War Hammer: The reality Bender Chapter 61 61: The Commissar's Confession and the First Huma

Yarrick fell silent.

Faced with such a monuntal question, he didn't even know where to begin.

What is this mysterious VIP's true objective? Yarrick's mind involuntarily began analyzing the situation.

What does he actually want to hear? The Departnto Munitorum's daily barrage of exaggerated and artificially inflated battle rits? The Hive nobles' sugar-coated words of false peace? Or the critiques of the Imperium from individuals with lofty, idealistic visions?

If I speak my mind, what will the consequences be? Will the Custodian standing behind him chop into minceat on the spot?

Seeming to notice Yarrick's internal conflict, Rowan shook his head and spoke directly, attempting to dispel his doubts.

"It is fine. You do not have to answer imdiately. Just ensure you think deeply before you do. I rely wish to understand your personal viewpoint, nothing more."

"Alright, then I will..." Yarrick hesitated, struggling to organize his words.

"No, you need to think broader." Rowan seemingly saw through his apprehensions again. Frowning slightly, he decisively interrupted: "What I an is, you must speak entirely freely. Without exaggeration, Commissar Yarrick, in my eyes, you rank among the top three Commissars in the entire Imperium. You have earned the right to speak your true thoughts."

Isn't that a bit too exaggerated?

This blunt, overwhelming praise gave the Commissar a start.

But Rowan had no intention of stopping.

"Rest assured, no matter how freely you speak, I will not bring any harm to you."

"Even if you say, 'Let Terra's High Lords be ground to dust, and the Imperial Palace burn to ash,' or 'Death to the False Emperor, the galaxy belongs to Chaos,' or sothing like 'The High Lords of Terra? They don't even compare to a single T'au Ethereal'—it doesn't matter. As long as it is your true thought, you are safe."

Such incredibly blasphemous words made Yarrick involuntarily reach for the bolt pistol holstered at his waist. It was the pure, ingrained instinct of an Imperial Commissar.

At that exact mont, the Custodian and the Living Saint standing behind Rowan reacted violently, their bodies suddenly stiffening in shock.

But Rowan remained completely unmoved, his gaze still fixed patiently on Yarrick.

"Well? What do you say?"

"Fine."

Yarrick sighed, a powerful surge of emotion rushing to his heart. Perhaps it was this sudden impulse that finally allowed the words—long suppressed by the Imperium's fanatical, maddening environnt—to find an outlet.

He took a deep breath.

"I think the Imperium is a complete [Armageddon Expletive]!"

"Excellent! Exactly, just like that!" Rowan was overjoyed. "And then?"

Realizing he hadn't been summarily executed, Yarrick finally made up his mind and began to unload:

"Information exchange is catastrophically poor. The Departnto Munitorum only sends us to the most idiotic at grinders, completely disregarding whether we live or die. Accurate intelligence simply doesn't exist; we frontline commanders have to rely entirely on blind improvisation."

"The Adeptus chanicus is even more [Expletive]! Their dogmas are practically anti-human. Once, the Fortress of Arrogance took so minor damage in battle. I had a few good lads help with so basic field repairs so we could get right back into the fight. When we returned, that Enginseer actually tried to turn those two fine soldiers into lobotomized servitors for 'tech-heresy'! I had to literally press my bolt pistol against the cogboy's head to force him to retract that abhorrent idea."

"And the Adeptus Administratum is a bunch of absolute garbage! We were in the middle of a warzone once, practically out of ammo and rations, and those Administratum scribes flew a Valkyrie right into our trenches—just to demand we pay our Imperial Tithe! In the end, they forced us to fight the traitors in brutal bayonet charges!"

"As for the Imperial citizens at the bottom, they live in absolute hell. Aside from numbness and ignorance, they have nothing. Even as an Imperial Commissar, I have to admit that for them, faith in the Emperor is nothing more than a numbing anesthetic."

Yarrick had spent years traversing the galaxy, leading Astra Militarum regints through countless campaigns large and small; his accumulated experience was vastly richer than Rowan's.

And at this mont, his desire to vent was completely unleashed.

When Yarrick finally finished his torrential tirade, Rowan's eyes shone with excitent. He imdiately asked:

"So, do you wish to change this Imperium?"

"I am powerless to change it," Yarrick finally deflated, letting out a heavy sigh. "I am just an Imperial Commissar. There is little I can do, save for driving out the abhorrent xenos."

"No, you can do far more than that," Rowan simply stated. "I intend to change this Imperium now, and I require your strength. Are you willing?"

"Be warned, the campaigns that will erupt during the journey at my side will be of a scale that makes this recent war against the Greenskins look like a leisurely holiday stroll."

Without a microsecond of hesitation, Yarrick's expression hardened into absolute resolve.

"Of course I accept. But it is not cowardice when I say I don't believe I can be of much major assistance. Your praise of is far too generous. I am rely an ordinary Commissar, possessing only a modicum of talent in military command."

"No, I have sothing I need your help with right now. Co, look at this."

Rowan waved his hand, and a pale white orb flew out, hovering directly before Yarrick.

"Is this..."

Though phrased as a question, Yarrick's voice carried absolute certainty. An esoteric intuition allowed him to bypass all explanation and instantly grasp the truth of the object in a split second.

"The Greenskins' Waaagh! Field? No, how can that be?"

As expected of you, Rowan thought. Recognizing it at a single glance!

"It is exactly what you think it is," Rowan nodded, then explained, "I extracted this from the Ork Warboss I just killed. After processing it through a series of reality distortions, its intensity far exceeds its original state."

"Once you accept this, you will beco the first Human Warboss in the galaxy. You will even possess the Orks' power of 'Wot I Fink'."

Yarrick fell silent.

"Alright."

Without a shred of hesitation, he calmly nodded and accepted it.

Rowan wasn't surprised by this outco in the slightest.

After all, this was the sa ruthless bastard who, in the far future, would lop off an Ork Warboss's chanical power klaw and graft it directly onto his own right arm. When it ca to Greenskin technology and power, even with his bone-deep, burning hatred for them, Yarrick was perfectly capable of accepting it—and weaponizing it to slaughter Orks more efficiently.

Once again, Rowan drew the Ceremonial Sword of Solomon. Thanks to the relentless "donations" from a certain Golden Patron, the holy blade had been restored to its full ontological strength.

Radiant flas cascaded from the blade once more, washing over Yarrick's entire body.

There was no pain. Instead, a sensation akin to a fundantal ascension of his biological existence swelled within his heart.

"Then, I wish you the best of luck," Rowan said, extending his hand and giving a gentle wave.

The pale white orb flew forward, sinking directly into the center of Yarrick's brow.

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