A Native Planet

Amid the bustle, Ogedei's hoarse, booming voice stood out over the broadcast.

"Space Marines, assemble!"

The briefing room.

All the Space Marines were seated, including Fu Qinghai, the newly inducted Space Marine.

They were all clad in full Power Armor, fully equipped and ready to go, with their helmets tucked at their waists.

They all looked toward the end of the conference table.

At the end of the table, Ogedei sat in his wheelchair, his expression unreadable. Without wasting words, he rolled back a little and said:

"Captain Adenna, please brief us."

A middle-aged officer with a black beard and a crisp uniform stepped forward and began:

"Warriors, here's the situation."

As he moved his fingers, a holographic projection rose from the center of the table.

A blue-green planet.

"We've reached the edge of Segmentum Solar, in the Lesser Sector. We've established the precise coordinates. The Dagger still has a decent supply of energy, but we're short on other supplies. We also can't fully repair the damage from our previous battle, and the damage-control teams are critically short of materials."

"The nearest planet to us is this one, designated 09-177."

"I need you to land on the planet, assess the situation, and secure enough supplies for the Dagger."

Ogedei rolled forward a little and cleared his throat.

"The last update on planet 09-177 in the ship's log is dated 2.756.094.M30: Expedition Fleet No. 9, Salamanders of the Eighteenth Legion, reclaimed this world."

"But that was a long time ago. The rebellion has happened since then, and none of us knows what the planet's like now. Before we secure supplies, I'll send a Tactical Squad to the surface. You'll head to the capital from before the world was reclaimed, the place marked as the city of 'Bangluojia,' and find out what's going on."

As Ogedei moved his fingers, the planet in the holographic projection spun rapidly and grew larger.

At last, it displayed a horizontal view of a city, its buildings rising to different heights.

"The quartermaster will give Talal a list of the supplies we need. Talal will lead this operation and choose the personnel. The rest will remain aboard the ship."

Adenna then gave them the little information they had about the planet and city. Some came from the ship's log, and some from Auspex readings.

Ogedei concluded, "Warriors, the Jaghatai's ordu—I don't know how many of you were Star Hunters before the Great Crusade, but I do know that the scouts' bloodline has not been lost in the inheritance of our Gene-seed. We aren't the Iron Warriors or Imperial Fists, who can only fight dull, stupid battles. We've long been used to taking our supplies from the enemy!"

"Move out! If this planet still serves the Imperium loyally, then they'll provide the Imperial Army with the supplies it needs. If this planet has shamefully grovelled to the traitors, then we'll take our supplies from the enemy—and bring them destruction while we're at it!"

The warriors answered with a thunderous roar.

After Ogedei's brief battle speech, Fu Qinghai, whom Talal had selected, followed the other warriors to the embarkation deck.

The embarkation deck was as busy as ever. Welding sparks flashed while grease-stained repair workers and Servitors hurried back and forth.

A massive Stormbird waited on a cleared patch of deck.

The warriors boarded in orderly formation. The huge doors beyond the deck slowly opened, revealing the planet in all its glory.

Inside the Stormbird, amid the jolts and noise of atmospheric entry, Fu Qinghai asked Talal, who sat across from him:

"We're just going straight down?"

Talal smiled. "I know what you want to ask. The planet's orbital defense systems are out of action, and the outer-space station is deserted. They haven't responded to our signals either. Ogedei suspects another Legion has already 'paid them a visit.'"

Fu Qinghai understood. The force that had visited the planet had destroyed all its military facilities, leaving it nearly defenseless. If the planet was loyal, then the visitors must have been a fleet from a traitor Legion. If not, then they must have been from a loyalist Legion.

Before long, the Stormbird touched down.

The Space Marines quickly filed out through the ramp lowered from the Stormbird's rear.

Fu Qinghai's hard magnetic soles touched down on soft, damp humus. Dead leaves crackled beneath his feet.

He surveyed the surroundings through his helmet's visor. They were in a lush tropical rainforest.

Albuslang, standing beside him, drew a deep breath. His voice came through the vox grille:

"I can feel how humid the air is even through the respirator."

"Static... Warriors," Talal's voice came through the comms. "To avoid being spotted by any equipment in the city, we landed thirty kilometres from Bangluojia. Now follow me, keep your tactical formation, and move out!"

The White Scars adjusted their formation and followed Talal into the jungle.

The Astartes quickly reached a hillside on the edge of the city. They could make out a distant cluster of ochre-colored buildings.

At this distance, the comms remained silent. Talal raised a hand to halt the squad, then looked to the Space Marine on his left and made a gesture.

It meant they needed to grab someone for questioning.

The warrior nodded and slipped into the jungle with another warrior.

Fu Qinghai and the others rested where they were.

Before long, the two warriors returned, bringing a thin old man with dark skin up the hillside.

The towering Space Marine held the old man as easily as a chick. He set him down. The old man, dressed in a worn, tunic-like garment, folded his arms and looked fearfully at the ring of little iron giants around him. His frail body trembled.

Talal removed his helmet, revealing a weathered, bronze-colored face. In as gentle a tone as he could manage, he asked the old man:

"Can you understand me?"

The old man nodded nervously.

"Good." Talal pointed toward the distant cluster of ochre-colored buildings. "Is that Bangluojia?"

The old man nodded again. "Baluojia," he said, repeating the name with a strange accent.

Perhaps that was the city's true pronunciation.

After questioning him, the White Scars learned that most of the locals knew nothing about the Dagger or the Stormbird's arrival. At least, this old man didn't. He was just a poor man living on the outskirts. A few months ago, a spaceship had brought godlike demon soldiers like Talal and his warriors to Bangluojia. They had not only killed the Imperial officials stationed on the planet, but had also massacred people in the city for no reason. Then they had hurriedly left.

After hearing the old man describe the "demon soldiers," Talal curled his lip in disdain and said with disgust:

"Those damned bats."

Fu Qinghai nodded. The Eighth Legion, the Night Lords, had a Legion symbol of a fanged skull with bat wings.

The White Scars might be undisciplined, or perhaps they simply followed the cultural customs of their homeworld, Chogoris, more than the Imperium's rules. That still put them within the bounds of professional soldiers. The Night Lords Legion, by contrast, were a gang of thugs and criminals through and through.

Their conduct was cruel and terrifying, utterly devoid of even the slightest hint of a soldier's honor.

The other Legions despised them.

Even before the Horus Heresy, the Night Lords had committed several horrifying massacres. Their Primarch, Konrad Curze, had been ordered to go to Terra and answer the charges against him. But the Horus Heresy had begun before he could reach Terra, and Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, had simply rebelled along with it.

The question now was whether the Night Lords had massacred people out of their usual brutality, or whether they had already given themselves over to Khorne and were committing slaughter to make sacrifices and please the Chaos God.

If it was the latter, then things in Bangluojia could get complicated.

Fu Qinghai shook his head. It probably wasn't the latter. If they had ascended to daemonhood or made sacrifices, then not just the city, but the whole planet would likely have been left without a single living person. They wouldn't have encountered this old man.

The White Scars also learned that after the Night Lords had killed the Imperial officials who refused to submit to them and massacred the locals, they had looted some of the planet's supplies and left.

Soon afterward, the planet had split into a patchwork of territories controlled by local warlords.

Some people claiming to be descendants of the former royal family had also emerged. The Imperium's expedition fleet had overthrown that dynasty long ago, but these people had seized the planetary capital, Bangluojia.

Hearing that the Night Lords had left and a bunch of natives now occupied the city, Talal clicked his tongue, looking bored. He said to the Astartes around him:

"Come on. Full speed ahead. Our target is the building marked on the map. No one fires without my order."

The Astartes holstered their bolters and sprinted down the hillside at full speed.

The poor old man was left behind. At the Space Marines' marching speed, the city would probably have a new ruler by the time he got back.

Even at fifty kilometres per hour, the Space Marines remained unruffled. Once the comms channel reopened, they even had time to chat.

Albuslang gazed at the distant ochre-colored buildings, with their exotic rounded spires and brightly colored, gleaming windows. "You can tell this world was reclaimed not long ago. At least the city hasn't turned into a hive city. Not completely, anyway."

A warrior beside him chimed in, "You know, a few centuries ago, what I feared most was Chogoris turning into a damned hive city."

His voice sounded muffled, accompanied by heavy footfalls, as if a Colossus were trampling the ground.

Another warrior ran alongside them and scoffed. "Give it a rest, Aaron. Instead of wasting your breath, you should think about how to move your legs faster. We're running this slowly because you're holding us back."

The warrior called Aaron immediately grew angry and cursed in a muffled voice. "Shit, you try wearing this armor! I bet you're just jealous I get to wear Terminator Armor!"

"Bullshit!" (High Gothic: "Funny Mud Pee")...

The White Scars squad that had landed on the planet was a standard Tactical Squad. Small as it was, it still had everything it needed.

Two of the six were Jump Pack Troopers. Their jump packs were a full ring larger than Fu Qinghai's, and the two oddly shaped exhaust pipes were absurdly large. They extended downward into twin nozzles like the turbofan exhausts of fighter jets from his previous life.

They also had a Terminator Astartes clad in Terminator Tactical Dreadnought Armour.

Aaron wore first-generation Tactical Dreadnought Armour. Its defining feature was a helmet shaped like the head of a canine. The armor had heavier Plasteel plates than ordinary Power Armor, a more complex network of electronic muscle bundles, and a skeleton forged from Adamantium. He stood a head taller than an ordinary Space Marine and was much broader, too.

This armor sacrificed agility and speed for the sake of close combat and breaching fortified positions, allowing its wearer to withstand heavier battlefield firepower.

If not for the lumbering Terminator, Fu Qinghai's squad could have moved faster.

At the far edge of the city, atop a towering spire, a soldier in a robe with a rifle pulled at his companion and pointed toward the yellow dust rising in the distance.

"What do you think that is?"

His companion turned around and blanched. He rushed inside and shouted into a microphone:

"Warning! An armored vehicle is approaching! It's not wheeled—it's... it's a humanoid armored vehicle! My God, it's those demons! They're back!"

After several minutes of running at full speed, Fu Qinghai could just make out the outline of the city wall in the distance. He activated the image-enhancement system built into his helmet. The scene rushed closer and sharpened—a timeworn brick wall temporarily reinforced with steel. Its gates were slowly closing, and makeshift barricades were being set up.

"Talal..." Fu Qinghai warned in a low voice.

"I see it," Talal replied calmly. Then he issued his orders. "Terminator, take point. Open that gate for me. Jump pack troopers, flank both sides. Hold your fire for now."

As the Astartes neared the city gate, a few scattered bullets hit the ground in front of them and ricocheted off their Plasteel plates with metallic clangs.

It seemed more like a warning than an attack.

Bullets of that caliber wouldn't leave a mark on Plasteel armor even at point-blank range, let alone when they ricocheted. The Space Marines ignored them and kept moving at full speed.

As they approached the gate, the formation spread out. The Terminator at the rear trudged forward with heavy steps. Blue arcs of electricity flickered across the massive, vicious power fist on his right hand: the Power Field Generator had activated.

Then he raised his arm and slammed a straight punch into the thick concrete gate.

"Boom—"

Dust billowed and rubble flew. The powerful Terminator didn't slow or falter in the slightest. He crashed through the hole he had smashed into the gate.

The makeshift barricades had already been trampled flat and knocked aside. The rest of the squad followed closely behind, entering through the hole torn open by the Terminator's armor.

Beyond the gate lay a wide stone-paved street. The city spread along a gentle slope. They didn't need a map: following the broad central avenue, Fu Qinghai looked up and spotted the target building in the distance.

At the far end of the road, on the city's highest point, stood a towering building that clashed with the ochre-colored, exotic style around it. It was a strange blend of Gothic aesthetics and modern industrial design, reportedly the work of a famous architect from an Imperial expeditionary force.

The Imperial Planetary Governor's Palace.

The Astartes continued toward the Governor's Palace. Strangely, the busy streets of what should have been the capital were deserted. The wide roads lay empty. Only two or three people had hurriedly taken shelter inside buildings, peering out through windows with frightened eyes.

Had everyone gone into hiding, or...?

...Fu Qinghai's heart sank. The Night Lords might have slaughtered more people than he had imagined.

With no time to worry about what was happening in the city, the Space Marines needed to secure the Governor's Palace quickly.

Along the way, they saw soldiers in robes constantly gathering at the palace. Talal and the others ignored them. Destroying a city was easy for Space Marines, but taking control of one was hard, especially when the Tactical Squad had only six members.

It was better to let the enemy gather. That way, they could wipe them all out at once.

The imposing Governor's Palace stood before them. The two Jump Pack Troopers quickly moved to either side and crouched. Their jump packs roared to life, spewing torrents of blazing flame and hot air. The two troopers shot high into the air. One landed squarely on a rooftop balcony; the other smashed straight through a glass window and into a top-floor room.

Fu Qinghai and the others drew their weapons and followed the Terminator up the polished marble steps.

At the front, the Terminator casually tore open the ornately decorated glass doors. Before he could make out what was inside, the squad was met with a storm of lasfire and shells.

The superhuman reflexes granted by their Astartes surgeries let Fu Qinghai, Talal, and the others dodge to either side the instant they entered the hall, causing a barrage of shells to miss.

Only Aaron, clad in Tactical Dreadnought Armour, remained standing in the middle of the doorway, weathering the storm of attacks. Autocannon rounds sparked against his sturdy Plasteel armor, and he merely raised an arm to shield his helmet.

In the center of the hall, two large-caliber Autocannons stood behind makeshift barricades, hammering away at the Astartes. Terrified, frantic mortal soldiers operated them.

"Open fire!" Talal ordered without hesitation. He had never been a soft-hearted man, and besides, those Autocannons were practically at their faces.

At such close range, Albuslang and Fu Qinghai each fired twice, knocking out the two Autocannons. The powerful Mass-reactive Bolter Shells twisted their barrels into scorched, warped metal, while their operators were reduced to bloody pulp smeared across the guns.

A large number of mortal soldiers poured through the doors of the various rooms. They shouted frantically in a language the Space Marines couldn't understand. Their faces showed neither courage nor fighting spirit, only terror, as they attacked the Tactical Squad with their weapons in a chaotic, disorderly fashion.

Fu Qinghai noticed that they carried standard-issue Lasguns from the Imperial Army. Even the two Autocannons that had just been destroyed were current-issue weapons of the Imperial Army.

Scarlet Lasgun beams struck the Power Armor, leaving only scorched marks. They couldn't penetrate it at all. No wonder the mortal soldiers' Lasguns were nicknamed "flashlights" in the Imperial Army, Fu Qinghai thought.

Talal didn't open fire. Instead, he raised one arm to signal them to stop. His voice rang out from the speaker at his armored neck:

"Stop! Cease fire! We're not your enemies!"

But it was no use. The soldiers were consumed by terror and knew only to keep pulling the triggers, as if they couldn't hear a word he said.

A lasbeam struck Talal's helmet head-on. Static and noise flooded his senses, and his visor filled with white snow.

"Damn it." Talal didn't need to aim. Firing from memory, he shot several soldiers down. "Quiet them!"

Fu Qinghai and Albuslang followed up with a volley. Amid the yellow cross-shaped muzzle flashes of their bolters, the soldiers dropped in droves, and at last the hall fell silent.

Even when loaded with the lower-powered Subsonic Rounds, a body without armor could hardly survive a bolter hit. Talal looked at the carnage before them and shook his head helplessly.

"Come on. Secure the Governor's Palace, search it, and assess the situation inside. Meet on the top floor in ten minutes."

The others dispersed and searched the rooms one by one.

Fu Qinghai stepped over a mangled corpse. The terror on its owner's face had been frozen there at the moment of death.

Even the threat of death couldn't make them stop being afraid. What were they so afraid of...? Fu Qinghai wondered silently.

Only scattered resistance remained in the Governor's Palace. The Astartes quickly swept through the entire building without killing any more.

Ten minutes later, everyone gathered in the large office on the top floor.

Talal stood before the broad oak desk that had once belonged to the Planetary Governor. It was now empty.

Talal's helmet rested on the desktop. He looked around at the warriors, who had found nothing, and asked:

"Did anyone find the person in charge?"

The warriors shook their heads.

Talal had ordered them to bring back someone who looked like the ruler of the city. But Fu Qinghai had seen nothing in the building except soldiers.

"Talal." Albuslang's voice came from outside the door. He entered, carrying a chubby man dressed in splendid clothes.

He tossed the dark, plump man onto the floor. "He says the chancellor and the princess are in the palace behind the hill."

The plump man lay prostrate on the floor, weeping and pleading, "Don't kill me... don't kill me..."

"The chancellor? The princess?" Talal frowned.

"Possibly the so-called restorationists from the old dynasty," one of the warriors reminded him.

"Should we go to the palace and bring this so-called chancellor and princess back?" Albuslang asked.

"Hmm... no rush." Talal neither agreed nor disagreed. "Qingshan."

Talal turned to Fu Qinghai and pointed at a Logis Engine beside the oak desk. It had already stopped running.

Fu Qinghai understood. He removed his helmet and crouched in front of the machine.

Talal picked up the helmet on the table, put it on, and called out, "Everyone else, move out. Let's go meet this so-called chancellor and see how he measures up to Malcador."

The warriors chuckled.

Malcador the Sigillite was the chancellor of the Imperium of Man, second-in-command of the Imperium, and the third-most powerful Psyker in the entire Imperium, surpassed only by The Emperor and Magnus the Red.

Talal dared to joke about the Imperial Chancellor. When he was leading troops, he wasn't nearly as rigid and meticulous as he'd been while serving as Ogedei's deputy, Fu Qinghai thought.

Everyone else left, but Fu Qinghai stayed in the office, tinkering with the Logis Engine. When he failed to start it, he pried open its casing. A familiar smell of machine oil mixed with preservatives wafted out, and Fu Qinghai deftly rummaged among the thick, dark cables inside.

The Logis Engine wasn't a purely mechanical computer. Its processor was a human brain that had undergone special treatments, including preservation—a genuine "brain in a jar."

Like parchment, it was a product of the Imperium's fear of AI. It could be understood as a special kind of Servitor capable of calculation and modeling: a computer system with all the distinctive flavor of Warhammer 40K.

During his studies under Master Kunto, Fu Qinghai had become quite familiar with this standard Imperial computer.

Before long, the machine powered up, and the Imperial Aquila emblem appeared on the screen.

Fu Qinghai searched through the system. After browsing the planetary resource directory, strategic reserve warehouse records, Tithe collection statistics, and other information, he silently memorized the data.

The White Scars still knew too little about this planet. He came across a file titled "09-177 Moradigan Governance Memorandum" and opened it on a whim. After skimming through it, Fu Qinghai understood the situation.

The planet was locally known as Moradigan. Its military technology had only just reached the level of bolt-action rifles, and the dynasty that ruled it was also called Moradigan. The royal family was House Feoris. Because it had refused to submit to the Imperium of Man, the 9th Expeditionary Fleet had wiped it out.

Apparently, some members of the royal family had scattered among the populace. These so-called "exiled royal family members" had imposed a negligible administrative burden on the Imperial Governor.

After shutting down the computer, Fu Qinghai searched the Governor's office. The cabinets and drawers were all empty; someone had clearly ransacked the place already.

With that taken care of, Fu Qinghai followed the information Talal had left him and hurried toward the palace on the far side of the mountain.

The magnificent pale-yellow building stood between two mountains. Its tall stone pillars were thick enough for several people to encircle, and its roof had the rounded, pointed domes common throughout the city. The architecture was an unusual blend of ancient Greek and Arab styles.

Fu Qinghai stepped into the palace. The vast, open space was brightly lit, with a high vaulted ceiling and elaborate murals. Layers of light, loosely woven jute curtains drifted gently in the breeze.

In the center of the main hall, the White Scars Space Marines had subdued several richly dressed officials. Surrounded by the Space Marines stood a white-haired old man in a floor-length white robe. He looked remarkably like Plato in The School of Athens.

The bald old man, with his white hair and beard, stubbornly raised his head and glared at Talal, who stood half a head taller than him.

At the sound of Fu Qinghai's arrival, Talal turned and asked, "Did you get it done?"

Fu Qinghai nodded. "We found what we need, and we know where it is. The only question is how much is left after the traitors ransacked it."

Talal turned back, removed his helmet, and looked at the old man, who only came up to his chest. His tone was earnest as he said,

"I'll say it again: even if we may look much the same to you, we're not the same as the people who came before us. We have no intention of slaughtering our way across the planet, as long as you're willing to cooperate."

The old man bristled. "But you just killed three hundred of our soldiers!"

Talal waved his arms helplessly. "We were forced to defend ourselves. Your people attacked us first. Now, listen—"

Fu Qinghai had no interest in Talal's political negotiations with the "chancellor." He stood off to one side, looking up to admire the murals on the ceiling and walls.

The murals seemed to tell a creation story, one unrelated to Terra, humanity's true birthplace.

Unlike the Imperium, which preferred heavy, opaque velvet, the locals seemed to favor light, translucent linen fabrics for their curtains.

As Fu Qinghai admired the artwork, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse through a pale red linen curtain. The stone bricks behind it had been pushed inward, revealing a dark gun barrel and the face of a hooded woman.

Fu Qinghai's pupils shrank!

He didn't need to analyze the trajectory to know who she was aiming at. Of all the Astartes present, Talal was the only one without a helmet!

The instant he saw the barrel, Fu Qinghai's hand instinctively moved toward his waist to draw his gun, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow. He clearly saw the yellow flame burst from the muzzle and imagined Talal's head being smashed like a watermelon, exploding into several chunks of bloody pulp.

"Bang!"

"Clang!"

The imagined explosion never came. Talal didn't even turn his head. He simply raised his arm and covered his head with his hand. The bullet struck his black gauntlet, burst into a tiny shower of sparks, and ricocheted away.

Fu Qinghai breathed a sigh of relief. The planet's primitive weaponry hadn't pierced a Space Marine's gauntlet. After missing her first shot, the assailant immediately withdrew the barrel and disappeared into the hole in the wall.

Talal, having just shown off a little, remained expressionless. He turned and glanced at Fu Qinghai.

Fu Qinghai nodded in understanding, drew the Power Dagger from his calf, and sprinted toward the passage behind the main hall.

Talal had warned him with a glance: don't get distracted on the battlefield.

Fu Qinghai had thought the situation was under control and that they were no longer in a combat zone. He'd let himself get distracted admiring the palace's exotic decorations.

He hadn't realized that once you set foot on a battlefield, you could never afford to let your guard down.

He'd learned another lesson today.

Watching Fu Qinghai disappear into the dim passageway, Talal lowered his head to look at the white-bearded old man. His tone held a hint of mockery.

"That foolish assassin just now—she wouldn't happen to be your princess, would she?"

The old man closed his eyes in pain and despair.

After a while, as if he had thought of something, the old man slowly opened his eyes and said in a low voice,

"Please don't hurt her. I'll meet all your demands."

Talal nodded. "Don't worry. If she really is this so-called princess, Qingshan will know what to do."

Then he reconsidered. Just to be safe, Talal opened a communications channel and said softly,

"Qingshan, the assassin may be the person they call their princess. I want her alive."

"Copy." Fu Qinghai's reply crackled with static, but at least it had come through.

Entering the dim passageway, Fu Qinghai gradually slowed his pace. Ignoring two maidservants fleeing in panic, he pressed his ear against the wall to listen.

After hearing a faint sound, Fu Qinghai leaned into the wall. With a crash, he smashed straight through the ancient stonework.

Beyond it lay an even darker passage, a network of secret tunnels that led to who knew where.

Fu Qinghai could only roughly judge which way the woman had gone. The palace was enormous, and he had no idea which hidden passage she was in.

But he wasn't in a hurry. He kept running, listening, and smashing through walls.

Fu Qinghai didn't bother following the twisting tunnels. He simply headed in the direction he remembered, kicking down every door and smashing through every wall. He broke through countless stone barriers, deliberately making a racket that echoed through the winding passageways.

Finally, after he smashed through yet another stone wall, he faintly heard a muffled cry, full of fear and trembling.

Fu Qinghai grinned, then raced toward the sound. In the pitch-black passage, he heard frantic, hurried footsteps—and a woman's scream...

A minute later, Fu Qinghai stood quietly by a second-floor glass window, looking down at the green lawn. Suddenly, a large patch of grass and earth was lifted up, revealing a dark, square opening. A hooded woman in a long robe scrambled out. She glanced back in panic, then stumbled away toward the open ground.

"Create fear, and use it to drive those hiding in the dark into the open." A sigh came from beside him.

At some point, an Astartes wearing a jump pack had come to stand at Fu Qinghai's side.

"Do you know, Qingshan? Your methods are a lot like those of the Night Lords."

"Is that so?" Fu Qinghai shrugged, noncommittal. "The people in this city are already terrified. Why shouldn't I use that to my advantage? The methods don't matter. The result does, doesn't it, Humar?"

With that, Fu Qinghai pushed open the glass window and jumped down from the second floor.

Behind him, the Jump Pack Trooper murmured to himself, "Albuslang was right about you. A cunning warrior who stops at nothing."

Before long, Fu Qinghai returned, carrying a woman in one hand.

She struggled in midair, pleading desperately, "Please, don't kill me. Please..."

The woman had a high nose bridge, deep-set eyes, long eyelashes, and gray-blue eyes. Her thick, dark hair, slightly rough, light-brown skin, and long, nimble legs made her look nothing like a pampered princess.

Life in exile must not have been easy for the royal family... Fu Qinghai thought.

Looking straight ahead, he replied calmly, "If you're so afraid of dying, why were you brave enough to shoot at our commander?"

To his surprise, the woman stopped struggling. Her voice trembled with hatred and fear as she said,

"Because you slaughtered our people! We had already submitted to your rule, yet you still tortured them, amusing yourselves with cruel punishments. You didn't even spare the old or the children!"

Her eyes brimmed with fear, mixed with humiliation and resentment. Paired with her pitiful gray-blue eyes, she was truly a sight to tug at the heartstrings.

She'd been so afraid of dying just a moment ago. Why was she suddenly so full of hatred?

Fu Qinghai found the abrupt change a little jarring, but didn't give it much thought. He merely explained, "I told you we're not with the people who came before us. Believe it or not, they even killed the Governor we sent."

He handed the woman over to the Jump Pack Trooper waiting behind the main hall.

Fu Qinghai had smashed the palace passageways to pieces. The Jump Pack Trooper grabbed the woman and activated his jump pack, soaring over the top of the palace.

Fu Qinghai, meanwhile, strolled back into the palace, where the floor was strewn with rubble.

He knew it would take plenty of talking to use the princess to pressure the old man into helping the Astartes gather supplies, so there was no hurry to join them.

Before he knew it, he'd wandered into a large room. The heavy wooden door stood open. Carpets covered the floor, and layers of gauzy curtains hung inside. Behind them stood a large bed.

A faint, delicate fragrance passed through the filter in Fu Qinghai's respirator and reached his nose. Looking at the exquisite dressing table and the various wardrobes, Fu Qinghai wondered if this was the "princess's" bedroom.

Fu Qinghai casually opened a drawer beneath the dressing table.

Inside was a pile of women's underwear in all sorts of styles: sheer, cotton, linen... It smelled faintly of soap, and the designs were quite varied.

Uh...

Without changing his expression, Fu Qinghai pushed the drawer shut.

For some reason, he pulled open another drawer.

But what he saw inside made Fu Qinghai raise an eyebrow.

An object lay quietly inside the drawer.

Something that absolutely did not belong there.

A Swiss Army knife.