Chapter 48: Signed: Orleans Wing

“That bastard Lag is probably slacking off somewhere again!”

Leina stormed out, muttering curses.

She said Zhou Yun should tally up the losses himself, and all compensation would be deducted from Lag’s salary.

If the money wasn’t enough, she’d take a loss herself and send Lag to the Upper Nest to be converted into a machine servant to pay off his debt.

Zhou Yun said he’d take the money, but he didn’t want the machine servant.

Lag was too ugly—he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he saw him at night.

Zhou Yun pushed open the iron door, riddled with grotesque holes, and stepped into his house.

Then he paused, slightly stunned.

Everything inside the house was neat and untouched—the bed hadn’t been disturbed, and the items on the small table remained exactly as he’d left them.

Zhou Yun opened the cabinet; the clothes inside had been moved, and one fitted undershirt was missing, but nothing else was gone.

Most peculiar of all, he saw a letter placed on his bedside.

Strange. Too strange.

Zhou Yun’s brow immediately furrowed.

He reached out, picked up the letter, and opened it.

He realized he couldn’t understand a single word.

The letter was written in elegant, ornate cursive script, intricate and elaborate.

Each letter was neatly aligned on the yellowed paper; if not for the visible ink traces, Zhou Yun might have thought it was printed.

Zhou Yun squinted and barely recognized a few words, similar to the Low Gothic spoken in Asford.

But most of the words were completely unintelligible—he only felt the language’s excessive complexity and refinement.

Compared to this language, Asford’s Low Gothic seemed like the crude jargon of barbarians.

Yet strangely, Zhou Yun found the script vaguely familiar.

The words and letters resembled English from the 3K era, only far more complex and ornate.

Unfortunately, Zhou Yun had never been good at English in school.

After all these years, he could barely manage yes and no.

“That’s High Gothic,” said the winged figure within the white light, softly.

“.Huh?”

Zhou Yun’s face twisted in confusion.

High Gothic was an official language of the Imperium, originating from the Dark Age of Technology’s Terra-Merica and the Pacific Rim.

In other words, it was a convoluted, refined evolution of the English Zhou Yun had known before his transmigration.

The old lands of North America had become a conglomerate of hive cities, where nobles adored elaborate, useless rituals—High Gothic was born from that.

As a result, for the vast majority of Imperial citizens, it was utterly incomprehensible.

Only the Adeptus Ministorum, high-ranking Imperial officials, and some eccentric nobles used it.

Most people spoke Low Gothic, heavily bastardized on different planets.

Yet.

“You mean a petty thief from the lower hive levels left me a letter written in High Gothic?”

“How did he think I could read it? He’s got way too high an opinion of me.”

Zhou Yun couldn’t help shaking his head.

Even if the letter were written in plain English, he still wouldn’t understand it.

Leina seemed to know some.

Her family had once been devout Ministorum followers; many of the Church’s original scriptures were written in High Gothic.

“Shall I read it to you?”

The winged figure in the white light chuckled softly.

“Though I was born on Baal, as a Primarch, I was educated in High Gothic.”

“I wonder if Angron could read it?” Zhou Yun asked curiously.

The winged figure fell silent for a moment. “You’re being too harsh on him.”

“In terms of intellect, my brother is biologically disabled.” “Didn’t Caen ever try teaching his father anything? He needed to attend war council meetings during the Great Crusade.”

“You’re being just as harsh on Caen. If you want him dead, just say so.” The winged figure shook his head.

Then the winged figure turned its gaze to the letter in Zhou Yun’s hand.

“I apologize for forcibly entering your home. I believe your income matches your contributions, so my intent was not theft.”

The winged figure softly read aloud the letter written in High Gothic:

“Enclosed are blood coins to compensate for the damage to your door.”

“I have a job offering, one that can serve the Emperor and the Imperium—and pay handsomely.”

“If you wish to discuss further, I will await you tomorrow night at the eastern garbage dump in Lower Hive District Thirteen.”

“For security, I wrote this letter in High Gothic, confident you can read this ancient tongue.”

“For the same reason, do not reveal its contents to anyone.”

!.

“Signed: Orleans Wing.”

“.Huh?” Zhou Yun tilted his head, bewildered. “Orleans Wing?”

Moments later, he realized.

Orleans Wing was the self-proclaimed alias of the notorious thief.

What kind of ridiculous alias is that?

Terra’s chickens went extinct ages ago—how is someone calling themselves Orleans Wing?

And if you weren’t here to steal, why break into my door?

Zhou Yun stared at the several blood coins peeking out of the envelope.

Even thoughtfully included the cost of door repairs.

This letter had too many absurdities—Zhou Yun’s expression grew increasingly odd.

What struck him as most bizarre was.

How did this notorious thief assume he could read High Gothic?

“He seems to possess some form of precognition—perhaps, like you, he discerned your uniqueness.”

The winged figure said:

“But as I said before, your fate is triple-woven, blurred and unclear—he may have seen only fragments.”

“You know, High Gothic is essentially a convoluted version of ancient Terra’s English. Logically, you should be able to read it at least somewhat.”

“I graduated how many years ago?” Zhou Yun grumbled, frowning.

Zhou Yun was growing increasingly suspicious of the thief’s identity.

Orleans Wing—no way a lower hive thief would know such a term.

The lower hive doesn’t even have Crazy Thursday.

Oh god, could this be Tzeentch retaliating? Did he show up this fast?

Zhou Yun stared at the letter in his hand and shook his head.

Whether or not this was Tzeentch’s corruption,

he wouldn’t go alone to meet this self-proclaimed “Orleans Wing.”

He’d need at least two or three hundred men with him.

Zhou Yun thought for a moment, then slipped the letter into his fourth-dimensional pocket.

[Item: High Gothic Letter]

[Origin: Mingfuzhidunxingxi - Asifudexing - Fudiyachengxiachao ]

[Evaluation: A letter written in High Gothic. The signature “Orleans Wing” evokes memories of Crazy Thursday’s deliciousness.]

[Production Date: 998.M41]

[Status: Opened]

[Value: 0.001 credits]

No corruption.

Zhou Yun had drawn inspiration from his previous incident.

Any item placed into the fourth-dimensional pocket displayed its relevant information.

If an item was corrupted, he’d know immediately.

Still uneasy, Zhou Yun inspected every single item in his small house before feeling slightly reassured.

He found a piece of composite wood to plug the hole in the iron door, then lay down on his bed.

0.3 seconds later, Zhou Yun was asleep.

In Warhammer, the Americans (not necessarily the original paint, but in novels, Horus still calls them Americans) survived all the way to the Terra Unification Wars, becoming a conglomerate of hive cities ruled by nobles—truly legendary survivors.

(End of Chapter)