"What are you looking at?" A hint of anger crept into Peter's voice.
Skaman, standing beside the girl, hurried to explain:
"Steel Angel, she's my daughter, Sappho. She... she's deaf." He was afraid that if he spoke too late, the Angel would eat his daughter's brain just as he had eaten his Steward's.
"Deaf?" Peter understood. The girl was terrified, but she didn't dare look away.
Peter strode up the steps toward her. With each step, he crushed marble tiles crafted with countless artisans' toil. The others hurriedly backed away, leaving only Skaman standing by his daughter.
Peter stopped in front of the girl and gently pinched her chin between his fingers, turning her face slightly to the left as he examined her outer ears, which were 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. A pungent gas entered her nose. She didn't know it was the smell of gunpowder after a Bolter Gun had fired; she only felt a burning sting in her eyes and nose. She endured the discomfort and gave a slight nod. His fingers felt like a lion's fangs around her throat, and the slightest squeeze would take her life.
"I remember saying that anyone who couldn't speak Gothian should stand on the right." Peter slowly increased the pressure of his fingers, preparing to crush the woman who had deceived him to death, little by little.
Feeling the pressure on her chin increase, the girl trembled and opened her mouth. In oddly accented High Gothic, she answered:
"I can, my lord."
At her answer, Peter stopped and released her.
"Interesting. A deaf girl who can not only read and write High Gothic, but also read lips. And it isn't even the language you use in your daily life."
The girl spoke with a tremor in her voice:
"My mother taught me that fluency in High Gothic is an essential quality for the elite of a city-state."
Her slender fingers touched her chin. She felt that if he'd squeezed just a moment longer, her bones would have snapped.
Peter gave a mocking chuckle and looked toward the people on the right, the ones blasted into chunks of flesh by Bolter fire.
"They don't seem to agree."
He turned his gaze back to the girl.
"Sappho, I'll cure your deafness. You'll become my chronicler. You'll address me as the Forged Steel Lord, and your father will be the governor of this planet. Now, tell your father to muster all the citizen militia."
Although her father stood less than a meter away, Peter looked into her eyes as he gave the order. She would get used to this in time.
And so a towering Steel Angel and a petite girl stared at each other, one pair of brown eyes altered by Gene-Modding meeting one pair of green eyes, entirely human by birth. Sappho finally understood and gave a slight nod.
The moment the Steel Angel received her answer, he turned and walked toward the gate. The other Angels followed, their steel boots crushing the marble floor with a dull rumble.
"Little Olive, are you all right?" Skaman stepped forward to check on his daughter.
But Sappho didn't answer her father. She only stared at the Angel's retreating figure as the crowds parted around him like water around a rock splitting a river's current.
The main temple of the City-State of Nopé had once been bustling, but now no worshippers dared disturb it. A revered Angel had come to pray. Marble columns supported the temple's dome, while marble and mosaic tiles adorned the floor. It was a church of the Emperor—or, in the local tongue, a temple. Though it wasn't large, it looked quite old. The temple was well maintained, with flourishing gardens and ever-flowing fountains, all showing how carefully its priests tended to the place.
At the entrance, the white-haired, balding Chief Priest waited for the Steel Angels with more than a dozen acolytes and temple attendants. When he saw that the Steel Angels had truly arrived, he hurriedly led them all to their knees.
"I, Eustace, a humble and devout servant of the God-Emperor, welcome the Steel Angels back to our world from among the stars. May you guide and protect us."
But Peter merely pointed at the Chief Priest.
"You. Come inside with us."
The Chief Priest naturally didn't dare defy the Angel's will. He quickly rose and followed the Steel Angels into the temple. As they passed the line of temple attendants, Anthony's face, half melted by a Meltagun, frightened one of them so badly that she dropped the ceremonial clay jar in her hands.
The group entered the temple.
Although it was daytime and the temple's dome let in plenty of light, the lamps hanging in the corridors were still lit, burning pointlessly and sending up faint wisps of blue smoke. Peter took a deep breath. He could smell the olive oil burning in the lamps, and it seemed that something else had been added to it as well.
"This temple was built under the guidance of the God-Emperor's servants. Its history is nearly as long as that of the city-state. Under the God-Emperor's protection, our city-state has endured through the ages."
At last, after beginning with familiar introductions and recounting scripture, the Chief Priest regained his composure.
"The God-Emperor said that gods do not exist. His Angels will punish those who defy Him, and His servants will reward those who obey. He will unite all of mankind. And His son..."
The three ignored the priest's sermon and simply examined the statues of the God-Emperor and the Iron Warriors in the temple. The murals above them depicted the Angels' arrival and told the story of the God-Emperor's servants staying behind to lead the people in building their home.
Anthony looked around and asked:
"Captain, are we going to destroy this temple?"
The Chief Priest tensed at the question as if someone had grabbed him by the crotch, and stopped his explanation.
Peter continued admiring the artwork at an unhurried pace.
"No need. Leave things as they are."
Captain Wonaby spoke up to explain:
"Brother Anthony, the Lord has his reasons. The minds of mortals are like empty vessels, and faith is what fills them. We never explicitly banned faith in the False Emperor aboard the ship, either. Just look on the lower decks, and you'll always find shrines to the False Emperor. Believing in the False Emperor is better than believing in Chaos."
The Forged Steel Brethren War Band didn't worship the Four Chaos Gods. Every brother agreed on that. What Wonaby couldn't understand was that Lord Peter wouldn't even allow his mortal subordinates to worship the Ruinous Powers. He had seen Peter slaughter an entire family on the lower decks for worshipping Slaanesh, then hang their corpses in the corridor as a warning. Peter seemed to loathe Chaos worship so intensely that he chose to tolerate worship of the False Emperor instead.
In Wonaby's view, it was right for the brothers to resist Chaos's corruption. But whether expendable mortals worshipped Chaos was of little consequence. In fact, mortals worshipping Chaos in moderation could sometimes benefit the War Band—for instance, Khorne Cultists in battle.
Peter continued walking, observing the works of art as he went. Suddenly, he stopped before a statue of an Iron Warrior.
"Who is this?"
A sixth sense told Peter that this was the one.
"This is Crassus, one of the Steel Angels. He descended from the stars, tearing through the sky alongside the Archangel who led him, and brought us the faith of the God-Emperor."
The Chief Priest answered quickly, afraid that this Archangel might go back on his earlier decision.
At the name, even Anthony grew solemn. He stared silently at the painted marble statue of the Iron Warrior. Peter reached out to touch it, but withdrew his hand just before making contact, as though he feared damaging it. Anthony gazed at the statue, his expression unreadable, and said nothing.
Wonaby felt left out. Watching Peter and Anthony, both his seniors, he suddenly realized that they were Legion veterans who had fought in the Battle of Terra. They might even have known the sergeant named Crassus.
An ordinary sergeant from the Great Crusade.
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