Chapter 30

Three days had passed since he arrived in the Mid-Nest.

Living under someone else’s roof... was downright luxurious.

After delivering and neatly stacking the items ordered by Father Aruman, Alvin finished his work.

His main duty was hauling cargo—nothing heavy, and compared to the Lower Nest, it was downright easy and comfortable.

He had assumed he wouldn’t receive any pay at all; after all, the Mechanicus Priest had already done him the greatest favor by taking him in, offering stable work and a resident permit.

But to his surprise, Father Aruman paid him the standard Mid-Nest daily wage: ten kronen.

Knowing Alvin had likely arrived from the Lower Nest with no money, Father Aruman even prepaid him half a month’s salary for daily meals and expenses.

Though Father Aruman sometimes had a short temper, roaring “Omnissiah above!” while spewing high Gothic curses mixed with binary profanities, he was, at his core, an undeniable good man.

In the 40K universe, teeming with demons and madmen, men like Father Aruman were rare as phoenix feathers.

But the one thing that puzzled Alvin was the complex, incomprehensible emotion always lurking in Father Aruman’s gaze when he looked at him.

“Could a Mechanicus Priest... possibly have that kind of taste?”

Every time he thought of it, Alvin shuddered and immediately crushed the blasphemous notion.

No, no, no—it was impossible!

The Machine Cult wasn’t Christianity; priests weren’t priests—how could they possibly have such a perversion?

Even if, hypothetically, Mechanicus Priests did have such tastes, they’d surely be obsessed with machines, not... that!

“There’s no more cargo today. You may rest early.”

Father Aruman, unaware of Alvin’s blasphemous thoughts, inspected the warehouse goods and then granted him half a day off.

“Thank you, Father Aruman.”

Alvin blinked, shaking the blasphemous thoughts from his mind.

This was the perfect chance to explore the Mid-Nest and perhaps pick up some supplies—maybe even find a surprise.

“Go.”

Father Aruman shuffled slowly, turning toward the side door.

Inside was the Tech-Priest’s forge, piled high with weapons and mechanical constructs; Alvin eyed them greedily but knew what he could and couldn’t do.

Father Aruman had treated him well—would he really become an ungrateful wolf?

He tore his gaze away and walked toward the chapel’s exit.

“Wait.”

As Alvin’s foot was halfway out of the chapel, Father Aruman called out to him.

“Father Aruman, is there something you need?” Alvin muttered inwardly, turning to face him, waiting for the next words.

Father Aruman ambled over and pulled two five-hundred-kronen banknotes from his robe: “The grilled Grol meat at 105 Fernal Street is excellent. Bring me one on your way back, and a bottle of Amasek. Keep the rest for yourself.”

“Understood, Father Aruman.”

Alvin reached out, took the two banknotes, folded them, and slipped them into his inner pocket before leaving the chapel.

Amasek was the Empire’s most famous liquor, produced across countless worlds, yet its flavor varied wildly.

He hadn’t expected a Mechanicus Priest to enjoy it.

He didn’t care much for alcohol, but the mention of Grol meat made his mouth water—he couldn’t help swallowing involuntarily.

Grol meat was made from Glox, the most common livestock in the Empire; its flavor was unique, juicy, and served as a cheap substitute for beefsteak, beloved by the working class.

After weaving through several alleys, Alvin suddenly noticed the streets were unusually crowded.

Crowds surged forward as if drawn by a single purpose; curious, Alvin grabbed a passerby: “Uncle, what’s happening today? Why is everyone out?”

“Young man, just arrived in the Mid-Nest, eh?”

The elderly man smiled, sizing Alvin up with pride: “Today, the great Viceroy of Hadley Planet will lead his guard in a parade through the Hive—once-a-year ceremony. No one wants to miss it.”

Viceroy of Hadley Planet?

Hearing the name, Alvin froze for half a second—wasn’t that the man Tark suspected?

“Uncle, could you tell me about this Viceroy of Hadley Planet?” Alvin feigned ignorance and slipped the old man twenty kronen.

Clutching the two coins, the man beamed—they were two days’ wages—so he cleared his throat and began recounting the Viceroy of Hadley Planet.

“Young man, you were born in a fortunate age.”

“Fifty years ago, Loser was poor. Imperial taxes were crushing—so many Viceroy’s came and went—until Viceroy Hadley took office.”

“Viceroy Hadley was no ordinary man. Soon after arriving, he abolished the crushing taxes, encouraged production, created countless jobs, and turned once-poor Loser into what it is today. He cut our taxes and raised our incomes.”

“Everyone in the Mid-Nest is grateful to Viceroy Hadley. That’s why so many come out spontaneously for his annual parade.”

“Does this parade happen every year?” Alvin asked, surprised.

“Of course! Don’t underestimate our Loser Planetary Defense Force—they’re elite!” The old man leaned close, whispering: “I’ll tell you a secret—my neighbor’s son was picked from our Planetary Defense Force to join the Imperial Guard!”

Alvin grew more confused. The Viceroy Hadley described by the old man sounded nothing like Tark’s description.

One was a cunning fox secretly backing a cult; the other, a benevolent, diligent ruler—which was real?

“Enough. The parade’s about to begin.”

The old man hurried off. Alvin snapped back to reality and followed.

The crowd was overwhelming—he estimated half the Mid-Nest’s population had gathered before the Hive Gate.

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

Three dull bell tones echoed over the Hive.

“That’s... the Ecclesiarchy’s bell?”

Though he’d never heard it before, the solemn, resonant chime carried sacred hymns—like holy water cleansing the soul—sending a shiver through Alvin’s very spirit.

Then he saw the Hive Gate, over a hundred meters tall, slowly opening with the groan of iron bolts and mechanical gears.

A vehicle of undeniable luxury, flanked by ceremonial guards, glided slowly into the wide, spotless street within.

Flowers rained down like petals beneath sacred hymns; behind the vehicle came a ten-thousand-strong army.

At that moment, two figures atop the vehicle caught Alvin’s attention.

One was older, aged but spine straight, dressed in lavish noble attire, a jeweled dueling sword at his hip—his bearing stern and majestic.

Clearly, this was the legendary Viceroy of Hadley Planet!

Beside him stood a young man with snow-white skin and a faintly brooding brow.

The instant Alvin saw the “young man,” he felt as if struck by a sledgehammer—his mind rang with a deafening buzz!

If he’d once been uncertain whether the Hadley family was linked to the cult...

Then now—

Amid the falling petals lining the street, and the endless crowd erupting in thunderous cheers;

Beneath the echoing Ecclesiarchy bells, as millions chanted the Viceroy of Hadley Planet’s name—Alvin felt as if plunged into an icy tomb, a bone-deep, piercing chill!

All because the noble youth beside the Viceroy of Hadley Planet—

Dressed in finery, handsome of face—was the very “psionicist” of the cult Alvin had witnessed firsthand in the Lower Nest’s industrial district.