Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 199 - 200: We’ve Hit the Jackpot—A Sea of Hope Energy!

Bzzzz—

The protective energy field around the holographic projector flickered and trembled under the relentless bombardment.

The small force field generators, meant to shield the device, were never designed to withstand sustained heavy artillery fire.

Sparks burst from the machinery at the projector's base.

The energy field dimmed—one more volley, and it would collapse entirely.

"One more round of fire, and it's done for!"

Inside the armored command vehicle, a high-ranking official stared at the flickering projection, his bloodshot eyes wide with desperation.

His hands trembled as he watched the impossible image being broadcast—

Harris, dead, slumped upon his throne.

He refused to believe it.

"No, Lord Harris can't be dead! This must be... some trick! Some traitorous deception!"

He kept repeating it in his mind, trying to convince himself.

In the Central Plaza

The rebels.

The repression troops.

Everyone—stared in shock at the broadcast.

They had prayed for the tyrant's death countless times.

Yet now that they saw it with their own eyes—it felt unreal.

The battlefield froze.

No one moved.

No one attacked.

All eyes were on the holographic image.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the pounding artillery against the shielded projector.

As the smoke cleared, the Poisonfang tanks prepared their final salvo to destroy the device completely.

But then—

The image changed.

A new figure emerged on the screen—

Eden Grant!

Clad in gleaming golden armor, crowned with a radiant halo of divine fire, and with angelic wings of light extending from his back.

Behind him, the lifeless corpse of Harris remained slumped on the throne.

His deep gaze swept across the battlefield.

A gaze of divine authority.

Then—

A voice rang out.

"It's the Savior!"

The crowd erupted.

Then, fell silent again.

All eyes turned to the screen, waiting for the words of their prophesied deliverer.

Eden spoke, his voice carrying the weight of destiny.

"Harris, the Tyrant, is dead."

A wave of shock rolled across the battlefield.

"I declare this world liberated."

His words boomed across the planet, carried through every broadcasting device.

Then—he issued an ultimatum.

"To the soldiers of the Tyrant's army: Lay down your weapons. Seek mercy while it is still offered."

And finally—his final decree:

"Rejoice, people of Matira! Your suffering has ended!"

The plaza exploded with cheers.

Tears streamed down hardened warriors' faces.

They shouted his name, releasing years of pent-up suffering and rage.

And then—more voices joined in.

The same cheers echoed from afar.

The transmission had spread to every major population center on the planet.

The entire world had heard the message.

The entire world had seen the proof.

And the entire world now celebrated its freedom.

The riot control troops—the soldiers of Harris's regime—looked at one another.

Uncertainty spread.

More and more dropped their weapons.

Inside the command vehicle, the high-ranking official screamed in fury.

"Why aren't they firing?!"

He turned to the commander.

"Order the cannons to destroy that damned hologram—NOW!"

The commander's voice trembled.

"The artillery crews refuse to fire."

"Then EXECUTE THEM!"

"The commissars refuse as well, sir. They... they believe Harris is truly dead."

Silence.

Only the roars of celebration from the crowd filled the air.

The high-ranking officers inside the command center turned pale.

They understood—

Their wealth, their power, their very lives had depended on Harris's reign of terror.

And that reign was over.

Even if—by some miracle—Harris wasn't truly dead, it wouldn't matter.

Because his rule was built on fear.

And that fear had just collapsed.

Through security feeds, the high-ranking officer saw it—

The riot troops had fully surrendered.

Even the commissars—who once executed deserters—were now turning their guns on loyalist officers who refused to stand down.

The official slumped into his luxurious, jewel-encrusted chair.

His fat body trembled.

His eyes squeezed shut as he whispered to himself:

"It's over... it's all over..."

He knew.

The soldiers could surrender and be spared.

But he, as a high-ranking enforcer, was doomed.

The soldiers he once commanded would soon turn their weapons on him.

He felt a chill run down his spine.

Something was wrong.

Slowly, he turned.

And saw them.

The servants—his personal aides.

They had hatred in their eyes.

And their hands—

Reached for their guns.

"W-what are you doing?!"

He screamed.

"You're betraying Lord Harris!"

In a panic, he reached for his pistol—

But in his terror, he fumbled.

The gun slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

He looked up—

And saw the muzzles of lasguns pointed at him.

Damn it.

His bowels loosened.

His legs gave out.

Zap! Zap! Zap!

Scarlet beams pierced flesh, burning through the servants instead.

The commanding officer had fired first, killing them before they could pull their triggers.

"W-well done!" The official stammered, trying to regain his composure.

"T-those traitors deserved to die!"

But the commander turned to him.

Tears welled in his hollow eyes.

"We've already lost... it's over."

He raised his weapon to his own chin.

"Goodbye, sir."

Zap!

His headless body collapsed.

The official screamed.

He reached for a gun to end his own life—

But hesitated.

He couldn't do it.

Moments later—

The rebels burst into the command vehicle.

He and his fellow loyalist officers were dragged into the plaza.

They were forced to kneel before the people they had oppressed.

They wept, begging for mercy.

But their crimes were unforgivable.

Justice was served.

...And it took hours.

This chapter is updated by freēwēbnovel.com.

...

Inside his temporary command center, Eden reviewed battle reports.

With the broadcast complete, surrender reports flooded in.

Nearly all of Harris's army had laid down their arms, begging for mercy.

The planet was his.

And then—

A surge of divine energy flooded into him.

Millions.

Tens of millions.

A hundred million.

Three hundred million units of faith energy!

His core of divine power had ascended once again.

He could now expand his influence across multiple worlds.

But before he could savor his victory—

A message from Deville arrived.

The Inquisition had found a cultist stronghold.

They were performing a ritual.

A terrifying ritual.

(End of Chapter)

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