This is a story about Warhammer, a story about the Emperor's wage earners in the dark galaxy. When time came to the end of the 41st Dark Millennium, he had worked for the Emperor for ten thousand years. As a "model worker" of the Empire, he just wanted to retire, but this was all the Emperor's mission. At the end of this dark millennium, the story of ten thousand years of working has begun to be written again.

This is the hut I built. This is the stone I meditate on. This is my bolter and chainsaw sword. I've been in this idyllic paradise for over a decade, even reaching the Qi Refining stage, and you're telling me this is a Warhammer? So the spiritual energy I breathe every day comes from the Warp?... Years later, a colossal statue stands atop Terra. Beneath the statue, they call me Regent, Godfather of the Chaos Primarch, Heart of the Dead, Terran Keeper, Ark Home Engineer, Terminator of the Second Brother, Dorak's Private Garbage Collector, Warp Landlord... "So, Your Majesty, it's rather impolite of you to be sitting while speaking to me."