Warhammer: Striving to Be a Grinding Man

The air in the Spire was thinner and cleaner than anywhere else in Lucis. Simulated sunlight streamed down from the dome, casting a warm white halo over the streets made of terracotta and plastic steel. Cohen stood before the cast-iron gates of the Nazari family mansion, gazing at the black iron statue at the entrance—a two-headed eagle with wings outstretched from a crown, holding an astrolabe in its beak.

The old butler led him through the front hall and up to the second floor. The coat of arms in the front hall was still the same, with the inscription in Gothic script: "Beginning in M33, serving the Emperor, forever unwavering." Cohen's gaze swept over the words without lingering.

"Lord Cohen," the old butler's voice was deep, his steps steady. "Lord Vitellius has arrived. The master is waiting for you in the drawing room."

The second-floor reception room was several times larger than the tea room on the first floor. The dome was so high that the light couldn't reach the top, and gilded pillars stretched from floor to ceiling. The long table was made of dark red hardwood, covered with a dark velvet cloth, and several data boards were laid out on it. The fireplace crackled with real flames, not decorative electric lights, but real fire. Several portraits hung on the walls—the same group of people as the yellowed portraits in the tea room, ancestors of the Nazari family who had left their mark on imperial history.

Cohen stepped inside.

Vitellius sat at one side of the long table, three stacks of data tablets piled before him. He wore a deep red robe, half-body power armor, and a mechanical prosthetic arm protruding from his right sleeve, its fingertips slowly scanning a data tablet. The fifth-tier sage badge on his collar gleamed darkly in the firelight.

"Cohen." Vitellius looked up, the blue halo around his right mechanical eye expanding and contracting slightly. "You've come."

Cohen walked over and extended his hand. "Witley. Congratulations. Fifth-tier Sage, directly certified by Mars. You are the first in the Lucis Temple in decades."

Vitellius grasped his hand. The metallic touch of the mechanical fingers was cool, but the grip was steady. "Not the first. The first one nominated by Mars itself." He released his hand, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "That document establishing the Solar Auxiliary Army, personally signed by the Emperor, is enough for me to walk sideways in the Temple Archives for the rest of my life. Forget about the fifth rank, even if I wanted to go to Mars and take a sinecure, they couldn't stop me."

Cohen did not ask how the Church and the Inquisition had resolved the matter; Vitellius would speak when he wanted to, and now was not the time.

Cohen walked to the other side of the long table and sat down next to Vera. Vera was wearing a dark gray casual outfit, not a robe, and her hair was tied in a neat high ponytail. The corners of her mouth were turned up, but her brows were slightly furrowed, and her fingers were unconsciously drawing circles on the table.

"Cohen," she whispered, leaning closer. "My father's in a good mood today, but he brought all of the Imperial Executive Council's contract-reviewing skills home with him. Watch your words."

Cohen glanced at her. "You were here last time I came. Your father isn't that scary."

"Last time was last time." Vera pouted. "This time you asked to come, it's completely different from last time."

Cohen did not respond.

Mr. Nazari sat at the head of the long table. He was an ancient sage who had lived for over a thousand years, with nano-life-sustaining units implanted under his skin, and a mechanical replacement rate of over sixty percent. His vocal modules hummed softly beneath the metal shell of his neck, and synthesized resonance buzzed in his chest cavity.

"Cohen Severus." His voice carried the synthetic resonance characteristic of the Mechanicus. "Sit."

Cohen sat down next to Vera. Vitellius pushed the data panel aside and retracted the optical probe of his right prosthetic arm into his knuckle.

Old Mr. Nazari didn't speak immediately. He looked at Cohen, the blue halo of his prosthetic eye slowly expanding and contracting. Vera picked up her glass and took a sip, her gaze shifting back and forth between her father and Cohen. Vitellius leaned back in his chair, his right prosthetic hand's fingers tapping unconsciously on the armrest.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

Cohen put down his glass. "I have something important to say to you in person in Lucifer."

He paused for a moment.

"There was a forging world destroyed by Chaos—Pnoris. During the Horus Rebellion, its expeditionary ark, carrying a legion of Titans, fled into the warp and subsequently became lost. Nearly ten thousand years later, the ark returned from its warp voyage and appeared in the Galos system."

Mr. Nazari's prosthetic eye abruptly contracted. Vitellius's fingers stopped on the armrest, and the blue aura around his right prosthetic eye shrank to its limit. Vera's hand, holding a wine glass, hovered in mid-air, her eyes fixed on Cohen, her lips slightly parted.

"—What did you say?" Her voice was very low.

"A complete forging ark. A complete Titan legion." Cohen's tone was calm. "It has Warlord-class, Raider-class, and Warhound-class mechs, as well as nearly a hundred Knight mechs from the affiliated Knight families of Punolis. There's also a backup of the consciousness of a Great Sage on the ark, who calls himself Enpu, and he's been repairing the ark and the Titans. My Black Pearl and your Truth were both given to me by him."

Vera slammed her glass down on the table. "Cohen, are you kidding me?"

"I'm not kidding."

Vera stared at him for two seconds, then leaned back in her chair, tracing circles on the table with her fingers. Her breathing became heavier, but she didn't ask any further questions.

Old Man Nazari was silent for a moment, his inner thinker seemingly working rapidly, before speaking: "Punolis forged the world. Mars registration status: destroyed, the planet no longer exists. Last update: M31, after the Horus rebellion." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was heavy. "Cohen. This ark drifted in the warp for nearly ten thousand years, suddenly appearing in Garros, along with a Titan legion. How do you know they aren't traitors?"

“It can fight for the Empire, it can fight for the Mechanicus.” Cohen didn’t avoid his gaze. “The jurisdiction to investigate this matter does not lie with Lucis. No one has the authority to solely judge the loyalty of a backup of a Great Sage’s consciousness from a Forged World destroyed by the forces of Chaos during the Horus Rebellion, except for Om Messiah. But Mars can send people to investigate. The Inquisition…”

The sage who governs the state religion or the mechanical order—it doesn't matter who comes.

Old Mr. Nazari's optical lenses slowly extended and retracted. "Mars is sending people to investigate—you know what that means. The Mechanicus has its own internal vetting process, but once the Martian audit begins, it's beyond our control. The Church of England is sending people to authenticate the relics," and the Inquisition will send people to investigate for contamination—those people are more troublesome than anyone else. Even loyalists can be driven to rebellion. And if they're deemed problematic, Garros is finished. Lucius will be implicated too."

Lucis was not incapable of purifying and testing himself. But Punos's Ark was no ordinary wrecked ship; it carried the entire legacy of a forged world, a complete Titan legion. If Lucis were to unilaterally incorporate it, it would be an act of usurpation in the eyes of Mars. Only by appealing to Martian arbitration, with the Supreme Sage presiding over the purification ritual, could this legion truly be "resurrected" in the name of the Empire. Old Master Nazari understood this well: this was not a choice, but the only right path.

"Garros' loyalty is certain, and the Ark and the Titan Legion can guarantee that loyalty," Cohen said. "So the problem lies in how to handle it."

Vera interjected, "Father, Cohen won't risk Garros. You can't even imagine how much he's invested in Garros. He won't stake it all on an uncertain Titan legion."

Mr. Nazari glanced at his daughter but said nothing.

Cohen picked up his glass and took a sip. "The elder means that the Ark and its Titan legions can sign a subordination agreement with Lucis."

"Subordinate?" Vitellius looked up. "You mean this great sage is willing to be subordinate to Lucius?"

“This Titan legion belongs to Garros. And Garros is already under the control of Lucis, which means this Titan legion belongs to Lucis. When Lucis needs them, the Titans of Garros can answer the call and go to the battlefield. Lucis will send technical priests and pilot teams to Garros to be stationed there, responsible for the maintenance and piloting of the Titans.” Cohen’s tone was calm. “This is to reassure Lucis, and it’s also a price that must be accepted. I can’t think of any reason for Lucis to refuse.”

Old Mr. Nazari paused for a moment. "You're right, normally there's really no reason to refuse. Just give a guarantee, then submit it to Mars for review, and you'll have one more mobile Titan force."

"As long as it's fair and just, censorship on Mars isn't a problem," Cohen said.

Vitellius leaned back in his chair and tapped the table twice with his fingertips. "This is feasible. The reasons for persuading the Temple Council are very compelling."

“Lucis’s guarantee will make things go much smoother,” Cohen said. “Of course, the main thing is for you to persuade the Temple, and then Lucis’s side will submit the application to Mars for the purification ritual and testing procedures for this great sage.”

Old Mr. Nazari nodded slowly. He was silent for a moment, then said, "Lucis is not without the Titan Legion. You know that."

"I know. But the Star Legion is the backbone of Lucis, and we won't move it unless it's a matter of life and death. We can't go to the battlefield; even the captains don't have much combat experience."

Vitellius interjected, "How many Titans are there?"

Cohen replied, "Eight War Generals, six Raiders, and twenty-four War Dogs. The key point is that this number is not the upper limit but merely the lower limit."

Vera leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Cohen, you never mentioned before that Garros had a Titan Legion."

"The Ark, the Titans, the Great Sage—how come I haven't heard a single word about Garros?"

Cohen glanced at her. "The elder only told me about this recently. He's been repairing his Forging Ark in the asteroid belt. My Black Pearl, your Truth, were both given to me by him." He paused, then continued, "More crucial than these tangible objects is the database that the elder backed up."

Vera opened her mouth, then closed it again. She leaned back in her chair, drawing circles on the table with her fingers.

"Even the elders were just a backup of consciousness—so everyone is dead?" Her voice lowered.

"Everyone is dead," Cohen said. "Only a backup of the elder's consciousness remains in Garros, contributing to its development."

"Haven't you noticed that the scale of construction in Garros in just a few years has far exceeded the normal pace? From the dome to the underground industrial zone, from the machine tool production line to the shipyard."

Vitellius was silent for a moment. "I support it. As for the twelve identification codes, they will be sent to your ship in a few days."

He paused, tapping his finger on the table. "And shipyards are different from others. The Imperial Navy monitors every ship launched in every dry dock, from keel laying to hull number painting, it's all recorded in their ledgers. For your shipyard to be officially recognized, it must pass the Navy's review, it's not just a formality—they really send people to check. They check the number of your slipways, your production capacity, and the identification code allocation records for each of your ships. Shipyards have their own identification code allocation authority, but the Navy has to verify it."

Cohen looked at him. "Wheatley. You really are in a high position now."

Vitellius snorted. "Before, I was all alone, just wasting my days in the Temple's archives. Now, at least I have a Sage title, and the Temple gave me a squad of Guardians. Want to go take a look? The most elite of Lucis, fully armed, in brand-new power armor, parked in front of the old mansion."

Cohen laughed. "I just saw it."

Vitellius picked up his glass of Amagidorton vintage and took a large gulp. "Don't laugh. If you ever run into trouble in Garros, you can borrow this crew too."

Old Mr. Nazari remained silent. He stared at Cohen for a long time before speaking: "Cohen. I don't doubt that the Great Sage wasn't corrupted by Chaos. But the Martian certification process isn't based on trust alone. Our family's favors have been stored up for a thousand years; it's time to use them. But you must understand, favors aren't free. If they do you a favor, Lucis has to repay it. This is the Empire, not a charity."

Cohen took a sealed box of fine gold from the inner pocket of his robe, placed it on the table, and pushed it to the center of the long table. The surface of the box was etched with a binary identification code, which reflected a dull luster in the firelight of the fireplace.

"Wutai. Static field generator. Military grade, a creation from the Great Expedition era."

Vera's eyes widened. She reached out to open the box, then pulled back, turning to stare at Cohen. "Cohen, how many do you have?"

Cohen didn't answer. He merely twitched his lips slightly, picked up his glass, and took a sip.

Old Mr. Nazari stretched out his hands, presenting the sealed gold box to him. His prosthetic eye's aperture shrank to its smallest size, and the optical probe slowly scanned the surface of the box. The old mechanical arm trembled slightly in the air.

"Wutai." His voice was even lower than before. "A military-grade stasis field generator from the Great Expedition era. Completely intact. This is—."

""

"That's why I say favors aren't free." Cohen put down his glass. "But these five generators are a free gift to the Lucis Temple. Not a bribe, but a testament to friendship. The elder meant that Garros could become a miniature forging world, its fate intertwined with Lucis's from this day forward. The Titan Legion will entrust the pilots and maintenance to those from Lucis, and of course, they will also need to train Garros. Although we are subordinate, we can also be allies who support each other."

Vitellius was silent for a moment, then said, "Cohen. Lucius accepts this gift."

Mr. Nazari gently placed the gold-plated sealed box back on the table. His mechanical prosthetic eye regained its focus.

Vitellius and the old man Nazari exchanged a glance. The technological backup preserved from ten thousand years ago could silence the technocrats, the static field generator could feed the conservatives, and with the agreement on the Titan Legion's affiliation and mobilization rights, the vote of the Sage Council was merely a formality.

Mr. Nazari took out an old data crystal from the inner pocket of his robe and twirled it between his fingers.

"Regarding the affiliation agreement, I've drafted a framework." He placed the data crystal on the table. "It includes key points such as identity verification, affiliation, mobilization response, technology sharing, and confidentiality/silence. The official text will have to wait for the legal experts of the Sage Council to review it."

He glanced at Cohen.

"The core points are set first: First, the identity of the Titan Legion needs to be confirmed on Mars; second, Garros belongs to Lucis (already officially established in the text), which is logical; third, Lucis has the right to mobilize; fourth, Lucis will send people to be stationed there to be responsible for maintenance and training; fifth, it must not be made public before the Mars review is completed."

Cohen nodded.

Old Mr. Nazari leaned back in his chair. "There's one more thing. Lucis's guarantee of the Titans' registration on Mars isn't something that can be done just by talking. The sages of the Temple Council won't sign off without seeing the actual evidence. You say the Ark is in the asteroid belt, and the Titans are inside the Ark? The Temple needs to send a formal verification team to confirm this in person and compile a written report before it can be submitted to the Council for discussion."

Vitellius nodded. "Seconded. The verification process must be conducted by a formal team, including senior officers of the Apostolic Guard, representatives of the technical priests, legal sages, and sometimes a representative of the casting director."

Cohen paused for a moment, then picked up his glass and took a sip. "Alright. Garros is ready to receive you anytime. I'll have someone arrange when the inspection team arrives."

Mr. Nazari nodded slowly. "I'll bring up the inspection team in Parliament. The process will take about a month. The inspection trip plus the on-site assessment will take at least three months round trip. Once the personnel and itinerary are finalized, Witley will inform you."

Vitellius stacked the data tablets and leaned back in his chair.

"Then the verification is settled," said Mr. Nazari. "The verification team will depart once the Temple Council has completed its procedures."

Cohen nodded.

"Before the formal signing, does the Imperial Navy still need to verify the documents?" Vitellius tapped the table. "The shipyard's review goes through the Navy's channels, while the Titan Legion's affiliation registration goes through the Mechanicus's internal channels. These two lines go their separate ways and shouldn't intersect."

Mr. Nazari nodded. "That's why I wrote it into the fourth point. The technical priests are stationed on the Ark, ostensibly for training and maintenance, but actually for oversight."

Cohen picked up his glass and took a sip. "This is good."

Vera, who had remained silent until now, finally couldn't hold back any longer. "So, the existence of the Ark and the Titan Legion cannot be made public until the Martian investigation is complete?"

“Yes.” Old Mr. Nazari looked at her. “So you must keep your mouth shut. Otherwise, if the court finds out, it will be a big problem.”

Vera opened her mouth, then closed it again. She was silent for a moment, then leaned back in her chair, drawing circles on the table with her fingers.

"Okay then."

Mr. Nazari put away the data crystal.

"The formal signing will have to wait for the Temple Council's resolution. Once the Council approves it, the formal process will begin. At that time, Garros will rightfully be the world of forging. The Great Sage will also be able to regain his rightful place. Now," he stood up, walked to the fireplace, and looked at the flames. The firelight danced on his old mechanical prosthetic eye. He didn't turn around.

"Cohen. You're an outsider in Lucius. Your roots are in Garros. Garros is your home turf—defend it."

Cohen stood up. "I know."

The corridor was warmly lit, and the carpet was deep red. The old butler led the way, followed by Cohen and Vitellius. Vera followed to the door, leaned against the doorframe, and crossed her arms.

"Cohen," she called out.

Cohen turned around.

"Those five static field generators—are they really proof of friendship?" Her tone was slightly teasing, but her eyes were serious.

Cohen paused for a moment. "Some things are more useful than money."

Vera stared at him for two seconds, then smiled. "The Truth will depart for Amegiddon tomorrow to continue its escort mission."

Cohen nodded.

Vitellius patted him on the shoulder. "I'm leaving. I'll let you know about the shipyard deal."

Cohen stood at the entrance of the old house, watching Vitellius board the armored shuttle. The papal guards followed in formation, their optical lenses gleaming a dark red in the twilight. The shuttle's engine ignited, its blue exhaust trailing a thin streak of light in the dusk.

He turned and walked along the streets of the Spire toward the Spaceport. Behind him, the lights of the Nazari family mansion shone in the twilight, casting a deep shadow on the double-headed eagle of the black iron statue.

The old butler stood at the door and bowed slightly. "Take care, Lord Cohen."

Cohen didn't look back. He walked along the wide streets of the Spire district, mimicking the slow, receding sunlight against the sky, the twilight casting a long shadow on the ground.

In the drawing room, the fire in the fireplace still burned. The data panels on the long table had been taken away by the servants, leaving only one. Old Mr. Nazari sat alone in the main seat, toying with the adamantite sealed box in his hand, the blue halo of his mechanical eye slowly rotating in the firelight. Vera leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Father. You agreed."

“It’s not an agreement.” Old Mr. Nazari put the sealed box back into the inner pocket of his robe. “It’s an evaluation. The risks are manageable, and the benefits outweigh the costs. An affiliation agreement with a Titan Legion, and crucially, a backup of a Great Sage’s database, is of immense value to Lucius—far greater than five Stasis Field Generators. Cohen Severus knows what he’s doing. What he doesn’t know is that Lucius needs this legion and the one behind it, well, the Great Sage, even more.”

Vera was silent for a moment. "Does he really not know?"

Mr. Nazari's mechanical eyes narrowed slightly, but he did not answer.

Cohen knew, of course, that purification rituals and testing procedures were never the core of the problem. The true alchemy was blood and fire. The best test would be the impending Orc War in Amegiddon in Imperial Year 941. When the Greenskins swept across the hive world, when the Empire needed every cannon and every Titan, the Ark would appear on the most brutal battlefield, proving its loyalty with the blood of the Orcs. No lengthy debates, no dubious test reports; the only purity recognized by the Emperor was its performance on the battlefield. War would provide the most authoritative verdict. As long as the Ark fought for the Empire in Amegiddon, no one could question its ultimate destiny.

The so-called backup of Elder Enpu's memories was nothing more than an identity he fabricated for his alter ego. It was all a means for Garros to establish himself and find a peaceful haven in this cruel world.