The Judge and the Governor, a Pair of Troubled Brothers (Signed, you can read with peace of mind)

"Lord Horn, the planetary governor's transport is about to arrive."

"What does that scapegoat want?" Judge Horn Chronos's face darkened, his brow furrowing. "Tell him I'm busy."

"Not seeing him."

What kind of place was the Adeptus Arbites?

They were both police and an armed force.

Equivalent to the secret police of ancient times, with power so vast it stretched across every Hive World in the Empire.

If some clueless governor wanted to challenge the Empire's authority, he, as the head of the Arbites here, could show that governor exactly what Imperial order meant!

Yet his subordinate didn't leave: "Sir... the governor's people said if you refuse to see him, he'll formally file a report to Arbites headquarters, stating that due to local law enforcement's non-cooperation, the Tithe payment procedure cannot commence."

Horn nearly cursed out loud. This planetary governor was clearly smashing the pot to pieces, dragging him down too.

For all his bluster, Horn was secretly at his wit's end.

With excellent grades and a decent appearance, Horn had barely managed to marry into a noble family.

But noble families were full of trouble, and he ended up a discarded pawn in their internal struggles, kicked to this remote planet to serve as judge.

At first, Horn was happy enough—far from the capital, he could find a few lovers and coast through life comfortably.

But he never expected this planet to be three hundred years in arrears on taxes!

Horn wanted to die.

The Arbites' main job was collecting the Tithe.

Managing the Hive, keeping order—it all came down to the Tithe!

If he was found derelict, Horn knew for certain he'd be strapped into a Penitent Engine, worse than death, and even his lovers and bastards would suffer.

He had two illegitimate children. Though they couldn't be acknowledged, he loved them deeply.

Thinking this, Horn had to compromise: "Let him in!"

"Let's see what ivory this dead man walking can spit out!"

On the Valkyrie transport.

Fu Haoran looked down at the imposing Fortress Courthouse below. It would be a lie to say he wasn't envious.

Fortress after fortress connected, towering and majestic, easy to defend and hard to attack.

Not only that, but a System Panel unfolded before his eyes, listing a string of numbers that made Fu Haoran's mouth water.

[Garrison: Arbites x1500, Armed Auxiliary Police x5000]

[Heavy Equipment: Leman Russ Tank x12, Chimera Armored Vehicle x22, Tarantula Sentry Gun x38]

[Aerial Support: Valkyrie Transport x4]

"Damn, even the cops drive tanks!"

"The Arbites are loaded!"

Fu Haoran thought of his own 180,000-strong Guard Regiment veterans, armed only with standard Lasguns, lacking even heavy weapons to counter noble private armies, and felt even more unbalanced.

They had shotguns, Bolters, Grenade Launchers, Riot Shields, and Power Hammers—everything.

Compared to them, his Guard veterans were beggars.

The only navy he could rely on was still in the hands of the old nobles, who outwardly obeyed the governor but inwardly ignored his orders.

"If I could get my hands on this fortress..."

Fu Haoran shook his head, dismissing the unrealistic thought.

That would be like a local lord controlling the secret police... wishful thinking.

Fu Haoran waited a full hour before Judge Horn Chronos appeared.

A thick cigar dangled from his mouth, his uniform jacket hung open, revealing the gilded Bolt Pistol at his waist.

Horn didn't look at Fu Haoran. He walked straight to his desk, sat down, and propped his feet up on it.

"Governor Fu Haoran." Horn blew a smoke ring. "Heard you threw a banquet right after taking office? Served the tax collector canned rations? Quite the entertainer."

A system prompt appeared before Fu Haoran:

[Horn Chronos (Judge/Warden)]

[Affinity: -35 (Hostile)]

Fu Haoran ignored the man's boots nearly poking his face.

"Judge Horn, I need some manpower. I want to recruit from the prison."

"No." Horn flicked his ash. "That's against regulations."

"Let's not beat around the bush." Fu Haoran leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "This planet has been in tax arrears for three hundred years. If I can't pay up, it's treason—death sentence."

"You failed to supervise, that's dereliction of duty. I hear the Atonement Engine has been short on volunteers lately?"

Horn's legs came down from the desk.

His face turned ashen.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Stating facts." Fu Haoran stared at him. "I'm a man with nothing to lose. Worst case, I cut and run, become a space pirate. What about you? Can you run?"

"I hear the Atonement Engine is terrifying—they strap a person to the machine, and mechanical tentacles peel away skin, muscle, and nerve inch by inch. The whole process lasts days, and the victim stays fully conscious the entire time, until they're nothing but a breathing skeleton."

"If that's really the case, I'd rather die."

The two locked eyes, neither backing down.

Finally, the cigarette burned down to the filter and singed Horn's fingers. He jerked his hand away.

Fu Haoran, barefoot and fearless, had nothing to lose. But Horn had a weak spot.

Those two illegitimate children of his, hidden away on an Agri-World... If he got thrown into the Penitent Engine, the three of them—mother and children—would definitely be disposed of.

This short-lived bastard had him by the throat.

"...I can only give you one."

Horn practically ground the words out through his teeth.

"Pick one today, then get lost. Don't cause me trouble."

[Horn's Favorability: -5]

Fu Haoran stood up. "Lead the way."

The dungeon was in the lower levels.

As the elevator descended, Fu Haoran could see the full layout of the prison through the grated door.

A four-tiered ring structure, each level packed densely with iron cages. Harsh searchlights swept across, illuminating faces that were either numb or mad.

The air was thick with a mix of sweat, bloodstains, and excrement.

"This level holds violent offenders." The escorting guard banged his Power Hammer against the bars.

"Robbery, murder, rebellion—all locked up here."

Fu Haoran activated System Recon Mode.

Translucent stat panels popped up in his vision, floating above each prisoner's head.

Most were grayed out:

[Strength: 12, Intelligence: 4, Skills: None]

[Strength: 8, Intelligence: 5, Skills: Basic Melee Combat]

[Strength: 15, Intelligence: 2, Skills: None]

"Next level," Fu Haoran said.

The second tier held economic and political prisoners.

A former tax auditor had been thrown in here for refusing to cook the books. His stat panel showed Intelligence 11, with the skill [Intermediate Accounting].

Only intermediate and he ended up here. Pathetic.

Fu Haoran wanted to keep looking, but as he went further down, things got worse.

How to put it... there were talented people here, but the problem was...

"Why is everyone here brainless?!"

That was exactly the awkward situation. The prisoners weren't lacking in raw combat power—some had sky-high stats.

But their intelligence was universally abysmal.

Brawling brutes, corrupt idiots, scheming lunatics... not a single person who could help him make money.

As time ticked by, Fu Haoran started getting anxious.

"That old bastard Horn is deliberately feeding me trash, isn't he?"

Fu Haoran could already picture Horn's sneering face.

"This is the last level." The guard pushed open a rusted iron door. "The worst of the worst, high-risk prisoners. Sir, I suggest you just look from out here. Don't go in."

Fu Haoran didn't listen. He stepped inside.

This was his last hope, and his final gamble.