Barov sat in his conference room, flipping through several battlefield reports.
The conference room had originally been a luxurious bedroom, though Barov had never actually slept here. It was rely used to receive his most trusted advisors, and occasionally, to let his young female assistant help him relax.
In tis as headache-inducing as these, he thought to himself, retreating in here was truly a fantastic idea.
No matter what, he had to keep a clear head. Considering too many details would only drown him within them—with one person saying this and another saying that, there was simply no way to manage it all.
He took a sip of fine wine imported from off-world. It was a top-tier vintage; only a crisis of this magnitude could be deed worthy of such excellent wine—then, he continued reading the situational reports from various regions.
Barov read that nearly half of Mining Sector 14 had lost contact. The workers there, incited by so heretical rhetoric, had staged a massive riot and completely occupied the entire region.
He shook his head, clicking his tongue as he savored the wine.
He originally thought that blocking all major thoroughfares would end the riots, but now it seed that was far from enough.
He had to deploy the scout companies of the local defense forces' 12th Light Infantry Regint into the mining sector to prevent the madness from spreading further.
Following that, the second report Barov picked up from his writing desk was a dispatch sent by the Colonel of the 7th Infantry Regint.
The Colonel regretfully stated that he was unable to contact his own troops to coordinate their garrison duties in Mining Sector 16.
Barov sighed. It seed he had to contact several Chaplains within the cathedral. He wanted to show this Colonel exactly how redundant his chain of command would appear once a few excellent Chaplains opened their mouths.
Suddenly, soone knocked on the door. Barov raised his head in annoyance.
"Co in."
His voice was quite sharp.
A servitor pushed the door open with its chro-alloyed arm, and a Deacon walked in. He was Barov's trusted servant and ssenger—a young but ambitious man.
"My Lord."
The Deacon said cautiously:
"There is soone outside who claims to have urgent business and requests an audience."
"Tell whoever it is that my office has rules! My ti is precious. If it really is that important, let him go find Mia first."
"That's precisely where the problem lies... My Lord."
At this point, the Deacon's plump face flushed red.
"They claim they have the authority to et with you directly."
"I said I don't have ti—"
"You will have ti, Bishop."
Suddenly, a sonorous voice bood from behind the Deacon.
An armored giant clamped his hand onto the Deacon's shoulder, tossing the screaming man into the corridor before striding into the room. His heavy footsteps made the wooden floorboards creak as if they might collapse at any given second.
The newcor was towering and tall, his physique robust to the point of being terrifying. His facial features were stern and brimming with noble aura, with eyes that radiated wisdom.
He wore a set of silver-grey power armor adorned with carved thunderclouds. The pauldron bore the insignia of crossed swords, a short cloak hung from his back, and the imperious crest of the Imperial Aquila was proudly emblazoned across his chest.
"Please forgive my intrusion, Bishop."
The giant halted his steps, looking down at the pale Barov, and spoke with a trace of teasing yet profound elegance:
"However, it is best that we deal face-to-face. After all, I shoulder the responsibility of saving this world."
For a fleeting second, Barov felt as if he had been pinned to his chair by the other's gaze. He wanted to stand up, but his terribly weak legs refused to obey him.
"I-I-I... you..."
"I am the Chapter Master of the Astral Knights, Soshyan Alexei. I stand here representing the limitless authority of the Emperor to curb the spreading xenos threat. Our enemies are vastly more difficult to deal with than you can imagine, Bishop."
"O-of course..."
Barov nodded frantically, then staggered to his feet.
"E-Esteed Angel, f-forgive my insolence..."
"Now is not the ti to discuss these pleasantries."
Soshyan smiled and waved his hand.
"I simply have so matters to consult with you about."
"Yes—"
"As the current head of the local Ecclesiarchy, I assu you have heard of... the Raven Lord."
Barov's shoulders stiffened for a second. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and spoke in an extrely humble and low voice:
"This... I have never heard of it."
"Oh?"
Soshyan raised an eyebrow.
"It is a secret cult. The Raven Lord is the deity they worship, and there is a group of miners who believe in it. Have you truly never heard of it?"
"My dereliction of duty, my dereliction of duty! Does such a heresy truly exist? I will imdiately have soone thoroughly investigate. I will certainly give you, Angel, an answer."
As he spoke, Barov moved to press the electric buzzer on his desk to summon his attendants, but before he could, the buzzer was imdiately smashed entirely to pieces by a massive, armored hand. It terrified the Bishop so much he withdrew his hand as if he had been electrocuted.
"No rush. I still have a few questions."
Though Soshyan was currently smiling, in Barov's eyes there was absolutely no mirth—only bone-chilling cold.
"According to the background investigation I conducted on your personal history, your birth was so low it is almost unbelievable. Your father was a miner, and your mother was simply a prostitute... Yes, don't rush to deny it. That was your birth mother. The restaurant waitress your father married was actually your stepmother."
As he spoke, Soshyan took out the data-slate.
"Ordinarily, this wouldn't matter much. The Imperium never lacks for inspiring tales. For soone from the absolute lowest dregs to climb to the highest position is not entirely unacceptable... But until the age of 35, you were nothing more than the most utterly ordinary deacon. You were assigned to the poorest and most violent districts, and besides hiding away in that small chapel and drinking heavily every day, you were basically completely useless."
Hearing Soshyan rattle off his life history as if reciting family treasures, Barov's plump face grew even paler than the surrounding walls. Sweat dripped down his chin onto his bulging stomach like pouring rain.
"As for yourself, you possessed neither outstanding oratory skills, nor zealous faith, much less any solid background. Yet despite all this, after your 35th birthday, your entire life seed to suddenly catch a massive tailwind. You experienced a teoric rise. Any colleagues who were in competition with you either t with accidental deaths or simply disappeared. And all of it happened flawlessly, without a single shred of evidence that anyone could ever point towards you. Just like how your predecessor Bishop died in his own bedroom of sudden cardiac arrest..."
Soshyan tossed the data-slate onto the table. Leaning his hands against the desk, he closed the distance and stared fiercely at the Bishop, who was now trembling like a sifting pan, and spoke in a soft voice:
"But that is not the most coincidental part. What is even more coincidental is that Mining Sector 13, the very place in which you were born, is exactly the sa sector where the Departnto Justitiae encountered those heretical believers. Therefore, Bishop, care to explain?"
"I-I..."
"It's perfectly fine if you don't wish to speak. Although the Departnto Justitiae's instrunts are not as exhaustive as the Inquisition's, I firmly believe we can still easily manage to pry your mouth open."
"I-I... I am not a traitor."
Barov's psychological defenses instantly collapsed in a split second. He slumped back entirely into his chair, covered his face, and began to sob uncontrollably.
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