Chapter 1

There's a saying in the Imperial military that service only ends in death. This is the absolute law which all those who serve the Emperor's divine must follow, there is little knowledge of retirement due to old age. The Emperor gives every man, woman and child their right to live and it it those in the Imperial Guard who are to repay the God-Emperor in full with their own lives in return.

Or so it was thought.

On the (especially) rare occasion when the stars align and Chaos decides to chill the fuck out for a few seconds, one bizarrely lucky guardsman might find themselves free of vows he made. Most the time it's because he's just gone off and fucked a daemon and decided to join Chaos and amazingly enough escaped a bolter round to the skull.

For Sergeant Ralmier Tiber on the other hand, he didn't fuck off and committed obscene amounts of heresy. On the contrary, he did the Imperium a great favor by recovering a rare ancient Standard Construct Template for the almighty (and mildly heretical) Omnissiah and his tech priest servants. And for his most glorious service to the Imperium, he was awarded a planet.

Yup.

Some idiot was just given a planet over a blueprint from god-emperor knows when.

Sergeant Tiber would complain about the stupidity of it all, but he was in no position too. At the very least his chances of getting shot, killed and eaten (hopefully in that order) in battle would be greatly reduced. That and the fact that it was very likely the Adeptus Mechanicus would turn him into a toaster servator if he declined.

The veteran sat alone in his quarters aboard the Dauntless-class light cruiser, Herald of Dawn, and was flipping through several papers and photos. There was the formal letter of celebration and thanks that came with a nice shiny medal, a basic guide on how to rule a planet (which Tiber suspected of it being as useful as the Infantryman's Primer) as well as several pictures of the planet.

The world he was gifted was a civilized world officially listed as Cuav III but if the guide he was given said anything close to the truth, it was more locally known as Sarab. Right about the technology of that of post-industrial age with a planet full of people who were relatively unified and civilized, more so than any feral stone age world at the very least. It would be a pretty easy task in Tiber's mind, he'd just appoint some secondary nobles to do most of the work for him while he signed the odd paper and convinced the occasional meeting and would then have a nice and easy life until he would meet the god-emperor in old age.

But at the same time, such an idea didn't sit well with the training he had. Tiber was a soldier, one confined to a lifetime of service to the savior of mankind. There was nothing but service and duty to him; anything less would have gotten him shot by a Commissar in the frontlines. Tiber had seen it happen a few too many times as well.

Deep in his personal debate, the sergeant's hands fell upon an old picture that was crumpled and worn despite being neatly folded. Picking it up, there was a mixture of smiles and sadness; it was a picture of his squad from the 603rd Cadian, the "Emperor's Chosen" as they had often called themselves. The 603rd was as diverse as the Imperium itself, being one of those combined units who hosted the remnants of a myriad of other fallen regiments.

Tiber let the memories flow as he ran a hand across the faded image. He always had a sharp memory, the sergeant remembered much of the regiment's escapades and adventures. And thanks to his squad, he had plenty of tales to boast of like highjacking a Ork Trukk, learning how to ride beasts from an ex-Rough Rider (with limited success), and kicking an Eldar right in the crotch. Fun times, fun times.

"Sir?", a voice knocked on the door of his cabin, "We're arriving at your destination."

Without saying a word, the man got up and stashed everything away. His bags had already been packed and awaiting on the transport. He was mostly dressed for the occasion, as well as he could be at least, it's hard to get years of battle damage and war scars out of flak armor but it looked nice enough. All that was left was some finishing touches: a cape, a icon of faith and his halberd. As a sergeant he was technically supposed to have a power sword as a designation of rank but due to the wonderful ability of the Munitorum to fuck things up harder than a drunken Dark Eldar, Tiber never got one. Instead, he just looted a halberd off the body of some other regiment that seemed to be more concerned with pomp and circumstance. Still though, it did its job well with its reach over more close-range melee weapons something that the guardsman was thankful many times over for.

Slinging his recently polished halberd over his shoulder, Tiber made his way down the corridors of the Herald of Dawn, careful not to decapitate anyone by mistake (the man had already did it once before, didn't need to see that again). With silent nods he greeted the voidsmen and officers aboard the ship as he made his way down to the hanger and found his way to his surface transport.

The seats were hard but it was not uncomfortable for Tiber, he experienced much worse forms of transports than this, compared to some of the things that he was aboard, this could actually be considered luxurious. The soon-to-be planetary governor sat down and buckled in, ever so giddy on the inside as he threw his command halberd on to the pile of bags and crates that would accompany him.

"Aren't ye just the lucky bastard of the century?" the pilot joked from the cockpit, "Sure as hell wished I had a planet to control."

"You fly boys got it easy compared to gents like me!" Tiber smirked back, "You ain't ever the ones who have to get your boots dirty and always get the best views."

"Fair point but when ye get shot there's no chance of ye being thrown into space."

Tiber chuckled to himself and got cozy, atmospheric entry tend to be bit a bit bumpy no matter what. He was happily content to thinking of being able to sleep alone in something larger than a bathroom stall or a tent and the massive numbers of servants and officials who'd do his job for him while he'd have it easy.

"Alright Mr. Tiber, we're arriving on Urbino now, get ready for landing." the pilot began the landing sequence as alarms were being set off in his passenger's head.

"Urbino?" Tiber questioned, "Aren't I supposed to be on Sarab?"

"Not according to ye papers ye aren't," the pilot waved a handful of papers he grabbed from a container, "Says right here ye the new head of Urbino, nice little isolated feudal world in the middle of nowhere."

Tiber could hear something in his brain shatter like glass. Surely there was a mistake, in fact it was almost certain there was given the Administrum's paper work and stuff. In a panicked rush, the man dug out his official transcript and sure enough, his fears was confirmed. Instead of just "govern Cuav III" being written as his purpose, it was "govern and uplift the people of Urbino".

The transport landed on a open field as people surrounded the metal machine from the sky. There was a mix of peasants and nobles and warriors, all eager to see what this thing would bring; word had it that their would be a new leader arriving who would bring peace and prosperity to their lands.

A highborn man dressed in red parted the crowd with his bodyguards and prepared to be the first to greet their new global leader. There was an air of refinement around him but he was just as excited and curious as everyone else; the people of Urbino knew that they were part of some larger empire who sometimes came to demand tributes of grain or metals or whatever but that was it. Many nobles hoped to use the new leader to gain more power in their lands or even beyond while the peasantry hoped just hoped for a good and fair king.

The man in red cleared his throat and marched up to the transport, knightly retinue behind him, "Greetings oh gloriou-"

"WHYYYY? WHHHHYY? EMPEROR DAMMIT WHY?" Tiber ragingly cried as he rocked in his seat, spouting gibberish and curse words to the flabbergasted locals' surprise.

The pilot soon popped out of the cockpit to confront the welcoming party, "As ye can see, I'm afraid your glorious overlord ain't in the mood to really have conversation." Everyone looked at Tiber who was still in disbelief as some of the crowd tried to get a look inside the ship, "Can I get you gents some coffee though? Also, can ye help unload all the stuff from out back?"

Without saying a word, everyone in the local area collectively had the same thought, "What the fuck is going on?"