Chapter 274: I Used to Have a Cushy Job
As one of the jewels of the Imperial north, the world of Vigilus naturally attracted a confluence of many powers.
Three massive hive cities formed the main body of the planet: Hyperia, Mortwald, and Oteck, belonging to the Ecclesiarchy, the Imperial nobility, and the Adeptus Mechanicus, respectively. This complex composition had laid the foundation for Vigilus's prosperity, but had also made the planet's situation extremely complicated.
The Ecclesiarchy had been constantly trying to expand its influence. From an initially advisory role, it had gradually taken control of Hyperia, the ancestral home of the Agamemnus dynasty. Now, a preceptory of the Order of the Martyred Lady was even stationed there, and with the Ecclesiarchy's investment, they possessed heavy equipment such as Organ-tanks, Penitent Engines, and Paragon Warsuits.
The Imperial nobility, led by the Agamemnus dynasty, had been pushed into Mortwald, the hive city that, with its giant eco-domes, purified the air and provided food for the entire world of Vigilus. Relying on top-tier, heretek-level life-extension technology—so advanced it could suture a person's brain into a young body, a technique somewhat reminiscent of the Haemonculi—the Imperial nobles were still able to maintain their wealth. And in the past, they had not forgotten to expand, building a "Dirkden Hive" near Hyperia. Unfortunately, it was now abandoned, riddled with holes, and had become a paradise for heretics, xenos, and scavengers.
As for the Adeptus Mechanicus... few would choose to offend them, especially a powerful forge world like Stygies VIII. Their willingness to establish a base on Vigilus, even if it was just to mine minerals, was an honor for this planet. It meant that if the planet were threatened, it would likely receive the support of a Titan Legion.
And the Imperial Administratum was happy to see it, and had settled comfortably on Vigilus's moon, Neo-Vimana, to collect taxes.
Until the arrival of the Primarchs.
Mortwald Hive, Upper Spire Dome.
For once, the Imperial nobles, who were so fond of pleasure and power struggles, were nowhere to be seen. The banquet hall was deserted, with only a few figures of various postures waiting for the master of the hall to arrive. These people's bodies were somewhat deformed by normal human standards. The highly specialized organs that had been developed to serve the nobles' needs had forced them to wear robes and armour to cover their forms. These bio-weapons, carefully calibrated by a Magos Biologis, often served as assassins and bodyguards for the nobles. In the high-intensity struggles, their strength was not to be underestimated.
The group waited in the hall for a moment, and then Dornos Agamemnus emerged from a magnificent golden corridor. He did not look happy.
He first looked around and saw that no fool, his head addled by pleasure, had come in person. He then cursed under his breath that these nobles had not completely lost their minds. But there were still too few people.
"Castellan, you should see this," a noble representative said, stepping forward.
Dornos took the parchment and began to read, then his brow furrowed. The letter said only one thing. The head of the Agamemnus dynasty, and also the planetary governor of Vigilus, Cyraene Agamemnus, had, at the most recent Imperial council, announced her abdication. She had then taken a portion of her wealth and her guard and had gone to the moon of Neo-Vimana to take up a position as an archivist in the Administratum.
In short, she had given up her power and was seeking political asylum.
The letter also contained a plea from his sister: 'Do not oppose the Primarchs. Whatever they want, give it to them. In this way, you can still survive.'
This was undoubtedly salt in the wound for Castellan Dornos's already not-so-beautiful mood. The subjects are ready to fight to the death, why does Your Majesty surrender first? What madness had possessed his sister?
Dornos recalled that he had not seen Cyraene in a while. The governor had been busy wrangling with the various Imperial departments in the council, to the point where the internal affairs of the planet's nobility had been completely left to him. This had given Dornos an unprecedented sense of honor.
Whether it was the wealthy nobles from Scintilla, the Rogue Traders who roamed the stars, or the powerful Imperial officials... these members of the upper class, whose usual rejuvenation techniques were no longer effective but who still wanted to live on to maintain their power, would, after traveling from afar to Vigilus, show their most vulnerable side, fawning over him, the de facto ruler of Mortwald, and throwing money at him in the hopes of being reborn.
And for this reason, the Agamemnus dynasty had accumulated an unimaginable amount of personal debts from the countless nobles. They had all sworn an oath to stand together if the Agamemnus were ever threatened. Really, did they think they were like those country folk in the Ultima Segmentum? The Primarchs were naturally noble and sublime, so their servants could only be the equally noble and sublime them. If the Primarchs did not need their service, then it was the Primarchs' fault! They would make the Primarchs see their error.
This made Dornos instinctively look down on his sister, who had been the first to surrender.
Dornos's face darkened. The Dawnlight Fleet was no mere decoration. A military confrontation with the Primarchs was out of the question. But he was not without other options. A military deterrent, a deterrent that was sufficient to seriously damage the entire world of Vigilus.
His collection was not short of high-yield weapons, including six Deathstrike missiles, two of which were even equipped with vortex warheads, capable of making even a behemoth like an Ark Mechanicus hesitate. These weapons were all sealed in a fortress. He knew well the deterrent power they possessed.
But he could not be the one to do it. The Agamemnus still had to rule Vigilus in the future. They could not openly oppose the Imperium. If reality allowed, he could not let the nobles under his rule do it either, because that would show his weak control over his domain and would leave a bad impression. He needed to prove he had a sufficient deterrent, that he could turn this planet to ruins if the Primarchs did not choose him.
The detonation of a single cyclonic torpedo would be enough to prove this point. But who would detonate it, and which conflict would it provoke... this was a choice that needed to be carefully considered. In any case, he could not be the one to do it. And the one who did it had to have sufficient weight, and could not be a native of Vigilus.
The fanatics of the Ecclesiarchy, who had been consumed by their religious atmosphere, could not be counted on. The moment the Primarchs arrived, it was no longer the priests who could command the faithful. And he could not reach the Mechanicus. The training of the gene-smiths still required the support of a Magos Biologis.
"I remember there are still some Terran nobles in the dome district?" Dornos asked a representative.
"Yes, my Lord. They have all come to exchange rejuvenation techniques. They have been here for half a year. And the Nachmund Sector has also sent some representatives," the representative reported.
"Hmm~" It seems these nobles have some sense. They know that if I fall, they won't live either.
Dornos considered, then said, "Call a secret meeting. And make sure to invite the nobles from Terra."
"Yes, my Lord," the man replied.
The thoughtful Dornos also waved his hand. "Dismissed." The deformed bodies all bowed and quickly dispersed.
After a long period of thought, thinking of how to persuade the nobles and share his plan, Dornos also looked up at the magnificent portrait of Cyraene Agamemnus in the center of the hall. Look at you. How pathetic you are, choosing to flee. You have abandoned your family and your people, and have lied to yourself when you ascended the throne. The dynasty has only one chance for a revival. If you cannot lead the dynasty to greatness again, then let me!
Five days later, Mortwald Hive, Gene-wrights' Sanctum.
The hem of Trazyn's deep green robe swept across the floor. He turned his head slightly, an unreadable smile on his lips, and whispered to Cawl at his side, "The little girl is quite something. You never know what she's capable of until you push her."
Cawl nodded silently. The two of them walked along the central corridor of the sanctum, the gene-culture vats on either side floating in a faint blue liquid. They were in charge of accompanying Karna to conduct a technical audit of the local rejuvenation techniques.
On the vox-system in the distance, a report was constantly being broadcast that the Dawnlight Fleet had foiled a heretical attack. The culprits had been apprehended, and the recovery of the destructive weapons was complete. The public was urged not to panic.
Compared to the mortal agents developed by the Dark Angels and the Alpha Legion for military deployment, Aglaia relied on the connections she had made in Terra to weave an intelligence network in the upper echelons of the various prosperous sectors. The agents who worked for her, called the "Grey Hats," were all genuine Terran nobles.
Especially since the Dawnbreakers, in their short development, could now provide Rogue Trader warrants, noble certifications, and necessary military support, such as Astartes, for the operations of the various departments. With resources and status, they were to be taken seriously anywhere. So she could, according to the needs of the Dawnbreakers, and relying on Imperial noble-style interaction, quickly grasp the situation of the upper class in a sector and achieve various goals according to the Primarchs' intent.
This young Inquisitor had done this very well. After all, she had crawled out of the sea of blood and corpses on Terra. These were the means by which she had survived. It was just that, compared to the past—
"My Lady, a meeting permit from the Kestral family of the Cinderfall worlds, requires your approval."
"My Lady, an inquiry from the Belisarius Navigator house of Terra, requires your communication."
"My Lady..."
"MY LADY!"
In the room, the scent of incense flowed slowly in the air. The candlelight flickered on the gilded candlesticks, stretching the human figures and projecting them onto the tapestry embroidered with the Imperial Aquila.
Aglaia narrowed her eyes. Under the silent guidance of a Callidus Assassin disguised as a servant, she entered the room, then took out a handkerchief and wiped her hands, wiping away the smell of cordite from the execution of the Vigilus rebel nobles. Her sharp gaze swept over the bed—piled with soft, warm quilts, the entire circular bed was concave, like a pair of warm arms, inviting her to enter.
Swallowing, Aglaia, her head buzzing, unhesitatingly sat on the edge of the desk. Lord Ramesses's office system is too brutal. I used to have a cushy job.
Aglaia's fingers unconsciously traced a fine mark on the desk. Her mind was rapidly sorting through the flood of information, but she did not rush to write. Outside the window, the giant exhaust fans of the hive city hummed in a low tone. Occasionally, the searchlight of an aircraft would sweep past, casting a fleeting spot of light in the room.
She still remembered the look on Lord Ramesses's face, a half-smile, when she had first approached him, trying to enjoy the convenience of 5G communication. His eyes had clearly said, 'this young lady is a little out of her depth.' Now, she regretted it... but she couldn't not do it.
You have to know, this office system, due to the scarcity of psychic operators, even within the Dawnbreakers, the number of members with usage rights could be counted on one hand. If she chose to slack off, it would be a blasphemy against this strategic resource. She could not accept it!
The Callidus Assassin was skillfully grinding an inkstone with a holy rune. She then spread a parchment scroll on the desk, and a steaming cup of coffee was gently pushed to the Inquisitor's side, and a refreshing incense was lit. After doing all this, she turned, intending to disappear into the shadows.
"Wait—" Aglaia, her expression weary, suddenly looked up and stopped the assassin. "You can't go! I remember you received a complete knightly noble training. The infiltration plan for the Incaladion Knight House is yours. I will review it."
The Inquisitor's voice was firm and brooked no refusal. Visibly, a hint of despair even appeared on the face of this Callidus Assassin. This Imperial work is simply not for humans.
"You can't just slack off at such a young age," Trazyn, who was still pestering Cawl for some goodies, said with a cheerful smile, watching the little Inquisitor who was now working hard to achieve her life's goals. The work that should have been yours, I will enjoy for you.
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