Eden received more reports from the other missionary saints, and the more he saw, the more he realized this planet was anything but simple.
The situation here was razor-tight. Disaster was brewing.
Those updates stirred an old memory in him.
"Fanes… it reeks of Urth all over again."
Down in the depths of the hive, cult factions had always existed—along with the steady spread of Genestealer infiltration.
Worse, in the chasms beyond the hive-sprawl, there were even signs of green fungus.
The Necrons didn't seem especially sensitive to xenos seepage. They followed rigid routines: wherever an incursion appeared, they suppressed it.
More troublesome still was a special detachment from the Darkside Archdiocese of the Ecclesiarchy. They hadn't come to "reclaim" anything.
They'd come with the intent to burn it all down.
"Chaos corruption, Necron Flayed Ones, Genestealers, Orks… and the Imperium watching with hungry eyes.
"A world on the outer edge of the Vigilus region shouldn't be this violent a battleground."
Eden was genuinely irritated.
This was Urth—only worse. The enemies here were all high-difficulty threats.
From that perspective, the fact that the Fanes system had survived at all—still maintaining order—was practically a miracle.
Only a major power like the Karlozasa Dynasty could possibly hold the line. Their Necron force had likely poured the vast majority of its troops into defending the hives.
Eden could picture it clearly: in every hive sector, staggering numbers of living-metal patrols, constantly moving, constantly ready to repel an incursion.
Through Fran's eyes, Eden watched the hive settle back into order.
"That's probably why the Karlozasa Dynasty never expanded outward," Eden murmured. "Just keeping Fanes alive is already costing them everything."
For countless years after the Great Rift, those living-metal xenos had been guarding this shadowed fringe world.
Otherwise, with the local defense forces alone, it would have been annihilated long ago—by Chaos or by xenos.
"Of course, that's only the surface," Eden cautioned himself. "We still can't confirm whether this Necron high lord is treating all of it like a game.
"And the ones who've gone mad… they'll do anything. If he gets bored, he might wipe out every living thing on Fanes just to watch it happen."
Eden wasn't optimistic. He needed to confirm the other side's attitude before committing any fleet to open contact.
Otherwise, he'd pull his ships in to deal with the xenos… only for the Karlozasa Dynasty to turn its guns on him.
That would be the end of it.
And it would make his already-thin armed strength in the Vigilus region even weaker.
His awareness tracked Fran's footsteps as the preacher-saint moved through the hive, sinking deeper into the atmosphere of the primary spire.
What surprised Eden was that even in the underhive, he didn't see mass famine. People didn't have that half-dead, hollow exhaustion.
In the residential bazaar, one ramshackle stall after another linked into a maze of makeshift roofs. The tables held handmade tools. Food consisted of coarse sawdust bread, rat meat, insects, and various kinds of moss.
But it was all… relatively clean. Not much visible contamination.
And Canoptek Spyders patrolled the market to maintain stability—replacing the gangs that usually ruled underhive streets.
Fran stared at the crowded, lively bazaar, a little moved.
It had been a long time since he'd seen a hive—outside the Savior's domain—look this harmonious.
From what he could see, even in poorer underhive districts, people could still eat their fill.
Factories and power stations ran steadily everywhere, producing survival goods and electricity for Fanes without pause.
More than ten days later…
Fran returned again, this time openly in the role of a priest, reaching the massive transfer district and taking a major orbital elevator up toward the upper hive.
He had to work for it—dodging xenos patrol inspections more than once—but in the end, he slipped through and reached the upper hive.
Up here, the order was even more stable. It was almost a true metropolis. Xenos transit craft ran through the corridors of the city-structure, and the streams of people never ceased.
There were more technical factory systems, and a noticeably prosperous residential zone with active commerce.
Those who lived here were mostly nobles, bureaucrats managing daily affairs, senior factory administrators, and large numbers of technical workers and service staff.
They were the hive's middle class and above—and the higher you went, the richer and more "honored" the strata became.
When Eden first saw the upper hive through Fran's eyes, his first impression was simple:
Clean. Very clean.
It still fell short of the most prosperous sectors of the Savior's domain—but it was cleaner than the hives on many "developed" worlds in old-Imperium Ultramar.
In workers' housing districts, there were actual shops. People looked healthy. Their expressions had life.
Every two weeks they even had a day of worship to rest, when the churches provided holy water and consecrated wafers.
Fran paused at a shop and discovered something that bordered on unbelievable: relatively clean bread and synthetic meat, plus some unfamiliar local specialty foods.
Meaning the living standard of Fanes's workers already surpassed most regions of the Imperium.
And this was under xenos administration.
Inside the shop, workers greeted one another with ecclesiarchal rites, faces filled with devotion and smiles.
It was a rare day of worship—rest day. The shop's goods were discounted for loyal believers.
They were discussing a rumor spreading quickly:
Their great governor, Zabok the Crownless, had reestablished contact with the Imperium.
Fanes would soon return to Holy Terra and the Emperor's embrace—and fulfill the Sacred Eleventh Tithe.
They were delighted.
"The Emperor above—these years haven't been easy for us on Fanes," a middle-aged worker said, waving a mechanical arm in excitement. "But we've finally made it through! Today my family is absolutely having synthetic meat to celebrate!"
He leaned in, eyes bright.
"Once we're back in the Imperium, we'll wipe out those damned heretic xenos and never have to endure their raids again.
"And then we'll eat synthetic meat every day—hell, we might even be able to buy real grox steak!"
"Yeah," another worker said, voice heavy. "I heard the Flayed Ones have launched several more attacks lately. The losses at the satellite ranches are huge.
"I'm praying the Imperial forces get here sooner."
An elderly worker with a head of white hair hugged a bottle of cheap rotgut, shook his head, and sighed.
"When I was young, it wasn't this bad.
"Back then you could still find rough cakes made with grox milk in the shops. If you gritted your teeth, you could afford a taste. Now only the people up there can eat that."
He jabbed a finger upward—then smiled again.
"But these awful days are ending. Fanes will slowly become prosperous again, just like the Governor promised."
To the people of Fanes, it was common sense that returning to the Imperium would make life better.
The priests constantly painted pictures of Imperial life for them:
Milk-bread and meat. Wine. Safe housing. Strolling in gardens. Even churches inside the residential districts where you could worship.
They spoke of Holy Terra's grandeur—most sacred, most prosperous world in the galaxy—where people lived as if in paradise.
Compared to that, life on Fanes was miserable.
So from the nobles down to the common workers, Fanes held a near-fanatical reverence for the Imperium.
As if the air there was sweet. As if people only worked a little each day and lived in enormous homes, receiving free treatment from apothecaries.
Listening to the workers' excited talk through Fran's senses, Eden felt nothing but bitter irony.
The Vigilus Third Battle Group had been shouting about purging xenos and "rescuing" Fanes's Imperial citizens.
If Eden hadn't intervened—if the Necrons truly were driven off and Fanes "returned" to the old Imperium—
Wouldn't that be dragging these people out of heaven and throwing them straight into hell?
Eden could already imagine what Fanes would become.
A new governor would arrive and seize control of a wealthy world.
Then come the reassessments. The tax hikes. Endless labor.
With the old Imperium's style of governance, it would most likely turn this place into a cesspit and lock it into a dead cycle.
The planet's environment and productivity would be squeezed dry within a century or two—left barely breathing, a suffering-world.
Fortunately, the Savior had risen from nowhere.
If he could resolve the Karlozasa Dynasty issue and bring Fanes into the New Imperium under proper administration, the outcome would be far better than what the old Imperium would do.
The Necrons might be competent, but their planetary management still couldn't compare to Eden's.
No matter what, Fanes mattered.
Eden decided to record everything about this world in exhaustive detail—so that every future archon of the New Imperium—
Whether trained through the Loyalist academies or drawn from old-Imperium administrators—
Would have to weigh one question with deadly seriousness:
Can you do better than the xenos did?
So that Eden would never have to watch his own officials become the shame of his regime.
If Roboute Guilliman ever learned what Fanes looked like, he'd probably cry himself unconscious. He'd spent ages grinding away to manage Ultramar, and still had plenty of worlds that couldn't compare to this.
Eden gathered Fanes's data as completely as he could, building a concrete foundation for later reclamation.
More importantly, he needed to understand—under the worst-case scenario, when war broke out—
Exactly how many troops he'd need to conquer the Karlozasa Dynasty.
It had to be a single, decisive strike.
The Vigilus region's current condition couldn't support a prolonged war of attrition. That would only give other xenos and heretics—especially Erebus—room to exploit the chaos.
Over these days, the missionary saints and the small Genestealer infiltrators he'd released had been racing across the planet, probing and measuring, pulling hard data from every crevice.
A flood of biological information converged.
It was analyzed through the hive-mind's synaptic calculus and fed into Eden's awareness, letting him understand the hive-world's structure in sharper and sharper detail.
Especially its Necron combat strength.
"With this many Lychguard and Deathmarks inside the hive," Eden judged, "the Karlozasa Dynasty is probably a top-tier power within the Necron hierarchy."
Then he grew even more alarmed.
"That's not something an ordinary Overlord can be compared to. This is… very likely a Phaeron-level existence."
That was no small matter.
A Necron Overlord was already above a Lord, and usually controlled three to ten tomb worlds—immensely powerful.
That was the equivalent of a major Space Marine Chapter-scale force. The Blood Angels had once even cooperated with an Overlord-tier Necron power.
Eden himself had looted an Overlord's tomb world before—an absolute windfall. A large portion of the Savior's domain's technological base had been built on that poor bastard's stolen tech.
But a Phaeron sat above Overlords.
Phaerons commanded multiple Overlords. They possessed the highest-grade technology and weaponry, and ruled wide star regions and entire legions.
A true colossus—and their power only grew as more Necrons awakened.
In status, a Phaeron was second only to the Triarch and the Silent King.
If a Phaeron launched a large-scale war against the Imperium, it would be catastrophic. The entire Segmentum Obscurus would shake. It would likely require Imperial crusade-scale reinforcements to contain.
Eden inhaled sharply.
"Fanes's luck is unreal.
"If the Karlozasa Dynasty hadn't gone insane, this system probably wouldn't have survived even the first wave.
"And the Vigilus region would've become a Necron paradise."
Now he was far more wary of this so-called Crownless Phaeron and the Karlozasa Dynasty.
If the Imperium weren't being dragged down by Chaos and xenos threats everywhere, then even in the worst case, Eden could call up Imperial armies and trade blows with them.
But not now.
A powerful Phaeron alone was enough to influence the direction of the entire Vigilus warzone.
The Necrons hungered for blackstone, too.
Fortunately, that Phaeron didn't seem hostile to the Imperium, and the forces awakened from the dynasty's tomb worlds weren't that numerous.
At least, not to the point where they could butcher their way across the Vigilus region unchecked.
"Maybe," Eden mused, "during the long sleep, that Phaeron's strength was eroded by time—reduced to what we're seeing now."
Necron awakenings were unpredictable.
It was possible that long before the Phaeron stirred, the Overlords of various tomb worlds had already awakened—lost their memories—and wandered off elsewhere.
Or perhaps galactic disasters had destroyed some tomb worlds along with their planets.
Either way, it was good for Eden.
If he could strike while the Phaeron was weakened and take him down, the profit would be unimaginable.
Far greater than what he'd gained from the Alaitoc Craftworld—by multiple orders of magnitude.
A Phaeron was close to a Primarch-level existence. Above that were the Triarch—three supreme rulers—and, theoretically, the Silent King himself: a Phaeron, but the greatest of them all.
"If the Crownless Phaeron's primary tomb world is on Fanes," Eden said, voice tight with excitement, "then this planet's value is beyond measure.
"That would be the core treasure of the entire Karlozasa Dynasty."
Eden's excitement spiked so hard he could practically taste it.
This would be the most valuable tomb world he'd ever discovered—perhaps only rivaled by the vault-realms of that bizarre Necron, Trazyn the Infinite.
If Eden seized the Karlozasa Dynasty's core wealth, Perturabo could dive into Necron secrets without restraint.
Maybe he'd even unravel their reality-rewriting spatial engineering.
Then, in the Vigilus campaign, Eden wouldn't just gain blackstone—he'd gain higher-order technology.
For a moment, Eden wanted to bring the army immediately and start digging with both hands.
But he forced his greed down and steadied his breathing.
"Hah…
"Don't be impulsive. The situation is complex. We need a safer way to take this place."
Since that Phaeron considered him human and trusted the Imperium…
Then Eden would go as the Emperor.
He'd absorb the Phaeron under Imperial banners first—stabilize the relationship—and only then send the engineering fleets to excavate.
That would avoid war, and it would also add a terrifying Necron force to his side.
Even if the Crownless Phaeron later recovered his memories and rebelled… so what?
Karlozasa's core wealth would already be in Eden's hands.
He wouldn't lose.
Eden planned it with a satisfied, almost indulgent calm: he would personally travel to Fanes under the identity of the Emperor of Man.
It would grant the world greater glory—and give him the chance to talk face-to-face, to charm and deceive the Phaeron quickly into compliance.
He ordered the missionary saints to mobilize and organize the Genestealer networks inside the planet, and to locate the Ecclesiarchy special detachment—
To stop them.
It was already too late to contact that archdiocese directly. Eden, as "Emperor," didn't control that shadowed region.
He also didn't know whether they were loyal—or whether they'd become extreme, rigid, and fanatical beyond reason.
Meanwhile…
Fanes, primary hive, underhive.
Several Ecclesiarchy penitents were watching this ugly world—ruled by xenos heresy—from within the market crowds.
They'd expected a world under xenos and heretical doctrine to be drowning in misery.
Instead, reality struck them like a slap.
This world was more prosperous than the capital of the Third Diocese of the Nachmund Gauntlet. The faithful weren't gaunt. The churches were maintained better.
"I… are we really doing the right thing?" one penitent asked, staring at the crowded residential lanes, his heart wavering.
He was shaken.
The believers here weren't that different from them. They worshiped the Emperor with fervor, and under some kind of "protection," they lived better.
Was it the Emperor's protection?
A question gnawed at him, because what they were about to do would destroy all of it.
Including the people in front of him—xenos and human alike.
The penitent Belinu didn't answer immediately.
He smiled, accepted a piece of coarse bread offered up by a worker, and made a gesture of blessing.
The old penitent broke off a small piece with trembling fingers and placed it on his tongue, chewing slowly—almost savoring it.
The bread tasted better than anything in the Third Diocese.
The thought surfaced uninvited.
Then revulsion flooded him like a rising tide, souring even his stomach.
Belinu's eyes passed over the scene with an indescribable loathing. He tossed the bread into the sewer.
He despised everything about these heretics—food, water, air, the world itself.
The better it looked, the more disgust it inspired.
The old penitent stared at the smiles around him and finally answered, his voice hoarse and clouded:
"Where the Emperor's light cannot reach, such a sight should not exist. It must not.
"So these ugly, sickening heretics must go to hell—along with this world."
Belinu smiled with pious serenity.
The destruction was already set in motion—irreversible.
And soon every heretic on this world would receive the message:
Their faith was ugly and filthy. They were true heresy. The Imperium would never permit a planet like this to exist.
They would perish beneath humanity's contempt.
"Let the Emperor's will be our torch, and scour away the fiends…"
Belinu performed a rite.
A moment later, a colossal thunder rolled through the depths.
The planet itself shuddered.
(End of Chapter)
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