"Canoness Eleanor, the alarms are sounding. Creed is convening an emergency war council."
"We must send a representative. Failure to attend would bring shame upon our Order."
"When do we depart?"
"Not we. It is I, my dear sister. You are to remain here at the Sanctum."
Canoness Eleanor kissed her prayer book, fastened it to her belt, and performed the Sign of the Aquila before standing up.
–
Aboard the Firemane's Fang, one of the few surviving warships in Cadia's orbit.
"High Command believes the Despoiler is brewing a new wave of attacks. They suggest we withdraw to discuss countermeasures."
"Discuss countermeasures?" Sven Bloodhowl, one of the two Space Wolf Lords stationed on Cadia, stared out the ship's viewport.
"Offense is the best defense. In my view, we should drive straight into the heart of the enemy and board Abaddon's flagship directly."
"Are we going, then?"
"We go. Why wouldn't we?"
–
Having finished his conversation with Creed, Zeke obtained the coordinates for Kasr Kraf.
The afternoon's War Council was to be held at Kasr Kraf.
This bastion, possessing the Null Field Matrix, would serve as the primary strategic point against Abaddon's second wave of attacks.
Zeke picked up his blueprints again, connecting his own camp to Kasr Kraf.
In this way, his camp would link the two critical strategic points: Tyrok and Kasr Kraf.
Perhaps in the near future, the camp Zeke built would serve as the transportation hub connecting all the bastions of Cadia.
When that time came, Zeke was definitely going to set up a toll booth and make a killing.
Zeke set out early, taking the Iron Golem with him this time.
Since he was about to face elite figures from Cadia's various factions, Zeke felt it necessary to show a little muscle. The oppressive presence of the Iron Golem was just right for the occasion.
Passing through the new tunnel, Zeke arrived at Kasr Kraf.
At a first glance, this place looked as if it had been cut from the same mold as the Tyrok Bastion.
It had the same layout for residential areas, the same intricate web of alleyways, and even the central square featured similar statues of Cadian heroes. Even the exterior of the assembly hall was virtually identical.
Zeke led the Iron Golem toward the assembly hall.
He had arrived too early; the hall was empty, save for a few guards and logistics personnel bustling about.
Pushing open the hall doors, he saw rows of heavy seats arranged neatly beneath the dome.
A Servitor was busy in the center of the venue.
This Servitor had reverse-jointed mechanical legs for a lower body, while its upper body retained some human components, with several mechanical arms extending from its back.
It was grabbing the seats and scanning the data-slate in its hand.
Hearing footsteps, the Servitor raised its head and began scanning Zeke.
"Identity confirmed: Zeke Mason," the Servitor stated in a synthetic voice. "Apologies, your seating has not yet been arranged. Please wait a moment before taking a seat."
Zeke walked a few steps closer. "Are you in charge of setting up the venue?"
"Yes. I am a Servitor in service to Archmagos Klein."
As the Servitor answered, it grabbed a chair with a mechanical arm and shifted it approximately ten millimeters to the right.
"I am currently executing a highly complex coordination task."
It paused. "As you know, there are historical frictions between the various factions meeting today."
It pointed to two seats that had been deliberately separated. "You would not wish to see the Space Wolves and the Dark Angels arranged in adjacent seats."
"That could lead to terrifying consequences."
That is true, Zeke imagined.
Given the legacy issues between the Primarchs of those two Chapters, putting them together—let alone holding a meeting—made it uncertain whether anyone would make it out of the room alive.
"Furthermore," the Servitor turned to a few seats in the front row, "you certainly would not want to see the Cadian representatives seated further from Lord Castellan Creed's main seat than the Navy representatives."
"If such a situation were to occur, it is highly probable they would file a complaint immediately after the meeting, alleging discrimination."
Damn, is arranging seats really this much trouble?
Zeke stood by the side, watching the Servitor move the chairs back and forth like chess pieces.
Finally, after the layout of a certain area was completed with great difficulty, it turned abruptly back to Zeke.
"Mr. Zeke, regarding your seat," its voice rang out again.
"Comprehensive analysis: Given that the majority of Astartes Chapters generally hold a poor attitude toward ordinary humans, arranging you within the Chapter seating area is ruled out."
The light in its optical lenses began to flicker. "Given that you are not formally part of the Cadian military establishment, I cannot insert you into the delegation's seating."
Wisps of blue smoke began to rise from the vents of the Servitor's metal skull.
"Stop, stop, stop!" Zeke waved his hand. "Don't trouble yourself. I won't sit. Standing and listening is fine."
"That is wonderful," the Servitor's synthetic voice replied. "You are truly a reasonable gentleman."
"In my logic banks, individuals possessing unique abilities like yours are usually accompanied by arrogant traits."
"Simultaneously, those individuals who display a humble attitude often lack sufficient ability or capital."
It focused on Zeke. "But you, Mr. Zeke, cleverly exist between these two typical paradigms. It is truly eye-opening."
Zeke was left stunned by this string of convoluted, roundabout flattery.
"Mr. Zeke," the Servitor looked at the Iron Golem. "May I ask, is this your accompanying Servitor?"
"Uh, yes, that's right." Zeke nodded solemnly.
The Servitor returned to its busy work. Watching its figure, Zeke mused inwardly.
If even arranging seats was this complicated, this afternoon's War Council was destined to be anything but calm.
The thought of having to convince these elite figures from various factions to accept his plan made Zeke's head ache.
He glanced back at the Iron Golem behind him.
The best method wasn't to waste breath trying to persuade them; a proper display of the fist was often more useful than any eloquence.
The doors to the hall were pushed open.
"Seat Identity: Daverna, Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, Chief Investigator of the Cadian Gate."
Someone's here. Zeke looked toward the entrance.
A tall woman with broad shoulders, wearing an officer's greatcoat, stormed in like a whirlwind.
As soon as she entered, her eyes locked onto Zeke, her gaze looking as if she wanted to swallow him whole.
Zeke confirmed the look; he didn't know her.
But hearing the title "Inquisitor," he didn't need to think hard to know why she held such hostility toward him.
"Respected Lady Daverna," the Servitor slid over to her. "Your seat is here."
Inquisitor Daverna strode to her seat and sat down.
The doors were pushed open once again.
This time, a massive figure walked in, nearly brushing the top of the doorframe.
His face was tattooed with lines in some kind of pigment, dark long hair cascaded over his pauldrons, and his eyes were sharp.
"Seat Identity: Wolf Lord Sven Bloodhowl, of the Space Wolves' Firehowlers Great Company."
Bloodhowl's gaze swept across the hall, landing on the Iron Golem behind Zeke. He looked it up and down.
Then, taking wide strides, he clanked his way toward his seat.
--
Come-on~ Only 30 More powerstones before next bonus chapter.