A day later, Archer arrived at Reddito’s quarters precisely on time and respectfully handed over the parchment filled with dense calculations.
He had expected Reddito to question him—to test whether he had truly solved the problems himself—but to Archer’s surprise, the Tech-Priest merely glanced at the parchment before casually setting it aside as though it were nothing more than scrap paper.
“Follow me.”
Reddito’s mechanized body rose immediately, already moving toward the door before Archer could respond. Archer hurried after him.
The two entered a spacious warehouse shrouded in dim light. Only a handful of work lamps illuminated the cavernous interior. At the center stood the Helldiver Company’s Wyvern Suppressor, its massive armored frame looming heavily in the shadows like a dormant beast.
“Do you recognize it?” Reddito asked, his synthesized voice echoing through the hall.
Archer nodded. “I’ve driven it before.”
“Good.” Reddito gestured toward the vehicle. “Your next task is to communicate with its machine spirit.”
Archer froze.
“This… this thing actually has a machine spirit?”
Reddito turned his mechanical gaze toward him.
“And why would it not?”
“Because it behaved normally in battle,” Archer replied instinctively. “It never kept firing without ammunition or advanced without fuel…”
Everything he said came straight from the emergency Warhammer lore sessions he had crammed through earlier.
“No,” Reddito said flatly. “It possesses a machine spirit.”
His tone allowed no room for doubt.
“Listen carefully. Sense it. I will give you six terra-hours. Report back when the time is over.”
Without another word, Reddito turned and left the warehouse, leaving Archer alone with the enormous war machine.
For several moments, Archer simply stood there.
The existence of machine spirits still challenged his worldview, but this was another universe entirely. Different laws. Different truths. He could not keep measuring this reality against Earth’s standards forever.
So he decided to follow the rites of the Adeptus Mechanicus exactly as instructed.
After all, doctrines preserved for ten thousand years probably existed for a reason.
Taking a slow breath, Archer searched through a nearby toolbox and gathered the maintenance instruments and sacred oils commonly used by the Mechanicus. Then, with a solemnity bordering on genuine reverence, he began the ritual maintenance procedures he had memorized back on Earth.
Incense smoke slowly curled upward.
Rune-etched candles flickered to life one after another.
Archer carefully applied sacred oils along the Suppressor’s armor seams and joint mechanisms, his movements deliberate and precise. Finally, he unfolded a scarlet silk cloth embroidered with the golden cog of the Omnissiah and draped it carefully across the vehicle’s turret.
The gold threads shimmered softly beneath the dim warehouse lights.
If someone had asked Archer to show this level of devotion toward a god or a priest, he would have laughed in their face. Even if he became a Tech-Priest someday, his faith in the Omnissiah would probably extend no further than shouting, “By the Omnissiah’s ass!” whenever machinery broke down.
But this was different.
An armored vehicle was something that carried soldiers through artillery fire and brought them home alive. Spending enough time beside one made it difficult not to grow attached.
Since this was his first attempt at a formal maintenance rite, Archer worked slowly and cautiously, afraid of making mistakes. By the time he finished, nearly two hours had passed.
He stepped back and examined the Suppressor.
The vehicle gleamed beneath the dim lights, polished almost to perfection.
And somehow… it looked wrong.
Too clean.
Too beautiful.
Less like a brutal war machine and more like an expensive collector’s model displayed behind reinforced glass. The violent, oppressive aura it should have possessed had faded beneath meticulous care.
Archer shook the thought away.
He removed his oil-stained gloves and carefully placed them atop the hull.
Then silence filled the warehouse.
Ten minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Archer stared at the Suppressor.
The Suppressor stared back—at least, it certainly felt that way.
Maybe I should say something?
The thought surfaced awkwardly in his mind.
“…Hello?”
The moment the word left his mouth, Archer instantly regretted it.
He felt ridiculous.
“I am here.”
A soft, clear voice echoed directly inside his mind.
Archer nearly jumped.
His eyes widened in shock.
“There really is a machine spirit?! And I can actually talk to it?!”
“We share the same origin,” the voice replied innocently. “Why would we not be able to communicate?”
The tone carried pure confusion, almost childlike.
“I was wondering why you kept staring at me without speaking.”
Archer’s tension eased immediately.
He had succeeded.
If he could communicate with machine spirits, then this test was passed. He was one step closer to becoming Reddito’s apprentice.
But another thought quickly surfaced.
According to the original theories proposed by the Academy of Sciences, humans from Earth supposedly lacked souls—or at least lacked souls in the Warhammer sense.
Yet this interaction seemed to completely overturn that conclusion.
“What do you mean by ‘the same origin’?” Archer asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” the Suppressor admitted. “I just feel close to you.”
Archer frowned slightly.
The system?
If there truly was a connection between them, then the only possibility was the player system itself—but that was something far beyond his ability to investigate right now.
“Can we talk a little longer?” the Suppressor asked hopefully. “I’m bored.”
Archer laughed despite himself.
“Of course.”
Six terra-hours later, Reddito returned to the warehouse.
The scene before him made him pause.
Archer was sprawled across the Suppressor’s upper hull, half his body hanging into the mortar assembly while vigorously scrubbing the inner barrel with a rag.
“What are you doing?” Reddito asked.
Archer immediately sat upright, his face smeared with grease and sacred oil.
“Uh… Esteemed Reddito,” he said awkwardly, “the Suppressor said her barrel felt uncomfortable, so I’m helping clean it…”
As if responding to him, the Suppressor’s engine rumbled twice with deep mechanical satisfaction.
Reddito stared silently for a moment before giving a faint nod.
“It seems you succeeded.”
He paused briefly.
“I must admit, the Helldivers possess far greater affinity and enthusiasm for machinery than I anticipated.”
“You pass this test. Follow me. The final trial awaits.”
Archer quickly cleaned up the maintenance tools, gave the Suppressor a brief farewell, and followed Reddito into another chamber.
The moment he entered, Archer froze.
Blueprints covered nearly every wall and table in the room. Some were hand-drawn technical drafts; others were dense Mechanicus schematic arrays filled with interwoven runic circuitry and incomprehensible formulae.
The entire room resembled an ocean of machinery and knowledge.
“Your company commander contacted me,” Reddito explained slowly. “He wishes to develop a new pattern of carapace armor for the Helldivers.”
His mechanical arm pointed toward an unfinished design pinned to the wall.
“The key requirement is compatibility with neural-interface modification. A single thought must be sufficient to inject seven hundred and fifty milliliters of combat stimulant directly into the wearer’s body.”
Reddito turned toward Archer. Behind the red glow of his optical lenses, Archer thought he detected the faintest trace of amusement.
“I have already completed the most difficult portions. The remaining work is merely tedious calculation and structural refinement.”
His tone became meaningful.
“If you truly understood the problems I assigned earlier, then catching up within three days should not be difficult.”
Then he added calmly:
“Design it carefully. Your comrades’ lives will depend on it.”
Without waiting for a response, Reddito turned and left the room once more.
Archer stared at the mountain of blueprints surrounding him.
And finally, everything became clear.
No wonder this Tech-Priest had agreed so easily to accept him as an apprentice.
He wasn’t recruiting a student.
He was recruiting free labor.