The Court of Arbitration Wasn't Even Established, Yet Nimrod Had Already Started Laying Down Roots

Imperial Palace, a lakeside villa near the Square of Heroes.

Barton Drake, dressed in full military uniform, walked through the villa's front doors. At once, he felt his skin prickle as if stabbed by needles, and an unnatural bitterness rose in his throat.

He looked around the first-floor reception hall, his gaze sweeping over the Shadow of Order wrapped head to toe in black armor, then Arsena Dunn, the silver-haired Primarch's Attendant, before finally settling on a man with a short sword at his waist.

He was not a Shadow of Order, yet he was even taller and more powerfully built than Barton, who had undergone many enhancements himself.

At his waist hung the Falcon Dagger, and on his back he carried a spear that, even relative to his size, ought to be called a giant spear.

The Spear of Dionysus.

He had to be someone Lord Nimrod trusted, or Nimrod would never have entrusted him with the spear gifted by The Emperor.

Barton studied the giant man curiously. His resolute face and sharp gaze made even a veteran of a hundred battles like Barton tense up despite himself.

The giant was a powerful warrior.

Barton's gaze lingered for only a moment before moving away.

He had not the slightest goodwill toward this warrior. Instinctively, he felt revulsion and discomfort.

[A Pariah!]

Barton looked at Lord Nimrod in shock.

In the Imperium, only The Emperor's Talons—the Sisters of Silence—were Pariahs.

Yet there was actually a Pariah following at Lord Nimrod's side as well.

Barton's steps shortened. Only after taking three steps did he return to his original stride.

He stopped and saluted respectfully.

"Lord Nimrod."

The Primarch leaned back against the Black Basalt throne, light and shadow flickering in his eyes amid dark specks as he appraised the old general