Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

Halis vented his fury, and the floor gained several more lifeless bodies of his servants.

Whenever he lost control of his emotions, the mechanical throne that had become part of his body always became difficult to restrain.

The mechanical arms embedded in the throne strangled the fragile and beautiful servants at his side.

Yet no one paid any attention to this. It was commonplace.

These servants were nothing more than disposable commodities.

Martila, with its population in the trillions, had an endless supply of such attendants.

Finally, before the last servant could be killed, Halis managed to suppress his emotions and offered a rare apology:

"Apologies, my dear...

Anger always clouds my judgment. I despise this feeling."

He controlled the mechanical arms to release the trembling girl and gestured for her to leave.

"Yes, Your Majesty~"

The girl stifled her fear, bowed shakily, and retreated into the service palace behind the mechanical throne.

But that did not mean she was safe.

Under this mercurial monarch, death could descend upon her at any moment.

Slaughter and terror were the tools Halis wielded to maintain his rule.

He firmly believed that only through fear could governance endure.

Regaining his composure, Halis smiled and inquired of the court officials and nobles how to deal with the cursed rebels.

The officials, whose hearts had been racing, began to steady themselves.

They wracked their brains to propose strategies, hoping to please their ruler.

Anyone who dared to offer half-hearted answers, or allowed Halis to suspect insincerity, would be courting death.

Disloyalty was an unforgivable crime.

"Your Majesty, I propose we immediately dispatch the entire fleet to utterly destroy Urth!"

Beneath the mechanical throne, a corpulent noble bellowed with feigned zeal.

The other courtiers exchanged disdainful glances at his words.

The speaker belonged to House Evira, infamous for its sycophants.

Through shameless flattery, this noble had secured Halis' favor.

The corpulent noble continued his impassioned rhetoric:

"Only by making the traitors pay in blood can Your Majesty's majesty and invincibility be displayed—be inviolable?"

Mid-sentence, he suddenly caught sight of Halis' serpentine glare.

The noble broke into a cold sweat, stammering incoherently.

Had His Majesty disapproved of his suggestion?

Terrified, he collapsed to his knees, trembling, no longer daring to meet Halis' gaze.

Halis shifted his focus elsewhere, listening to other proposals:

Deploy reconnaissance ships to Urth to assess the enemy's strength.

Enhance the planetary defense arrays and impose high-intensity surveillance on the capital system to prevent enemy raids.

Simultaneously, all armed forces were to prepare for war.

After discussing the various matters, Halis waved for the court to be dismissed.

When everyone had left, the vast royal court was silent, leaving only Halis seated on the mechanical throne.

"Damn traitors! How did they do it?"

Halis gritted his teeth, his eyes flickering with fear.

The fleet that had been annihilated included three cruisers and over twenty frigates.

Such a force ranked among Martila's top military powers.

And yet, it had been obliterated without a sound!

This indicated that Urth possessed the might to destroy a fleet of such magnitude. Sending out a battleship fleet was the only way to suppress them.

Furious as he was, Halis found himself at a loss.

Of course, he wanted to dispatch the fleet and obliterate Urth.

But he couldn't.

Without the use of the Warp, it would take four to five years—or even longer—to reach and return from Urth.

Sending the fleet away would leave his planet vulnerable.

Nor could he accompany the fleet.

If he left the planet, who could say whether it would still be his upon his return?

The scheming nobles, damned cultists, and rebellious peasants always sought to usurp his rule.

He fantasized about killing them all.

Halis didn't even dare step away from his throne.

The numerous assassination attempts had left scars on his body, forcing him to rely on mechanical augmentations to sustain his life.

The shadow of those experiences haunted him, amplifying his paranoia and fear.

When had it all begun?

Sitting quietly, he reflected.

He, Halis Marlo, a prodigy of House Marlo, had once been a beloved sector governor.

Benevolent and rational, he was ambitious and determined to bring prosperity to his sector.

Even for an enhanced governor, managing a sector of ten planets was far more challenging than he had imagined.

But despite the burden, Halis had relished his duties.

He believed his genius could fulfill the Emperor's mission.

The ominous prophecy about the tyrant of House Marlo meeting a grim fate on the throne?

He wasn't a tyrant. If he were to die, it would be from exhaustion on the throne.

That absurd prophecy would end with him.

Under Halis' governance, the Goli Sector did indeed flourish.

Life improved for its inhabitants, who began to praise him as a compassionate ruler.

But at some point, Terra's Administratum raised the sector's tithe.

Halis had written to question this, asking whether the increase was reasonable.

The reply was curt: the sector's development warranted greater contributions to the Imperium.

He couldn't argue against this. Nor did he have the authority to.

The crushing weight of Imperial taxation brought Halis to his knees.

Despite his best efforts, the deficit persisted.

To cope, he abolished his labor laws and imposed harsher conditions on the populace.

The burden spread across every planet in the sector.

High-intensity labor, plummeting incomes, and escalating taxes became the norm.

Compounding the issue, many workers were conscripted into the Astra Militarum.

Famines emerged in some regions, and people began to starve.

Though protests were inevitable, Halis had no explanation.

His only recourse was to deploy the PDF and Astra Militarum to suppress revolts.

But uprisings grew in number.

Desperate, Halis petitioned the Administratum for leniency.

The response was mocking:

Tell the greenskins, the Tyranids, or the Chaos forces to cause less damage to Imperial fleets and soldiers!

The letter also brought Imperial law enforcement oversight to his sector.

Left with no choice, he continued to enforce harsh measures.

As protests surged within the hive cities, he found their cries irritating.

He dismantled his educational reforms, replacing schools with chapels devoted to the Emperor.

Now, only blind faith could pacify the people.

Ignorance is a virtue.

Even Halis believed that only the divine Emperor could save them.

But the situation worsened.

The populace cursed him as a tyrant, reviving the dreadful prophecy:

The tyrant of the Goli Sector would meet a grisly end upon the throne!

Under mounting pressure, Halis could no longer sleep, even with medication.

When he did, nightmares plagued him.

He dreamed of traitors reveling as he lay bleeding on the throne.

Paranoia consumed him.

Why couldn't the people understand him?

Uprisings multiplied. Even nobles openly opposed him.

Halis, helpless and hopeless, prayed to the Emperor.

"Great Emperor, I am lost.

Please, guide me on the right path…"

But his prayers went unanswered.

Despair took root.

Under immense pressure, Halis stumbled over his prayers.

Suddenly, the cold cosmos became warm and inviting, and his pleas were answered—again and again!

Amidst his confusion, Halis witnessed a magnificent entity.

A towering figure sat upon a brass throne…

(End of Chapter)

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