After leaving the High Lord Council Chamber, the expression on Simotriene's face shifted rapidly, a lingering cloud appearing on his brow. He did not return to his luxury suite. Instead, he dismissed his attendants and walked alone, quickening his pace through a long, narrow corridor lined with portraits of past Masters of the Administratum, stopping before a massive oil painting.
He skillfully pressed an inconspicuous ornamental protrusion at the edge of the frame. With an almost imperceptible sound of grinding gears, a hidden door in the side wall slid open.
There was little to say about it. It was a classic secret room design. On Terra, the heart of the Empire—a place teeming with countless schemes and intrigues every single day—secret rooms were the most standard of constructions, an absolute necessity. After all, this universe was not like certain worlds; there was no strange rule stating that "someone must be eavesdropping whenever a plot is discussed."
The air inside the secret room smelled of ancient things, and the area was outfitted with counter-surveillance equipment and soundproofing materials. Simotriene activated a holographic array, the blue light illuminating his somber face.
A moment later, a blurred, slender holographic image coalesced in the air, the figure of an Aeldari Farseer flickering unsteadily. His face was concealed by the shadow of a hood, leaving only a pair of narrow eyes glowing with cold light.
"Advisor, you have violated our agreement," Simotriene said, keeping his voice extremely low.
"You are my advisor. Our plan was to secretly support the Chaos cultists and let those idiots go to their deaths at the critical moment. Now, the Primarch hasn't even left Terra yet; this is a total waste of effort. You must control the chaos according to our original plan, rather than launching it so hastily."
He paused, his chest heaving violently.
"This is simply startling the snake! We should have waited until the Regent left Terra to launch. Waited until he went to the Ultima Segmentum, until he was busy dealing with those impractical crusade plans. But now—"
The Aeldari Farseer in the holographic projection did not respond immediately. Those narrow eyes merely watched him quietly, like observing an insect struggling in amber.
Then, the Farseer spoke.
"Your plan is your plan. And my plan—is another matter entirely."
Simotriene's brow tightened suddenly. "What do you mean by that?"
The Aeldari Farseer did not answer directly. His figure swayed slightly in the blue light, appearing as if he might vanish into the void at any second, yet he remained focused.
"I mean nothing," the Farseer continued, his voice carrying a trace of casual mockery. "The souls of your species are so noisy. So easily saturated by the whispers from the Warp's Empyrean, where a single spark ignites a raging fire."
He paused. "Is that also our responsibility?"
Simotriene's breath hitched for a moment. He stared at the slender holographic projection, at those eyes shrouded in shadow. He understood. This was not a defense. This was... an admission.
The other party was fully aware that the Chaos cultists would spiral out of control. Or rather, the loss of control was exactly the other party's intention.
Simotriene's voice dropped even lower. "Now the situation has become so massive. It has alerted targets we never intended to alert. Those mad dogs of the Inquisition have already smelled something unusual."
"This is completely beyond my plan; it has disrupted all my previous arrangements. This brings no benefit to you either!"
The Farseer did not respond immediately. Silence lasted for several seconds. Then, the corners of those narrow eyes turned up slightly—it was a smile. An unfriendly smile.
"You actually believe your... things can be called a plan?" The Farseer's voice carried unabashed mockery. "Mon-keigh. You are merely a drowning man in a torrential river, trying to grasp at a life-saving straw. You can neither see the full picture of the river, nor do you know where it ultimately rushes."
Mon-keigh.
The word was like a cold nail driven into the center of Simotriene's thoughts. He realized one thing. The other party's objective had been entirely different from his own from the very beginning. He even began to ponder the goals of these xenos. But he soon realized, with a sense of sorrow, that he knew far too little about the thoughts of these aliens. He knew nothing at all.
The blue light of the holographic array flickered. The Aeldari Farseer did not say goodbye. He didn't even give Simotriene another look. The communication cut off, and the secret room returned to silence, leaving only the rhythmic flashing indicator lights of the counter-surveillance equipment and the low hum from the ventilation ducts, almost completely muffled by the soundproofing.
Simotriene stood in place. He stared at the shadows left after the holographic array went dark, unmoving, the Imperial Aquila on his chest rising and falling with his breath.
His breathing gradually leveled out. The anger in his heart was replaced by something more familiar—the wisdom appropriate for a High Lord returned to his mind. The most urgent task now was to clean up the loose ends.
The betrayal of the xenos was hateful, but the most pressing matter was not a settlement of accounts. Chaos cultists were an uncontrollable variable. On this point, as the Master of the Administratum, he had indeed been taught a lesson. Those fanatical madmen simply didn't understand moderation. The original plan was ruined, and now the fire had reached him.
However, it was not yet time for despair. The weapons he provided had gone through multiple layers of concealment. Even if the Inquisition wanted to find evidence to "nail" him, the chain was still missing several key links.
What he needed to do—
Simotriene slowly closed his eyes. Abandon a few mid-level officials of sufficient weight... sacrifice a few confidants who acted without authorization... add a few scapegoats... These actions were indeed very troublesome.
But he still had room to maneuver. Even now, Simotriene did not believe Guilliman would dispose of him within the political game. That was not the rule of ten thousand years; that was not how the Imperial system operated.
Half a minute later, Simotriene opened his eyes. He calmly straightened his deep purple ministerial robes, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles on the Imperial Aquila badge. The expression on his face became as calm as ancient, still water once more.
The Master of the Administratum turned and pressed the switch for the secret room.
"For the Emperor." He muttered in his heart. It was not a prayer. Just a habit.
The heavy mechanism began to turn, and the side wall was about to slide open. The dim yellow light of the Imperial corridor seeped through the gap.
Then—
Simotriene froze slightly. He looked down. A splash of bright red was slowly blooming on his chest.
On his deep purple robes, right in the center of the Imperial Aquila, a crimson flower-like bloodstain was rapidly spreading. The edges of the petals soaked into a velvety dark color, drenching the wings embroidered with gold thread.
He raised his gaze. A woman wearing a grey-black bodysuit stood before him. Her figure was shapely, and her face was hidden behind a mask. The muzzle of the needle pistol in her hand emitted a green light, having just completed its mission without a single tremor.
"No..." Simotriene opened his mouth. This was impossible.
Massive pain shattered his logic at this moment—intense pain surged up his spine to the brainstem, drowning all calculations and schemes.
This was impossible. How did he dare! I am a High Lord of the Empire...
That was the Master of the Administratum's final thought.
Simotriene's body slumped to the floor. The heavy thud echoed in the secret room and was then entirely swallowed by the soundproofing.
The Callidus Assassin looked at his corpse calmly. Then, she lightly wiped her face. Muscle, bone, and skin tone flowed and reorganized in the silence.
A few seconds later, a new "Simotriene" stood at the exit of the secret room and walked out slowly. He appeared composed, as if nothing had happened.