Journey Home (Final)

"His vital signs are all normal," said Apothecary Sergio Donio. "Aside from being scared half to death, he's fine."

The metal floor burned persistently, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of burning corpses.

Ashes floated in the air, and the indicator lights in the corridor flickered slowly due to low power, shifting between bright and dim. The Orks' corpses crackled, their steel armor and bodies being mercilessly burned by Phosphex flames.

Van Cleef and his Apothecary stood side by side, while the company commander had removed his helmet, his face expressionless, holding a brass-colored diary in his hand.

The flickering light streaming in through the porthole sliced his face into irregular patches. It was the effect of the Nightfall destroying the Orks' rusty-looking ship not far away.

"This diary is very interesting," Van Cleef said. "It's made of the hide of Kargel Beast, those creatures that grow up eating steel and stone, their skin so tough it can even briefly withstand Chainsword."

"And it's been extinct for decades," the Apothecary added. "At least since the Imperium determined it had no value for breeding."

"It certainly has little value in breeding." Van Cleef raised his right hand, handing the diary to another giant in the darkness, while shaking his head.

"It takes at least ten years for them to grow from cubs to adults. They have to eat iron and stones every day, and even then, their hides can only offer slight protection against Chainsword. Besides, their meat doesn't taste good."

"Have you eaten it, Van Cleef?" the man in the darkness asked.

"It's very hard, but also very resilient," the company commander said. "So hard that I'd rather actually eat a rock; at least a rock can be chewed into powder."

Karyl nodded, then gently opened the diary, but the diary itself seemed to hold a different message.

It made a slight crackling sound when it was opened, and then the brass cover immediately began to shine brightly.

A flame rose from the spine of the book in the next moment, trying to burn. But a hand gently brushed it away, taking the flame from the spine. The flame began to burn on the hand, illuminating the darkness as well.

Karyl's pale face was clearly visible under the influence of the flames, and a slightly amused expression slowly bloomed on it.

"Self-destruct mechanism."

He rubbed his fingers together to extinguish the flame and continued reading the diary.

The first few pages were completely blank, and the paper was already yellowed. Dust slid from the pages, adding more impurities to the air.

Karyl continued flipping through the pages and came across a line of text at the beginning of page 20. The font was very fancy, with each character even having an inexplicable upward curve at the end. However, putting the font aside, the sentence was still quite interesting.

Money circulates only among mortals, and power cannot oppress certain backbones; therefore, we need names.

Karyl remembered the sentence and turned to the next page. Immediately, his vision was filled with countless names. He continued to turn the pages, and all he saw was an endless stream of names.

Karyl hadn't heard of these names, but he recognized the titles that followed them. From a regular clerk in the Administratum to a wealthy businessman, from an officer to a major in the Imperial Army.

Moreover, a line of small print is often appended after the title, detailing what these people had sought from the diary's owner.

It could be money, love, or a fleeting opportunity.

Karyl closed his diary and turned his gaze to his surroundings.

A man lay on the ground with his eyes closed. He looked disheveled, with bloodstains on his collar. His cheeks were hunched, and his chin was too long, making him appear less resolute.

Even when unconscious, the person possesses a strange, flamboyant air, an aura that only a conman who has long operated in the gray areas of the law could cultivate. Moreover, such people are often self-righteous, low-class individuals.

A truly skilled con artist would never want to look like that; they would prefer to give the first impression of being solid and reliable, rather than flamboyant and frivolous.

At that moment, his eyelids were trembling slightly; he wanted to open them, but dared not.

"What do we do next, sir?" Van Cleef spoke up at the right moment, his voice becoming deep and his accent changing, making him sound exactly like a typical Imperial Army.

"I think we'd better organize our words and think about how to tell the captain his unfortunate fate."

Karyl stretched his shoulders, deliberately adopting an elegant yet arrogant tone. "After all, not everyone can bear the enormous losses of losing even one-tenth of the crew, having the engine crippled, and sixty percent of the ship scrapped. It's truly unfortunate."

After saying this, he fell silent and began to wait patiently.

A few seconds later, Navarro Ciunas, who was lying on the ground, slowly opened his eyes, making a bewildered expression as if he had just woken up, along with half a sentence.

"By the Emperor, where am I?!"

He abruptly stopped speaking, ceasing his act, and his expression gradually shifted from feigned bewilderment to genuine confusion.

He sat up, looked up at the three giants standing beside him, and remained silent for several minutes before speaking again. By then, his voice had changed, becoming hoarse and low.

"--Your the Emperor, I never expected to meet such important figures as you."

"We are no great men, Captain Navarro Ciunas," Karyl said gently.

"But let me introduce you anyway. This is Company Van Cleef of the Eighth Legion, this is Apothecary Sergei Donio, and I am Karyl Lohars, the current instructor of the Eighth Legion."

"The...?" Navarro's voice began to tremble. "The... the... what?"

"The Eighth Legion," the Apothecary replied coldly.

Navarro Ciunas gasped.

He immediately tried to faint, but coughed violently because he had inhaled too much dust.

His face flushed red, whether from the cough or from the Apothecary's affirmative answer, it was hard to tell. Half a minute later, he managed to calm down, and the first thing he did was stand up straight, straighten his chest, and speak in a loud voice.

"Please allow me to introduce myself, sirs. I am Navarro from the del Kunas Family, a completely law-abiding Rogue Trader. There is not a single smuggled item on my ship—well, perhaps there are a few, but I believe you sirs won't do anything to me for that, right?"

"Unless what you're smuggling is Adamantium," Karyl said. "Or something else."

"Of course not!" Navarro quickly denied. "I'm just a lowly Rogue Trader, how could I possibly smuggle such precious treasures—no, no, I've always been law-abiding, I would never break the law to do such a thing."

At this point, he realized something was wrong and quickly changed the subject.

"Ah, it must have been you gentlemen who rescued me from the clutches of the Orks?"

He moved his eyes, cautiously observing the three people. His posture was extremely humble, almost obsequious. However, the more he looked, the more uneasy he began to feel.

--Why is Instructor Karyl Lohars so tall? Wait, and what about his armor?

"Yes, it was me." Karyl nodded to him. "So, what you said isn't wrong. But I don't think those Orks could have survived your attack. Your four naval pistols are rare treasures; the grips even have the ship's name engraved on them."

He paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed.

"This means their previous owners were all high-ranking officers in the Imperial Navy, and the Imperium strictly prohibits officers from selling the weapons they receive in any form. I'd like to know, how did you obtain them, Captain Navarro Ciunas?"

Navarro remained silent for about ten seconds. During those ten seconds, he went through his entire life story.

An unhappy childhood, the collapse of her family's power, and being chosen as the custodian of her diary, she embarked on a journey across the stars, never to return home.

He went from a pampered aristocratic boy to a dissolute wandering Rogue Trader —and that's how he got these four pistols. He won them in a bet with one of his fellow merchants. And now, he's kicking himself.

Why am I so unlucky?! Encountering Orks is bad enough, but why is it the legendary Eighth Legion that came to my aid?

O the Emperor, if you are indeed a god as your son Lorgar Aurelian proclaims, I, Navarro Ciunas, humbly pray to you, that you may protect me from your Eighth Legion.

I don't want to end up like those characters in those stories, skinned alive, pulled out of my muscles, and hung on the figurehead!

"Me, me"

"You?"

"I," Navarro Ciunas took a deep breath. "Would you believe me if I said these four guns were prizes I won gambling?"

"Perhaps," Karyl said noncommittally. "After all, Rogue Trader are synonymous with extraordinary abilities, aren't they? Connections, wealth. As long as you hold trading licenses, you won't lack these things. And we certainly wouldn't be so bored as to go out of our way to cause you trouble."

Navarro looked at him with suspicion, sensing a certain implication in the other's words.

"What... what do you mean by this?"

Karyl extended his right hand and showed the brass-colored diary to its owner using two fingers.

"My meaning is simple," Karyl said. "I just want you to explain the contents of this diary to me. Although this matter is not within our scope of responsibility, we just happened to be there, and besides, we happen to have nothing else to do right now."

Navarro Ciunas's expression quickly shifted to one of utter despair.

Besides.