The Iron Eagle Medal!

Wait—a proper job? And a resident's permit, too?!

Alvin immediately performed the classic art of "changing faces," rubbing his hands together like a fly and plastering a smile across his face. "Are you serious? You can introduce me to a job?"

You couldn't blame him for changing his attitude so quickly. The "bargaining chip" they had offered was simply too tempting.

A formal job that allowed him to settle in the Mid-hive meant he could cast off his identity as an illegal immigrant and openly contact the Mid-hive enforcers, gaining access to many resources he could never obtain in the Underhive!

Watching Alvin change expressions at lightning speed, Tark froze for half a second, but quickly returned to normal. "Of course. The name Tark should carry some weight."

He wasn't lying about that. Jackal Tark's reputation in the Underhive was obvious to all. He was famous for keeping his word.

However, although Alvin was somewhat tempted by Tark's proposal, he still hesitated.

Should he really tell Tark?

His main concern was this: what if Tark had some unknown connection to the cult?

Just as Alvin was hesitating, Tark drawled, "I guess it has something to do with the Blood Axe Gang being wiped out by the Iron Hammer Gang, as well as the disappearance of more than three hundred people from the eastern district, right?"

He exhaled a smoke ring. The white mist spreading through the air made Tark seem rather inscrutable. "Actually, I sent people to investigate the clues surrounding the three hundred people who disappeared from the eastern district, but unfortunately, they found nothing. There was only land soaked in blood. Other than that, there was nothing—not even... corpses."

Tark placed particular emphasis on the last word.

"And then?" Alvin's expression remained as calm as a still lake, completely unmoved. "How did you determine that I came to the Mid-hive as an illegal immigrant because of those two incidents?"

"It's simple. I had someone investigate you, Alvin Valshius."

Tark grinned, revealing two rows of smoke-yellowed teeth. Beneath his fluffy, ramen-like hair, his eyes were sharp as knives, and his expression was intriguing. "An ordinary scavenger from the Underhive would never normally miss Harvest Day, but you weren't there that day."

"Mr. Tark, I shouldn't be the only one who didn't go, should I?" Alvin shrugged.

"Kid, I'm not an enforcer. I don't need to figure out all the evidence."

Tark flicked away some ash and gave him a meaningful look. "Of course I know you weren't the only survivor. But my instincts tell me that your sudden attempt to sneak into the Mid-hive at this particular point in time definitely has something to do with those two incidents."

I almost forgot. The Warhammer World doesn't care about evidence. The corner of Alvin's mouth twitched. After thinking for half a second, he said, "Mr. Tark, I'm afraid I can't trust you."

"You're unwilling to talk?"

Tark frowned slightly. He had thought that offering this price would be enough to make an Underhiver agree.

But the result was completely different from what he had imagined. The other party had actually refused a stable job in the Mid-hive!

"I really want a stable job, but I can't trust you."

Alvin rejected Tark's proposal with great reluctance, but he hadn't completely closed off the possibility of future cooperation.

"You can't trust me? Are you saying those two incidents involve something much bigger?"

Tark understood the implication behind his words, and his expression became slightly serious. "What would it take for you to tell me?"

Alvin merely smiled without answering, with no intention of explaining.

Tark understood the meaning in Alvin's eyes: unless he could prove himself, the kid would never reveal a single thing to him.

What a sly kid. Tark sighed. At this point, it seemed he had no choice.

What had happened in the Underhive had always left Tark uneasy. He kept feeling that things weren't as simple as they appeared, yet the people he sent to investigate had brought back almost no valuable information.

Of the more than three hundred people who had disappeared from the eastern district, only this kid had not appeared anywhere on Harvest Day.

That was the real reason Tark suspected Alvin.

How could a low-level scavenger possibly miss Harvest Day?

And why did more than three hundred people from the eastern district happen to disappear on that very day? How could there be such a coincidence in the world?

Tark hesitated for a long time before finally, reluctantly, taking something from inside his clothes. His careful, gentle movements made it seem as if he were holding some priceless treasure. He displayed it before Alvin.

"Kid, this should be enough to prove that I'm worthy of your trust, right?"

When Alvin clearly saw the object in Tark's palm, his pupils suddenly contracted. He blurted out, "Holy shit, the Iron Eagle Medal?!"

But the instant the words left his mouth, he realized he had let something slip.

Sure enough, surprise appeared on Tark's face. He immediately fixed the young man with a suspicious stare. "Kid, how do you know this medal?"

An Underhive scavenger actually recognized a medal awarded by the Department of the Munitorum?

It was like pointing at the Iron Cross of Nazi Germany for a homeless man and asking what it was. The most likely answer would simply be, "A medal."

Alvin's eyelid twitched, and he regretted it so much that he wanted to slap himself.

But under Tark's icy gaze, he could only brace himself and say, "Actually, my mother told me about it. When I was little, she told me many stories about the Astra Militarum, including stories about various medals."

The excuse was extremely crude, but Tark seemed not to care.

He put the Iron Eagle Medal back inside his clothes and said indifferently, "Since you know it's the Iron Eagle Medal, that should prove I'm worthy of your trust, right?"

The Iron Eagle Medal was also known as the "Madman's Eagle."

It was a golden, semicircular medal bearing an iron Imperial Aquila, and could be considered one of the most prestigious personal honors.

It was usually awarded by the Department of the Munitorum to soldiers who had faced mortal danger, defeated their enemies, and still remained fit for service!

In other words, Tark had once been a member of the Astra Militarum!

No wonder. That explained everything.

Why Tark could obtain Astra Militarum equipment, and why even the Mid-hive enforcers treated him with respect.

Because he was a retired Astra Militarum veteran who possessed the "Iron Eagle" Medal, his status in the Nest City was extraordinary!

But another question troubled Alvin. "Since you have the Iron Eagle Medal, how did you end up in the Underhive?"

It made no sense. A soldier of the Astra Militarum who could be awarded the "Iron Eagle" Medal by the Department of the Munitorum was most likely an officer, and had distinguished himself through bravery. Even nobles in the Nest City wouldn't casually provoke someone like that. So how had he ended up in the Underhive?

"What the hell does it have to do with you?" Tark suddenly flew into a rage, like a Gretchin whose toes had been stepped on. "Don't change the subject. Hurry up and tell me what happened in the Underhive!"

"May I ask what regiment you served in before?"

Alvin leaned forward curiously. He really wanted to know which regiment Tark had served in.

"Does that have anything to do with what you're supposed to tell me?" Tark frowned, clearly unwilling.

"It does."

Alvin nodded and said solemnly, "I'm not looking down on you, but if it wasn't some powerful regiment, knowing about it would be useless."

Of course, that was pure nonsense, merely an attempt to fool Tark.

Even if Tark said nothing, his status as the bearer of the Iron Eagle Medal meant that reporting information about the cult would immediately attract the attention of the local Department of the Munitorum and even the Planetary Governor.

He had only asked out of curiosity.

"If I told you, you wouldn't recognize it anyway."

Tark looked extremely conflicted. He smoked three cigarettes before finally sighing and saying helplessly, "Do you know Catachan? That's where I'm from."