In Warhammer, throwing a muddle is impossible.

puff.

Under the horrified gaze of hundreds of friars and merchant ronin guards.

This highly respected sage of the Mechanicus actually knelt upright before the gun.

His metal-cast knee slammed onto the deck with a dull thud.

The sage's voice began to chant a long and sacred binary prayer.

He stroked the gun with his trembling mechanical hand, as if it were not a weapon of death, but a treasure left behind by Om Messiah.

"Perfect...too perfect..."

"The machine spirit is so docile... and the heat dissipation is so efficient..."

"This is a miracle! This is a gift from the god of all machines!"

Griffin stood to the side, watching this scene, and couldn't help but let his lips curl into a wild smile.

He knew he had struck gold this time.

However, the instant the prayer ended, Sita Prem stood up.

The red light in his eyes was no longer the piety of pilgrimage, but a cold scrutiny.

Hundreds of guards around him raised their laser rifles in unison, the dark muzzles instantly locking onto Griffin and his men.

"Rogue Trader."

The sage's voice regained its ruthless, mechanical quality: "Possessing a Level 1 STC artifact is a grave crime."

"Tell me, where did you steal these sacred relics from?"

Despite his legs going weak at the sight of hundreds of guns pointed at him, Griffin was a businessman and a gambler.

He took a deep breath, his face showing not fear, but rather anger at being offended.

"Theft? Watch your words, sage!"

Griffin shouted, pulling a pre-prepared trade agreement from his pocket.

“I am the legitimate agent! These weapons come from an Astartes team on a top-secret expedition!”

Upon hearing the word "Astartes," the sage paused for a moment.

"Astartes?" The sage scanned the Griffin with suspicion. "Which chapter?"

“Death Watch.” Griffin lied without batting an eye, conveniently raising the banner, “Several esteemed monks from Death Watch are establishing an outpost on a planet in the Misty Starfield. These weapons are the supplies they authorized me to exchange.”

Griffin stepped forward and pushed away the gun barrel that was pointed at his nose.

“Sage, are you sure you want to confiscate the Death Watch’s supplies? Are you sure you want to offend the Inquisition and the Astartes for these?”

"If you touch me, even if Riza is far away, those monks will twist your head off and use it as a football!"

The logic core of Theta-Prime was operating at high speed.

If it involves Deathwatch, or even a chapter with STC production capabilities... then the nature of the situation changes.

That could be a potential ally, or a more powerful enemy.

Moreover, the fact that the other party can produce so many finished products indicates that they have control of the production line.

Killing the goose that lays the golden eggs is unacceptable.

"...Logical judgment: Establishing trade relations is superior to violent plunder."

The sage withdrew his mechanical tentacles, and the Guardians of the Church neatly lowered their guns.

"Very good, wandering merchant. Your explanation... has temporarily passed the logical consistency test."

The sage's tone softened somewhat, but it was still filled with undeniable domineering authority: "Riza is willing to purchase this batch of weapons, as well as... the coordinates of their place of origin."

“Of course, I’m a businessman, everything is negotiable.” Griffin flashed his signature shrewd smile and rubbed his fingers together. “However, about the price…”

“Riza is never stingy,” the sage interrupted him directly. “Take me to see the Astartes. I want to witness the birth of these divine creations with my own eyes.”

“If you dare to lie to me…” The sage’s eyes flashed red.

"make a deal!"

Volume 1: Chapter 33 Trying to save face

Griffin readily agreed. He couldn't be happier to pass this hot potato to the group of four and, incidentally, rip off these wealthy motorists.

A few minutes later, an encrypted interstellar communication traversed subspace and was sent to Gwent.