Chapter 318: Departure
In a village Kian had recently annexed, there was a building made of weathered timber with a wooden sign nailed above the door.
The sign read: SECOND HIVE CITY ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE.
Inside, the full staff of civil and military officers sat in rows, watching the man in the seat of honour.
Kian was wearing his gold-trimmed power armour, the Demon-Cleaver slung across his back. Over that, a pure white cape, upon which someone — presumably Kian — had brushed four large characters in ink:
RULING CLASS.
He surveyed his assembled inner circle: Little Joel, Old Bai, Parson the rebel commander who'd accidentally gotten himself incorporated into the imperial payroll during the land annexation, and a collection of farming district captains.
Everyone was watching him. Waiting.
Kian stood, slapped the table, and flung the cape dramatically so the characters on it swept across everyone's field of vision.
"We founded the Second Hive City so that We might rule!
Those who point out Our flaws to Our face: nine generations of your family are forfeit.
Those who submit written criticism: extreme punishment.
Those who speculate aloud about Our governance, or speak ill of Our reign: We grant you the honour of self-termination.
Court is now in session. Anyone with business, speak. Otherwise, you're dismissed."
Parson was on his feet immediately.
"Your Majesty! Under your wise and benevolent rule, all is peace and prosperity! The people flourish! Every man, woman, and child calls you a sage ruler, a virtuous ruler, a wise ruler, an enlightened ruler!
Current territorial holdings: over one hundred thousand square kilometres. Population under Your Majesty's governance: eight hundred and seventy thousand souls. Truly a thriving domain!"
Kian nodded with regal satisfaction.
"Excellent! Parson is hereby granted the title of Earl of Everlasting Peace, hereditary and irrevocable!"
Parson sat down looking extremely pleased with himself. Little Joel stood.
"Sir. Your elite regiment is fully trained and combat-ready.
However, over the course of these four months, we've completed approximately ninety-five percent of the canned meat payment to the Captain — which means the tanks, armoured vehicles, and shuttlecraft from his cargo have all been delivered. We are now, sir, in a situation where we have more heavy equipment than we have trained people to operate it."
Kian asked, "Current heavy assets?"
"Ten Aquila-pattern shuttlecraft, fully armed — can run as strike aircraft. Thirty-two Leman Russ tanks. Eighty Chimera armoured transports.
Right now a single platoon could theoretically be assigned several heavy assets each, which is actually a problem — more heavy equipment than infantry can productively support degrades overall combined-arms capability rather than improving it."
"Solutions?"
Little Joel considered.
"Sir, I've been looking into this. Law enforcement units apparently don't count toward your military allocation. The Governor's grant specifies limits on private military strength, but there's nothing in it about police forces.
With this much heavy equipment, we could stand up three heavy infantry regiments internally. We call them a police force externally. Nobody asks questions.
Looking at the hive's own enforcement marshals — they're already armoured up and the Governor hasn't said a word about it."
Kian was visibly delighted.
"Excellent! Joel, that plan is inspired. We hereby name you Crown Prince and grant you a Ruling Class cape!"
Two soldiers stepped forward and fastened a Ruling Class cape across Little Joel's shoulders. Little Joel looked as though he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this development.
Kian judged that court had covered sufficient ground, stood, and addressed the room.
"You are all Our pillars. Our ministers. Our loyal and capable officials.
We ask that you remain true to yourselves, hold yourselves to high standards, and treat those under your care with generosity. Help Us hold this territory together. Do not engage in corruption. Do not fail when tested. Do not commit the errors you know better than to commit.
Before you go, each of you will please revisit the historical drama In the Name of Terra. Watch it. Study it. Reflect.
Do not become like Terra's Sub-Lord Bruce Ding — who accepted bribes, was caught by the Tribunal, and fled overnight on a warship to the Tau Empire, where he spent the rest of his days washing dishes."
The assembled officials responded as one. Kian was preparing to share further wisdom — specifically, his hard-won governance experience from his tenure as Primary School Learning Committee Member — when a runner burst through the door.
"Sir! The Angel requests an audience! He says it's important!"
"An honoured guest! Prepare refreshments and tea at once — We shall receive him in the Hall of Nurturing the Mind!"
The runner confirmed and hurried off.
Kian dismissed the court, straightened his cape, gave the RULING CLASS characters one final dramatic sweep, and walked out the door. Ten metres to the right: the Hall of Nurturing the Mind.
Nor'n was already seated on a stool, looking at a bowl of roasted potatoes in front of him, apparently evaluating whether they were slightly overdone.
Kian entered with a booming laugh that announced his presence at full volume.
"Lord Nor'n! A rare visit! We have missed you deeply! Whatever your purpose in coming, first let me show you the Second Hive City — this is Our domain!"
Nor'n had spent four months adjusting to Kian. He'd come to understand that this man simply did not carry the ordinary weight of existential dread.
In the forty-first millennium, nobody was genuinely happy. The universe was too brutal, Chaos corruption too constant, survival too precarious. Even those who managed something like contentment rarely achieved it in any pure, uncomplicated form.
But every time Nor'n looked at Kian, he wanted to call him an idiot.
This man was that happy. Visibly, almost offensively happy. Leaking happiness at the edges like a badly-sealed fuel drum.
It made Nor'n feel something he almost never felt: envy.
The whole Imperium is suffering. No one has anything to smile about. Did you personally receive everyone else's share of joy at some kind of cosmic distribution event?!
Kian noticed Nor'n sitting in tight-lipped silence with a vaguely murderous expression, judged this to be his normal state, and helped himself to a roasted potato.
After a moment, Nor'n's composure returned. He spoke.
"I'm leaving."
The potato dropped out of Kian's hand and hit the floor before he'd taken a single bite.
"What? You're leaving? Already? Why?"
"The four months are up. Your canned meat quota is complete. The Captain's transport is fully loaded and he intends to depart for the Forge World tomorrow."
Kian's expression went through several stages. He started to say something, stopped, looked like he wanted to try again, then thought better of it.
Nor'n gave him a long, measured look.
"Regarding your attempt to convince the Captain to leave without me — I'll pretend that didn't happen.
As for the debt I owe you for saving my life: one adamantium-reinforced power greatsword, one adamantium shield, one master-crafted mortal-pattern bolt rifle, and ten sets of master-crafted heavy mortal power armour. I believe that settles the account."
He stood, took one last look at Kian, and walked toward the door.
"The debt is settled. Tomorrow morning I'll board a shuttle and leave this planet. Thank you for the hospitality these past months."
He paused at the threshold.
"Count Voss — you will always be my friend."
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