Chapter 29: A Message Across the Galaxy

Just as Alvin was racking his brain to figure out how to deceive them.

The mechanical priest named Aluman suddenly frowned, his modified cybernetic eye flashing crimson as he fixed Alvin with a stare: “Wait, what was your name again?”

Alvin was puzzled but gladly seized the chance to change the subject: “I’m Alvin, Reverend Vela.”

“No, I asked for your surname!”

Aluman, impatient and irritable, snapped: “Don’t make me ask again, boy. What’s your full name?”

“Uh… Alvin Valthus.” Alvin’s lip twitched as he silently cursed: Could you just say it clearly?!

Aluman had no idea what Alvin was thinking; after hearing the name, he furrowed his brow, lost in thought: “Valthus… who is your father?”

“I don’t know.”

Alvin shook his head, wearing a look of confusion: “I never saw my father after I was born.”

“Then your mother? What was her occupation? What’s her name?” Aluman’s questions made Alvin feel like he was being interrogated for a household registry—he felt slightly uneasy.

Alvin glanced at Tucker, as if seeking his approval.

“Priest Aluman isn’t exactly a good man, but he means no harm.”

Tucker nodded slightly, glancing at Aluman beside him, and explained to Alvin: “We once served together in the same legion. He’s trustworthy, though his temper is odd and volatile.”

“Alright, though I don’t understand why you’re asking about my mother...”

Alvin paused, collected his thoughts, and said: “But since Mister Tucker believes you’re trustworthy, then I believe you too.”

“My mother’s name is Selica Potuponga. She was a mid-nest factory worker.”

“I don’t know who my father is, but according to my mother, they met by chance, spent one night together, and she became pregnant. Later, due to debt, she was cast down to the lower nest, and she died of hunger and disease when I was six.”

“As for my father… sorry… I’ve never seen him. He probably died in the lower nest—or maybe the mid-nest.”

Alvin gave a brief account, then shrugged at Aluman, who was deep in thought: “That’s all. Reverend Vela, do you have any other questions?”

“No, none. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Aluman gave him a long look, then turned to Tucker: “I have an idea. I might be able to contact the Inquisitor, but it will take some time.”

“How long?”

Tucker frowned: “Those cultist scum have already begun their ritual. We don’t have much time left.”

“Cajoling me won’t help, Tucker.” Aluman rose calmly, brushing dust off his rust-red robe: “Unless you can shut down that damned warp rift, keep your mouth shut!”

“One last thing.”

Tucker hurriedly grabbed Aluman’s arm, grinning: “This kid’s being hunted by the cult’s psykers. Keep him under your roof for a while.”

Tucker expected to have to offer something in return—Aluman always demanded payment in the past—but this time, things took an unexpected turn.

Aluman nodded readily: “Fine. No problem.”

“So quick?”

Tucker was suspicious, studying Aluman with curiosity, as if seeing a stranger: “That’s not like you. Didn’t you always squeeze me dry before?”

“Unaccustomed?” Aluman sneered, extending his hand: “Then fine. Standard rate: five hundred krona per month. Pay up.”

“Ssshh—did my ears just malfunction again?”

Tucker immediately feigned ignorance, patting his ears, then turned and walked out, muttering to himself: “Ah, getting old. Guess my ears went deaf trying to save someone back then.”

Visible veins bulged on Aluman’s forehead: “Get out! Get out now!”

Tucker chuckled, stepped over to Alvin, lowered his voice, and said seriously: “Kid, behave yourself these next few days. Don’t cause any trouble.”

“Don’t worry, Mister Tucker, I understand.” Alvin nodded, then asked curiously: “Mister Tucker, are you going back?”

“Of course I am,” Tucker muttered under his breath. “I have to monitor the cult’s movements. Aluman’s temper is strange—avoid provoking him, got it?”

From the words of this veteran of the Star Guard, Alvin sensed a hint of care—he was moved: “Thank you, Mister Tucker. Please be careful.”

Tucker waved dismissively, said nothing more, and strode out of the chapel.

Priest Aluman… didn’t even acknowledge him, walking straight back into the side room, presumably to do whatever he pleased.

With nothing else to do, Alvin finally had a moment to himself.

“Nakmonde Corridor...”

Good... Pfft, where's the good news? It's all bad news!

Alvin slumped to the floor, his mind filled with the corridors of Nakmonde and the coming… Siege of the Vigil Star!

Thanks to Tucker, he now had at least some grasp of the current timeline.

M41.999: the great Warmaster Abaddon, piloting the Blackstone Fortress, smashed into the planet Cadia, triggering a cataclysmic explosion that tore open the fabric of realspace, allowing warp energies to flood the galaxy and form a scar-like “curse” across the nebulous northern reaches of the Imperium!

Unleashed warp tides surged through the galaxy, freely pouring forth the malice of the Chaos Gods!

Nearly one-third of the Imperium’s territory was now completely cut off in the Dark Reaches.

The Nakmonde Corridor was the only relatively safe passage leading to the cursed scar’s isolated Dark Reaches!

If nothing changed, soon—the Nakmonde Corridor would become a vital chokepoint in the war between the Imperium and Chaos, both sides throwing in endless troops, willing to fight until their brains were blown out!

To be fair, Alvin had some faith—but not much.

Dying for the Imperium? Absolutely out of the question.

Stopping the Nakmonde Corridor war? Don’t make me laugh—it’s pure absurdity!

Now, the only path left for Alvin was to find a ship—fast, immediately, right now—and flee to another star system, as far from the Nakmonde Corridor as possible!

He looked down at his wrist. The Navigator System was still exploring new worlds.

“Looks like I’ll be stuck in the mid-nest for a while.”

Aluman returned to his private workshop, filled with countless mechanical constructs.

Sitting on his chair, he pondered for a moment, then summoned a servo-skull and input a message.

Quickly, the search results appeared on the screen. Aluman stared at the brief message, his gaze shifting from calm to subtly stirred.

“Alvin Valthus… if my guess is right...”

Aluman’s eyes flickered as he murmured to himself: “It seems time to activate that thing.”

The mechanical priest strode straight to a wall in the workshop, underwent an iris scan, and the wall suddenly rotated, revealing a hidden chamber.

Aluman stepped quickly into the chamber—his accumulated, long-hidden “assets.”

The reason he kept it secret was simple: inside… were “xenos artifacts” by the Imperium’s universal definition!

Aluman approached a severed, modified skull, placed his palm upon it, and a trickle of psychic energy slowly spilled forth. His consciousness plunged into the warp, weaving the words in his mind into a message that, under psychic power, flew like a homing pigeon, piercing through countless barriers.

This “letter” would cross star systems.

If all went well, he would receive a reply in a few days.

But after a moment’s thought, Aluman used another device to contact a different planet within this star system.

“I am Aluman Vela, Tech-Priest of the Mechanicus.”

His voice was low, hoarse, and carried a unique rhythm as he spoke: “I know you’re currently undergoing evaluation. You must need a commendation to prove yourself to your master, correct… Inquisitor Winnie Winslett?”