Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

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The soldiers of the suppression force exchanged uncertain glances, clearly hesitating.

"The Savior has arrived!"

Someone shouted, and the declaration spread like a tidal wave through the crowd.

The workers' faces lit up with excitement.

The arrival of the Savior dispelled their fear.

Even the toothless worker ignored the gun aimed at him, a broad smile spreading across his face as he knelt to pray, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Years of oppression under the tyrant's brutal rule had robbed him of his family, one by one.

But now, the day of salvation had come. The suffering was finally about to end!

The officer holding the gun trembled, realizing the enemy's psychological tactics were more powerful than he had imagined.

Then he steeled himself.

If he didn't kill these people, Halris wouldn't spare him—or his family.

"Kill them!"

The officer aimed at the worker and pulled the trigger.

Zzzap!

The laser bolt hit the ground instead.

A sharp pain struck his chest. Turning, he saw his adjutant standing behind him with a bloodied knife.

"You… you too are a traitor?" the officer gasped, his voice full of disbelief before collapsing.

The sudden betrayal stunned the suppression force, all eyes now fixed on the adjutant.

The adjutant, still gripping the knife, shouted:

"Do you really want to continue living under the tyrant's terror? Or will you stand with the Savior and help build a new world?"

The Saints had described this new world to the people of Martilla—a utopia beyond imagination.

They weren't lying. They had shared stories of Urth, a world saved by the Savior.

Under the gaze of the adjutant and the workers, more soldiers began to lower their weapons.

They no longer wished to serve the tyrant.

Before, they had no choice—disobedience meant death.

Now, they had a choice.

"What are you doing?"

One soldier shouted at the others, his voice trembling with fear.

"Defying orders means Harris will send the Bloodthirsty Warriors, and we'll all be slaughtered!"

The tyrant's terror had utterly broken his will.

Others echoed his fear, shouting their allegiance to Harris, willing to do anything to survive.

"Kill the traitors, or Harris won't spare us!"

As they raised their weapons against their comrades, chaos erupted.

Gunfire echoed.

Moments later, the cowards who had aimed at their comrades lay dead.

One soldier, unable to summon the courage to fight, dropped his weapon and curled up in a corner, muttering hysterically:

"Harris will kill you all… He'll kill us all!"

No one paid him any mind.

The people rallied, arming themselves with whatever weapons they could find, and launched counterattacks against the tyrant's forces, targeting key defensive positions.

...

Martilla's Upper Hive, the Palace

Harris sat on his grotesque mechanical throne, his eyes glowing crimson as he listened to the echoes of hymns and gunfire.

At last, the serpent had revealed its fangs.

He had been waiting for this moment.

"Wipe them all out!" he roared, ordering his forces to crush the rebels.

Simultaneously, he received reports of the arrival of a warship from Urth.

Harris sneered as he reviewed the intelligence.

"One warship? They dare challenge my domain with a single ship? Ridiculous!"

Martilla's spaceport held nearly the entire naval fleet of the sector.

This fleet boasted a battleship, nearly twenty cruisers, and a vast array of escort vessels.

No matter how powerful the enemy ship, it couldn't possibly withstand the onslaught of an entire fleet.

Harris issued a command to the fleet's admiral:

"All units, engage and obliterate the Urth ship!"

Once the enemy ship was destroyed, and the rebels crushed, no one would stand in his way again.

...

Martilla's Orbital Space

The Dreamweaver floated in the void, its golden hull gleaming under the system's star.

Eden sat on a sofa, lost in thought.

This wasn't his time to take the stage.

The ship was under the command of Admiral Kaes, the most experienced leader of Urth's navy.

Eden wasn't about to micromanage like certain infamously arrogant leaders.

He knew the operation plan:

After exiting the warp, the Dreamweaver had used its "Broadband Hymn Projector" to broadcast hymns of the Savior across Martilla, signaling his arrival.

This was the cue for the rebels to attack the planetary defenses.

However, the rebels couldn't disable all the defenses alone—they needed help from the Dreamweaver and its fighters.

But before that, the Dreamweaver had to deal with the tyrant's fleet and neutralize the orbital defense network.

Eden frowned. The odds weren't great. Could the Dreamweaver handle this?

Boom!

A slight tremor ran through the ship.

Enemy fire had begun. The space battle was underway.

Enemy corvettes surged forward like a swarm, bombarding the Dreamweaver with volleys of firepower.

Explosions lit up the void as the ship's void shields absorbed the onslaught.

The enemy fleet filled the starry expanse, their warships arranged in an intimidating formation, a tidal wave of steel bearing down on the lone Dreamweaver.

The enemy admiral watched from his battleship's bridge, his sharp eyes narrowing at the golden vessel.

That gaudy ship must be the one that destroyed the tax fleet of three cruisers.

Impressive, yes, but not enough to justify such arrogance.

In his mind, the Dreamweaver was a moth flying into a flame.

He would crush it effortlessly.

The Dreamweaver responded.

Golden beams of light erupted from its lance batteries, weaving a radiant web that swept across the battlefield.

In moments, the vanguard corvettes were obliterated.

The admiral froze, stunned by the ferocity of the counterattack.

He quickly shook off his shock.

No matter how powerful, one ship couldn't withstand concentrated fire from an entire fleet.

"All ships, concentrate fire!" he roared.

A storm of firepower engulfed the Dreamweaver, its void shields flickering under the relentless assault.

"Enemy shields are failing!"

A grin spread across the admiral's face. Victory was inevitable.

Then, to his horror, the Dreamweaver's shields flared back to life—brighter and stronger than before.

Impossible!

No fortress could sustain such layered shields!

As the enemy fleet scrambled to regroup, the Dreamweaver unleashed its main cannon.

A colossal plasma projectile tore through space, vaporizing ships in its path.

The admiral's flagship barely avoided destruction, but the near-miss left his shields badly damaged.

Before he could recover, alarms blared.

"Commander, the orbital defense station is… gone!"

The admiral turned to the viewport in disbelief.

The massive station, the heart of the planetary defense network, had been reduced to drifting debris.

Panic set in as the Dreamweaver began charging its main cannon again.

The admiral's legs gave way, his voice trembling:

"We're doomed…"

(End of Chapter)

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