Chapter 68: Winnie Winslet, His Excellency the Inquisitor

At eight years old, one is in the most pure and beautiful stage of life, when buds first bloom.

On Emmrich’s person, Alvin saw a rare, dazzling brilliance of humanity.

Perhaps the Warhammer universe is a cesspool, but undeniably, many humans still blaze with light, fighting desperately just to ensure their race endures.

It is precisely because of people like Emmrich that the Empire has endured to this day.

Alvin unconsciously reached out and patted his head, his tone softening considerably: “You’re a kind child, Emmrich.”

“No, Mr. Alvin, you are the kind one,” Emmrich replied, his excellent character evident in the sincerity and gratitude shining in his blue eyes: “If not for you, my sister Kris and I would have starved to death—I’ve always been grateful to you!”

Such a mature child is truly rare... Though Alvin felt a pang of reluctance, he had no choice.

Emmrich was too stubborn, yet utterly sincere—and precisely because of that, he had firmly chosen the Hammer Gang and Kolchi.

But if Emmrich had not been the kind to repay kindness, Alvin might never have helped him in the first place.

Every sip and bite is predestined.

Alvin sighed inwardly, pretending to reach into his chest before pulling out a small lump of gold: “Consider this a token of my goodwill—a birthday gift for Kris. Don’t show it to anyone. With your wit, you’ll find a way to exchange it for coin.”

This was all he could do for Emmrich.

“No, Mr. Alvin, I...”

Emmrich clutched the heavy metal in his hand and hurriedly refused: “You’ve already helped me so much—I can’t accept anything more from you. Please take it back.”

“Do you look down on my gift?”

Alvin deliberately frowned, feigning displeasure.

Emmrich, being slow-witted, paced anxiously, sweat beading on his forehead: “No, I don’t, Mr. Alvin!”

“I was joking. Take it,” Alvin ruffled the boy’s hair and smiled lightly: “It’s not just for your sister—it’s also a wedding gift, in advance.”

Emmrich, though unsure of its nature, knew the gold lump was invaluable; he carefully tucked it into his coat: “Thank you, Mr. Alvin.”

“Goodbye, boy.”

Alvin gazed deeply at him, then turned away without hesitation, waving his hand: “May the Great God-Emperor protect you, Emmrich.”

“Mr. Alvin, will we meet again?”

At parting, Emmrich seemed reluctant, gazing at Alvin in the glow of the setting sun, and asked innocently: “When I earn enough money, I want to repay you!”

Watching Emmrich in the shadows, Alvin did not turn back. He paused silently for several seconds, a trace of melancholy crossing his face: “We will meet again. If anything goes wrong, never hesitate—protect yourself and your sister. And of course... your future wife.”

After a month away, the chapel’s door seemed newly renovated.

Several bullet holes had been added to the walls—clearly the work of Tark, who had once staged a full-blown brawl here.

Alvin stepped over the threshold and heard binary prayers echoing inside the chapel.

“Venerable Father Aruman, I’ve returned.”

Alvin spoke cautiously, watching Father Aruman praying inside the chapel.

The prayer ceased abruptly, yet Aruman remained in prayerful posture. A strange silence settled over the chapel, the atmosphere unnervingly heavy.

After a moment, Aruman Vila, clad in a rust-red robe, ended his prayer stance.

This technopriest of the Machine Cult stepped forward with steady strides, halting directly before Alvin.

The electronic device embedded in his left eye glowed a faint crimson, as if scanning his body.

After a brief silence, Aruman seemed to exhale: “Good that you’re back. I won’t hold this incident against you—but next time, you must never do anything so dangerous again.”

Nine out of ten things felt deeply wrong...

This tone of concern—could he possibly be Aruman’s illegitimate son?

“Uh, thank you for your concern,” Alvin hesitated for half a second, then said: “Father Aruman, I went to the Undercity to find Mr. Tark, but...”

“I already know about it.”

Father Aruman cut him off, seemingly unconcerned, speaking calmly: “Tark informed me before he acted. You needn’t ask further.”

What kind of mission requires a heavy bolter and a chainsword?

Suddenly, a bold thought struck Alvin—he nearly startled himself.

Heavy bolter... Could old man Tark be planning to assassinate the Planetary Governor?

But he quickly dismissed the idea.

Even if Tark were powerful, he could never kill a Planetary Governor in broad daylight—unless he was mad.

“You’ve returned at a perfect time...”

At that moment, Father Aruman gave him a meaningful look and spoke slowly: “Come with me to meet someone.”

Having spent so much time with the technopriest, Alvin knew Aruman’s voice was always low and gravelly—but this time, he detected a rare note of gravity.

“Father Aruman, may I ask who we’re meeting?” he inquired curiously.

After all, if even a technopriest was acting so solemn, the person clearly wasn’t ordinary.

“Don’t ask.”

Yet Aruman revealed nothing, only warned him: “Don’t speak of what you shouldn’t. Remember—if you do, I can’t protect you.”

Alvin wanted to ask if he could just skip this dangerous errand.

But unfortunately, Father Aruman gave him no room to refuse—he stepped straight past the threshold: “Hurry up, boy.”

With no choice, Alvin followed this “big shot.”

He had assumed he’d be taken to the Upper City to meet some noble aristocrat—after all, given Aruman’s status, he couldn’t imagine anyone else worthy of such solemnity and repeated warnings about conduct.

But he never expected Aruman to bring him to a dilapidated inn.

Calling it “dilapidated” was generous—the inn’s condition rivaled the Undercity, its structure groaning as if it might collapse at any moment.

Yet Father Aruman seemed unfazed, his heavy footsteps creaking on the stairs. Alvin feared the stairs might not bear the weight of a technopriest.

Fortunately, the stairs held. The two reached the second floor.

Aruman gently knocked on a door: “I am Aruman Vila, Techno-Priest of the Martian Mechanicum.”

After a moment, a click sounded—the lock opened.

Aruman gestured for Alvin to follow, stepping inside first.

The inn room was spartan: a single bed nearly moldy, no private bathroom, yet the air carried a pleasantly fragrant incense.

By the window sat a woman.

She stood tall as a drawn blade, radiating an awe-inspiring dignity as if born noble.

Her skin was pale, her features exquisite, her aura icy as an unmelting glacier. Her nose was high, her lips tightly sealed. She wore a black robe edged in gold, seated quietly by the window, her golden curls loosely cascading.

As Alvin speculated about the woman’s identity...

Father Aruman bowed slightly to the seated woman: “It is my honor to meet you. I am Aruman Vila, Techno-Priest of the Martian Mechanicum. I offer you the highest reverence, Judge Winnie Winslet.”