The palace was heavily guarded, yet the assassin moved as if through an empty room.
The Black Blade's reality-warping properties made his presence all but vanish. Even when the patrolling guards' gazes swept over him, they would only see a blurry shadow and subconsciously ignore it.
"It's here. Look, that tree."
The gods whispered in his ear, their voices hissing like serpent tongues.
Unable to resist, the assassin pulled the pitch-black dagger, engraved with blasphemous runes, from his robe.
He mechanically walked towards the ancient tree in the center of the courtyard. Moments later, when he left, the dagger was still in his hand.
He swaggered towards an oncoming patrol of palace guards, at one point coming within a single step of the deputy officer.
The deputy officer suddenly stopped, looking around suspiciously, vaguely sensing something amiss. But he quickly shook his head and continued leading the patrol.
Following the gods' guidance, the assassin arrived at an art studio filled with an artistic atmosphere.
Through the window, he saw a young man intently sketching lines on a canvas.
He tightened his grip on the dagger and walked towards him.
Crack!
Lilith landed as lightly as moonlight, snapping the assassin's neck.
She twirled the dagger between her fingers, then waved for the guards to drag the corpse away, leaving not a single drop of blood behind.
"Calliphone, is that you?" came the young man's questioning voice from inside the room.
Calliphone gently pushed the door open, a smile on her face. "Andos, I came to see you."
Andos's gaze looked past her. "What was that noise outside just now?"
"An assassin. But he's dead now." Calliphone's matter-of-fact tone made Andos fall silent for a long time.
Calliphone had changed. Her decisiveness in killing felt alien to Andos.
He didn't sympathize with the assassins, but Calliphone's transformation was hard for him to adjust to.
It was as if, in this family, he was the only one still living in a dream, out of step with the rest.
Andos let out a short, bitter laugh. "Someone like me is worth assassinating?"
"If you died, many people would be executed as a consequence."
Andos suddenly pressed urgently, "What about Heracon? Is he..."
"He's safe. At least, no assassins have gone to him yet."
"Is he a more valuable target than me?"
"Who knows?"
Calliphone didn't know the criteria the assassins used to select their targets either.
Based on current observations, perhaps they were prioritized by importance. Perturabo had the most assassins. She had three.
But why did Heracon have none at all?
...
Caelan followed the same method, embedding all seventeen daggers into the stone platform.
"Just one last dagger left."
Caelan arranged all the confiscated daggers like puzzle pieces. They already formed most of the Chaos Eight-Pointed Star.
This confirmed his initial suspicion: there were eighteen daggers in total.
Perturabo asked, "Father, why only eighteen?"
"That's a question for your other father. I haven't met them yet."
Caelan paused, his tone turning serious. "But this could also be a trick by the Chaos Gods. Don't take it as absolute truth."
"You can ask the Emperor yourself when you meet him. But don't let the question trouble you, and don't get caught up in mental exhaustion."
"I haven't struggled with that for a long time, Father."
Dorn nodded in agreement. "Same here."
He never struggled. He was just unusually straightforward in character.
Although only one dagger remained, it still posed a deadly danger. The risk level hadn't decreased at all.
Caelan had to consider the gods' true goal. Was it really just about assassination?
That seemed too straightforward, not at all in keeping with Tzeentch's usual style.
Caelan believed there was another conspiracy behind the assassinations, one not yet baring its fangs. Perhaps the key lay with this final dagger.
Conspiracies warranted vigilance, but one couldn't focus solely on them. That would only drain energy and trap oneself.
.....
After the harrowing assassination incident, Perturabo finally enjoyed a long-awaited period of peace.
During this rare time of tranquility, his talents in construction were fully displayed.
He and Dorn jointly planned a new design for the Olympian city-states, incorporating every residence and every street into their precise calculations.
Every detail was repeatedly refined by them until perfect.
They reveled in it.
However, happy times are always short.
Just as Perturabo was immersed in the joy of building, the Black Judges arrived.
Olympia lacked the augur arrays needed for deep-space detection. So when the Black Judges quietly entered Olympia's orbit, the Olympians continued their hard work as usual, oblivious to the fate about to befall them.
It was only when the delegation's shuttle broke through the clouds and landed at the palaces of Lokos and the other city-states that the people realized the legendary judges had returned.
"They're in orbit!"
Perturabo looked up. He couldn't see the ship in orbit with his naked eye, but it was there, its engines twinkling in the night sky.
"I miscalculated." Perturabo's voice held a trace of regret. "They aren't on Olympia's moon at all!"
In all the ancient texts of Olympia's city-states, the Black Judges were recorded as coming from the moon.
This led Perturabo to mistakenly believe the Black Judges were based on the moon.
But the arrival of this starship made Perturabo realize how wrong he was.
If the Black Judges were on Olympia's moon, they wouldn't need to send an additional ship.
Perhaps, within the Black Judges' sphere of influence, Olympia was just a remote, backwater world.
That would also explain why the Black Judges hadn't returned to Olympia for centuries.
Caelan said, "The ancient Olympians' records might not be wrong. All historical sources say the Black Judges came from the moon, not from space."
"That's not unfounded, unless they couldn't tell the difference between the moon and space!"
If the records were accurate, it meant the Black Judges came from a different 'moon'.
Their 'moon' was capable of interstellar travel and had briefly entered Olympia's orbit, hence the consistent records.
The ship that arrived this time was also a starship, which could confirm multiple facts.
For instance, the Black Judges possessed their own interstellar fleet, likely ruled over multiple worlds, and were a pocket empire like Inwit.
All this intelligence indicated the Black Judges were more powerful than Perturabo had anticipated, but Olympia wasn't without a chance of victory.
The Black Judges had only sent one ship to Olympia. They were there to collect tribute.
Their arrogance was Perturabo's best opportunity!
Caelan asked, "Abo, where are the Black Judges' envoys?"
Perturabo answered, "The council chamber. Father is negotiating with them."
"Their ship is docked at the palace, guarded by only five sentries. This is a golden opportunity!"
If the Black Judges had stayed in orbit, there would have been little he could do against these aliens.
But since the alien envoys had come to them, and arrogantly parked their shuttle right at the palace...
With the right timing, location, and support, Perturabo wouldn't let this chance slip through his fingers.
To accept when Heaven sends is advantageous; to go against it is disastrous!
...
"One million male and female children."
The black-robed envoy stated the terms coldly. "This is the price Olympia must pay to receive my Lord's protection."
The Black Judges styled themselves as Judges, and as their servants, the black-robed envoys called themselves Accusers.
That's what the envoy told Dammekos. His every word and action oozed arrogance and disdain for mortals.
"Envoy, isn't one million too many?" Dammekos's face showed bitterness as he tried to haggle.
Olympia had recently conducted a census. The total population of the twelve city-states was only eight million.
For the Black Judges to demand a million children right off the bat, they would be bleeding Olympia dry!
The envoy didn't hide the contempt in his voice. "The offspring bred by you lowly mortals are deemed worthy to serve my Lord. You should consider it an honor."
"Olympia hasn't paid tribute for centuries. The arrears must be settled now."
"Otherwise, why should my Lord protect you?"
"But the number is truly too high. Could you perhaps grant us an extension?"
"I'll give you three days. No extensions."
Dammekos lowered his head, mocking these arrogant fools in his heart.
Three days wasn't even enough time to send orders to all the city-states.
But he had never truly intended to offer sacrifices to the Black Judges. If he couldn't protect his own people, what right did he have to call himself Lord of Olympia?
The Black Judges plundered their population, bringing only disaster and terror to Olympia. What protection was that?
To the Olympians, the Black Judges were even more hateful than the xenos!
True, the Black Judges had advanced technology, capable of interstellar travel.
But Olympia had a Primarch.
While he was here, stalling and playing for time with the envoy, Perturabo was surely already planning how to seize the ship.
Dammekos bowed slightly, feigning humility, his voice carrying a perfectly measured tone of fawning and probing:
"Esteemed Envoy, forgive my impertinence, but I am curious: what sacred purpose do the Black Judges have for needing these tributes?"
"If the people of Olympia knew what lofty mission their children would serve, surely they would cooperate more willingly."
The black-robed envoy gave Dammekos a cold glance, a flicker of mockery seemingly flashing in the eyes beneath the hood.
"Lowly mortal, you dare presume to fathom my Lord's will?"
"My Lord is the Arbiter of Life and Death, the Judge of Purity."
"All who are chosen must undergo the Ritual of Purification, to be cleansed of their mortal filth, before they can serve the Most High."
Dammekos maintained his respectful facade, even squeezing out a fawning smile. "I see! To receive such an honor is truly Olympia's good fortune!"
The black-robed envoy didn't reveal the truth to Dammekos. The Black Judges actually had little use for Olympia's meager tributes.
As a powerful empire ruling dozens of worlds in the Meratara Cluster, the Black Judges commanded several hive worlds with populations in the hundreds of billions.
These hive worlds could stably provide millions of male and female children as tribute every year.
Compared to those hive worlds, Olympia's tribute was hardly worth mentioning.
That's why the Black Judges hadn't set foot on this remote world for centuries.
However, even though Olympia offered little of value, the Black Judges insisted on collecting tribute to assert their dominion.
Many mistakenly believed exploitation was merely a means to an end, with profit being the goal.
But exploitation itself is the ultimate goal.
Only through continuous exploitation could the Olympians be reminded who their masters were.
The million children the envoy demanded might not even be used in official ceremonies; they would likely perish en route.
This waste mattered little to the Black Judges, but their objective of harvesting Olympia would be achieved.
BANG!
Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted outside the council chamber, accompanied by the chaotic shouts of a crowd.
"Seize the assassins!"
Dammekos shot to his feet, a hint of panic flashing across his face. "The royal family has been plagued by assassins lately. This is likely aimed at us again! Envoy, please come with me to avoid the danger!"
The gunfire came from the opposite direction of the ship. The envoy didn't grow suspicious, but a look of disdain crossed his eyes, and he curled his lip contemptuously.
"Me, avoid him?"
'Mortals are mortals. Mere assassins, worthy of making him avoid danger?'
Dammekos put on a look of terror. "Envoy, your safety concerns Olympia's future! If any harm befalls you, how can we answer to the Black Judges?"
The envoy said: "If you're afraid, then leave. I will wait here."
Seeing his persuasion fail, Dammekos gritted his teeth, turned, and rushed out of the room.
The envoy remained completely calm, letting out a cold laugh.
"Hah, foolish mortals."
'What was there to fear from some feudal-world assassins?'
'Watch, I'll send my guard to send you all to the heavens!'
As an envoy of the Black Judges, he was accustomed to adopting an arrogant attitude towards the rulers of other worlds.
Although Dammekos was the Tyrant of Olympia, in the eyes of the Black Judges, he was just a tribal chief wielding stone tools.
Those supposedly secret maneuvers were as clumsy as a child's play in his eyes.
If he could eliminate the assassins with overwhelming force, it would serve as a perfect deterrent to Dammekos.
If Dammekos remained obstinate, he would simply have Lokos replace him with a more obedient dog.
For the Black Judges, as long as the tribute was collected on time, who ruled Olympia was utterly irrelevant.
However, as the minutes ticked by, the envoy's brow furrowed deeper, and an uneasy feeling rose in his heart.
He had sent the signal long ago. Why hadn't his guard arrived?
"Someone!" the envoy barked harshly towards the door.
But the two guards who should have been posted outside the door gave no response. Only dead silence.
"Are you deaf?!"
The envoy strode quickly towards the door, but froze the moment he pushed it open.
A towering giant, with indifferent eyes, looked down at him, his shadow enveloping the envoy like a tangible pressure.
Alarm bells rang in the envoy's mind. His right hand flashed towards the pistol at his waist.
But the giant's iron-like hand had already seized his throat, hoisting him bodily into the air.
The envoy's legs dangled, kicking futilely. The pistol slipped from his fingers, clattering metallically against the floor tiles.
Crack!
The giant's fingers simply closed slightly, effortlessly crushing his windpipe.
The Accusers were genetically modified warriors of the Black Judges, but in a Primarch's eyes, they were still flesh and blood, no harder to kill than mortals.
....
"I take three, you take two."
Perturabo communicated the battle plan to Dorn using tactical hand signals. The central square had been cleared of the Black Judges' servants.
The palace's mortal guard couldn't eliminate the sentries without raising an alarm. Only the Primarchs' personal involvement could guarantee success.
But just as the two brothers were still coordinating their tactics, Caelan slowly raised his palm and gently closed his five fingers.
Crack!
The bodies of the five black-robed guards crumpled as if squeezed by an invisible giant fist. The crisp sounds of shattering bones overlapped. Bloody pulp sprayed from the gaps of the unseen grip, and blood fountained everywhere.
Caelan flicked his wrist. "Don't bother with the fuss. Just go."
Perturabo's hesitation lasted less than half a second. His colossal body shot like a cannonball into the ship's cockpit.
The pilot was about to press the communication button when Perturabo's fist smashed the pilot's breathing-mask-clad head down into his chest cavity.
Simultaneously, Dorn killed the co-pilot with a single punch.
"Dorn, take the controls!"
Perturabo shook the brain matter residue from his hand. "Have Zoris send the signal. I'll go make sure Father is safe first!"
The plan was working. No information had leaked.
Now, as long as they killed the envoy, they could pilot the shuttle up to the starship in orbit.
Olympia had no weapons platforms capable of threatening a starship. The only way to destroy that ship was from within.
In this situation, a boarding action would be highly effective.
Perturabo rushed hurriedly towards the council chamber, colliding with a similarly hurried Dammekos in the corridor.
Perturabo asked, "Father, where is he?"
Dammekos lowered his voice. "Still in the council chamber. There are two guards at the door. Be careful."
"Don't worry."
Perturabo and Dammekos split up. The Primarch's enormous physique moved through the hallway with incredible, silent agility.
The council chamber was just around the corner. The shadows cast by the marble pillars perfectly concealed the Primarch's movements.
When he appeared at the corridor's corner, the two black-robed guards hadn't yet sensed the danger. Perturabo's palms were already locked around their throats.
Crack!
Amidst the sound of shattering cervical vertebrae, the two bodies were gently laid on the ground, making scarcely a sound.
Through the heavy door, the Primarch's superhuman senses clearly detected the envoy's steady heartbeat and breathing. He remained completely unaware.
The Primarch stood silently before the door, like a massive stone statue.
"Guards!"
The envoy's impatient voice came from inside the council chamber.
Moments later, footsteps approached.
The envoy had sensed something amiss, but it didn't put him on high alert. He didn't believe anything on Olympia could threaten him.
It was like someone knowing there was a live wire in a restricted area, yet pretending it was a fake wire and taking the risk to sneak in for a bite.
But games can be restarted. Humans don't get second lives.
The door slowly opened. The envoy delivered himself to their doorstep.
Crack!
In a flash, Perturabo seized his throat and crushed his cervical vertebrae.
The envoy's head, still under his hood, lolled to one side, and his body went limp like a ragdoll.
Perturabo released his grip, letting the corpse slump to the floor.
...
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