Chapter 22: Alas, Imperial Truth!

"Unfortunately, Sergeant Lokken firmly forbade me from revealing what happened at the time."

"Otherwise, I would have written a long poem on deception, betrayal, and the inevitable destruction to come."

"But it wasn’t entirely without reward."

"I recorded the strange script etched on Aribas’s face, and noted down numerous ancient incantations of the Devan Conclave."

"I just can’t understand a single character—perhaps I should find a Preacher to translate and interpret them for me. I wonder if Old Sindermann has time to decipher these writings."

Huh? The strange script on Aribas’s face? Ancient incantations of the Devan Conclave?

Zhou Yun’s eyelid twitched slightly, a sense of dread rising in his chest as his fingers flipped gently to the next page——————

Boom!

After glancing at the text on the next page, Zhou Yun quickly snapped the notebook shut.

It was filled with a mass of twisted, abstract Devan hieroglyphs; merely one glance made Zhou Yun feel a faint dizziness.

"What’s wrong?" Mengge noticed Zhou Yun’s strange behavior.

Zhou Yun merely shook his head, his expression barely holding steady.

"These are indeed incantations circulating among Devan warrior conclaves," said the winged figure within the white light, its voice low and heavy.

His tone carried revulsion and disdain, as if the script itself were an act of profound desecration and filth.

Deva, the world corrupted by Horus,

its human population warped by Chaos into beastlike creatures,

who formed countless warrior conclaves steeped in dark faiths, where Chaos priests served shadowy secret cults,

and the true objects worshipped by these secret sects were the gods of the Warp,

from whom they gained vast blasphemous secrets of the Warp.

Ignis Kalkas was insane enough to record these incantations from the Devan conclaves,

barely escaped—almost got himself killed across ten thousand years.

A bead of sweat trickled down Zhou Yun’s forehead.

It’s possible the division head of this Corpse Guild was corrupted by Chaos after deciphering even part of these incantations.

Thinking of this, Zhou Yun reopened the notebook and without hesitation tore out the few pale-yellow pages covered in Devan hieroglyphs, hurling them to the floor.

The twelve laser rifles hovering beside him by telekinesis turned their barrels toward the paper and fired in unison.

Only when the blasphemous incantations were reduced to ash did Zhou Yun exhale slightly in relief.

Watching Zhou Yun’s bizarre actions, Mengge and Malkiet exchanged glances.

"Nothing. Just some filth on those pages."

Zhou Yun, catching his breath, looked at Mengge and Malkiet and shook his head.

"Filth?" Mengge’s curiosity stirred: "How filthy?"

"Filthy enough—like the scandalous gossip about Lyne selling hooks to Russ," Zhou Yun said with clear disgust, glancing at the ash on the floor.

Hearing Zhou Yun’s blasphemous words, Mengge’s eyelid twitched.

How could this man casually utter such blasphemous nonsense?

Even as a mutant, he felt the urge to drag Zhou Yun to the pyre.

Mengge glanced at his brother Malkiet and saw his sibling was equally speechless.

The two exchanged a look; Mengge stepped forward and clapped Zhou Yun on the shoulder.

"Brother, if you ever can’t make it in the Lower Warrens, come down to the Under Warrens."

"My brother and I hold some standing down there."

Zhou Yun gave Mengge a strange look: "What are you talking about? I’m not a mutant—why would I ever go to the Under Warrens?"

"But you’re a heretic," Mengge said seriously: "Damn, me and my brother combined aren’t half as heretical as you."

Hearing this, Zhou Yun frowned deeply and slapped Mengge’s hand away: "Don’t smear my name with false accusations."

"My loyalty to humanity is as visible as sun and moon—there is only one cold sun in my heart: the Emperor."

Speaking, Zhou Yun looked at Mengge and Malkiet with solemn righteousness:

"I wholeheartedly believe the following truth: There are no gods or spirits among the stars, no supernatural phenomena, no magic or witchcraft—all things can be understood through scientific means; humanity, guided by the light of reason, can overcome all. Nothing should be worshipped. The rational galaxy must utterly eradicate religion, this backward concept."

Zhou Yun’s voice rang strong and clear; Malkiet and Mengge froze in stunned silence.

They stared at each other, then burst into involuntary laughter.

"You’ve got quite the gift for jokes," Mengge shook his head.

Malkiet sighed: "Who dreamed up this lie called ‘truth’? How blasphemous and heretical."

"In either the Ecclesiarchy or the secret cults hidden in shadows, such theories are so stupid they deserve the pyre."

If there are no gods among the stars, where does the Astronomican’s light come from? What are the great entities within the Warp?

If no supernatural phenomena or magic exist, what do priests, psykers, and cultists wield?

If all things can be understood by science, why are both the Warp and the material universe shrouded in impenetrable mystery?

If human reason can conquer all and faith is unnecessary, why does the Ecclesiarchy even exist?

Mengge and Malkiet laughed again, because every word of this “truth” contradicted reality.

"Indeed—who could have invented such an outrageous lie?" Zhou Yun nodded in agreement.

The winged figure within the white light trembled slightly.

"Alas, Imperial Truth," he sighed with deep resentment.

Mengge took a breath, recovering from his laughter, and clapped Zhou Yun on the shoulder.

"Anyway, watch yourself—you don’t end up on the pyre."

"If you can’t make it, come find me in the Under Warrens. We’re brothers, damn it."

Saying this, Mengge punched Zhou Yun lightly on the shoulder.

Zhou Yun shrugged.

No matter how he thought about it, he’d never sink to the Under Warrens.

"I’d rather go to the Under Warrens than endure this!"

Zhou Yun gritted his teeth against the churning in his stomach, pressed his palm to his forehead, and crouched on the freight train, watching Lagg lead several gang members hauling the three hundred automatic rifles.

After emerging from Sector Eight, he parted ways with Mengge and Malkiet and took the freight train back to this sector.

The proof was clear—even without a hangover, this damn train still tortured its riders.

He should’ve just gone with Malkiet and his brother to the Under Warrens—least he wouldn’t have to ride this death-trap again.

"Zhou Yun, brother, wanna hit the Spearhead for a round tonight?" Lagg slapped Zhou Yun’s back with a grin.

These automatic rifles didn’t just make Zhou Yun rich—Lagg had surely pocketed his share too.

Zhou Yun nearly vomited on the spot; he shoved Lagg’s hand away and shook his head:

"No. I’m about to vomit right on your face."

He rubbed his temples, stood up, and now all he wanted was to go home and sleep.

(End of Chapter)