But soon, Callum sensed that something was wrong. Why was Raynor still showing no reaction?
He raised his glass and invited Raynor to drink with him, wanting to witness Raynor consuming the "God-given water" with his own eyes. Raynor was cursing internally. In this situation, he could only try to struggle one last time.
"Lord Callum," Raynor spoke suddenly. "You mentioned earlier that your older brother could go to the battlefield while you were relegated to internal affairs."
Callum's expression stiffened.
"If," Raynor continued, "I mean if—if one day the High King were no longer around, what would you do?"
Callum was stunned. For a moment, the feverish fanaticism on his face receded, replaced by a complex, indecipherable expression. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
Raynor shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Just curious."
Callum stared at him for several seconds, then laughed. This smile was different from the hollow, hypocritical one from before; it was laced with sharp suspicion.
"The Governor is indeed perceptive," he said. "But for now, let's discuss your situation first." He pointed toward the wine glass. "Please."
Raynor's heart sank. Just then, Callum looked down at Raynor's glass, and his expression changed instantly.
"Governor," his voice turned dangerous. "It seems you haven't touched your wine at all?"
Raynor felt a bead of sweat slide down his forehead. He looked at his glass. Indeed, because he had poured the liquid onto the floor earlier, the glass was now empty—not full. And Callum's glass was also empty.
I'm dead.
Callum rose slowly from his seat. His face began to shift; the perfect smile vanished, replaced by a look of cruel anticipation.
"You didn't drink. You never drank a drop," he growled.
The space around them began to warp. The exquisite decorations and warm candlelight started to flow and deform like melting wax. Eerie patterns surfaced on the walls, and the floor began to heave like a living creature. Raynor tried to stand, to resist, but he couldn't move. His body felt as though it were bound by invisible ropes; he couldn't even twitch a finger.
He fought desperately to regain control of his body, but that strange blockage remained like a solid wall between him and his strength. He finally understood what it felt like for others when he used the System to bind them—that feeling of being utterly controlled, of absolute, helpless despair.
Callum circled the dining table, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps. With every stride, his silhouette twisted and expanded. The handsome face gradually morphed into a demonic visage: purple skin, curved goat-like horns, and vertical pupils like a venomous snake's.
"Governor," his voice became as slick as silk yet as lethal as a viper. "Did you think you were merely chatting with me? That you were successfully stalling for time?"
He reached out a hand that had transformed into a claw covered in purple scales.
"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment. From the first time you stepped into the Saint Gallus Fortress, from the first time you established a connection with the 'Frost Dragon,' I have had my eyes on you."
His claws drew closer to Raynor's face.
"The secrets you carry, your connection with those Tyranids, and that bizarre power that even He cannot see through... all of it will become a tribute to the Prince of Pleasure."
Raynor tried desperately to move, but still, he remained paralyzed. He screamed in his mind: "Yamero!!!" (Stop it!!!)
Just as the claw was about to brush against his cheek—BOOM!!!
The dining hall doors were kicked open.
Callum's hand stopped mid-air. He whipped around, his vertical pupils flashing with rage at being interrupted.
Standing in the doorway was a man dressed in purple noble robes. He looked to be in his early thirties, handsome, with a languid, aristocratic air. Complex patterns were embroidered on his clothing—patterns that, from Raynor's perspective, were slowly writhing.
Raynor found the face familiar. He remembered now—Chairman Traeff's birthday banquet. This man had been there, sitting in a corner, silent the entire time, merely drinking in solitude. At the time, Raynor had thought him an insignificant minor noble and paid him no heed.
"Loya," Callum's voice was thick with fury. "What are you doing here?"
Loya walked into the dining hall, followed by several attendants also clad in purple robes. He glanced at Raynor, who was pinned to his seat, then at Callum, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.
"Callum, this isn't very honorable of you, is it?"
Callum's pupils contracted. "What do you mean?"
Loya walked to the table, picked up the bottle of purple wine, sniffed it, and set it down with a look of disdain. "What do I mean?" He looked at Callum, his gaze becoming playful. "I mean, how can you decide the Prince of Pleasure's plans all by yourself?"
Callum's face contorted with rage. "Loya, are you trying to stop me?!"
Loya's smile vanished, his pupils trembling with murderous intent. "I haven't received His decree," he said, slowly walking toward Raynor. "And besides..."
He stopped in front of Raynor, looking down at the trapped Governor.
"He was the prey I set my sights on first."
Raynor's mind raced. Since the Hymn of Offering? Or even earlier? Has this man been stalking me since before I even landed on Brevis? Why didn't Sarah ever detect him? Is his ability to hide even greater than Solene's?
The aura around Callum began to go berserk, and the surrounding space warped even more violently. "Loya, you are challenging my authority!"
"Authority?" Loya cocked an eyebrow. "You think you have authority before the Prince of Pleasure? We are both His servants. Does it matter who found the prey first?" He looked at Raynor with an identical hunger in his eyes. "The point is: who can present this prey to Him in its entirety?"
As if remembering something, Callum flicked his forked tongue into the air, tasting the scent. He spoke in a mocking tone, "I almost forgot. Are you still pursuing those ridiculous things with your 'Master'?"
Master? What's going on? Raynor caught the subtext in Callum's words. It seemed this Slaaneshi cultist named Loya wasn't serving Slaanesh exclusively.
Loya's face darkened as if he had been struck a nerve. The pressure in the room dropped to a freezing point as the two stood in a deadlock. Trapped in his seat, Raynor couldn't move, but his mind was working at lightning speed.
Two Slaaneshi cultists were in a power struggle. This was his only chance. He frantically searched the System for any function that could help him.
Just then, the dining hall shook violently.
BOOM!!!
The western wall of the room was forcibly detonated. Stone debris flew everywhere, and thick dust filled the air. Through the haze, a massive silhouette charged inside.