Chapter 326: The Inquisitor's Man, Part II
Kian tilted his head.
"Meaning what, exactly?"
Baron Pallid raised both hands, palms open, signalling he was no threat.
"I serve an Inquisitor. He commands five hundred armoured troops, thirty thousand soldiers, and three warships."
Kian had no way of knowing whether any of that was true. He kept the greatsword pressed against the man's chest with one hand and beckoned with the other.
"Show me your credentials."
Baron Pallid popped open his chestplate voluntarily and pulled a pendant from around his neck, tossing it to Kian.
Kian caught it and examined it closely. A Rosette.
A Rosette — a medallion forged from a unique alloy, typically bearing a human skull motif at its centre.
A Rosette was a seal of authority. The ultimate seal of authority. One was carried by an Inquisitor, and an Inquisitor alone.
The Inquisition was the Imperium's core enforcement apparatus — the Emperor's own secret police.
Intelligence, investigation, assassination, judgement, arrest, execution: they did it all, and they did it with terrifying proficiency.
The Inquisition maintained its own armies and operated through countless subdivisions.
Internally, they investigated Planetary Governors and Space Marines alike. Externally, they fought daemons and battled xenos.
Inquisitors were the single most critical component of the Imperium's self-policing mechanism, their tendrils reaching into virtually every Imperial institution.
If a world's daemon or xenos infestation spiralled beyond the point of recovery, an Inquisitor had the authority to issue an Exterminatus order.
With a single command, they could wipe out tens of billions of souls alongside every alien and Chaos abomination on the planet's surface.
Act first, report later. Authority granted by the Emperor Himself. That was the incomparable power an Inquisitor wielded.
The Rosette in Kian's hand was finely crafted, but its surface was pure white rather than the standard colouring. This was a Rosette replica.
Inquisitors surrounded themselves with retinues of acolytes and agents. Those who distinguished themselves in combat might be honoured with a copy of the Inquisitor's own Rosette.
Kian ran the pendant through his System. The item tag confirmed it was genuine.
A replica of Inquisitor Trasolh's Rosette, bestowed upon his closest friend and most trusted operative: the Pale Assassin.
This Rosette replica carries secondary-tier clearance from the original. Built-in data probe grants the bearer access to nearly all Imperial Cogitator arrays.
Kian looked up from the pendant and fixed his gaze on Baron Pallid.
"What's your master's name?"
"Inquisitor Trasolh. I have served him my entire life, and I will serve him until my death."
It matched. Kian thought for a moment, then tossed the pendant back.
"Your credentials check out. But here's what I don't understand: you serve an Inquisitor. So why the hell are you meddling in some two-bit succession squabble on a backwater planet?"
Baron Pallid cracked a grin and glanced back toward the stepmother sitting in the spectator gallery.
"I was placed on this planet under Inquisitor Trasolh's direct orders. My mission is deep cover: monitor and assess the planetary leadership for signs of sedition or heresy.
To carry out that mission effectively, I needed to build a certain degree of local influence.
But I'll admit there's a personal motive as well.
Inquisitor Trasolh's work is glorious, but it is also lethally dangerous.
I wanted to leave behind an heir on this world. If I fall in some future battle against the enemies of mankind, my child will be taken in by the Imperium, enrolled in the Schola Progenium, and raised into someone worthy of respect."
Kian's eyes drifted to the stepmother in the stands, and the pieces clicked into place.
"I knew it! Old Lord Campella was practically a raisin — there was no way he was getting that young wife pregnant!
So the kid's yours, you sneaky bastard. You were planning to breed your way into a dead man's inheritance!"
It wasn't the most diplomatic observation, but Baron Pallid had been caught red-handed and couldn't exactly argue the point. He could only offer a bitter laugh.
"My lord, I ask that you spare my life. I will ensure my woman withdraws from the Campella succession dispute.
As you yourself said, it would be a waste for someone of my calibre to die in a civil war between humans. Let me take what's left of my usefulness to the battlefields where xenos bleed."
Surrender and cut your losses. The man had said all the right things. His background traced back to an Inquisitor with kill-first-ask-later authority. There was no blood feud between them, and the nobles the Baron had cut down were strangers to Kian anyway. So, whatever.
Kian deactivated the disruption field and sheathed the greatsword. The arena erupted.
The stepmother's faction shrieked and hurled abuse, demanding to know why Baron Pallid had surrendered.
Lady Nightingale's people broke into cheers, stunned by how easily the victory had come.
Kian shot a glance at the stepmother's camp, still screaming bloody murder.
"Looks like your lady friend isn't taking this well. Don't tell me this is going to end in an armed standoff."
"Rest assured, my lord."
Baron Pallid's voice was calm, certain.
"My daggers are sharp, and they can resolve any problem. Lady Nightingale will be restored to her rightful position as head of House Campella. You have my guarantee."
Then he extended his hand to Kian, his tone shifting.
"My lord, my master Inquisitor Trasolh is himself an extraordinarily young Inquisitor. Only in his thirties. He oversees an entire sector — nearly a hundred worlds under his jurisdiction.
To have achieved such a position at his age is virtually unheard of within the Inquisition. His potential is limitless."
Kian's eyebrow twitched. He had a pretty good idea where this was going.
Sure enough, Baron Pallid made his pitch.
"My lord, with your abilities, are you truly content to waste away on this insignificant little agri-world?
A man like you belongs on the galactic stage. The dangers that lesser men flee from are nothing but opportunity to someone of your calibre.
A body forged from steel and iron, a soul honed to a razor's edge — running through fire and thorns, across mountains of blades and oceans of blood. That is your destiny!
To grow old slowly in this backwater paradise, to rot in comfort... that would be a desecration of everything you are. A curse upon your martial spirit!"
His hand shot skyward, finger aimed at the heavens.
"In ten days, my master, Inquisitor Trasolh, will arrive at this world with his fleet!
He will bring with him the Emperor's grace — and the Emperor's wrath!
Those who have served faithfully will be rewarded. Those who have sinned will be punished. No petty schemer will escape his gaze!
And when he has exercised the authority the Emperor has bestowed upon him, he will take the heroes and champions of this world with him into the void, to continue the fight among the stars and further his great mission!"
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