Chapter 327: The Inquisitor's Man, Part III
"So what you're telling me is... the taxman's here."
Kian ignored the recruitment pitch entirely and cut straight to the point.
Baron Pallid nodded.
"This planet hasn't paid its tithes in over twenty years. It owes the Imperium two decades of obligations.
It's time to settle the bill."
Kian's breathing grew heavier. Twenty-plus years of back taxes, combined with a planet that was already fractured and barely holding together.
He could see it now. High-ranking officials dragged away in chains and executed. Crushing levies that would break the backs of generations to come.
To meet the Imperium's tithe demands, industrial waste would be dumped into the atmosphere without treatment. Sewage would pour straight into the waterways. Reckless overexploitation would transform a lush, beautiful world into an irradiated chemical wasteland.
Adult men would be conscripted into the Imperial Guard — the blood tithe — and shipped off-world by the regiment.
Children would be taken too. Some would be indoctrinated and moulded into cogs for the Imperium's vast machinery. Others would undergo high-lethality augmentation programs, burning through scores of candidates to produce a single bio-enhanced soldier.
In short, catastrophe was about to descend on this beautiful agri-world. And the catastrophe wouldn't come from xenos or heretics. It would come from the Imperium itself.
As for the Inquisitor's agent and his invitation, Kian pretended he hadn't heard a word.
Love is precious, but freedom is worth more.
Signing on with the Inquisition — the Emperor's secret police — and fighting their wars across the galaxy... what would he actually get out of it? A pat on the back from the Ordos? Internal commendations?
His life goal was to sail the stars on his own terms. The optimal path forward was becoming a Rogue Trader, not enlisting in some government bureau.
So he gave no answer at all. Just waved the Baron off and walked out of the arena.
Baron Pallid watched him go, a quiet laugh escaping his lips.
"Slew an Aeldari warrior in single combat. A psyker. Suspected Immortal. Suspected to carry the Emperor's own favour.
My master does not come all this way only to let talent like yours continue going to waste.
You will follow my master. You will board his warship. And you will fight for his cause."
Over the days that followed, the stepmother's faction collapsed. The stepmother and her child vanished without a trace.
Lady Nightingale, bolstered by her allies, ascended to the seat of power as the new head of House Campella.
The succession ceremony was held atop House Campella's spire tower. Kian, the man most responsible for the outcome, was naturally among the invited guests.
Inside the banquet hall, Kian and Lady Nightingale were the twin centres of gravity. Every noble and dignitary in attendance angled for a word with him, a chance to be seen in conversation. Even the ceremony's guest of honour, Lady Nightingale herself, came to his side.
But through it all, his mind was elsewhere. The Inquisitor's impending arrival dominated his thoughts.
Part of him dreaded it — the prospect of an Inquisitor turning this beautiful planet into a man-made hell.
But another part of him was tempted.
Baron Pallid had been right. Kian was restless, and he knew it.
He'd already climbed as high as anyone could go on this planet short of the Governor's chair. His businesses, his military assets — none of it had room to grow any further.
He genuinely needed a bigger stage if he wanted to keep advancing.
Stay on this agri-world, and the next ten years would be a plateau. Nothing would change. No breakthroughs.
But if he left with the Inquisitor — flew into the galaxy, faced the most savage xenos and heretics the Milky Way had to offer...
With his current combat capabilities and the ability to respawn indefinitely, he could absolutely carve out something extraordinary.
Kian slipped away from the noise of the banquet hall, away from the mingling aristocrats and the elegant music, and found a spot by the window.
He looked up. Through the glass canopy of the atmospheric garden, he gazed out at the stars. Somewhere in that direction, the Ork hulk sat in its parking orbit.
A single Sword-class escort frigate, docked right alongside it. Fifteen days away by shuttlecraft.
And yet, despite having a warship in that good a condition, Kian couldn't repair it no matter what he tried. That was the fundamental problem with operating on too small a platform.
Agri-World Secundus-496b was simply too limited. It was like a village buried deep in the mountains trying to build an aircraft carrier.
But an Inquisitor? In the Imperium's hierarchy of power, an Inquisitor ranked somewhere around a provincial secretary at minimum.
Follow him, and Kian would finally have real room to grow.
He stood at the window, staring skyward, turning these thoughts over — until a figure appeared beside him. Slender hands reached up and cupped his face, gently but firmly turning his gaze away from the stars and back down to earth.
Lady Nightingale wore a crimson gown tonight, the fabric tracing the elegant lines of her figure.
Her bright eyes held his, a composed smile on her lips.
"Your body is here, but your heart has already flown away. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to catch it."
She took his hand — rough, calloused, and enormous in hers.
"Your uncle approached me just now. He spoke of a marriage alliance. I agreed."
Kian's eyelid twitched. "The Inquisitor is coming. The days ahead are going to be ugly.
Our planet owes twenty years of tithes. If we can't pay, the Inquisitor will start killing from the top and work his way down.
This isn't the time to start a family and have children."
Lady Nightingale held his gaze. "I'm young. I can wait until you're ready.
But even if you choose to leave with the Inquisitor, you have to leave something behind on this world, don't you?
Your uncle, your officers, the people who depend on you... they need a legacy. Someone of your blood to carry on what you've built here, to keep it running after you're gone.
Before you decide to fly off into the galaxy, give me your answer."
She pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving a mark of red, and turned away.
Ten days later, a fleet arrived at Agri-World Secundus-496b.
For the first time in twenty years, the tithe fleet had returned. And this time, its scale was staggering.
A Dauntless-class light cruiser held the centre of the formation — 6.5 kilometres long, twenty million tonnes displacement, seventy thousand crew. A city in the sky, and the fleet's flagship.
Two Sword-class frigates, each 1.6 kilometres long, flanked the cruiser as escorts.
Surrounding the three warships proper was a swarm of armed merchant vessels and bulk transports.
Nearly a hundred ships in all. Thousands of lance batteries and macro-cannon barrels trained on the planet's surface. At the first sign of rebellion or heresy, they would unleash a rain of fire that would sterilise everything beneath.
The fleet took up position in low orbit, blotting out the sky.
Shortly after arrival, waves of shuttlecraft descended, disgorging ground troops into Hive Tenebris.
At the Planetary Governor's spire, several shuttlecraft touched down on the atmospheric landing field.
Rear ramps lowered. A phalanx of power-armoured guards emerged, surrounding a single figure clad in gold.
The obese Planetary Governor waddled out with his entourage to greet them. The moment he laid eyes on the figure in golden power armour, his knees nearly buckled under his own weight.
"T-T-Trasolh, my lord! Agri-World Secundus-496b w-w-welcomes you!"
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