. I couldn't pity him, yet I couldn't stop the fight.

I doubted my brother would let me die here, but I wasn't a gambler nor a masochist to let myself get hurt proving a point. I had to win.

Breathing deeply, I attacked. Strike for strike, cut and thrust, followed by precise footwork. My blade guided his every move.

But I couldn't keep this up forever. I had to end it.

Yet, I looked into his eyes again.

I saw a torrent of overwhelming emotions buried beneath the rage. I growled, unable to endure them. Perhaps I could make a difference, even a small one.

At that moment, I dropped my mental shroud. My mind opened to the Warp naturally, and amidst the clash of our blades, I glimpsed the glow of his soul in the chaotic sea.

I attempted something I'd never done, calming his mind and dulling the signals of pain. I noticed the cybernetics affecting his synapses and suspected their purpose immediately.

I had no time to study them further, so I simply dampened the rage the device was forcing on the poor slave.

I drew briefly on the Warp's power for a single decisive move.

My fist struck his neck with immense force, breaking his collar. Then, I disarmed him, throwing him to the ground with a violent thud.

Pain flared as a shallow cut formed on my cheek. The slave had tried to claw at me before I pinned him down.

Breathing heavily, I looked at my brother, who seemed childishly delighted, as if he'd just received a Christmas gift.

"Strange..." was all I could think as I realized the slave had passed out.

I turned to Gael, whose smile had slowly faded as he approached me.

"That was an excellent fight. A bit rough at the start, and you need more practice against different types of enemies, but so far, impressive."

He praised me as I caught my breath. Part of me wanted to lie down and relax, but another part thrilled at the fight.

It was like someone had injected adrenaline into my system. Even the exhaustion faded instantly, leaving me unconsciously eager for another battle.

"I hope to do better next time."

"Such eagerness, huh? Don't worry, little brother. As a reward for winning your first real fight, I'll give you this one. I'm sure he'll prove useful."

Once more, I had to swallow the bile rising in my throat at the idea of a man simply gifting another human being.

But as I looked at the boy sleeping, I felt he'd be better under my care than my brother's—or so I hoped.

"I accept your gift, brother. Thank you."

He nodded, handing me a device.

"This one was designed to be one of my berserkers. I planned to put him in the arena once he grew a bit more, but I think he'll serve well as your guard and sparring partner."

"Good. I can always refine my skills further."

"Yes, but don't worry. For now, let's train some more. Come, I'll show you the prowess of a chainsword."

That day, I spent hours training with various melee weapons from the armory. Gael seemed to take great pleasure in demonstrating the workings of a chainsword and a similar axe.

His favorite weapon was a double-headed chain axe that shredded flesh like it was nothing.

Of course, I didn't leave empty-handed. Besides the slave, I was allowed to take one weapon from my brother's arsenal—an exquisitely crafted masterpiece.

*Congratulations! You have won a duel.*

*Knowledge obtained: Flesh-Ripper Chainsword.*

I glanced at the system notification with mild surprise as a new functionality revealed itself.

A faint dizziness overcame me as the full workings of one of this universe's most iconic weapons etched themselves into my mind. I couldn't help but marvel at the genius of its creator, a supernatural mind, no doubt.

Still, I feigned nothing had happened, maintaining composure as I began my journey back to my side of the fortress. I would need to retrace my steps, but it wouldn't take long—at least by my standards.

"Men, form up!"

The sharp voice of my escort's commander echoed through the hall. At once, my guards snapped into position.

For a moment, I wondered who might have sent them before seeing a unit of honor guards clad in black armor trimmed with gold. They marched toward me with the confidence of men who understood their authority, and I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander.

Clearly, my parents had sent them, which was unusual enough to stir my curiosity.

"Young Lord William, Lady Eleonora has summoned you immediately."

The man spoke with a tone that brooked no refusal. His voice carried authority yet remained respectful—befitting a guard serving a noble house.

I betrayed no surprise, my expression carefully composed, a skill honed through the practices of Imperial nobility.

But within, I felt a faint unease as my eyes studied the honor guard's impenetrable armor and their flawless formation encircling me.

"This isn't a normal escort," I thought, my heart pounding ever so slightly. "I'm not just being brought to my mother for a simple conversation."