Little Olive and Crassus

"What are you looking at?" Peter's tone already carried a hint of anger.

The girl beside Skaman quickly explained: "Iron Angel, sir, she is my daughter, Sappho... she... she is deaf." Afraid that if he spoke too late, the Angel would devour his daughter like he had devoured his steward's mind.

"Deaf?" Peter understood. This girl was actually terrified, but she dared not look away from him.

Peter stepped up the stairs, closing in on the girl. Each step shattered the marble floor tiles, the painstaking work of countless artisans, into dust. The others scrambled back, leaving only Skaman standing firm by his daughter's side.

Peter stopped before the girl, gently pinched her chin with his fingers, and turned her head slightly left to examine her outer ear, which looked no different from anyone else's.

"You're reading lips."

The girl had to tilt her head back and look sideways, but her eyes remained fixed on the Angel's lips before her. A pungent gas stung her nose—she didn't know it was the smell of gunpowder from a Bolter Gun firing, only that her nose and eyes burned. She forced herself to endure the discomfort and nodded slightly. His fingers felt like a lion's fangs clamped around her throat; a little more pressure and they could take her life.

"I recall saying that those who don't speak High Gothic should stand on the right," Peter said, slowly increasing the force in his hand, ready to crush this woman who had deceived him.

Feeling the growing pressure on her jaw, the girl trembled and opened her mouth, answering in oddly accented High Gothic: "I do, sir."

Hearing the answer, Peter stopped, released the girl: "Interesting. A deaf person who not only reads and writes High Gothic but can even read lips. This is not your everyday language, after all."

The girl trembled as she replied: "My mother taught me that fluency in High Gothic is an essential quality for the elite of the city-state." Her slender fingers stroked her chin, feeling that if she had been a moment later, her bones would have been crushed.

Peter let out a mocking chuckle, glanced at the crowd on the right that had been blasted into chunks by Bolter fire, and said: "They didn't think so."

His gaze shifted back to the girl: "Sappho, I will restore your hearing. You will become my chronicler. You will address me as Forged Steel Lord, and your father will be the governor of this planet. Now, inform your father to muster all the citizen soldiers."

Though her father stood less than a meter away, Peter gave the order while looking into her eyes. She would get used to this form of communication in the future.

And so, a towering Iron Angel and a small girl stared at each other—a pair of gene-modified brown eyes meeting a pair of purely human green eyes. Until Sappho came to her senses and nodded slightly.

The moment he received her answer, the Iron Angel turned and strode toward the main doors. The other Angels followed suit, their steel boots crushing the marble floor with a dull, heavy sound.

"Little Olive, are you alright?" Skaman stepped forward to check on his daughter.

But Sappho did not respond to her father. She only stared at the Angel's retreating back, while the crowd on the road parted like flowing water, avoiding him as if he were a boulder splitting a raging river.

At the main temple of the City-State of Nopé, the once-bustling shrine now had no worshippers daring to disturb it, for the noble Angel had come to pray. The temple's marble columns held up the vaulted ceiling, and marble and mosaic tiles decorated the floor. This was a church of the Emperor, rendered in local terms as a temple. Though the temple's footprint was not large, it looked quite aged. The interior was well-maintained, with thriving gardens and ever-flowing fountains, all showing the care of the priests who managed it.

At the temple entrance, the white-haired, bald Chief Priest led a dozen apprentice priests and temple maidens, awaiting the Iron Angel's arrival. Seeing the Iron Angel truly arrive at the temple, he hurriedly led the apprentice priests and maidens to kneel.

"Humble and devout servant of the God-Emperor, Eustace, welcomes the Iron Angel back to the earth from the stars, to guide and protect us."

But Peter simply pointed at the Chief Priest: "You, come inside with us."

The Chief Priest naturally dared not defy the Angel's will. He quickly rose and followed the Iron Angel into the temple. As they passed the line of temple maidens, Anthony's face, half-melted by a Meltagun, startled one maiden so much that the ceremonial clay pot in her hands fell and shattered.

The group entered the temple.

Though it was daytime and the temple's dome let in ample light, the hanging lamps in the corridor were still lit. These meaningless lamps burned, sending up faint wisps of smoke. Peter took a deep breath. He could smell the olive oil the lamps burned, and it seemed not just olive oil—some kind of spice had been added.

"This temple was built by the servants of the God-Emperor leading us. Its history is nearly as long as the city-state itself. Under the God-Emperor's protection, our city-state has flourished through the ages."

Finally, after launching into his familiar introductions and scripture recitations, the Chief Priest found his rhythm: "The God-Emperor said that gods do not exist. And His Angels shall punish the disobedient, His servants shall reward the obedient, and He shall unite all of humanity under one rule. And His son..."

The three ignored the priest's sermon, simply gazing at the statues of the God-Emperor and the Iron Warriors in the temple. The murals on the walls also depicted the Angels' descent, and the story of the God-Emperor's servants staying behind to lead the people in building their home.

Anthony looked around and asked: "Captain, should we destroy this temple?"

Hearing this, the Chief Priest's heart tightened, as if someone had grabbed him by the balls, and he stopped his introduction.

Peter leisurely admired the artworks: "No need. Keep things as they are."

Captain Wonaby spoke up to explain: "Brother Anthony, the Lord has his reasons. The hearts of mortals are like empty voids, and faith is the material that fills them. In truth, even aboard the ship, we never explicitly forbade faith in the False Emperor. If you're willing to go down to the lower decks, you'll always find shrines to the False Emperor. Faith in the False Emperor is better than faith in Chaos."

The Forged Steel Brethren warband did not worship the Four Chaos Gods—this was common knowledge among all the brothers. But what puzzled Wonaby was that Lord Peter did not even allow the mortals under his command to worship the Ruinous Powers. He had personally witnessed Peter slaughter an entire family on the lower decks that worshipped Slaanesh, then hang their bodies in the corridor as a warning. Peter seemed exceptionally hostile to Chaos worship, to the point that he chose to indulge faith in the False Emperor instead.

In Wonaby's view, it was right that the brothers were not corrupted by Chaos, but mortals were just consumables—whether they believed in Chaos or not was irrelevant. Sometimes, a mortal's appropriate worship of Chaos could even benefit the warband, like Khorne worshippers in battle.

Peter continued walking and observing the artworks. Suddenly, he stopped before a statue of an Iron Warrior: "Who is this?"

His sixth sense told him—this was it.

"This is Crassus, a member of the Iron Angels. He and the Archangel who led him tore through the sky, descending from the stars, bringing us the faith of the God-Emperor." The Chief Priest answered quickly, afraid that this Archangel might change his earlier decision.

Hearing that name, even Anthony grew solemn, silently staring at the marble-painted statue of the Iron Warrior. Peter reached out to touch the sculpture but pulled his hand back just before making contact, as if afraid of damaging it. Anthony stared at the statue meaningfully, saying nothing.

Wonaby felt left out. He looked at Peter and Anthony, these two veterans, and suddenly realized they were Legion veterans who had fought in the Battle of Terra. They very likely knew this sergeant named Crassus.

An ordinary sergeant from the time of the Great Crusade.