Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

As it turned out, the Emperor had absolutely no intention of parting with his sword. Despite the fact that the aforementioned artifact had been lying idle for a full ten thousand years, the Shadow of the Emperor stubbornly refused to let it go.

The irony of the situation was further amplified by the fact that both parties involved in the argument were well aware that, somehow, in another fifty years, the sword would end up in the collection of Belisarius Cawl, the Archmagos Dominus of the Mechanicus, before being handed over to the resurrected Roboute Guilliman. 

But since the events of the Thirteenth Black Crusade were still about half a century away, the Emperor was unwilling to part with his "poking stick." 

Nevertheless, Ordyntsev had an ironclad position, as it was the Emperor who had asked him for the favor, and not the other way around. 

In the end, the Emperor raged. The Emperor shot golden lightning. The Emperor once again transformed into a golden version of Sauron's massive eye, but since he couldn't do anything to his own saint, he was forced to compromise. 

- "...And you'll oil it with weapon grease every day..." 

- ... 

- "...And don't forget to tie the scabbard tightly! If you lose it, you'll be the one looking for it!" 

- ... 

- "...Swing less, but thrust more, and take blows on the flat side of the blade, and don't you dare block with the edge itself..." 

- "Enough already!" Stanislav finally snapped, having lost all patience after a twenty-minute lecture on blade handling. "It's just a sword!" 

- "It's not just a sword!" the old man roared just as loudly. "I used this very blade to bash the Void Dragon over the head, then sharpened it on Mars. What am I even saying? This blade has been with me since Terra itself! It has seen the rise and fall of humanity. It was with me in the darkest and brightest of times. Thousands of renowned leaders and equally great warriors have fallen to it, meeting their final death. So if you lose it, I don't even know what I'll do to you!" 

- "Alright, alright," Stanislav raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Nothing will happen to it." 

- "I hope so," the Shadow of the Emperor sighed heavily. 

- "By the way, I was asked to pass on a message to you," Stanislav added. The Emperor raised an eyebrow. "Isha, that Eldar goddess held captive by the Dark Prince, is offering some kind of alliance. She says she's ready to support any decision or plan of yours." 

- "That's not an alliance," the old man stroked his beard thoughtfully. "That's complete submission. Remarkable. Could it be that the suffering she endured at the hands of the Dark Prince was enough to beat some sense into even an Eldar god? What a pity we can't put all the other Eldar through a similar process." 

Stanislav shrugged, choosing not to comment on the rather provocative statement. 

- "Especially since she's now escaped from the clutches of the Great Enemy..." 

- "What?" Stanislav looked up in confusion, only to meet the Emperor's strange gaze. 

- "After... Tzeentch was killed," the Emperor concluded with emphasis. 

For a few seconds, Ordyntsev just sat there, doing nothing, trying to process what he had just heard. 

- "WHAT?!" a loud shout shook the golden realm. "Tzeentch is dead?! Are you sure? This isn't one of his 'jokes'?"

- "If his joke involved triggering another galaxy-wide warp storm, losing all his holdings, having most of his loyal Greater Daemons turn on him, and dumping a massive chunk of his power, then yes, his plan worked brilliantly." 

- "How is this possible?" Stanislav was stunned, his thoughts scattering in all directions. "This wasn't in the canon. I've never heard of anything like this." 

- "It seems your appearance was the butterfly that broke the dinosaur's back," the old man joked. It was clear that he was thoroughly enjoying discussing the death of one of the Chaos Gods. "I'd advise you not to dwell on it too much." 

- "Alright, whatever," Stanislav managed to push the thoughts aside, lest he go mad from the creeping insanity of realization. "If I meet Isha, or her messengers, again, what should I tell her?" 

- "I accept her offer," the Emperor declared decisively. "Our peoples have fought separately for too long. While our enemies have taken advantage of that. It's time to make them understand they celebrated their victory too soon." 

***** 

Stanislav blinked and shrugged, causing the Custodes standing around him to shift slightly, ready to react at any moment. 

*"I wonder how much time has passed in the real world? It'd be funny if the Custodes thought I'd fallen asleep with my eyes open and tried to wake me up."* 

However, these thoughts didn't occupy Ordyntsev's mind for long, as the golden light emanating from the throne began to intensify. 

The hall trembled slightly, and the sword resting on the Emperor's lap slowly rose into the air and floated toward Stanislav. 

The Custodes standing before the throne respectfully stepped aside, allowing the massive blade in its scabbard to pass by them. 

*"Whoosh!"* Stanislav didn't even have time to react as the slowly floating sword suddenly accelerated and slammed into his chest, as if someone had thrown it with all their might. 

- "Ugh," the weight of the sword and the force of the impact knocked the wind out of him, even in his new winged, semi-energy form. 

*"Crack!"* One of the wires on the golden throne sparked and, smoking, broke off. 

Though Stanislav couldn't see the faces behind the Custodes' helmets, he had no doubt they were less than pleased with what was happening. Fortunately, the stable golden aura made it clear that everything was more or less going according to plan, and there was no need to slice the Saint into pieces. 

Stanislav smirked crookedly at the Emperor: "One to one." 

The sword in his hands began to change slightly, adapting to the new size of its owner. Over his long life, the Emperor had taken on many forms, and so his sword, partially energy-based, also knew how to change. 

***** 

The Council of Terra didn't convene as often as one might think. Despite all the horrors of the galaxy, there weren't many reasons for such gatherings, as most problems could be resolved through other means. 

However, the current state of affairs forced the Lords of Terra to hurry, and contrary to their usual habits, they assembled as quickly as possible. 

With the exception of the representative of the Ecclesiarchy and the Lord Commander of the Imperial Guard, everyone present was deeply concerned by the emergence of a new force on the political Olympus, one that was completely unexpected. 

The speed at which this unknown Saint was gaining power and followers worried the "powers that be" gathered here. They were used to seeing all the current dynamics and holding all the cards, but suddenly they realized that while they were busy collecting their "trump cards," someone had brought a club to the card game. 

Once these individuals realized the situation, they rushed to gather any information they could, and to their surprise, they actually found some—though it brought them no comfort. 

The path of Saint Stanislav was utterly insane, and the deeper they delved into it, the more the Lords of Terra felt the approach of mortal danger. 

Unconnected and seemingly random coincidences gradually formed a terrifying picture of absolute dominance. 

People like them had lived too long and knew too much to believe in "coincidences," which is why they could only see Saint Stanislav as a genius and, without a doubt, a monstrous schemer and conspirator. 

And since they couldn't find any way in which the Saint had planned all his exploits, they only searched harder for this non-existent connection. 

Every step the Saint took was scrutinized under the most powerful magnifying glass, and every bit of information was sifted through dozens of times. 

But it was all in vain. The Saint's schemes were so subtle and imperceptible that they slipped through their nets unnoticed. 

This is why even the smallest connections, in the eyes of these individuals, were practically confessions. 

The Grey Knight who stood up for him, the death of the radical Inquisitor, the conversation with the female Inquisitor, the support of the Thorian Inquisitor, the meeting with the Blood Angels' Chapter Master, the unexpected audience with the Emperor himself—the Lords of Terra felt the nets of their opponent tightening around them, yet they stubbornly couldn't find them! 

Their hounds were digging through the dirt, and the Lords themselves were sleeping worse and worse with each passing day. 

Needless to say, this couldn't go on forever. Yes, killing a confirmed Saint was excessive even for them, and besides, they weren't confident in the success of an assassination attempt—the Saint had shown an unbelievable level of cunning. 

So, if they couldn't subjugate him and couldn't kill him, they had to send him as far away as possible! 

And what better excuse for that? That's right, a Crusade. The experience of Brother Macharius wouldn't let them lie. 

However, a Crusade isn't something you can just throw together. It requires a vast number of essential things, among which, of course, an army is just one of many. 

After all, while the Crusade moves in its own mysterious direction, people still need to eat, and bullets and shells have a tendency to run out. Therefore, someone has to make sure that none of the aforementioned things run dry. 

When the Council's envoys tried to contact the Saint about these matters, he immediately brushed them off, saying he didn't give a damn. If necessary, he was ready to set off on a single ship. 

The Council was tempted to do just that, but considering the Saint's level of cunning, they deemed his offer a trap and took it upon themselves to assemble the army. And, it must be said, even without their actions, there were plenty of volunteers. 

Rumors of the Saint's exploits had spread, and many wanted to follow someone who never lost. 

Of course, the statistics of following Saint Stanislav were far from ideal. His soldiers had a tendency to die in large numbers. But, firstly, compared to the statistics of other units, Ordyntsev's army was actually above average in terms of losses. And secondly, given the difficulty of the tasks they undertook, it was a miracle that anyone survived at all. 

This is why, as soon as the Lords of Terra announced the gathering of ships, dozens of vessels rushed to join. 

Yes, some of them belonged to the official fleets of the Imperium, which had been given orders, but the majority were, so to speak, "free ships." That is, merchants and mercenaries who saw the new Crusade as an excellent opportunity for themselves. 

But there were exceptions. For example, the arriving battle barge of the Blood Angels expressed its desire to follow the Saint's orders to the letter. Chapter Master Dante was firmly convinced that Saint Stanislav would bring the Imperium countless great victories. And it was the duty of the Blood Angels to help him in this. 

After a brief pause, the space docks of Terra registered the arrival of a highly classified vessel, knowledge of which was lethally dangerous. The Grey Knights and the Thorian faction behind them also expressed their desire to support the aspirations of the Emperor's new chosen one.

And though the Grey Knights had only one frigate, the quality of its construction, weaponry, anti-daemonic defenses, and teleportation chambers made it a deadly opponent even for a battleship. 

The ground forces weren't far behind their spacefaring counterparts.

On several planets, recruitment drives were announced for new regiments. Their training was to take place aboard the ships. However, it would be a mistake to think that Stanislav's army would consist solely of rookies. 

Far from it. The widely circulated tales of Saint Stanislav's exploits caused a great stir among the regiments of Krieg, and on Krieg itself, no one remained indifferent. 

The Saint's straightforwardness, decisiveness, and ruthlessness completely won over the hearts of the Kriegers, buried under radioactive ash, which is why ten regiments of these skilled warriors immediately submitted requests to join, which were quickly approved. 

The interest of Vostroya, a distant and cold industrial planet famous for its magnificent and deadly Vostroyan Firstborn regiments, was surprising. 

During the dark days of the Horus Heresy, Vostroya had failed in its duty to the Emperor. When war and anarchy raged across the galaxy, the Emperor ordered all loyal worlds to send a quarter of their soldiers to defend him. Vostroya refused, stating that it would be more beneficial for the Imperium if it devoted all its forces to producing weapons for the Emperor's armies, and that sending such a large portion of its population to the Imperial Army would make it impossible to produce the necessary equipment. Unexpectedly, after the Heresy, Vostroya's refusal was forgiven, but to atone for its sin, the world was obligated to send the firstborn of every family to serve in the Imperial Guard. 

The Vostroyans were stirred by the familiar-sounding name of the new Saint. Being incredibly family- and clan-oriented, they considered it an honor to fight alongside a distant countryman. 

When they were later told that no connection between them had been found, the bearded men merely smirked slyly and adjusted their fur hats. 

These were just the most notable of the regiments, as dozens of planets sent their troops to join the new Crusade. 

Under normal circumstances, such preparations could easily take years, but the Lords of Terra's interest shortened it to a mere year. 

During this time, Stanislav fully adapted to his new body and even became quite skilled in combat. His improved memory and battle-forged body were excellent aids in this. 

The long pause also allowed Ordyntsev to satisfy another curiosity.

Even back in his home world, Stanislav had been interested in how much of pre-spaceflight Earth remained in the world of Warhammer. 

This is why he requested access to all surviving artifacts. 

It was quite amusing when a copy of one of these ancient artifacts was brought to the Saint's private estate, and Stanislav recognized it with astonishment.

*"Sun Tzu. The Art of War,"* Ordyntsev read with a complex expression, holding a well-stylized book in his hands. Though he didn't recognize the material it was made from, the English letters spoke for themselves. 

Those who had made the copy had recreated the artifact with near-molecular precision. The material and even every dot and grain on the cover had been replicated. 

Opening the book, he couldn't help but smile when he found the year the original had been printed. 

"2342. Looks like Sun Tzu was still popular back then. Though I'm not at all surprised that this particular book managed to survive to this day. The Imperium would sooner forget how to make a wheel than how to wage war." 

A small note on how the book had been found only confirmed his thoughts. 

It turned out that the original had been discovered in the treasure vault of a Techno-barbarian warlord on Terra during the Emperor's Unification Wars.

The Emperor himself had slain the leader, and his followers had carefully preserved the relic to this day. 

Fortunately, Stanislav knew English well, so he had no trouble reading the book, though he noticed that some words had changed slightly over three hundred years. 

Settling into one of the chairs, the man immersed himself completely in reading, feeling as if he were back home, and the ongoing nightmare of the past few years had never happened. 

*"Rustle."* Ordyntsev looked down in confusion at his bleeding finger. The wound healed almost instantly, but Stanislav couldn't understand how his super-durable body could have been cut by an ordinary page. Yet the drop of blood on the paper showed that it wasn't his imagination. 

A mental effort and a release of golden energy gently licked away the blood, erasing it without a trace. 

Without paying it any mind, Stanislav continued reading, and meanwhile, the preparations for the Crusade fleet came to an end. 

---