Gamma, a man, well boys with no shortage of coin, had a problem—or rather, a nagging question. To get answers, he decided to do what any reasonable man with deep pockets might: throw an extravagant feast for his friends.
The guest list was short but colorful:
- Adept Ed, forever "the man who gets denied."
- Father Louis, affectionately known as the animal lover.
- Adept Leia, daughter of a Magos.
- Father Jacob, famous among them for his devout kowtows.
The menu? Warhammer's signature delicacy—Antelope. Not the normal kind, but the kind that had to be shipped across the void aboard a Rogue Trader's merchant vessel, along with the freshest star-grown fruit.
This feast was not cheap. It cost Gamma the equivalent of two months' wages. But less than half an hour after the payment was made, a Valkyrie transport swooped in over the old factory where Gamma and company were gathered.
"An armed transport? For food delivery?!" Gamma blurted out, eyes wide.
Ed, scanning the craft through his bionic eye, muttered, "It's got the Adeptus Ministorum emblem."
Father Louis shaded his eyes, peering up. "The Ministorum? Is this another one of the Archmagos' schemes?"
"Don't ask me," Ed said, shrugging. "I didn't order it."
Father Louis shot him a suspicious look.
"What? I didn't! First time seeing this myself."
The three men stood in the dust kicked up by the gunship's thrusters, staring. Their gaze drifted toward a lone figure standing far back—Tech-Priest Leia, keeping her robes well clear of the dirt. They all smirked.
"You guys done gossiping?!" Leia's voice roared over the comms. "I can hear everything!"
"Alright, then you tell us—was this the Archmagos' doing or not?"
"How should I know? I didn't order it either!" she snapped.
Just then, Jacob's measured voice came across the line. "It probably is."
Gamma called out, "Father Jacob! Food first, work later. The Emperor's work never ends."
Jacob chuckled. "Almost done. Let me finish up so I can eat in peace."
Ed frowned. "Wait, isn't the Ministorum's aerial vehicle a pterosaur-shaped one?"
"Yeah," Louis said, "that's what I thought."
Jacob explained calmly, "Think about the Ministorum's weapons."
The light clicked on for Ed. "Ah… right."
The Adeptus Ministorum's military doctrine was simple—every weapon existed for the sole purpose of obliterating the enemies of the Omnissiah. Collateral damage—including to the wielder—was never a concern. In fact, many a Ministorum soldier had died by their own side's munitions. Efficiency through overwhelming, brutal force.
"The Archmagos really knows how to turn a profit," Gamma muttered.
Leia simply nodded. "He's famous across the Imperium for a reason."
Truly, like father, like daughter.
---
The transport landed, ramp hissing open. Down strode three chefs—not just cooks, but combat chefs—in full armor, helmets on, riot shields in one arm and flamethrowers in the other. Behind them, servitors marched in, lugging crates of ingredients and gleaming cooking utensils.
It was… magnificent.
Fine hand-embroidered tablecloths. Silver cutlery fit for an Imperial Governor. In the corner, multifunctional servitors played soft music to set the mood, all while the armored chefs torched cuts of Antelope meat alive into culinary perfection.
All five guests agreed in unison: this money was worth it.
---
Antelope—not your standard deer, but a dangerous apex predator from the polar rock deserts of Luther McIntyre IX. They thrived in blistering heat, had gorilla-like builds, claws like adamantium, tusks like spears, and could eat anything and everything.
Their flavor was so exquisite that it graced the tables of both Hive nobles and frontier commoners. But there was a catch—a very deadly one.
Antelope reproduced in a nightmarish way: their gonads were scattered throughout their bodies, their eggs hatched internally, and the larvae ate their own mother from the inside until they matured. When ready to emerge, they bulged under the skin like boils—sometimes breaking out violently.
These larvae, called Flesh-borer Swarms, were aggressive pack hunters as deadly as mature Wombats—feral monsters feared on dozens of worlds.
Imperial safety protocols were clear: only a licensed professional should ever prepare Antelope meat. Even canned Antelope could be dangerous—not because it went bad, but because the meat occasionally… grew. If you picked up a tin that felt oddly light, checked underneath, and found a hole?
You prayed to the Emperor and ran.
---
The meal was a triumph. Between bites and toasts, the others urged Gamma to explain his real reason for gathering them. And of course, they were dying to know where he'd gotten the wealth to pull off such decadence.
Gamma saw no point in hiding it—it would leak out eventually. So he told them.
The reaction was instant. Leia clutched her head in despair. Jacob muttered half to himself, desperately calculating how many kowtows it would take to match Gamma's luck. Ed's silent expression screamed: Burn it all down.
"Gamma, my friend," Louis began, "the first day I met you, I knew you—"
"Stop right there! No borrowing. Emergencies only—no charity!" Gamma cut him off mid-flatter.
Louis smirked. "Borrowing? Between Priests, it's not borrowing—it's called funding."
"Stop, stop!" Gamma slapped the table. "Answer my question first."
Leia groaned. "I still can't believe you—you made all that and didn't even notice?!"
Jacob clutched at his chest. "Leia, stop yelling. My heart needs to last a few more years—replacement parts are expensive."
Ed just muttered, half-mad, "Heh… burn… let the galaxy burn."
"Hello, Inquisition?" Leia said into her comm. "We may have a heretic here."
---
After some chaos, Gamma finally wrangled proper answers out of them.
"So… lately, there's been an influx of noble and merchant offspring becoming apprentices?"
"Yes. A lot," Leia confirmed.
"Then why don't we have any here?"
"Because my father doesn't have those connections," she said flatly. "These families bring huge orders for the Sages—they get in easily."
Jacob explained further. "Magos Lauster—our supervisor—served in the Astra Militarum before being reassigned here twenty-three years ago. He's an outsider."
"Still a stranger after all these years," Gamma muttered.
They went back and forth—wealthy families didn't send heirs, just illegitimate children or relations with no claim. These "apprentices" were walking dowries, tools for building alliances with the Magoss rather than real students.
Ed grumbled, "They've got family money, more free time than us locals, and no pressure to succeed fast. Some take twenty years to finish—and no one dares kick them out."
Gamma rubbed his chin in thought, his mind already scheming. Wealthy but without inheritances… pressured to find status through the Priesthood… too dim to pass without tutoring… large numbers… a market.
A blue ocean market.
---
His brain went into overdrive. Textbooks? No—dangerous territory. Teachers? Too expensive. Unless—cheap labor. Cheap Priests.
Then it hit him: his fellow artisans from Batch 1299. An untapped army of talent under his nose.
If he could train them, pay them well enough to stay, lock down the quality, and make it impossible for anyone else to match… he could *own* the apprentice tutoring market entirely. The real money could come from selling them specialized tools and gear later—even at a loss, if it meant crushing competition.
Gamma grinned like a man who had just seen the Emperor Himself nod in approval.
"My batch brothers and sisters… I miss you," he murmured.
The others exchanged wary glances. Whatever Gamma was planning, they were certain of one thing—if the factory exploded right then, he still wouldn't leave the table.