Where Is My Power Armor?

"Sharojin, drill hard. Don't worry, bleed more now, shed fewer tears later," Sandman said with a smile.

He had arrived long ago and chose not to appear so he wouldn't disturb Sharojin's training. Neither Sharojin nor anyone else present had spotted his shadow, which left Sharojin breaking out in a cold sweat when he heard Sandman's voice.

To think they had been putting on a show here for so long without ever noticing a lurker in their midst. If it had been an enemy coming to scout intelligence and information had leaked, Sharojin could not begin to imagine the catastrophic disaster that awaited the camp next. There were far too many things in this place that could not see the light of day.

"Boss, I'm sorry. My skills are lacking, and I've failed your trust in me," Sharojin apologized to Sandman, leading a crowd of Shadow Kill members.

If something like this happened in any other faction, the men in charge of security and intelligence would have already been executed. Someone had quietly snuck right up to their beds without the guards reacting at all. Were they supposed to wait for the enemy to line up in single file?

"Don't be nervous. My situation is rather special; even Korax can't approach me without a sound, so you don't need to blame yourselves," Sandman didn't mind Sharojin's confession of guilt.

The Shadow Kill essentially acted as his personal guards now. Aside from the Invictarus, the primarch guards of other primarchs served a decorative rather than practical purpose, basically functioning as the primarch bringing them along to slaughter everything.

You couldn't seriously expect the primarch guards to protect the Primarch.

Guilliman, it has to be like that, right?

"Boss, do you have any orders for your visit this time?" Sharojin asked, sliding his combat knife back into its sheath.

This place was specially used to train Shadow Kill and other troops. Aside from specialized assassination and stealth training, they also kept shooting training there, along with the captured laser guns and stun guns.

The tunnels here could also link up to the Weapon Workshop. Ever since Korax's arrival, the miners' lives had undergone a heaven-shaking transformation.

The reason the Saviors Camp had developed so rapidly over the years lay right here. With the support of a perfected system, the miners' production efficiency was much higher, but the vast majority of the output was funneled elsewhere.

The miners controlled the ore handed over to the Tower to maintain a general equilibrium, neither exceeding nor falling below the average.

The Tower's patrolling overseers couldn't spot such things either. For the miners, the overseers' patrol routes were completely transparent to them as long as they notified their other companions in time.

In a place hidden from the sight of the Tower's minions, a revolution was about to unfold.

"Sharojin, after this special training ends, take your men and disperse them into the miner camp. Cooperate with this strike; we need to speed up the progress," Sandman instructed.

"No problem, boss," Sharojin replied after making an internal assessment.

The intensity of the special training would need to be lowered then; he couldn't have them dizzy and disoriented while executing missions.

The Tower stood tall in the sky of Lycaeus as it always had. As a supersized building thousands of meters high, the dome shrouding Lycaeus took this place as its center and constantly expanded outward.

This was the center of Lycaeus. Air purifiers, oxygen generators, gravity generators, and other vital devices sustaining the survival of the entire mining planet were all located here.

At the very top of the Tower, Akalin, the master of Lycaeus, sat upright upon his throne, resting his eyes with them closed.

"Have the rats been caught?" Suddenly, Akalin snapped his eyes open, a pair of sharp eyes like a falcon's flashing with a lethal, chilling light.

"My Lord, the Armed Department is still investigating," the butler replied to his master with mechanical precision, standing by at any moment like a statue.

"Still looking?!"

"My armor, my Precision Power Armor! He stole two suits and only left me one!" Akalin snatched up the investigation report resting on the desktop and hurled it fiercely at the ground! The fluttering investigation reports scattered and landed on the lamb-wool carpet of the lavish room!

"Master, should we expand the scope of our search? We should thoroughly investigate that bunch of slaves under our feet as well," the old butler knelt on the ground in terror and offered a suggestion to Akalin.

"Then investigate! Send Agamemnon. Have slaves investigate slaves, and thieves investigate thieves. No matter who it is, whoever stole my Precision Power Armor, I'll make them pay an unacceptable price!"

"Burn him with white phosphorus pyrotechnics for three days and three nights!" Akalin's falcon-like eyes, filled with matchless cruelty, stared dead at his butler.

"Yes, My Lord," the old butler responded with a trembling body.

He then went to convey the Lord of the High Tower's decree. Even in a state of terror, the old butler's stride remained as precise as a meticulously calibrated mechanical watch, his steps measured as if by a ruler.

Ever since he could remember, his every word and action began to receive the most standard butler education. Even his facial expressions and countenance were the same; a smile that didn't reach the eyes had long since been deeply engraved into his instincts.

Clang... Thirteen and a second later, an elevator exclusive to the upper echelons went straight to the area where the bottom floor was located.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

"The air on the bottom floor is still as filthy and unbearable as ever." Following a slight cough, a voice aged yet laced with dissatisfaction rang out from inside the elevator. The old butler, dressed in lavish robes, stepped out of the elevator wearing a completely different face.

"You must forgive us, Elder. You came in a hurry this time, and you know how the environment on the bottom floor is—there simply wasn't time to purify it in such a short span," Agamemnon said to the old butler with a ingratiating smile.

No one knew the old butler's name anymore; people in the Tower only knew that this old butler had served Akalin's family for close to a century, and offending him would definitely bring no good fruit.

"Old Butler, are you here this time to convey some command from the master? Actually, you only needed to say so over the communicator, and I would have handled it for you immediately, lest the filthy air here harm your precious body," Agamemnon asked cautiously.

"What, you despise this old thing so much that he's already got one foot in the grave?" The old butler looked at the person in chief charge of the bottom of the Tower and said.

"How could I ever dare? Your arrival practically makes the bottom of the Tower shine with brilliance."

"I came down this time because there is a matter to hand over for you to handle. Handle it well, and I'll put in a good word or two for you before the master—your position might even rise a step higher. But if you don't handle it well, hmph..." The old butler's originally amiable tone turned exceptionally cold by the end.

"Just say the word, Old Butler. I will accomplish this even if I have to brave boiling water and tread on fire," Agamemnon said decisively, as though hesitating for a single second would be a waste of his life.

He knew very well that since he could make this old thing make the trip personally, he had to take this matter whether he wanted to or not. He had to take it, without any room for bargaining.

"My Lord lost two sets of Precision Power Armor. That bunch of trash in the Armed Department investigated up to now without finding a single hair. The master is furious. You are going to investigate that bunch of slaves under your feet as well. Who knows, maybe some thief from Kiavahr hid the items in those mining tunnels." The old butler stated the purpose of his trip.