The hemp-robed monk gave Solomon a brief look over, and a trace of doubt appeared in those eyes so full of missionary zeal.
As someone who was, at least on the surface, part of the Ecclesiarchy here, he naturally knew that beyond the royal city of Hecius stood a Mechanicus training base.
But Solomon's patch-covered coat, little better than a rag, made him doubtful that this rare outsider truly had the standing to know any of those high-ranking Tech-Priests.
Still, that was not what concerned him most.
After a moment of hesitation, the old, weathered face of the monk once again filled with eager warmth.
"Oh, dear travelers from afar, if it is truly that friend you seek, then you should not be wandering about the city."
"Those chanters of machinery prefer the outskirts, where they busy themselves with their strange excavations."
At that, he paused. Then the smile on his face faded somewhat, replaced by a look of piety and feverish devotion.
"But tell me, my friends from afar, do you suffer? Have you ever felt lost in your life?"
"If you are not in a hurry to find that friend, you may follow me to the Mass that is about to begin. Believe me, your souls will absolutely be uplifted."
Gaia's gaze, half-hidden beneath her cloak, settled on the man.
She had serious doubts about his identity.
She was certain that to anyone looking at them, she and Solomon would count as oddities.
Solomon wore a battered patchwork overcoat like a beggar's blanket, while she, beneath her cloak, carried a massive cargo crate on her back.
With appearances like that, any normal person's reaction should have matched the medieval-dressed locals nearby, who were already pointing and whispering about them.
Yet this man was not only abnormally warm and welcoming, but even his words and manner differed sharply from those of ordinary Ecclesiarchy missionaries.
Back in the underhive, Gaia had seen those preachers riding in ornate vehicles and spreading the Emperor's gospel from elevated platforms.
She still remembered clearly the kind of arrogance written on their faces.
They called themselves the Emperor's faithful servants, believed they had the right to judge and sentence the sins of His subjects, and cast themselves as redeemers elevated far above everyone else.
It could not be denied that among them there were probably a few truly kind and loyal souls, but compared to the clergy around them, people steeped for years in whirlpools of wealth, they were no more than a handful of good grains in a sack of rotten rice. They could not change the decayed nature of the Ecclesiarchy as a whole.
And yet this monk, upon seeing two ragged outsiders dressed like wandering traders, was showing such unusual warmth. Within the Ecclesiarchy, that was practically a clear stream in a swamp.
Combined with the strange hostility her sword at her hip had shown earlier, Gaia could not help wondering:
Was he really a preacher of the Imperial Creed at all?
At that thought, Gaia's long lashes trembled slightly, and a strange glint flashed through her eyes.
With her gaze fixed meaningfully on the monk, she stepped forward, lowered her head, and looked down at this man who was trying so hard to invite the two of them to attend Mass and bask in the Emperor's grace.
Watching the preacher instinctively take half a step back, Gaia asked a question:
"Honored brother, forgive my boldness, but does the Mass on Swuvi follow any unique local rites? The Emperor's light may shine across all worlds, but on worlds far apart, it can still refract into different colors."
The implication was subtle but clear.
They already followed a different branch of the Ecclesiarchy on another world, and they were concerned there might be doctrinal conflict.
Upon hearing her question, an almost unnatural fervor lit the old, wrinkled face of the monk.
"Oh, rest assured, what we practice is the most orthodox Mass."
"And even if you should notice a tiny difference from the faith you once followed, I believe you will still make the right judgment yourselves."
"Faith resides in the depths of the heart. It does not change because of outward circumstance."
"Believe me. Under the perfect light of the God-Emperor, your souls will be uplifted."
As the monk urged them on with growing zeal, he slowly raised both hands.
With the sleeves sliding back, Gaia and Solomon saw the overlapping lash marks all along his forearms.
Some had already hardened into permanent scars. Others were still freshly scabbed, leaving the skin rough and uneven.
Beneath Gaia's calm expression, her thoughts were already surging.
From his behavior, his tone, and the way he described doctrine, this monk was not merely somewhat different from an orthodox Ecclesiarchy priest. He was practically something else entirely.
Gaia even began to wonder whether he might be something like the cultists she had once seen in the underhive.
But was that even possible?
According to Tylvius, Swuvi was a feudal Imperial Knight world that enforced the Imperial Creed with fanatical intensity.
In a place like this, a fly would probably have to shout "Praise the Emperor" before rubbing its hands together to eat, or some deranged priest would catch the scent and burn it alive in an oil lamp.
If an openly heretical faith had really appeared here, those already half-mad preachers of the Ecclesiarchy would surely have launched a holy war without hesitation.
Unless...
Unless the local Ecclesiarchy itself had been changed as a whole.
At that realization, Gaia's pupils contracted.
This was not mere imagination.
Nor was it alarmism.
During the Age of Apostasy, the previous Ecclesiarch, held up as the model of the Church, had been killed, and Vandire had forcibly taken the position for himself. That alone threw the Ecclesiarchy into massive turmoil.
At the same time, the heretics hiding in the shadows took advantage of this period to infiltrate and alter world after world, dragging them out from under the Emperor's light.
And in the later years of the Age of Apostasy, many planets, even entire sectors, broke away from the protection of the Golden Throne and fell into darkness for thousands of years.
That was one face of the dying age.
Gaia searched her memory.
She vaguely remembered that one of the most representative of those rebellious sectors was called...
The Jericho Sector.
The moment that name rose from the depths of her mind, along with fragments of memory, Gaia felt as though the whole world had frozen for an instant.
The whispering of those unseen things that never ceased in her ears seemed to stop with the sudden skip of her heartbeat.
At the same time, the strange sword at her hip began trembling more intensely, and even the psychic energy within her body started pulsing in rhythm.
For a fleeting moment, she felt as if she were standing upon an invisible game board.
Before her eyes, pieces as huge as mountains were falling from a warped and chaotic sky, colliding and tearing at one another.
She had thought all this time that she was trying to step into the script of the Age of Apostasy.
But only now did she suddenly realize:
She had always been on the stage.
(End of Chapter)
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