Infinite Stream Metaverse

Chapter 725 Wangorichi's Determination

Terra, the Garden of Silence.

Long before dawn, Abdullah Anwar had risen from his bed in the darkened chamber.

There were many luxurious houses in the Silent Court, but Anwar had recently moved to a simple room and dismissed all the servants. He half-looked, half-groped his way to his basin, and plunged his face into the cold water. The liquid filled his empty eye sockets and made his skull tremble and chill.

Anwar took a towel and wiped his face, then cleaned his body breathlessly, put on his robe and went to pray.

All astropaths are blind, but a few are truly blind. Some can piece together a whole world from foreseen events, understanding their surroundings by foreseeing the future. Some can see what others see, using the reflections in others' minds to outline the world.

Abdullah Anwar, the abbot of the Court of Star Whispers, is an extraordinary telepath. To him, the human mind is an open book to the unguarded. The world he sees is filled with phantoms of various shapes and forms, in which the souls of living things weave a detailed picture.

He always watched the absurd power struggles among the High Lords with a kind of detached confusion. Anwa, Sak, and Jiberan, three psykers among the High Lords, formed an alliance just to avoid falling into the strange madness of power obsession like Lansong Udo. He left politics to others and just wanted to keep the Star Whisper Court in order.

Even if that Space Marine launched a military coup and turned the High Lords Council into his one-man show, he did not have much resentment. Qingshan Khan might be an outstanding commander and military strategist, but he could not replace the role of the astropath and navigator. Anwa could even understand his usurpation of power to a certain extent - indeed, everything was for the sake of winning this war.

Qingshan at least kept his promise.

The Imperium of Man had won the war.

As the long staff made rhythmic and crisp sounds when it hit the floor, Anwa walked into the chapel with his long staff and slowly knelt down in front of a magnificent statue of the emperor.

He praised the Emperor for His great blessings.

He whispered the prayer over and over again.

For many years, Anwa was satisfied with the results of his work, but recently, the satisfaction was replaced by pain. In the dead of night, he couldn't help but wonder if he could foresee the rise of the beast and warn the empire.

Qingshan Khan is right about one thing.

I have not fully fulfilled my responsibilities.

At first, the ork roars gathered slowly, feeling like a simple warp disturbance that had occurred countless times before. It could have disappeared overnight, or it could have lasted for thousands of years. He should have tried to find the source of the disturbance, but he didn't. It wasn't until the beast attacked that its purpose was finally revealed, and then the ork roars overwhelmed his astropaths, and the communication was in chaos.

"I'll see it coming, my Lord. I swear next time I will, I'll be more alert and focused."

Anwa untied the robe on his upper body, pulled his thin arms out of the sleeves, revealing his skinny upper body, hung up the high lord's gorgeous clothes, and picked up a whip made of rare birch wood in the Holy Forest.

He began his first confession.

"Snapped!"

"I beg your forgiveness for my failure in duty."

Anwar muttered to himself as the sound of branches hitting flesh echoed through the room and he bit back a cry of pain.

"Snapped!"

"I beg your forgiveness for my failure in duty."

He switched sides and whipped his left shoulder.

This kind of self-torture confession has been going on for a while. Every day his back is in unbearable pain from the whipping. Even so, Anwa still forces himself to come to the Astronomical Office in the outer city of the palace from the Silent Court. There, he will spend several hours sitting on the receiving bench, analyzing the Astronomical messages from the entire empire. Most of them are distorted due to the vibration of the subspace, and the time sequence is often confused.

Anwa is still gifted. Despite the passage of time, his analytical ability is still far stronger than that of the youngest and best astropaths. One after another, stories of destruction, terror and barbarism are presented to the people through his mouth.

This is another way for him to confess.

He prayed that this would earn the Emperor's forgiveness.

But he knew he didn't deserve it.

"I beg your forgiveness for my negligence!"

The whipping became harder and harder, and the sound became louder and louder.

"For my negligence—"

Very soft footsteps came from the stone bricks, interrupting Anwa's prayer. The blind man's hearing is not better than that of ordinary people, but he does pay more attention to the information conveyed to him by his ears.

"Who is there?"

He turned around. In his psychic vision, the soul light closest to him was several rooms away. He was the only one in the chapel, but he still kept looking around and shouting:
"This is the chapel of the Lord of the Star Speech Court! Who is it?"

Dead silence, no one responded.

No one can hide from his psychic vision, but why does the feeling of fear still clench his heart tightly?
He fumbled with his staff and stood up, his robe hanging around his waist. His useless eyes scanned the room, but his psychic senses, which were more powerful than his physical eyes, could not capture any information.

Suddenly, he felt a biting chill.

A ripple appeared in the second field of vision, and the outline of the world outlined by the reflection of the soul began to distort along with the ripples, and finally turned into a black hole, swallowing up all the light.

"traitor."

The soft voice tore at Anwa's soul.

"No, wait, I'm not a traitor. I am the Emperor's most loyal servant! I am the Emperor's most loyal servant!"

Anwa yelled helplessly as he stumbled back until his back hit the edge of the altar, causing him to cry out in pain.

"We are the Emperor's Justice!"

"We are the Emperor's Judgment!"

There was a mechanical humming sound around him, as if some precision instrument was being turned on. The weapon reached its maximum power in the hissing sound, causing Anwar's teeth to tremble in pain.

There is only one possibility.

A Chulisas assassin.

A creature identical to the Sisters of Silence, these Soulless Ones were born, abducted, trained, and honed to be the ultimate killers of psykers, abominations that can snuff out the light of a soul as easily as blowing out a candle.

"I know what you are! Why didn't Wangorich send you to fight against the orcs? Why did he let you show up now? You said I was disloyal? Then what about the Grand Master?"

Anwa asked in panic.

However, there was no response from the other party.

There was absolute darkness all around, a nothingness that swallowed up time, space, and soul. Anwa felt himself being pulled, a feeling that was extremely painful, and fear overwhelmed his old heart.

"Please, please."

He slid down from the altar sobbing.

Kneeling on the cold floor:
"I... I know, I know! I could have done better, I will do better! I have learned my lesson. It is not enough to do my duty, I must exceed the Emperor's expectations! I know now. Please tell the Grand Master that I know I was remiss, I am sorry, I am ashamed..."

His eyes could not cry, and there were no tears to shed.

"You are guilty."

The Chulisas Assassin said.

A black beam of light suddenly crossed the psychic vision and connected with Anwa's forehead. For the first time in his life, he was truly blind. All the good feelings were driven out of his body, leaving only pain. His soul was slowly pulled out of his body bit by bit, like a stretched native nerve.

"what----"

Anwar's mouth and mind screamed together, invisible shockwaves swept through the air, and his final psychic howl exploded from the chapel, stunning everyone within a 500-meter radius.

The Chulisas assassin closed her hostile reflector. Anwar's soul turned into nothingness, and his still-living body fell to the ground, his fate far more miserable than death.

When the acolytes and guards of the abbot of the Star Whisper Court hurried to the chapel, the Chulisas assassin had already left. Tonight, she had to visit another psychic.

…………

Terra, Navigator Zone.

The Navigator Zone is an independent little world that is very different from other areas of Terra. Although it is surrounded by mortal hive cities, it is isolated from the world. Whether in space or on the surface, the Navigators are always separated. There is a building every five steps and a pavilion every ten steps in the Zone, but no normal person wants to visit this gilded prison tailor-made for the Navigators.

Inside a Skyhawk shuttle, Shirad Ghiberan looked down at the countless towering spires in the Special Zone with a gloomy look. Each manor tried to outshine its neighbors in height and beauty. The shining spires were dotted with gardens and streams, and the gorgeous domes separated the polluted air of Terra. The most magnificent building located in the center of the Special Zone, the Hall of Elders, was currently controlled by the Ghiberan family.

So beautiful, so transcendent, so claustrophobic.

The shuttle landed on the helipad in front of the tower. At the end of the porch and stairs was a huge glass window. The sprinkler outside was spraying water evenly onto the flowers from the center of the artificial sky. The raindrops hit the window. Surrounded by steel and bricks, the sounds of nature seemed extremely abrupt.

Gibran walked into the mansion's door.

"You are back, my Lord."

Butler Dakorian immediately stepped forward to greet him.

A group of servants surrounded him, took off Gibran's coat, wiped his hands and feet and sprayed him with perfume. The navigator ambassador stood there impatiently and endured their service.

Gibran got rid of the last servant who was serving him and walked towards the staircase surrounding the palace courtyard. He climbed the stairs and walked into the study. He closed the door, collapsed on the sofa and let out a long sigh.

After a moment, he stood up and walked to the window.

Soothing green light shone into the dark room. On the other side of the room was a magnificent door, outside which were his bed, concubines and collection of fine wine. But before enjoying it, he planned to take a look at his garden, where a variety of ancient Terran plants were collected that could not be seen anywhere else.

However, the pile of documents on the desk reminded him all the time that the work was not yet completed. Gibran sighed deeply and waved his hand to increase the transparency of the window until the glass was completely clear. The rain hitting the window and the branches swaying in the wind and rain at least provided some entertainment for the annoying work.

The pile of documents on the desk were either about the empire or about the family. About a quarter of them were related to the marriage between men and women. The breeding program was the core of every Navigator family, and it was also the basis and key for this group of psychic mutant humans to enjoy the privileged class status from generation to generation.

However, the document at the top, a document that had priority and importance over all the family breeding plans, had a bust of a black-haired Space Marine on its cover.

Qingshan Khan...

Shirad Gibran picked up the pile of documents silently.

Since it was unclear how long this Space Marine would continue to exercise his military dictatorship, the Navigator family was eager to curry favor with the new Imperial commander-in-chief. The voyage of any warship could not be separated from the support of the navigator, whether it was the Imperial Navy fleet or the Astartes Chapter, and it seemed that showing goodwill was a sure thing.

However, when the scribes of the Navigator family looked through the ancient historical documents that had been sealed for a long time, they found to their embarrassment that a thousand years ago, the Iron Pagoda Regiment had had a minor disagreement with the Navigator Ambassador over the breeding program.

Normally, no one would remember a trivial thing that happened a thousand years ago. The problem was that due to the disordered time flow caused by the subspace storm, the current chief navigator of the Iron Pagoda Regiment was the same person as the woman from a thousand years ago.

"Tracy Gray? Refusing to carry out the marriage and breeding plan? Changing her last name to 'Tracy Grayer' to show that she has completely separated from the family and drawn a clear line?"

Looking at this passage in the data, Gibran felt a little amused. The Grey family was not a prominent and powerful family, but the breeding program was the key to the long-term survival of every navigator family. To put it more concretely, it was the breeding program that ensured the transportation and navigation of the human empire.

Why is this woman so childish and rebellious?
What puzzled Gibran even more was that such a naive and rebellious woman was actually the chief navigator of the Iron Pagoda Regiment? Leading a powerful Emperor-class battleship?

Gibran was a little jealous.

He is also a navigator, and he also longs to sail the stars in a great ship. However, his family arranged for him to be the official spokesperson for all navigators in the High Lords Council, which resulted in him never leaving the solar system. The farthest place he has been to is only the Lagrange point of Venus.

"Forget it, let the Elders' Hall take care of the headache."

Gibran threw the documents on the table.

"Tuk, Tuk, Tuk!"

There was a knock on the door.

"Damn it...Darkorian! Darkorian! Whoever it is, get him out of here! My job can get from this pile to the edge of the star and back again! Darkorian?"

Gibran called out to his butler in annoyance, put down the data tablet, picked up the communication sound bead, and said while cursing:
"Dakorian, where are you?"

The door opened a crack, and the yellow light from the corridor shone in, piercing the shadows on the velvet carpet.

"Dakorian?"

Gibran subconsciously reached for the pistol under the table, but a familiar voice interrupted his action.

"He's not here, cousin."

"Dovian O'Far, is that you?"

Gibran breathed a sigh of relief.

"it's me."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I just happened to be passing by here and heard that you were back. So, you know, I wanted to give you a surprise."

Dovian O'Farrell shrugged and walked in:
"I rang the doorbell, but your housekeeper was nowhere to be found, so I got you some goodies."

Gibran turned on the desk lamp with a snap of his fingers.

Dorvian is his fifth cousin, the result of a three-generation marriage between the Gibran family and the Orfar family. The sophisticated breeding program made him show the genetic characteristics of his maternal family: thin and long limbs, a willow-like body, and active muscles under the blue translucent skin. Compared with standard humans, he is slightly weird and more like the legendary son of the void.

The Ofar family is the Void Children of the Navigator family. They are more adapted to artificial gravity environments and usually live only on ocean-going ships. Even their palaces are built in the orbit of Jupiter. Dovian Ofar is a special case. His Gibran blood allows him to walk on Terra with the help of a precision hydraulic exoskeleton. This advantage is also the reason why he was chosen as the Ofar family's envoy to Terra.

Dovian was not only Gibran's cousin, but also his close friend, and they had similar tastes. O'Far brought a bottle of Europa salt brandy, which was just what Gibran liked.

"A welcome gift for you."

"That's kind of you. Come on, pour the wine. If anyone asks me why I haven't finished my work, I'll have an excuse."

Gibran stretched and sat down.

"Ah, I know I'm still somewhat useful. Mind if I sit down for a while, cousin? I'm still not used to Terra's gravity, and it's making my joints stiff."

Dovian's exoskeleton made a slight hissing sound as it approached, and he patiently unsealed the bottle and asked.

Gibran nodded and took out two glasses. Dovian pulled a chair over and sat down, pouring wine for Gibran, the sharp salty taste stimulating the latter's taste buds.

"I wish you good health."

Dovian raised his glass in greeting.

Gibran raised his head and drank it all in one gulp.

Top-quality brandy, full of spicy and salty flavors.

Dovian didn't drink it, but filled Gibran's glass instead.

"Drink, cousin. Life is short, enjoy it while you can. Since I was exiled to the throne world, I never thought I would be so close to war and death. Every day of these months could be the end of you, the end of me, the end of everyone. We never know when our souls will return to the Golden Throne. This period of time... is not easy for everyone."

Dovian smiled bitterly, shook his head and sighed.

"Yes...Praise the Emperor!"

Gilberan drank it all again, feeling a pleasant shiver running from his stomach up his spine.

"Why? You don't want to drink?"

Gibran put down the empty wine glass and looked down to see that the clear liquid in the glass in front of his cousin had not moved at all.

"No, I don't."

Dovian waved his hand and pushed the cup away.

After a moment's silence, he suddenly spoke:
“Sillard, the elder is very unhappy.”

The pleasant tremor did not stop, but slowly turned into a painful spasm. The cup fell on the carpet with a dull thud, and the sticky wine stained the carpet.

"You poisoned me!"

"Yes."

"You can't replace me."

"I can, and I will. Wangorichi reached an agreement with the elders some time ago, and everything has been settled."

"How could he... meet the elder without telling me?"

Jibran asked in disbelief. After a long life and the experience of looking directly into the warp, Jibran thought he had long forgotten what fear was, but it turned out that he was wrong.

"Through me."

Duo Vian spread his hands apologetically:
"I provided the channel. I also knew it was dangerous, but your poor performance in the Beast War gave me confidence, and the price of my taking office was your death. I'm sorry, I like you as a friend, but this is not a personal grudge."

"You traitor, you bastard..."

Gibran slumped in his chair and struggled, reaching for his pistol, but the holster was empty.

"You just assassinated a high lord like this?"

Gibran stared at Dovian and asked:
"Can Qingshan Khan agree?"

"Then you might as well take another guess."

Duo Vian sneered when he heard this:
"Who authorized Operation Wangorichi?"

"Impossible! Why... You can't even adapt to the gravity on Terra. You will die here."

Gibran sobbed and cried bitterly.

"You can adapt to gravity, but you'll still die here."

"You will spend the rest of your life in pain!"

"Perhaps, but I have been exiled here for a long time. You made me suffer, and power may make me feel better."

"Dakorian! Dakorian!"

White foam overflowed from Gibran's mouth, and he screamed in pain, using his last bit of strength to struggle to stand up by the edge of the table and staggered to the door. But there was no one outside the door, and his housekeeper had abandoned him.

Gilberan's throat was clogged with bloody phlegm, and he pulled feebly at the delicate cloth band on his forehead, trying to remove the blindfold and use the psychic energy of his third eye to destroy his cousin. But the hood remained firm, and his fingers refused to obey the command of his brain. He collapsed to the ground, and his limbs loosened weakly.

…………

Terra, connect to the Axiom Fortress.

The Nexus Fortress is the headquarters of the Imperial Merchant Fleet and also the home of the Merchant Fleet Spokesperson.

The foundations of the Nexus Fortress were laid centuries before the founding of the Imperium of Man. Every hereditary charter and letter of marque was issued from here, and every statistic of shipping, taxation, and trade in every system was stored here. Unlike many of Terra's decaying buildings, the Nexus Fortress still exudes an air of wealth and abundance, a testament to the affluence of the Empire's Rogue Traders.

Yuskina Tull sat feebly in her bedroom, while her maid Anasta was carefully combing her hair.

The walls of the bedroom present a dynamic and colorful scene, with murals depicting four-fifths of the vast territory of the human empire, with stars and nebulae shining and changing with the passage of time. By changing the perspective and positioning, Yuskina can observe the stars from Terra's perspective, and use lines to outline the imaginary warriors, swords and monsters. Even tens of thousands of years ago, humans have been looking up at the stars.

This mural is not only a work of art, but also a strategic tool. Yuskina can call up the imperial merchant ships in a region at any time and check their sailing tracks and docking records. But she likes the artistic part of the mural more. Every night when she lies in bed, the mural makes her feel like she is wandering among the stars, finding traces of the stars she has visited before among billions of stars. This kind of meditation can help her eliminate the worries of the day.

But now, she no longer liked the beautiful scenery in front of her. This mural only made her feel ashamed. The dark part between the starlight seemed to contain infinite horror.

Her nightmares were filled with the screams of the dying - those who died on the Battle Moon. She had not participated in the battle that day, but she could imagine the horror of that day. She had once held unparalleled passion and unwavering faith, but now her mind was filled with bloody faces and the howling of Orks.

Yuskina couldn't help sobbing softly.

"Hush, Mrs. Tour, please calm down and relax... It's almost over. Did I hurt you?"

The maid Anasta asked as she combed her hair.

Yuskina wanted to say something, but her sadness made her unable to utter a word, so she just shook her head silently.

"Then put your worries aside."

The old maid spoke softly and comfortingly behind her.

"Swish, swish, swish, swish..."

The teeth of the comb made a slight sound as they passed through the hair.

“I killed so many people.”

Yuskina said softly.

"Shh, stop worrying about it."

"I can not sleep."

“The burden of power is heavy.”

Yuskina could no longer hold back her tears, which flowed down her cheeks as she spoke her heart out:
"I failed. I screwed up. I ruined my department and killed millions of people. The orcs just laughed at us, and that big face in orbit, ugh..."

She put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Anasta sighed and put down the comb. He walked around to Yuskina, gently grabbed her wrist and pulled it open:

"Don't be sad, ma'am. You have a lot of reasons to live. You are so strong and beautiful. You can't become like me. You can cheer up."

Yuskina shook her head with tears in her eyes and said:

"I can not do it."

"You will always be young and beautiful."

"How is this possible?"

"Then enjoy your beauty before it fades. Maybe one day, you will be old and wrinkled like me. But look, ma'am, there is not a single gray or dry wisp of hair, your skin is smooth and your bones are strong."

Anasta pushed Yuskina towards the mirror.

Yuskina looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the terrible contrast between her appearance and the old maid's, and imagined what she would look like when she was old. Yuskina was definitely older than Anasta, but advanced anti-aging drugs and rejuvenation treatments made her look like Anasta's daughter.

"My father is a historian, did you know that?"

Anasta said softly.

"No, I've never heard you say that before."

Yuskina said, shaking her head slightly.

Anasta whispered:

"He loved ancient history, real ancient history, and he told me about Roman and Japanese culture in the first and second millenniums. Can you imagine that warriors or officials at that time would commit suicide after failure? They would end their lives with guns, swords, poison or razors, and wash away the shame with their own sacrifice. They must have been very brave."

"Yes, they are very brave."

Yuskina muttered to herself, her eyes involuntarily looking at a drawer in front of her, which contained her service pistol. She had not worn it for many years since she left the frontline. The drawer was opened a crack, and Yuskina did not remember taking out the gun. She had not held a gun for a long time.

"lady."

Anastasiya stroked Yuskina's shoulder:

"You have to be strong, face your setbacks and overcome them, face the challenges brought by humiliation, and then use it to prove your extraordinaryness. I believe you can do it."

"But I'm not strong."

Yuskina shook her head and stroked Anasta's warm, soft hand on her shoulder:
“I’m not a strong person anymore.”

"Then you have to be brave."

Anasta squeezed Yuskina's hand:

"I will bathe you, ma'am."

"Thank you, it's great to have you by my side."

Yuskina thanked him sincerely.

Anasta left the bedroom and headed for the bathroom.

Leave the hostess under the ever-changing star map.

Yuskina's eyes were dull and she was lost in her memories.

Lord Qingshan once angrily denounced her incompetence and belittled her in front of everyone. She also believed in the Emperor and believed that the Emperor would assist her peasant crusade, but the Emperor did not. Lord Qingshan did not believe in the God-Emperor faith, but he led the human coalition to defeat the Orks.

Astartes were forged by the Emperor himself. Astartes are closer to the Emperor than mortals. Lady Qingshan is right. The Emperor will not save them. Humans must rely on their own strength to save themselves. And she once thought that the firm belief in the Emperor was just a blind obedience to her parents, nothing more.

Yuskina looked down at the drawer again.

She is naive, she is foolish, she is of no value to the Empire, but she may still have enough strength to be brave and wash away the shame she has brought to all Rogue Traders.

The drawer was easily opened, and her pistol was lying in the groove. It was not a rare thing, just a simple laser pistol, but it meant a lot to her. It was a gift from her father when she first became the commander of a ship. Of course, this pistol was also very expensive, with reflective gold lines intertwined to draw complex patterns.

She pulled out the gun. The heavy feel of the gun and the redwood stock brought back memories, but those beautiful and proud moments only made the current shame more apparent.

She pressed the power button with trembling fingers, and the indicator light on the side of the gun turned from red to green, indicating that the battery was full.

How interesting... Yuskina thought to herself, her father always bought only the best things, but after such a long time, even the best battery should have run out of power.

How many lives has this gun taken? Aliens, pirates, mutinous crew members? Who will be next?
The muzzle of the gun felt cold against her temple. Anasta was preparing the water for a bath, so she probably couldn't hear the gunshot. Yuskina hoped that someone else would be the first to find her. The maid was the closest thing to a friend she had.

The stars slowly moved, and she marveled at their magnificence again. The woman continued to smile before pulling the trigger.

"puff."

The sound of the laser penetrating the skull rang in my ears.

It also penetrated and fried the brain inside the skull.

In the bathroom, the faucet was running all the time, and bright flower petals were scattered on the floor with the overflowing water.

Anasta has returned to her Assassin's Temple.

…………

Terra, Tower of Autumn.

The Tower of Autumn is not an eye-catching building. It was buried in the wave of reconstruction after the Great Heresy a thousand years ago, and therefore no longer has any defensive function. However, considering its important value and commemorative significance in the Siege of Terra, it cannot be demolished or used for other purposes, so it has to be sealed as a monument to record history.

Williot looked out of the hole in the Autumn Tower with an expressionless face. Not far away was the Tower of Veslyusin and the hidden attic on the top of the tower - the ventricle.

“Don’t just stand there.”

Lan Song opened his mouth to warn.

"No one saw me."

Williot disagrees.

"Come on, don't stare over there. I heard the cerebral ventricle is Wangorichi's lair. He hangs out in there whenever he has time. I bet there are listening and monitoring devices everywhere."

"Perhaps, of course. Have you been in there?"

"No, do you think I'm stupid?"

"We were all stupid enough to let that damned snake slip through."

Williot said as he lay down beside the firing hole and observed. The outline of the ventricle was hidden in the omnipresent haze of Terra, like an assassin without any features.

"Every time we had a meeting, he sat with us, jumping up and down, commenting on current affairs and military affairs, as if he were also a high lord... As a result, Qingshan Khan actually promoted him to high lord."

Williot cursed grimly.

"Abel, get away from that window!"

Lan Song emphasized again.

Williot sighed and finally left the firing hole. He came to the Lanson Table, a round iron table with nine seats around it representing the nine loyal primarchs during the Horus Heresy. The chairs were more symbolic than practical, they were huge and very close to the table, fixed to the ground. Williot struggled to squeeze himself in.

"We are old, and I should retire."

Williot exclaimed.

"What I'm concerned about is whether we can get older. Will Wangerich let you go just because he's retired? Qingshan supports Wangerich behind the scenes. He might as well just hand over our execution permit to that guy."

Lan Song waved his hands irritably.

"Maybe."

"Don't think so, Abel. If you thought your head was stable enough, you wouldn't come here to see me."

"probably."

"This is not the Imperial Parliament. We don't need to use these empty words. Stop using maybes and probablys. I just want to ask you one question: do you support me or not?"

"Yes, yes, of course I support it."

Williot signaled to his allies to be patient:

"Calm down, man."

"Fuck it!"

Lan Song threw his hat on the table. It was a craftsman's hat. The two came disguised as civilians, although they were armed with advanced weapons that ordinary people could not have. A cloud of dust floated up, flickering and swirling in the incoming sunlight.

"We have given so much to Terra and humanity, and he has the nerve to say that we are just sitting there doing nothing? That I am a coward and a deserter? What does a Space Marine know about governing a country? They are all a bunch of butchers. What else do they know besides slaughtering people?"

Lan Song cursed.

"Where's Axe?"

Williot asked:

"He should be here."

Lan Song took out a timer:

"He was late. I suggested he take the side road. He might have lost his way. That guy is always surrounded by at least twenty servants. He is damn hopeless."

"Vangolich may have found him."

Williot said, narrowing his eyes.

"He will come."

Lan Song said.

After that, the two had nothing more to say.

The hustle and bustle of Terra's traffic and industry seeped in, mixed with fear and settled in the house. The Tower of Autumn had experienced fierce battles and produced countless heroes, but now there were two cowards hiding in the tower.

"crunch..."

There was a sound of door hinges turning.

At the sound, Lanson leaped up and grasped the hilt of his sword, while Williot drew his pistol.

"Axe?"

The door opened and the Minister of the Interior came in, breathing heavily, his gorgeous robes covered with dust and rust.

"Why are you coming here dressed like this?"

Lan Song's eyes widened with anger when he saw this:

"What should I do if someone follows me?"

Ax laughed breathlessly:

"Do you think pretending will work?"

"Did you come alone?"

Williot kept a tight grip on the gun.

"Of course, of course, I'm a little lost."

Axe breathed a sigh of relief and raised his hands:
"I'm a little uncomfortable going out alone."

"Sit! We don't have much time."

Lanson waved his hand for the Minister of the Interior to take a seat.

"I think I know why you want to see me."

Axe kept an equal distance from the other two, and the three of them formed a triangle around the round table.

"Vangolich."

Williot's voice trembled as he spoke the name.

"He's dangerous, yes."

Axe nodded and said.

"He wants to manipulate us."

Lan Song gritted his teeth and said:

"He has become arrogant. I don't know whether Qingshan Khan gave Wangorichi some authorization or promise, or whether the two of them have been in collusion for a long time. I don't know, but I know that my entourage has been infiltrated. Even my closest bodyguards have agents from the Assassin's Court. Only the Emperor knows when they started, probably a few months ago?"

"A few years ago, Lan Song."

Williot shook his head and said:

"We must not underestimate him."

"Of course not!"

Upon hearing this, Axel's face suddenly changed:

"So what you're saying is that I've been infiltrated, too? Where are my family? I... I think I have to go."

"Calm down, Axl. Just sit still."

"He has spies around all the High Lords."

The two men hurriedly persuaded the Minister of the Interior not to panic.

"Even Udo? And the Grand Master of the Inquisition?"

As Axe spoke, he began to sweat.

"Of course. He has great connections."

"Are you sure?"

"We all saw it, my bodyguards, my entourage, their faces started to melt and they became another person."

Lan Song vowed:

"Polymorphol, transfiguration drug. Callidus assassin."

"I was wondering why you voted in favor of reorganizing the High Lords' Council and letting Wangorichi's seat return. I thought Qingshan Khan was threatening you."

Axe suddenly realized and said:

"So what to do now?"

"It's simple, just get rid of him, kill him."

Lan Song's tone was filled with murderous intent:
"Just like you would any enemy."

"Killing an assassin? Are you sure?"

"We have no choice."

Lan Song said with a firm look on his face:

"The Imperial Navy and the Imperial Guard also have their own assassination units. Wangorich cannot monopolize all assassins."

"Hahahahaha..."

Axe's expression suddenly changed, from panic to wild laughter. The Minister of the Interior raised his head and opened his mouth wide, and his unrestrained laughter echoed in the room.

"He's gone crazy."

Williot turned to look at Lansong and said:

"We should—"

The laser pistol fired silently, and Williot fell face down on the table. He pulled the trigger before he died, and a live bullet passed over Axe's head, exploding debris on the wall. Axe remained calm and fearless, while Lanson curled up next to him with his hands raised high above his head.

Axe turned the pistol toward Lanson.

"You're not Axe."

"My fault, my fault. Many people say that the High Lord is stupid. At first I thought that was just the common complaints and complaints of the ruled... But now it seems that they are not wrong. Obviously, I am not Aix."

"Aix" pointed his gun:
"Move and sit next to me."

"What if I say no?"

"Then I'm going to shoot you and drag you here. If you want to stay alive, I suggest you behave yourself. Move your ass, Lord High Lord Admiral."

"This is treason! Wangorichi will never get away with it!"

Lan Song put his hands on his head and stood up.

"I believe he can, though my opinion is of no importance, I am only a tool. Now sit down, my Lord."

The assassin ordered Lanson to sit on a chair, he walked around the table, picked up Williot's pistol, squatted down until he was level with the table, and then he pointed the gun at Lanson.

"What are you doing?"

Lan Song turned pale when he saw this.

"You will not get away with it, by your own words. You will die a traitor, my lord."

Lan Song jumped up when he heard this:

"You promised to let me go!"

"I hinted that I would let you go. Goodbye."

"Snapped!"

The bullet from the live ammunition pistol hit Lansong's heart, destroying the organ and his life at the same time.

The assassin sprayed the pistol with chemicals, wiping away any traces of his use, and waited for the chemical to inactivate before he thrust the pistol into the hands of the two dead High Lords. He then peeled off the thin layer of synthetic skin covering his arm, set it on fire, and scattered the ashes into the dust of Terra. Even if anyone dared to investigate the case later, they would not find any traces of the transmutation drug associated with the Callidus assassin.

The "Minister of the Interior" rubbed his hair, returned to his panting and flushed state, then pressed the communication sound bead. His servant was still waiting for him at the bottom of the tower.

"Help! Help!"

He shouted in the voice of Aix:

"Admiral Lanson and Marshal Williot are fighting!"

…………