Chapter 189: I am Seventeen, and I'm Studying in the Countryside…
After the investiture concluded, Kian Voss and his squad were released from the Spire-Tip prison-villa. They were ushered into a transport coach that took them across the Spire's breathtaking, gilded vistas to a private estate.
The villa was a sprawling 2,500-square-meter complex of marble and gold, featuring three opulent mansions, terraced gardens, and a pool of crystal-clear water—a stark contrast to the stagnant vats of the Sump.
"Throne above..." Ash whispered, his eyes wide as he gazed at the manicured hedges. "Is this really ours, Boss? We're officially 'Spire-Rats' now!"
Kian waved a hand, trying to look unimpressed. "Keep it low-key. We have a reputation to maintain."
The House Steward, a man who moved with the fluid grace of a born bureaucrat, unlocked the oak doors. "Baron, you have eighty-eight rooms, three reception halls, a wine cellar, and private motor-pools at your disposal. Everything required to host the Hive's elite."
The squad swarmed inside, their heavy boots clattering against polished floors. Kian sent the troops to secure the perimeter and then retreated to a small office with the Steward to finalize the "Baronial Obligations."
"As an invested Baron," the Steward began, unrolling a complex scroll of legal mandates, "you have the Right of Levy. You are legally authorized to maintain a personal militia of two hundred soldiers. They may carry military-grade weaponry and transit through all Spire-sectors without question. They are your shield and your status."
Kian nodded. Two hundred men. That's enough to hold a factory district.
"Regarding your assets," the Steward continued, "You enjoy a generous Tax-Exemption, but there is a quota. Should your industrial output exceed one hundred million scrips per cycle, the Tithe-Man becomes inevitable. Use legal obfuscation to manage your ledgers."
Kian made a mental note. Keep the books creative.
"Finally," the Steward's voice dropped, "the Feudal Domain. You have the right to claim thirty thousand acres of farmland or a satellite township. But as you know, the surface is currently... contested."
The Steward offered a sad smile. "If you ever restore order to the surface, those lands become your private property. All population residing there would be legally bound to your House. You would be their master in all things."
Kian stared at the Steward. An entire township of workers bound by law to my family? That's not a business. That's a feudal kingdom.
"And for a spouse?" Kian asked, testing the waters of the nobility.
The Steward pulled out a heavy, gilded ledger. "A Baron's legacy requires a spouse. A pure-blooded maiden of high-status is the standard path. However, a widow of a rival house—provided she brings a massive dowry and industrial assets—is often a more pragmatic choice. If she has ties to the military or the Ecclesiarchy, you would be untouchable."
He continued for hours, explaining the brutal, intricate dance of Spire-politics. Kian listened with the intensity of a player reading the patch notes for a massive expansion pack.
When the Advisor finally bowed and left, Kian was alone in the quiet of his new office. His squad was scattered across the mansion, enjoying the luxury they'd never dreamed of.
"Boss," Egghead whispered, appearing in the doorway. "The men are restless. They've heard the rumors from the plaza—the 9th Regiment... the mass executions. They're worried about their own brothers in the 109th. Can we contact the camp? Are they... still there?"
Kian's heart sank. He walked to the high-powered vox-unit in the study. His soldiers crowded around him, their faces pale with anxiety. They were men who had survived hell, but they were terrified of what they'd find on the other end of the line.
Kian looked at the encrypted frequency: 350234-KMYY.
He remembered the first time he'd seen Rudolphson in that trench. He remembered the Major's bumbling, human heart, his struggle to be a decent officer in a regime that demanded he be a tyrant. He remembered their secrets, their booze-fueled schemes, and the way they had laughed over the spilled blood of a hundred rebels.
Memories flickered like ghosts in his mind.
I am seventeen, and I'm studying in the countryside…
The students wear their sneakers, reading the same old magazines…
The melody of the ancient Terran song played in his head, a reminder of the soft, boring world he had once known. He was a long way from the countryside now. He was a Baron of the Imperium, a Syndicate Lord, and a trigger-man for a Saint.
He keyed in the code and pressed the transmit button.
"Major Rudolphson? Come in. It's Voss. I'm at the Spire... please, tell me you're still breathing."
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