My name is Ye Chuan. In the real world, I'm a vegetable with tubes sticking out of me.
The good news is that I've bound myself to the [Death Settlement System], which lets me respawn endlessly in Warhammer Fantasy.
The bad news is that the more gruesome and heroic my death, the higher my score and the stronger the traits I unlock.
A C rank is disgraceful. An S rank is a creed.
So I figured it out.
A human prisoner gets stabbed through? C rank. Pathetic.
An Imperial soldier steals explosives and blows up a Beaststone of the Changer of Ways? B rank. Barely acceptable.
A goblin shaman and a dwarf slayer embrace as they plunge into the abyss? A rank. Good enough.
A Skaven spy sparks a three-way war and dies with a smile? S rank!
I'm busy grinding traits. I don't have time to worry about what happens after I die.
Who knew...
My comrades remembered my smile to their dying breath.
Goblin clans revered me as the “Mushroom Prophet.”
The Skaven decided I was an incarnation of the Horned Rat.
Every race mistook my self-serving schemes for divine will.
Listening to those ridiculous legends, I woke up in a new body and nearly laughed myself to death.
From humans to greenskins, Skaven to dwarfs, I tried every spectacular way to die. As I unlocked more and more traits, a mythical body slowly took shape.
When the armies of Chaos descended and the final hour arrived...
The races I'd manipulated, saved, and inspired to sing my praises would gather beneath the same banner.
They asked me how we should fight this battle.
I smiled. “Let's eat.”
I want to ask, is this really Warhammer?