Chapter 19: The Counterfeit Primarch Project

As long as I possess physical prowess that can overpower these veteran Space Marines, I can claim to be half a Primarch. No one could dispute that, especially since you’ve done the genetic tests, haven’t you? My genes are pure beyond compare.

“You’re just taller in stature, that’s all. You don’t necessarily match a Space Marine, let alone a Primarch,” Sister Elena shook her head. “You look strong now, but compared to a Space Marine Astartes, you still fall far short.”

His physique had indeed bulked up quite a bit, but there was still a gap compared to the Space Marines, who typically stand between 2.1 and 2.3 meters tall. When clad in power armor, they average between 2.3 to 2.4 meters. This young man was under two meters—around 1.95 meters—and, while considered strong within the Imperial forces, was simply incomparable to a Space Marine whose arms could easily be thicker than a human waist.

Rod smiled at this and glanced inside the cave. Casually, he picked up a helmet belonging to an Imperial Guardsman and, right before Sister Elena’s eyes, squeezed it single-handedly until it flattened like a frisbee.

The original forged Space Marines, even stronger than the veteran ones, possessed the raw power to crush an adult human skull with one hand. Yet this helmet was made from a material even tougher than bone, crafted with the advanced forging technology of the Age of the Imperium.

If that wasn’t convincing enough, Rod produced a finely crafted military combat knife and ran its razor-sharp blade lightly over his skin. The knife didn’t cut him; it left only a shallow white mark, like a scratch from a tree branch.

Then, Rod demonstrated lifting a military container weighing over a thousand kilograms with one hand. A weight of about a ton was child's play for him.

The Emperor above! This was impossible!

Elena knew well the hardness of an Imperial Guardsman’s helmet—it far exceeded the toughness of human bone. To crush it by bare hand was astonishing strength. Space Marines could do this easily while wearing power armor, but without it, it was virtually impossible. Though Astartes were formidable, they remained within human limits.

Rod’s ability to endure a razor-sharp blade without injury surpassed even that of a Space Marine. And lifting a ton without power armor? Not even an Astartes could do that.

“You... you truly are a Primarch!” Sister Elena’s mind was in turmoil. “I can’t judge. You’re definitely stronger than a Space Marine, but... I can’t say for sure.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m telling the truth. I can easily lift dozens of tons, and a single punch might deliver nearly 60 tons of force,” Rod said, waving his hand dismissively.

He was being modest. Theoretically, his punch force should be around a hundred tons. But having just acquired this monstrous strength, he still needed time to fully master his body’s potential.

“So... who created you?” Elena stammered.

In history books, Primarchs were the Emperor’s divine sons, crafted from His own genes. The Astartes were crude copies of the Primarchs but still demi-gods, offspring of the great Primarch’s lineage.

No Primarch could be born naturally. So who had made the man standing before her?

“Are you sure you want to know? Are you authorized? The secrets involved are vast, and even a sliver of knowledge could bring endless trouble that would haunt you for life,” Rod warned.

He hadn’t decided yet whether to pin the responsibility on the old medic or Fabius Bile—or find some other excuse.

Hearing this, Sister Elena nodded in agreement. Indeed, she was just a lowly medical sister, tending to wounded troops on the battlefield. Encountering Astartes in the fight against the Tyranids was already a great honor. To meet a Primarch—or half a Primarch—felt like a dream.

“I... I shouldn’t know such forbidden secrets. I’m not qualified,” she admitted.

“By the Emperor! You should take me to meet the commander of the Polar Warriors regiment. They are a subchapter of the Extremis Warriors. The great Astartes captain will surely be able to determine if you truly are, uh, half a Primarch,” she said.

If this man was indeed half a Primarch, his importance was beyond question. Though the phrase “half a Primarch” sounded a bit awkward.

“Don’t be nervous, daughter of the Emperor. Stay calm,” Rod said.

Polar Warriors? A subchapter of the Extremis Warriors? He’d never heard of them before. He had no idea how formidable their captain would be, but anyone commanding a Space Marine company had to be quite skilled.

“I can give up a spot in the escape pod for you. I’ll stay behind; you must take the escape pod and leave,” Elena said, biting her lip with unwavering determination.

If he truly was half a Primarch, with such pure human genes, he had to survive, no matter the cost—even if it meant sacrificing her own life.

Everything was for the Empire; sacrifice was inevitable.

“I want to save all of you, not just myself. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have revealed my identity to you,” Rod said. “The swarm outside is being held back by a powerful Titan creature. That’s fortunate. Now we have a chance to leave this planet. And Sister, I may be half a Primarch. Though not as strong as a full Primarch, my strength is beyond ordinary comprehension.”

“I would never sacrifice someone who kindly covered me with a blanket last night, or shared half her water with me this morning—a kind and beautiful daughter of the Emperor,” Rod said, gently stroking Sister Elena’s cheek with noble sincerity.

At that moment, little stars sparkled in the sister’s eyes, and she blushed faintly.

This Rod was a gentle man. To be cared for and praised by a man was a blessing for a young medical sister.

Watching her shy smile, Rod thought everything was perfect.