Cybia's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she appraised the Imperial noble standing before her.
After concluding her exchange with Rowan, she had received her orders and swiftly navigated across the war-torn battlefield to locate Commissar Yarrick.
However, she hadn't expected to stumble upon an unexpected bonus.
As a rigorously trained Inquisitor, Cybia possessed exceptionally sharp intuition. She could easily sense that despite the noble's outward facade of composure, he was practically suffocating with internal panic. The micro-expressions and the fleeting glints of terror in his eyes betrayed him completely.
He was definitely hiding sothing!
Otherwise, what are you so panicked about?
However, her primary mission took precedence.
Cybia turned her head and addressed the Commissar, "Commissar Yarrick, Lord Rowan requires your presence. He has requested you et with him."
"Lord Rowan? He requires my presence?"
A look of genuine perplexity crossed Yarrick's face.
He simply couldn't fathom why an entity of such staggering significance would pay any mind to a lowly Imperial Commissar like himself.
But true to his pragmatic nature, Yarrick didn't press for answers. He gave a decisive nod, signaled a few Steel Legion guards standing a short distance away, and departed in the direction Cybia indicated.
Once the Commissar was out of earshot, Cybia turned her piercing gaze back to the Imperial noble, who was now sweating profusely.
"My apologies, a slight misunderstanding on my part," the noble managed to force a stiff, artificial smile onto his face. "However, my unknown lady, as an esteed Inquisitor, surely you wouldn't concern yourself with such tedious, trivial political gas? It is but a minor matter."
"A minor matter? That remains to be seen."
Cybia's eyes narrowed dangerously.
The stench of fear radiating from this man was so palpable it was practically suffocating; he was undoubtedly concealing critical intelligence.
She had no intention of wasting ti with tedious interrogations.
As a psyker, Cybia possessed far more efficient thods.
Azure psychic light flared within her eyes. Her telepathic dominance effortlessly pierced the noble's fragile, unprotected mind, violently seizing absolute control of his consciousness.
"I order you to speak the truth," Cybia commanded coldly.
The Imperial noble's expression instantly went slack and vacant. Like a puppet with its strings pulled, he began to speak monotonously:
"Yes... we concealed our true objective... Our House's goal is not rely to seize the political authority of the Hive City Governor. We also intend to salvage a collection of xenos artifacts hidden within the Governor's Palace."
"Xenos artifacts?"
Hearing this keyword, the Inquisitor's expression sharpened.
The Imperium of Man harbored an absolute, fanatical xenophobia, and any items of xenos origin were treated with extre scrutiny. In this grimdark galaxy, the true nature of such artifacts was often shrouded in mystery and practically always carried catastrophic, unknown dangers.
While xenos wargear wasn't entirely eradicated within the Imperium, only individuals possessing the highest echelons of authority—such as Adeptus Astartes, Inquisitors, or Rogue Traders—were granted the sanction to study or wield them.
A petty Imperial noble, one who wasn't even a Planetary Governor, possessed absolutely zero authority to hoard such items.
"Salvage xenos artifacts? Your intent is not to destroy them? What is so special about these specific items?" Cybia fired off the questions like a bolter barrage, her brow deeply furrowed.
Although she was an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus—the Daemonhunters—the Inquisition did not strictly confine its agents to their specific jurisdictions.
In a sense, an Inquisitor's authority was infinite and absolute; the only entity they answered to was the Master of Mankind upon the Golden Throne. They were free to prosecute any heresy they deed a threat to the Imperium.
Take, for instance, Inquisitor Gregor Eisenhorn. Despite officially belonging to the Ordo Xenos, he spent the vast majority of his career rarely interacting with aliens, instead dedicating his life to hunting down heretics, cults, and even directly engaging daemons.
However, the noble's hollow answer left her completely speechless.
"I... our House does not actually know what xenos artifacts the forr Governor collected. We are entirely ignorant of their specific functions or details. We only know that they are exceedingly rare... and that possessing them would elevate our House's prestige and status..."
By the Emperor, what a bunch of parasites!
Cybia ground her teeth in sheer disgust.
How can the Imperium ever prosper when it is infested with useless leeches like this?!
She had already assud these nobles were insufferably foolish, but they continuously found new and innovative ways to lower the bar with their actions. It was genuinely infuriating.
However, she couldn't simply ignore this revelation.
After a brief mont of contemplation, Cybia made a decision. She would transmit a vox-report of this discovery to the others, and then personally infiltrate the palace to locate, secure, and properly contain the artifacts.
anwhile.
Commissar Yarrick navigated his way away from the active warzone.
Before departing, recognizing he would be absent from the chain of command for an indeterminate period, he had formally transferred operational control to his adjutant. Flanked by a small detail of personal guards, he proceeded toward the coordinates Cybia had provided.
The destination was incredibly easy to locate; after all, there was a colossal, mountainous landmark sitting right next to it.
The Gargant stood like a towering peak of rusted iron; it was fundantally impossible to miss.
But as he drew closer, Yarrick suddenly halted, his eye twitching violently.
The scene unfolding before him was aggressively challenging his sanity.
Right at the foot of the colossal steel Gargant, sitting amidst the rubble and craters, was a perfectly ordinary wooden desk that had seemingly appeared out of thin air.
Rowan was seated behind the desk with an expression of absolute, solemn professionalism. Staring directly at the approaching Commissar, Rowan sat next to a hastily erected canvas banner propped up on a tal stand, adorned with various scribbles and text.
Yarrick scanned the banner. It was covered in bizarre, borderline incomprehensible promotional slogans. The gist of it read: Now Hiring: One (1) Imperial Commissar. Room and board included. Excellent opportunity to serve the Emperor with absolute loyalty.
And standing rigidly behind Rowan, acting as two hyper-lethal guardian statues, were a Living Saint and a Custodian, both wearing expressions of utmost solemnity.
What in the Emperor's na is this farce?
In all his years of grueling service, Yarrick had never witnessed a spectacle so... utterly bizarre.
He raised a hand, ordering his equally dumbfounded Steel Legion guards to hold their position. Stepping forward alone, he pulled out the wooden chair opposite the desk and sat down, his posture ramrod straight and his expression deadpan.
"No need to be so tense."
A warm smile graced Rowan's face. Seemingly pulling it from the ether, he produced a kettle and poured steaming water into a cup resting in front of Yarrick.
Yarrick reached out and accepted the cup.
How could he even describe this?
It was exactly like the last ti, when this enigmatic man calling himself Rowan had materialized a pen and notepad out of thin air.
Even at this point-blank range, Yarrick had completely failed to perceive where the cup and kettle had co from.
He took a cautious sip. The water was steeped with a highly peculiar type of tea leaf, yet the flavor was remarkably profound, leaving a lingering, calming aftertaste.
But in the next second, Rowan—who had just told him to relax—suddenly spoke up, throwing a question of apocalyptic gravity directly into Yarrick's lap.
"Commissar Yarrick, what is your assessnt of the current state of the Imperium of Man?"
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