Chapter 332: Recruitment
"What do you think you're doing, mrow?!"
Kian's sudden kill startled the cat-eared bodyguard half out of her skin.
"Seize him, mrow!"
At her command, the Inquisitor's guards moved to grab Kian — but Trasolh stopped them with a raised hand.
Inquisitor Trasolh regarded Kian for a moment, then extended an open palm in invitation.
"I've heard a great deal about the Count's exploits. Unfortunately, official business has kept me from paying a personal visit until now.
But all matters have been attended to. I wonder if the Count would do me the honour of attending my evening banquet."
This was a confirmed stable psyker, an Immortal, a suspected recipient of the Emperor's own blessing.
In gaming terms, the map had just spawned an SSSR-tier hero unit. The Inquisitor was not about to let this opportunity slip.
As for the little matter of Kian killing the Governor mid-execution — some things, if neither party pressed the issue, could still be finessed.
Worst case, Kian could simply claim that as a bearer of the Emperor's favour, he'd received a divine mandate to end the Governor's suffering.
Flash a bit of golden flame for emphasis, and who was going to argue?
After that, the white phosphorus burned the Governor's remains to nothing. Not even ash.
The surrounding nobles filed away in silence, carrying their fear home with them to await whatever fate had in store.
Kian, meanwhile, accompanied Inquisitor Trasolh — the man who now held this planet's destiny in his hands — up into the Governor's spire, where a private banquet was laid out in the hall.
The two men sat across from each other, and Trasolh wasted no time.
"Count Voss, I serve under the Ordo Hereticus. My jurisdiction covers the Pioneer Sector, a sub-sector of the Far East Segmentum.
The Pioneer Sector encompasses five star systems and eighty-six worlds suitable for human habitation.
My mandate is to patrol those eighty-six worlds and ensure their internal purity."
The Inquisition — the Imperium's secret police of the void — was broadly divided into three major Ordos: the Ordo Hereticus, the Ordo Xenos, and the Ordo Malleus.
Heretics, aliens, and daemons, respectively.
In practice, of course, an Inquisitor could run into any flavour of nightmare on any given Tuesday.
So it was perfectly normal for a Hereticus Inquisitor to end up fighting daemons — you couldn't exactly ignore one just because it wasn't in your job description.
Even an Inquisitor whose primary focus was internal threats needed at least one or two anti-daemon specialists on the payroll, just in case the work took an unexpected turn.
Inquisitor Trasolh saw enormous value in Kian. A suspected Living Saint was, by definition, an anti-daemon hard counter.
As for the sector and segmentum terminology he'd just mentioned, that was the Imperium's administrative map.
The Imperium of Man comprised over a million worlds, distributed across five Segmentae.
The Segmentum Solar contained Terra and the Sol System — humanity's capital. The Segmentum Ultima, the Far East, was the largest by territory, containing a vast number of worlds.
Below the five Segmentae were sectors. Below sectors, sub-sectors. Below sub-sectors, individual star systems.
Think of it as the galactic version of village, town, city, province. An Inquisitor overseeing a sub-sector like Trasolh was roughly equivalent to a county-level anti-corruption chief who also happened to run the police department.
Except that Inquisitors reported directly to central authority, held the power of life and death over local officials, and could issue military mobilisation orders that no Imperial force within their jurisdiction — including Astartes — was permitted to defy on pain of being declared Traitoris.
By that measure, his actual authority was more like a provincial-level minister at minimum.
Kian was genuinely tempted.
Trasolh had spoken to him as an equal throughout. Not once had he mentioned the Governor's "sale" arrangement.
Kian could tell: the Inquisitor sincerely wanted to recruit him. Voluntarily. As a willing member of the retinue.
Inquisitors operated in the most dangerous environments the galaxy had to offer. The people at their side had to be reliable. Conscripting someone into the team was a recipe for disaster — one moment of resentment, one betrayal at the wrong time, and everything went up in flames.
Kian thought it over carefully and made his decision.
He would go with the Inquisitor.
It aligned with his need for a bigger stage. But he needed to lay out his terms first.
"I have a few conditions. If you agree, I'll go with you."
The Inquisitor nodded.
"Name them, Count."
"First — forget the 0.05 per cent tax break. That's insulting. Make it a full one per cent. Can you do that?"
The cat-eared bodyguard's eyes went wide behind the Inquisitor.
"Mrow mrow mrow! Do you have any idea how much one per cent is?! That's a million blood-tithe Guardsmen! An entire year's productive output of thirty billion people, mrow!"
Kian rapped his knuckles on the table.
"One per cent. I'm worth it."
The cat-eared woman's fur practically stood on end.
"Mrow mrow mrow! You're insane! 'Worth it'?! You — you—"
"Nova."
The Inquisitor's voice cut like a blade. The cat-woman — Nova — let out an irritated huff and turned away.
Trasolh fixed Kian with a steady, burning gaze.
"Agreed. One per cent. I'll arrange inter-sector loans to cover the shortfall. Count Voss, you are worth it.
Consider it also a tribute to the Governor's memory."
The Inquisitor raised his wine glass skyward in a silent toast.
Kian continued. "Second. You and I are equals in standing.
I need a large private room aboard your warship. That space is mine absolutely. Without my permission, no one enters. Ever."
The Inquisitor nodded again.
"We are both subjects of the Emperor. Our roles differ, but our dignity is equal.
As for quarters, a five-hundred-square-metre compartment aboard my vessel will be designated your sovereign territory. It remains yours until I return to the Golden Throne, until the ship falls silent among the stars, or until you voluntarily relinquish it."
Kian was genuinely impressed by the terms. The man was practically bending over backwards — a true display of I need this talent and I'll pay whatever it costs.
He laid out his final condition.
"I will serve alongside you for one hundred years, or until your death — whichever comes first. At that point, the agreement ends.
I am not Inquisition personnel. I do not join the Ordos. At most, I'm a contractor. A freelance void-deputy. Subject to termination at any time. Can you agree to that?"
Nova was already growling under her breath.
This was an escape hatch! A guarantee that he could walk away whenever he pleased!
If you pledged yourself to a master, you served faithfully unto death. You didn't negotiate exit clauses and severance terms. This was—
"Agreed."
"...Mrow?"
Nova stared at the Inquisitor in disbelief. He was accepting this too?
"My lord, surely—"
Trasolh waved her off, his eyes never leaving Kian.
"Count Voss. You are worth it."
Behind those eyes, faint crackles of psychic lightning flickered. Nearly every Inquisitor was a powerful psyker in their own right.
And in his psychic sight, what Trasolh saw sitting across the table was not merely a man.
Kian's soul blazed like a small golden sun, radiating holy, sanctified light.
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