3. Special Status

"Hand him over, priest. I know the investigator is inside," one of the men said.

He looked quite old, bald, wearing stitched-up leather armor, and carrying a trench shotgun that he'd somehow acquired.

He was followed by another twenty men, which was quite a large group, and all of them were armed. They stood behind the bald man with serious expressions, and none of them stepped over him or interrupted him after he spoke, or tried to embolden him.

They all had shaved heads, wore identical stitched armor, and thick-soled, jet-black boots. These boots were no cheap commodity in the Hive City; many were even willing to sell their meager possessions for a good pair.

Tujea slowly withdrew his gaze from through the crack in the side door.

"I'll say it again, I need my gun," he told Gore. "These men are clearly well-trained, and well-trained people must be backed by someone who provides funding. That means they won't stop until they achieve their goal."

Moreover, they are clearly not the same kind of people as those idiots who were chasing me earlier Tujea silently added to himself.

But this time, Gore ignored him. The Hive City stood up straight, his face pale, and left the side door, his movements suddenly stiffening.

"What have you done?" she asked Tujea incredulously. "You've only been in Litatera for less than a day, and you've already gotten yourself into trouble with that bastard Graham? Do you even know who he works for?"

"A nobleman?" Tujea guessed cautiously.

Gore gave him the answer with a dry, forced smile.

"Great. "Tujea sighed. A simple investigative task had rapidly developed into a terrible plot by a nobleman to murder the investigator in less than twenty hours.

No, perhaps it wasn't necessarily murder; perhaps they just wanted to take him away, torture him, and imprison him.

However, whichever option the nobleman chooses, his or her actions are no different from treason. A person with the audacity to do such a thing is either a fool or a capable and ambitious schemer.

Tujea, clutching the wound on his abdomen, once again peered through the crack in the side door to observe the outside of the church.

In the dim light of the streetlights, he saw some dark figures that almost blended into the night. His heart sank immediately—it was clear that the nobleman was one of the latter.

The twenty men led by Graham were merely a "delegation" sent out for negotiations; the real main force had probably already surrounded the church.

But why?

Tujea frowned in disbelief.

The task he received from his superior was merely a routine patrol. Typically, investigators on such missions would be stationed on a planet and send back information periodically.

Moreover, such positions are only assigned to important worlds that deserve such treatment. Not every planet belonging to the Imperium is worthy of this attention.

As for those ordinary worlds, the Adeptus Arbites often doesn't even bother with them. It's considered quite "lucky" if it gets to inspect one of these planets once every thirty years.

How could a routine inspection escalate into this situation?

"But why?"

At that moment, the pastor standing outside the church doors asked the same question. He even slowly raised his hands to show that he meant no harm.

Graham sighed.

"Listen, pastor, put your hands down." He shook his head. "I don't want to make things difficult for you; this is an order from above."

"You can probably see these brothers behind me. We are all Devotion in the God-Emperor, and we would never lay a hand on His priests. But we still need to eat, and the God-Emperor has never given us a single meal."

"So, Pastor, if you insist on stopping us, I'm afraid we'll have no choice but to do something rather irrational."

"You dare trespass on the Emperor's church?" the priest asked, still remaining calm, his hand still raised in mid-air.

"I'm afraid so," Graham said. "I don't want to do it either, but—"

He raised his gun, pointed it into the sky, and fired. A flash of light and a loud gunshot rang out, carrying far through the night, but the night remained silent, and no other sounds were heard.

"--If you insist that we do this, then we will."

"He has nothing to do with you, does he? He's just a lackey of the bureaucrats, trying to run wild in Litatera. I didn't ask you to kill him, nor did I ask you to lie, Deceit, or do anything else."

"Similarly, Pastor, I haven't lied to you, nor will I kill anyone in front of you, much less lay a hand on you. I won't harm you, nor will I ask you to violate any doctrine. So why don't you hand him over to me? It would be better for everyone."

Graham patiently explained the reasoning, shifting his stance; the gun was still pointed at the sky, but his expression had become very serious.

"Actually, yes, there are, and there are two doctrines," the pastor replied slowly.

Which two?

"First, protect the innocent." The pastor lowered his hand. "Second, today is Sunday, and you've been bothering me for too long."

Graham frowned, then suddenly smiled and lowered his gun.

"Ah, I see," he said slowly. "You're trying to be clever, aren't you? The God-Emperor's Sunday was clearly yesterday. Are you treating me like an idiot? And you actually think that investigator is innocent?"

"Yes," the pastor said.

He turned and walked toward the side door in front of them. Gore and Tujea quickly made way and hid in the darkness. With a creak, the side door was pushed open, and the priest calmly walked back, along with Graham's shout.

"I'm giving you five more minutes!" He seemed somewhat angry. "Did you hear me, priest? Five more minutes!"

The pastor gently closed the door.

He looked at Tujea.

"Investigator, are you proud of your work?"

Tujea was taken aback. He had expected the strange priest to ask something else, but he answered anyway, and answered very seriously, "No."

"Do you like your job?" the pastor asked as he walked back into the church.

The candlelight flickered, and the Emperor's statues, with their eyes closed and faces filled with compassion, appeared sacred and calming in the candlelight. The priest's footsteps echoed steadily and calmly as he walked back to the pulpit, where he finally received Tujea's reply.

"No, I don't like it either," Tujea replied cautiously.

"Then why do you keep doing this job?" the pastor asked again.

He then crouched down and began to strike a stone slab located beneath the pulpit with his hand.

His blows grew stronger with each strike, the dull thuds echoing throughout the church, striking the Emperor's statue, the Imperial Aquila banner, and the long stone pillars, gradually transforming into a distorted echo that sounded utterly bizarre.

Graham was still shouting outside.

"Why do you care, Pastor?" Tujea asked, already somewhat confused about what the pastor was up to.

"Because people like you are rare," the pastor replied, still intently tapping the unusually hard stone slab.

"Me? Who am I?"

"First, you don't kill innocent people indiscriminately."

"I've killed some."

"But they are not innocent. I can see that your hands are clean. Furthermore, you are not greedy for wealth. Your clothes are all inexpensive; even your most expensive woolen hat wouldn't cost more than forty Imperium coins."

"You like to eat cheap candy, probably out of a compensatory mentality for your childhood? And this is the highest level of compensation you can afford."

"The most valuable thing you own is that modified Catachan Mk III Revolver provided by the Adeptus Arbites. You've maintained it very well, but it's also quite old. The most crucial point is that you have no ties to anyone."

"Investigator, you actually don't care about the Adeptus Arbites's guidelines at all; you act entirely on your own principles. There's no need to refute me; you and I both know I'm telling the truth."

The pastor slowly stood up, carrying a dusty black box. He blew away the dust and placed it on the pulpit. With a soft click, he opened the box.

Tujea remained silent for a while, then glanced back at Gore, who was completely bewildered, before answering the pastor.

Who are you? Are you one of my colleagues?

The pastor looked up, smiled, and said, "No, I don't work for the Adeptus Arbites."

He stepped out of the pulpit, now holding a small black booklet and two gleaming straight swords. As if by magic, the two swords vanished silently from his sleeves, leaving no trace.

Tujea tensed his muscles, waiting for him to approach, but no attack came. The priest simply slipped the small black booklet into his hand and patted him on the shoulder.

"That's right, Mr. Investigator. I've been in Litatera for eleven years, and during those eleven years, every single day I've served only the Emperor. Only at midnight do I conduct this special worship and sermon."

"In eleven years, you are only the second person to participate in this kind of sermon. Ms. Gore's father was the first, but he died in a street attack, and you..."

The pastor squinted, reached out, and slowly unfolded the booklet. Tujea held it up, glanced down, and a dripping, sharp blade brazenly entered his field of vision.

"You have great potential," the pastor said calmly. "You can read this book when you have some free time. By the way, have you ever heard a saying, Mr. Investigator?"

"You're trying to recruit an investigator into a cult, Your Excellency." Tujea looked up at him. "Do you know how this is legally described?"

"Vengeance are everywhere, Vindicators justice are hard to find," the pastor replied dismissively, finishing his own words.

Tujea looked at him seriously.

"Who exactly are you?" he asked.

"You will know," the pastor said.

He walked to the side door and left the church through it. The door was still ajar, not closed.

Tujea watched him leave, full of questions. Gore Hive City, stood blankly beside him, his face full of confusion, looking like a low-level Servitor whose thought process had gone awry.

Tujea ignored her, filled with hesitation. He wanted to go back behind the half-open side door and observe the outside world through the crack, but for some reason, he didn't do it in the end.

A chill, seemingly from nowhere, seeped deep into his heart.

This chill wasn't fear, but it far surpassed fear. It was what kept Tujea from heading towards the side door, and it was what made Gore's body slowly tremble.

The Hive City person slowly began to speak, "I—"

--But she didn't finish speaking.

Outside the church, a terrible cacophony suddenly erupted. Gunshots, roars, and screams mingled together, creating a chaotic symphony.

Tujea immediately threw down the booklet in his hand. He intended to turn around and walk towards the side door to check the situation. However, before he could turn around, he heard a loud slam of the door closing.

Then came the wind, a wind so cold it was incomprehensible.

It extinguished the burning candle and took away Tujea and Gore's body heat. It was so incomprehensible, like a supernatural being. But Tujea couldn't be sure if it was. This time, his exceptionally gifted nose didn't detect that peculiar stench.

But he did smell blood.

The smell of blood was extremely strong and terrifying.

Tujea slowly raised his head and looked at the statue behind the pulpit. It was about six meters tall, not particularly tall, but more than enough for this small chapel; it reached the stained glass windows on the ceiling.

But it wasn't a statue of the Emperor, at least not now. It was a strange figure wearing a hood and holding a sharp blade. Tujea couldn't see the ghost's face, but he could clearly see the huge amount of blood gushing out of the statue's eyes.

It looked down at him, shedding tears of blood.

Tujea clenched his fists, trembling, but suddenly saw the ghost's empty eye sockets.

He saw a black fragment, gleaming, stuck among the flowing blood.

--

[795. M31]

[Our plan has finally reached this point, my old friend. I'm so sorry it took me so long to get this done. I don't know how long you've been in the dark, or how much longer you'll have to endure it. I have no answer.]

[But we will succeed. Gods need no armor; only humans need it to protect themselves. Can you hear me, Karyl Lohars? Protect yourself in the darkness.]

We will find you.

--The diary of an anonymous person, used to preserve humanity.

"In 795. M31, Holy Terra was attacked by Daemon, but the Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists repelled them. In the same year, the Radiance of the Astronomican dimmed once more."

"This year was called the Year of Calamity, not only because of the attack on Terra and the Radiance of the Astronomican, but also because of the black, burning rain of fire that swept across the sky and vanished without a trace."

--<Secret History of the Imperium>