Chapter 414: Another Fantasy

Then, the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord felt the parchment in his hand grow slightly warm, a unique, sacred psychic energy surging from it, and the text upon it subtly changed.

The meaning of the words remained unchanged, but the content now conformed to Imperial law, and the handwriting transformed into a style familiar to the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord.

He looked up again at the words above, inscribed by the Emperor himself: "Imperial Inquisition, Empowered by the Emperor's Sacred Mandate," then stared in disbelief at the parchment in his hand.

The handwriting was nearly identical.

Even if the handwriting could be forged or imitated, the clear, bright, sacred psychic energy emanating from it could not be faked.

The Inquisitorial Fortress Lord was a psyker himself; all he needed to do was hold up the parchment and compare it to the Star Torch that had mysteriously reignited weeks ago, and he would know whose psychic power it came from.

The psychic power contained in this scroll could kill a group of demons if simply thrown away.

"Can this represent the Emperor's will?" Zhou Yun asked, pointing at the parchment in the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord's hand.

The Inquisitorial Fortress Lord nodded stiffly, like a servitor lacking proper lubrication.

"Can I go in?" Zhou Yun asked, pointing at the entrance to the Inquisitorial Fortress behind the Fortress Lord.

The Inquisitorial Fortress Lord mechanically stepped aside, clearing a path for Zhou Yun.

The rigidity of his movement made him look even more like a servitor—as if his frontal lobe had burned out.

Zhou Yun couldn't help but shrug and walked toward the entrance of the Inquisitorial Fortress; Saint Guilliman followed closely behind.

Then, the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord stiffly shifted his body, blocking Saint Guilliman's path.

Zhou Yun, Saint Guilliman, and the Inquisitorial Representative Ils all stared at him in bewilderment.

"Only Inquisitors may enter the Inquisitorial Fortress," the Fortress Lord said flatly.

He spoke as if executing a fixed, rigid program.

". Hahaha," Saint Guilliman fell silent for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Beside him, Ils reached up and clamped his hands over his face, as if he wished he could die.

"Someone like you, not becoming a servitor would be a waste," Zhou Yun said, his lip twitching.

The Inquisitorial Fortress Lord's expression stiffened.

"In accordance with the orders of the Inquisition's Chief Overseer, appointed by the Emperor," he replied in dry High Gothic.

"." Saint Guilliman fell completely silent.

"." Ils also froze, unable to speak.

Only Zhou Yun looked confused—he didn't understand High Gothic and had no idea what the Fortress Lord had just said.

He merely watched as the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord walked away without looking back, heading into the Inquisitorial Fortress, his purpose unclear.

Inside the Inquisitorial Fortress, on Demon Rune Avenue,

"Human-machines are truly human-machines."

Knowing the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord genuinely intended to follow Zhou Yun's joke and convert himself into a servitor, Zhou Yun's lip twitched as he commented:

"And loyalty is truly loyalty."

The Inquisitorial Fortress Lord walked silently beside Zhou Yun, Ils, and Saint Guilliman, as if still not recovered.

"Actually, the Amaurasian faction is quite good," Ils whispered beside him. "We rarely issue Exterminatus orders, avoid excessive contact with heresy, treasure Imperial currency, and mostly work diligently to maintain Imperial stability."

"The Fortress Lord simply hasn't yet processed the Emperor's grand design."

Zhou Yun nodded in understanding—this was precisely why Guilliman, Zhou Yun, and Saint Guilliman had no intention of acting against the Amaurasians.

Though rigid, the Amaurasians seemed positively virtuous compared to those who were heretics within the Heretic Inquisition, kept xenos within the Xenos Inquisition, summoned demons within the Daemon Inquisition, or crushed loyalist Astartes and bred Tyranids and Orks as fighting beasts.

The Amaurasians, merely quietly maintaining order, looked positively wholesome.

In truth, most Inquisitors began as Amaurasians, only gradually twisting into other factions through their twisted work.

These remaining Amaurasian Inquisitors harbored no malice—they simply believed the Emperor was playing a grand game, and their duty was to watch in silence, like true gentlemen.

Compared to the conservatives of the Neiwu Force and Fawu Force, the Amaurasians were merely rigid; they did not oppose reform, as long as it was part of the Emperor's grand design.

". The Emperor has sat upon the Golden Throne for ten thousand years. He could not have personally signed that name in those ten thousand years."

". This must have been prepared by the Emperor ten thousand years ago. I understand—it's still part of the Emperor's grand plan."

The Inquisitorial Fortress Lord muttered to himself softly; as he spoke, his eyes gradually brightened.

Zhou Yun watched the Fortress Lord achieve logical self-consistency, and couldn't help but twitch his lip.

That signature had been signed just hours ago by Wildy Emperor.

Wildy Emperor had said, as long as he didn't have to handle state affairs, he'd do anything.

Zhou Yun couldn't think of anything to make him do, so he had him sign a pile of blank documents—debt notes, or rather, imperial edicts—and would later fill in the content himself when needed.

Moreover, the signatures themselves possessed power to repel warp corruption; throwing one at a demon was extremely effective.

Should he send one to each hardliner in the Neiwu Force and Fawu Force? Probably useless.

The conservatism of the Neiwu Force and Fawu Force factions differed from that of the Inquisition.

Their conservatism stemmed from the livelihood of a million bureaucrats and their unwillingness to let the Primarchs hold power—not from genuine devotion to the Emperor's will.

Otherwise, after the Emperor appointed Guilliman as Regent, they would have obeyed unconditionally.

Zhou Yun pondered for a moment, then turned to the Inquisitorial Fortress Lord beside him.

"I need you to release someone: Titus, former Second Company Captain of the Ultramarines."

". Who?" The Fortress Lord's expression went blank.

Noticing Zhou Yun's gaze, he quickly lowered his head. "Inquisitors have no subordinate relationships. Even as Fortress Lord, I do not know the private prisoners held by other Inquisitors."

This structure was already making Zhou Yun's head ache.

"Jerome Thex, the Sanctus Hammer Conclave—he handled affairs on the planet Gria," Zhou Yun continued.

". But he's dead," the Fortress Lord said awkwardly. "He was possessed by a daemon while dealing with the Grey Killers, punished by the Grey Knights, and utterly destroyed. His records have been sealed."

Zhou Yun frowned. Dead? Had he come too late? Had Titus already been sent to the Deathwatch?

"Then go check. Find out where his prisoners are," Zhou Yun told the Fortress Lord.

The Fortress Lord nodded vigorously and immediately turned to leave.

"Wait," Saint Guilliman's voice rang out. "I have a prisoner I wish to see."

Zhou Yun turned, curious—he too wondered which prisoner could interest Saint Guilliman.

The Fortress Lord stiffened but turned to face Saint Guilliman.

"Iskandar Kyan," Saint Guilliman said softly.

Kyan's fingers lightly brushed the soft fur of his guardian spirit, Gair, a warp entity shaped into the form of a wolf after battling the Fenrisian wolves.

His lover, the Dark Elf Nefertari, nestled gently against him, feeding him peeled Proserpere grapes—she had nearly been devoured by a Daemon of Slaanesh, but Kyan protected her.

Kyan could still feel the faint vibration of mechanical cables—his sister Izara, the poor child whose brain had been half-eaten by Proserpere Soulworms in childhood, now surviving as a machine-soul, transformed into the machine-soul of the Vengeance Spirit, beautiful and powerful.

He rubbed the playing cards in his fingers; each card sealed a Greater Daemon, under Kyan's control.

Kyan lifted his head gently, gazing at the noble, reliable brother standing before him—the Black Warmaster Abaddon, whom he served.

"Azekael," Kyan said warmly. "Brother, care for a game of Daemon Poker?"

Abaddon laughed heartily and sat across from Kyan.

Ssshh! Pain surged from his ribs—some sadistic Inquisitor had broken them.

Sigh. Again, I let myself fantasize—fantasizing that Nefertari still lived, that my sister had grown even more beautiful and powerful, that Warmaster Abaddon had bombarded Terra, that the Emperor's dogs were screaming.

Fantasizing that Warmaster Abaddon held my hand, standing together atop the ruins of the Empire, with Magnus and the other Daemon Primarchs kneeling beside us, chanting praises to Abaddon and Kyan.

But Kyan believed—utterly believed—that his fantasies had become reality.

Sigh. Again, I fantasized.

Just then, the sound of a door opening suddenly rang out.

"Is this Lord Kyan?" a voice rang out, filled with delight. "Is this the brother of Warmaster Abaddon, the Blade of the Black Legion, the greatest sorcerer of the Thousand Sons, the Breaker of Kings, Black Kyan?"

(End of Chapter)