Eden's consciousness swept over the decrepit pilgrim ship, quickly assessing its condition.
Fortunately, there were still many survivors aboard.
He then activated the Astronomican, sending a psychic beacon toward the pilgrim vessel.
As long as the ship retained some navigational capability, it should be able to follow the beacon to reach the sacred land of Urth.
After completing this task, he withdrew his consciousness and ceased manipulating the Astronomican.
Zzzzzzt—
Eden stood up from the psychic throne, feeling an immense relief wash over him.
Using the Astronomican wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was far easier than controlling the Blackstone Throne.
Even a high-level psyker could endure this strain.
This was only the first attempt.
If it proved effective, the Astronomican could guide more pilgrim ships to Urth in the future.
The faithful would spread word of Urth's sanctity and the presence of the Savior, turning this place into a true holy site of the galaxy.
Lilith approached gracefully, her high heels clicking lightly against the floor. Her movements were elegant and captivating.
"Savior, I believe you need some rest," she said softly.
She gently took Eden's arm, her pure yet fervent gaze carrying a hint of zeal.
Feeling the softness of her body against him, Eden swallowed. "You better not use your psychic tricks this time…"
The great Savior must maintain some restraint.
Besides, he worried that Slaanesh might take notice.
Despite his words, he followed Lilith into a small chamber.
A short while later, strange flickering lights shone from within…
Damn you, Slaanesh!
...
The Endless Void
A decrepit pilgrim ship, nearly a kilometer long, drifted silently through space.
Time had left its mark upon the vessel—its hull was rusted and worn, yet the ancient and solemn relief carvings remained untouched.
The reliefs depicted the legendary Emperor and various saints, serving as symbols of the ship's devout faith.
The vessel was named The Devout.
Centuries ago, an impoverished planet had nearly exhausted all its resources to construct The Devout, embarking on a sacred pilgrimage.
They sought the merciful Emperor's salvation.
Carrying the hopes of an entire civilization, The Devout set sail, fully laden with pilgrims.
Following the Ecclesiarchy's prescribed pilgrimage route, they passed through one holy site after another, bound for Holy Terra.
But just as they neared the Sol System, with victory in sight—
A nightmare descended.
The Astronomican went dark, and a Warp storm engulfed The Devout in its journey.
The pilgrims were fortunate—the ship did not break apart in the violent tempest.
But fate was cruel—the storm hurled them into an unknown region, cutting them off from the Emperor's light.
They could no longer perceive the beacon of the Astronomican.
The Devout was lost.
Afterward, the faithful pilgrims were besieged by suffering and nightmares.
They wailed and prayed for the Emperor's salvation, but no answer came.
One by one, they perished.
Hope slowly faded…
...
Bridge of The Devout
Thud, thud, thud—
Urgent and heavy pounding echoed through the bridge.
Accompanied by horrifying shrieks, the steel doors trembled under the impact of some unknown force.
A sharp, scraping sound followed—like claws dragging across the metal, sending shivers down the spines of everyone present.
These dreadful noises pushed the bridge crew to their psychological limits.
"O merciful Emperor, master of the galactic storms and whirlpools!
We, your helpless followers, are adrift in peril! We cry out to you for aid!
Save us! Deliver us from these terrifying undead abominations!"
The elderly captain, his face wrinkled and hair gray, prayed devoutly, desperate for salvation.
Behind him, hundreds of pilgrims, clad in ragged gray robes, huddled together in fear and starvation, kneeling to the Emperor in supplication.
The captain's throat grew hoarse from shouting, despair glimmering in his deep-set eyes.
Centuries ago, his ancestors, under the orders of their queen, had built The Devout, carrying with them the faith and hope of their entire planet.
They had embarked on this grand pilgrimage.
And now, would their journey end here?
But The Devout had not yet reached Holy Terra.
Were they not devout enough to earn the Emperor's favor? Had they failed their queen and their people?
Now, monstrous heretical undead surrounded their ship, killing more and more faithful by the day.
To make matters worse, their food supply had run out days ago.
Even if the bloodthirsty undead didn't breach the ship, they would starve.
The captain halted his prayers and glanced at the comms panel, his expression growing graver.
The Navigator had not sent any updates in days.
If the Navigator had fallen to the undead, then The Devout's last hope was gone.
Boom—
The ship suddenly jolted. The engines roared back to life.
A low hum reverberated through the vessel as the captain stumbled toward the control panel, nearly collapsing onto it.
A moment later, his face lit up with ecstatic joy. "Praise the Emperor! The Gellar Field is online!"
Had the Navigator found their course?
Before he could process what was happening, the instruments signaled a warp vortex forming ahead.
That meant they were about to enter the Warp.
"Warp jump commencing! Hold on tight and protect your heads!"
The captain's warning rang out—he didn't want anyone smashing their skulls during the violent turbulence.
"The all-knowing, almighty Emperor has come to save us!"
He shouted.
Whoosh—
The ship entered the Warp, and everything around them darkened. The eerie glow of the gray-pink Warp energies seeped in.
In an instant, discomfort gripped the passengers. Whispers filled their ears. Terrifying visions flickered behind their eyes.
Such was the toll of Warp travel.
As The Devout plunged deeper into the Warp, the bridge shuddered even more violently.
Meanwhile, the undead outside grew more frenzied, pounding furiously against the steel doors.
The captain and the pilgrims knelt, eyes shut, silently praying to the Emperor.
They hoped The Devout would emerge from the Warp intact.
Time blurred.
Then—
The Devout jolted to a halt. The armored windows of the bridge slowly opened.
The terrified, praying pilgrims suddenly felt warmth envelop them.
Cautiously, they opened their eyes.
And they saw…
The Sun!
"By the Emperor's grace, what am I witnessing?"
A hum of awe spread among the pilgrims.
Expressions of pure devotion and joy illuminated their faces.
Before them, bathed in sunlight, was a magnificent blue planet shimmering with golden hues.
How breathtaking.
These pilgrims had visited many holy sites, yet none compared to the beauty and sanctity of this world.
No choking clouds of pollution. Verdant lands. Vast blue oceans.
At a single glance, they could feel that this world was different—extraordinary.
Like a radiant jewel set in the void, it shone with an almost divine brilliance.
"Praise the Emperor… Could that be Holy Terra?"
A frail, elderly pilgrim rasped, his entire body trembling as he gazed at the planet in a fervor, wanting to etch its image into his very soul.
But the next moment, the sheer intensity of his emotions caused him to faint.
Before the others could react—
Boom—
A monstrous roar shattered their joy, pulling them back into the grim reality.
The undead abominations were still outside.
They had no way out.
And that door wouldn't hold much longer!
Zzzzt—
Just as despair was about to consume the pilgrims, a sudden communication signal came through.
A deep, resolute voice echoed through the comms, carrying an unshakable faith:
"Pilgrims, we have detected signs of contamination and are approaching swiftly. Please remain calm, seek the nearest safe area, and stay hidden…"
After a brief pause, the voice solemnly recited a sacred verse:
"Where the wicked hide, I strike with Your might; The Emperor and the Savior, shield me from corruption!"
Boom—
As the words faded, the ship trembled slightly, as if struck by an unseen force.
A serene hymn filled the ship's corridors.
A hymn about the Golden Sun and the Savior…
Alongside the holy chant came the roar of gunfire and the anguished wails of the undead.
This sudden turn of events left the pilgrims frozen in shock.
A flicker of hope ignited in the captain's weary eyes.
He murmured, "Could they be the fabled warriors of legend—the Angels of the Emperor?
And this 'Savior'… could it be a living saint, chosen by the Emperor Himself?"
...
The Devout's Cargo Hold
In the dim corridors, the faint light of a teleport beacon flickered steadily.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The fiery bursts of bolt rounds lit up crimson armor.
Nurgle-tainted undead erupted into putrid gore, falling one by one.
A squad of silent warriors advanced over the rotting remains.
The Angels of War had received their orders—an unknown pilgrim ship had entered a quarantine zone, showing signs of contamination.
It had to be purged and sanctified before it could be allowed entry into the docking zone.
The Angels of War split up, systematically kicking down chamber doors, eliminating the undead within, and moving forward with surgical precision.
They were ruthless, efficient, and utterly decisive—as if they had drilled this operation a thousand times before.
To them, these undead were little more than pests.
...
Inside a Cabin
A frail, scarred boy with pale skin huddled in the corner, wrapped in tattered rags.
His name was José.
A pilgrim—one of the Voidborn.
Due to his unusual physique, he had always faced discrimination.
Every time The Devout docked at a planet for pilgrimage or supplies, he had to cover himself completely, hiding his form and features.
For a Voidborn, revealing oneself was dangerous.
Though the Voidborn were exceptional sailors and crewmen, many planet-dwellers, ignorant of the stars, saw them as abominations or mutants and reacted with hostility.
When José was eight, he stepped onto a planetary surface for the first time—only to witness his uncle's entire family burned alive on a pyre by a mob of fanatical zealots.
By the time the priest arrived to stop it, it was too late.
Since then, José had become terrified of exposure.
Yet, The Devout had no means of self-sufficiency. While the nobility and the faithful sometimes donated supplies, it was never enough for their prolonged voyage.
Thus, at every stop, the pilgrims were forced to take on temporary work.
The work was never pleasant.
It was usually hard labor—or worse, clearing out polluted and hazardous sewage systems.
But at least it earned them extra corpse-starch rations—enough to stave off starvation during their journey.
For José, however, every job was fraught with danger.
He had to be extremely careful not to reveal himself—lest he be met with insults, beatings, or something far worse.
But all of that was about to end.
José felt an odd sense of relief—he was about to die.
The door to his cabin shook violently as several undead slammed against it, desperate to feast on his flesh.
Carefully, he took out a small, moldy crust of bread, nibbling at it slowly.
Savoring it.
This half-eaten crust had been a gift from a kind priest, and José had saved it for a special moment.
Whenever he craved food, he would take a small bite.
"Thank you, merciful Emperor, for allowing me to taste such a fine meal…"
He swallowed and murmured a final prayer.
Since he was going to die anyway, he might as well enjoy this last morsel.
But just as José was halfway through his meal—
CRASH!
The door was violently smashed open.
Startled, his hands trembled, and the bread rolled to the floor near the doorway.
Roar—!
Just as he reached for it, an undead's foot stomped down, crushing it into the filth before lunging at him.
"So this is it…"
Faced with death, José felt no fear—only regret that he hadn't finished his last meal.
Vrrrmmm—
With a wet splatter, the undead's head was shredded apart.
A roaring chainsword halted just inches from José's face, its jagged teeth humming ominously.
The wind from the blade's swing made his pallid skin tingle.
Then, the chainsword was withdrawn.
José looked up—
And saw an awe-inspiring figure clad in crimson armor.
The warrior was colossal and formidable, his heavy armor adorned with sacred seals and inscriptions, radiating power and faith.
"Thank you… Angel of the Emperor!"
José's soul trembled, his hoarse voice barely escaping his throat.
He knew exactly what stood before him.
An Angel sent by the Emperor Himself!
Suddenly, José remembered something.
He frantically searched the floor, finding his small, crushed, bloodstained bread crust and began wiping it clean.
"It should still be edible, right?"
He muttered.
The Angel of War silently watched him.
Then, without a word, the warrior reached down, snatched the contaminated bread from José's hands, and tossed it aside.
From his storage pack, he pulled out a wrapped ration bar and dropped it into the boy's lap.
Then, he turned and left.
José blinked in disbelief, slowly picking up the ration bar.
The packaging was pristine, adorned with the image of a golden-armored figure.
"Savior… Ration Block?"
He read the words aloud, realizing what he held in his hands.
This was a military-issued emergency ration, supplied to armed forces by the Munitorum.
It was a nutrient-rich bar—Arkenberry flavored—containing essential proteins, sugars, and vitamins.
Compared to more refined food products, the taste was slightly lacking.
But José caught the irresistible scent, swallowed hard, and quickly tucked the ration bar into his chest, holding it tightly.
At the same time, he faintly heard more gunfire outside, growing more distant.
Two hours later, the Angels of War completed their purge and departed the ship.
Meanwhile, a sanitation team arrived, making contact with The Devout and docking for a half-day cleansing operation.
...
Urth, Pilgrim Reception Hall
Aleman stood upright at her post, her smile bright as a spring morning. (TL: Weird name... but whatever)
But before her was… emptiness.
She sighed.
Aleman had graduated from the Loyalist Academy's School of Administration, earning a respectable placement in Urth's Ministry of Internal Affairs.
Eventually, she was assigned to the newly established Department of Culture and Tourism, specifically the reception office.
While not an influential department, it was still an enviable position compared to those graduates sent to distant, less hospitable worlds.
The Department of Culture and Tourism was responsible for the preservation and promotion of sacred sites and famous landmarks across the sector.
Their duty was to maintain and spread the radiance of the Golden Sun and the Great Savior.
Their most crucial task? Managing pilgrimage operations centered around the Grand Cathedral.
A section of Urth's upper sanctum had already been designated as the core religious zone, with vast resources invested in its development.
The goal was to learn from Holy Terra itself and establish a premier holy site within the galaxy.
Now, the initial phase of construction was complete, with a carefully designed 50-kilometer-long pilgrimage route.
When pilgrims arrived, the reception office would guide them through a grand procession—
From the Holy Plaza, through the Path of Redemption, past the Savior's Sanctuary, the Sacred Gardens, the Memorial Market, and over a dozen other key locations…
Until finally, they would reach the Grand Cathedral, where they could worship at the Emperor's Shrine and gaze upon His sacred relics.
The pilgrims would even be able to witness the Emperor's Divine Handprint.
That is, the one imprinted on an Imperial Trade Permit.
A genuine bloodstain of the Emperor.
Holy enough. Awe-inspiring enough.
After all, even on Holy Terra, most pilgrims only ever glimpsed the Grand Cathedral from afar…
Or peered at the palace gates from a distance.
They never saw the Golden Throne or even a shadow of the Emperor's remains.
But on Urth, there was actual Emperor's blood.
Pilgrims could experience His greatness up close.
…Of course, the exhibit was a replica.
But technically, it was infused with nanoscopic particles derived from the Emperor's bloodstain on the Trade Permit.
Close enough. Honest enough.
From setting foot on the Pilgrimage Path to venerating the Emperor's Relics, the journey would take two weeks, ensuring pilgrims fully absorbed the majesty of the Emperor and the Savior.
Of course, Eden—the Savior himself—hadn't gone to all this effort just to provide religious tourism.
Along the route, various immersive faith-strengthening rituals would be conducted.
It was, in reality, a grand indoctrination campaign—designed to solidify and deepen faith among citizens and harvest more Hope Energy.
At the same time, foreign pilgrims would witness the Savior's glory and the sanctity of Urth, then spread the message beyond.
This would further elevate the domain's prestige within the Imperium.
Aleman's role in the reception office was to welcome these outside pilgrims.
Yet, for six months, the reception hall had remained deserted.
Not a single off-world pilgrim had arrived.
Holding her salary in hand, she felt increasingly guilty, as though she had contributed nothing to the Savior's cause.
Then, suddenly—
Beep!
Her communicator buzzed.
She glanced at it—
Her eyes lit up with joy.
"Pilgrims are coming!"
"Quick, quick, get ready!"
Her supervisor—the officer in charge of the reception office—rushed over, urging action.
"Sir, why are you here?" Aleman asked, surprised.
Normally, he never needed to show up in person.
"Praise the Savior! This is the first batch of pilgrims—we must receive them properly!"
The official was clearly excited.
After six long months, they were finally welcoming the first pilgrims—and there was a chance the Savior Himself might make an appearance.
They might have the honor of gazing upon His holy visage!
For such a monumental occasion, he had to be present—to prove the department's worth!
Outside the Pilgrim Reception Hall
A lander, designated for transporting passengers, descended smoothly.
The hatch opened—
And the pilgrims stepped out cautiously…
(End of Chapter)
====
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