2nd Primarch

Duker ignored the thugs and looked at the little girl.

The girl appeared to be about eleven or twelve years old. She had beautiful blonde hair and a very thin body, clearly a result of malnutrition.

At this moment, she was curled up on the ground, barely reaching Duker's knees.

From the Primarch's perspective, she resembled a dirty, frightened little animal.

A nameplate hung around her neck, and a photo rested in her hand. The picture showed a happy family of three—a little girl with a man and a woman, all smiling brightly.

The vibrant joy captured in the photo stood in stark contrast to the fear and despair in the girl's eyes as she looked up at Duker.

"Excuse me, what's going on here?"

Duker smiled—a rare occurrence—and gently asked the little girl.

He was not only drawn to the girl's powerful psychic talent but also curious about the events that had brought her to this pitiful state.

The girl didn't answer, simply sitting on the ground and staring at him blankly.

"Sir, this girl is a heretic. Don't believe a word she says!"

"She brings misfortune to everyone around her!"

A thug with a knife nearby spoke up, clearly eager to justify himself.

Before he could continue, Efilar arrived and kicked the man to the ground.

"You dare to make noise in the presence of the Holy Primarch? You are courting death."

The gangster lay on the ground, clutching his chest in agony. It was unclear how many ribs he had broken.

"You'd better shut up. If you make another sound, I'll kill you," Efilar said coldly, his voice sharp enough to silence any defiance.

Terrified, the thug covered his mouth and didn't dare to make a single noise.

Duker crouched down, gently touched the girl's hair, and asked again, "Can you tell me what happened?"

This time, he used his mental energy to guide her. Under his influence, the girl finally began to speak.

After hearing her story, Duker's expression remained calm, though his anger was palpable.

Efilar, on the other hand, took several deep breaths, struggling to contain his fury.

"This is what you've been ignoring," Duker said, turning to the Grand Sister.

Efilar's rank was so high that she often failed to see the suffering of ordinary people. To her, civilians who didn't need to fight on the battlefield lived a million times better than Space Marines.

But she overlooked the fact that even ordinary people had their own struggles.

The girl's father had been a logistics soldier in the planetary defense force but had died in a Chaos invasion. Though his death was regrettable, it was part of the harsh reality of war.

Worse still, the girl's mother was seriously injured in the same conflict and left paralyzed.

Though there was supposed to be a pension for the families of fallen soldiers, the girl was kicked out when she went to collect it. Not only did she receive nothing, but she was also beaten.

Unable to afford treatment, her mother passed away shortly afterward.

With no source of income, the girl resorted to scavenging garbage to survive. During a scuffle with a gang of homeless people over scraps, she accidentally unleashed her psychic powers.

This incident marked her as a target for those who intended to sell her on the black market, where psychics fetched a high price.

After hearing this, Efilar's anger simmered beneath a veneer of control.

Duker thought deeply. Ophelia VII was considered a prosperous world, one of the Empire's shining stars.

Yet even here, corruption and suffering festered.

"Take this girl back and investigate the matter thoroughly," Duker ordered. "No matter who is involved, arrest them all. If anyone resists, kill them."

Behind him, several men in black uniforms appeared. They were agents from the intelligence agency. Though not as powerful as the Inquisition, they were highly capable.

The thugs were dragged away. The intelligence agents had their own ways of extracting confessions.

The death of a logistics soldier had led to unimaginable suffering for his wife and daughter. Even the pension, a small recompense for their loss, had been withheld.

It was time to root out the corruption festering on this world.

Duker and Efilar continued their tour of the city, specifically looking into issues that were often overlooked by those in power.

The intelligence agency worked quickly, compiling a list of over 5,000 individuals involved in corruption and black market activities.

When Duker returned to his quarters, the list was waiting on his desk.

Meanwhile, the effects of his personal involvement were evident. The number of Heart Network members began to grow rapidly.

As more people joined the Heart Network, demand for tasks surged. Elite warriors of the Empire, the members formed teams and completed missions with astonishing efficiency.

Whether it was subduing planetary governors or banishing Warp demons, missions disappeared as soon as they were posted.

To address the demand, Duker divided the individuals from the corruption list into separate missions and uploaded them to the Heart Network.

Thousands of objectives, thousands of missions—all snapped up within minutes.

The members' reactions varied:

"Tsk, tsk. These mission targets are all high-profile figures."

"These names look familiar—they've controlled my world too."

"Your Highness Duker is wise. These pests should've been dealt with ages ago."

Clearing out these individuals would undoubtedly create power vacuums in Ophelia VII's upper class. But as a Primarch, Duker had the authority and resolve to see it through.

This war against corruption was just as critical as the battle against Warp demons.

Shortly after, Duker received a message from the great sage Gris.

"Gris has used the knowledge I gave him to create a new type of power armor?"

Duker's interest was piqued.

In the Warhammer universe, power armor was one of the most effective tools for enhancing a warrior's capabilities.