Chapter 2 Primarch Zero? Me?
That day, as usual, the Emperor was within the Imperial Palace, discussing the Unification of Terra with Malcador and members of the Custodian Guard.
Suddenly, the Emperor sensed a faint disturbance—a subtle fluctuation in the Immaterium.
His gaze fell upon a section of the floor beneath his feet. Below that point lay one of his sealed laboratories, a place where several weapons he had created in moments of rare leisure were stored.
And there—
Zero.
"My lord?" a Custodian asked cautiously. "Is something amiss?"
The Emperor did not reply. Instead, he exchanged a glance with Malcador. No words were needed; after a thousand years of companionship, the two understood one another instantly.
"The Emperor and I have matters to attend to," Malcador said calmly. "You may wait."
He rose from his seat—the only man ever permitted to remain seated in the Emperor's presence—and the two departed side by side.
As they walked, Malcador spoke in a low voice.
"My lord… what do you believe it is? Could it be—"
"My friend," the Emperor interrupted quietly, "you know as well as I do. To them, she is nothing."
In the Emperor's grand design, Primarch Zero had been nothing more than a prototype—an experiment meant to ensure the perfection of the twenty Primarchs who would follow. A test run.
As such, he had not forged a soul for her.
She was a vessel. A shell endowed only with instinct.
To the entities of the Warp, something without a soul was not even worth acknowledging. And so, when the Primarchs were scattered across the galaxy by the great warp storm, only Zero remained—untouched, forgotten, left behind in her incubation chamber.
The two ascended the long staircase leading toward the sealed laboratory.
Suddenly, the Emperor halted.
His brow furrowed as he extended his psychic senses, forcibly piercing the laboratory's anti-psychic wards. What he saw made him pause.
Zero—who should have been lying dormant—stood outside her incubation chamber. The pod behind her was half-shattered. She was looking around the room with clear curiosity in her eyes.
Malcador frowned in confusion. His psychic ability was insufficient to see inside.
The Emperor took a step forward.
"My friend… do you think it is possible," he asked slowly, "for a pure human soul to manifest within a body it was never meant to inhabit?"
Malcador's eyes widened. He understood at once.
"A miracle," he murmured. "Or an anomaly beyond comprehension. Even a lifetime spent studying the nature of souls would not be enough to grasp such a phenomenon. But my lord—do you believe this to be a blessing… or a calamity?"
"We will only know," the Emperor replied, "once we make contact."
They reached the laboratory door. The Emperor input a precise sequence of runes and numbers. With a low hum, the massive door slid open.
A tall, beautiful figure stood within.
The girl looked around in shock, her expression frozen between confusion and awe—
—and promptly collapsed.
The Emperor and Malcador stared.
"..."
It's over. Completely over.
On a five-meter-long bed, Yuki lay with her eyes tightly shut.
Of all places to transmigrate into… it had to be Warhammer 40K.
I didn't even sign the conscription order!
If I shoot myself in the head right now, will I go back?
She had been awake for some time but refused to open her eyes. At first, she thought she had died and gone to heaven.
She was wrong.
This wasn't heaven—it was the nineteenth layer of hell.
Thinking about the galaxy's countless horrors, the overpowered enemies, and the absurdly lethal setting, Yuki felt a surge of despair so intense she nearly blacked out again.
"Enough," a voice said calmly. "Since you are awake, you may as well rise."
The voice was not loud, yet it carried an undeniable authority—ancient, absolute.
Yuki opened her eyes.
The Emperor sat beside the bed, casually flipping through a book. He wore no armor, only simple garments reminiscent of ancient Terran—almost Greek—attire.
"Ah—um…"
She sat up and realized she was dressed similarly. The fabric even had several carefully placed openings along her back.
For wings.
"What is your name?" the Emperor asked, meeting her gaze.
The weight of his stare made her feel as though her soul itself was being examined.
"Y-Yuki," she replied instinctively. "Yuan as in New Year's Day, Xi as in sunset."
Only then did she realize—
She wasn't speaking Chinese.
It sounded like High Gothic… or some variant of English.
The Emperor paused, searching his vast memory.
"I see. Then tell me—what nation do you hail from? What year?"
"Uh… 2020."
"Two thousand?" he repeated thoughtfully. "Do you understand your current situation?"
Yuki shook her head.
"Malcador," the Emperor said, closing his book. "Take her to the library. Let her learn."
The door opened, and Malcador entered. He bowed slightly to the Emperor, then turned to the girl—who was nearly as tall as he was.
"Yes, my lord."
He led her through the corridors in silence. Along the way, groups of Silent Sisters and Custodian Guards passed by, casting curious glances her way.
Judging by my height… am I some kind of Custodian? Yuki wondered.
But Custodians don't have wings. And I'm taller than most of them…
A Primarch?
Ha. Impossible.
She had never heard of anyone like herself—let alone a female Primarch.
…
Within the vast library, Yuki flipped through tome after tome at an astonishing speed. She barely skimmed the pages, yet every word engraved itself into her mind.
She could even let her thoughts wander while reading.
If I'd had this learning ability in my previous life, she thought, a perfect score wouldn't have been enough.
Malcador sat nearby, calmly sipping tea that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
"Well?" he asked. "Do you understand now?"
"Yes. Mostly."
She looked up. Terran history. The Great Crusade. The state of the galaxy.
All of it was clear.
"The Warp. The Imperium. The Emperor…" She hesitated. "I have one question."
Malcador smiled faintly. "Ask."
"Who am I?"
"You are Primarch Zero," he replied evenly. "The Emperor's daughter."
"…Oh."
She blinked.
"Wait."
Yuki pointed at herself.
"Primarch?"
"Primarch Zero?"
"Me?"