Hearing the Warp-borne figure in the white light once again insist that it was the former Primarch of the Ninth Legion—the Primarch Sanguinius—Alexander's eye twitched as he said:
"Yeah, I am Guilliman. Actually, I'm not dead. I'm in a stasis field and need 50 credits to fund Belisarius Cawl's research on the Armor of Fate to save me. Send me 50 now, and when I'm revived, I'll appoint you as the Lord Commander Solar."
Sanguinius, one of the twenty-one Primarchs created by the God-Emperor in the past. At the moment of his creation, like his brothers, he was scattered across the galaxy by the Warp.
Sanguinius landed in the Baal system, not far from Ashford.
This Primarch, who descended upon the crimson wasteland of Baal, was born with a pair of pure white wings, just like the angels of legend.
And Sanguinius's own nobility and virtue were worthy of the name 'Angel'.
Alexander would, of course, be willing to accept Sanguinius's guidance, if the Warp thing before his eyes was truly Sanguinius.
In Warhammer, having wings doesn't necessarily mean it's Sanguinius; it could also be a Lord of Change, a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch.
Just as a double-headed eagle doesn't always mean the Imperium; it could also be Kairos Fateweaver.
"My loyalty to the God-Emperor is as clear as the sun and moon!"
"You damnable brute from the Warp, stop trying to deceive me!"
Alexander declared righteously, his face full of stern authority.
Not long after arriving in the 41st Millennium, he had encountered this winged figure in the white light in a half-dreaming, half-awake state.
This figure always insisted it was Sanguinius, wanting to guide Alexander to fulfill a preordained mission of destiny.
But no matter how Alexander looked at it, he felt this was some Lord of Change come specifically to mess with him.
In the Warhammer universe, for something like this to happen, anyone with a bit of vigilance would suspect it to be corruption from Chaos.
Furthermore, things like Systems, Childhood Sweethearts dropping from the sky, OP Items and Weapons, Little Green Bottles of Immortality, Castles on Grey Mist... these are all things suspected of being Chaotic corruption.
Systems reek of Tzeentch. Childhood Sweethearts and sudden encounters should be suspected of Slaanesh. Little Green Bottles and elixirs should be suspected of Nurgle. OP Items and weapons are suspected of Khorne.
Even the four-dimensional pouch on his belly, Alexander always suspected it might be a masterpiece orchestrated by that half-immortal, half-whatever trickster.
"Friend, I really am Sanguinius. I need your help.
The galaxy is about to be torn asunder, Baal will be covered in blood, and Terra will be defiled by profane things from the Warp.
I need you to go to Baal, to go to the side of my corpse.
If you follow my guidance, I will be able to return to the material universe."
The winged figure in the white light still flickered at the corner of Alexander's vision, muttering prophecies of uncertain truth.
The galaxy being torn asunder — the Great Rift opening.
Baal covered in blood — the Tyranid invasion of Baal, the Battle for Baal.
Terra defiled by Warp profanities — well, that's not the first time.
These did align with Sanguinius' prophecies.
As for resurrecting Sanguinius... haven't we seen what happened with Erebus and Horus?
This kind of thing carries a strong scent of the Warp.
Even if there was some truth to it, Alexander currently couldn't even get to Baal; leaving this hive city was fraught with difficulties.
So, believing him wouldn't be of much use anyway.
Fortunately, the figure was semi-transparent and didn't interfere with his scavenging.
Who cared about the galaxy being torn apart? That was a matter for the Primarchs, the Astartes, and the God-Emperor. It shouldn't affect his scavenging.
As for the danger ahead he mentioned...
Alexander hesitated for a moment, thinking it better to be cautious.
He took out a bottle of potion from his four-dimensional pouch and dripped it onto his finger.
"Friend, I really am Sanguinius.
Please believe me." The winged figure in the white light circled around Alexander.
But Alexander ignored it, focusing on picking up scrap from the rubble.
He found another section of promethium transport pipe amidst the debris, grabbed it, and stuffed it into his pouch.
Following the direction the pipes extended, he noticed all the exposed promethium pipes converged towards the depths of the derelict sector.
This seemed to confirm his earlier guess; this sector might have been part of the old Promethium Guild.
The quantity and quality of the damaged machinery here surpassed those in other sectors Alexander had explored before.
And at the end of the pipes, there might still be things like promethium reactors.
Alexander looked towards the depths of the derelict sector.
This place had only been buried for a hundred or two hundred years; it was far less dangerous than sectors buried since the Dark Age or the Great Crusade.
Going a bit deeper shouldn't be too risky.
Thinking this, Alexander checked the potion on his finger again, confirmed it was ready, and followed the pipes deeper into the derelict sector.
When the toxic crimson sunlight grew slightly dimmer, Alexander saw a towering piece of scrapped machinery standing atop the rubble not far away.
The machinery was about seven or eight meters tall. The steel platform on top had collapsed, but the deep red tank body still stood, though covered in crimson rust.
Alexander's eyes lit up slightly.
This was a scrapped Promethium Extraction Transfer Unit.
The hive city's Promethium Guild used these to transfer promethium to factories.
Even a damaged Promethium Extraction Transfer Unit could fetch a good price.
If there was any residual promethium left inside, Alexander would be a significant step closer to his goal of the Anywhere Door.
Thinking this, Alexander quickly slid down the rubble and approached the Promethium Extraction Transfer Unit.
The huge, rusted promethium tank, seven or eight meters tall and three or four meters wide, completely blocked his view.
He reached out and knocked on the tank. A hollow echo came from within.
Alexander walked around the tank a few steps and found a person-sized round hole, likely a port for installing pipes.
Sticking his head in to look, the interior was empty, devoid of the viscous gel he had hoped for.
Promethium is the most commonly used fuel and chemical raw material in the Imperium, usually appearing as a viscous gel. It can be used to make antibiotics, synthesize polymer materials, produce lho-sticks, and even brew alcohol.
But it seemed that when this sector was abandoned, the valuable promethium had already been transported away, leaving only this industrial machinery that was difficult to dismantle, like the Promethium Extraction Transfer Unit before him.
Fortunately, for Alexander's four-dimensional pouch, transporting this seven or eight-meter-tall unit wasn't particularly difficult.
He reached out and hugged the rusty promethium tank, exerting a little force.
The tank slid into the palm-sized four-dimensional pouch as smoothly as a piece of soft cloth.
[Item Name: Promethium Extraction Transfer Unit]
[Origin: Stygian Shield Sector - Ashford - Mechanicus Spire]
[Evaluation: The heart of the Promethium Guild, once pumped high-concentration flammable promethium]
[Production Date: 705.M41]
[Condition: Lightly Damaged]
[Value: 8000 Credits]
If there had been some residual promethium left in the tank, the redemption price might have been higher.
But Alexander had no mind to dwell on that now.
After the Promethium Extraction Transfer Unit was stuffed into the four-dimensional pouch, Alexander's eyes fell upon seven or eight figures in black robes.
That group must have been sitting on the other side of the promethium tank, completely hidden from Alexander's view.
They seemed not to have noticed the disappearance of the tank behind them, nor had they yet spotted Alexander, who had suddenly appeared.
Alexander broke out in a cold sweat. Encountering a group of mysterious people in black robes in this remote, abandoned sector... Could he have stumbled upon a cult?!
Those cultists who worship the treacherous, unpredictable entities of the Warp, the shadowy groups hiding in the hive's darkness...
Then, the leader among the black-clad figures raised his hands high, adopting a posture of prayer.
"Praise be, oh merciful Emperor!"
Hearing the black-clad figure's prayer, Alexander let out a slight sigh of relief. So they were just a group of devout Imperial Cult adherents praying—
The leader's long sleeves fell back, revealing the mottled keratinous growths on his arms.
"May Your four arms that embrace the stars also embrace us! May You bring salvation to us! Merciful Four-Armed God-Emperor!"
"GOD F*CKiNG DAMN IT!"