13 "Peaceful" Days

The night receded, and the morning sun pierced the clouds. ♤💚 ➅➈ 🍟🎅The rain is still falling, and it has been for eleven days. In the pattering rain, Litatra ushered in this year's Holy Spirit Month.

People began to celebrate, and some messengers, carrying loudspeakers with automatic announcements, went from street to street, hoping to inform everyone. In Litatera, they were among the very few people who still had to work for a while today.

However, yes, there are always some people who don't know where they are in life, and there are many who live in a daze; otherwise, these messengers wouldn't need to work.

Those fools never care what day it is, just as they don't care whether they wake up in the morning sleeping by the roadside or in a stinking ditch.

Perhaps only the annual Emperor's Ascension Day can stir these numb souls.

However, compared to the Emperor's Ascension Day, Holy Spirit Month is different; it is something else entirely.

As is well known, the Ecclesiarchy is very "tolerant" of beliefs; as long as you are Devotion in the Emperor, the method of belief is sometimes not important.

Missionaries traveling to various places could freely adapt to local conditions and use the scriptures in their hands to create a God-Emperor that suited the local social customs. The Holy Spirit Month was a masterpiece created by the missionary who came to Litatera.

According to the Gregorian calendar provided by the Imperium, the Holy Spirit Month is the fifth month of each year. Those with legitimate jobs receive a stipend on the first day of this month, which they can use to improve their lives or squander on illegal casinos.

As for those who live in the shadows and operate in the gray area, they also have their own way of celebrating: a brief truce.

No one knows who set this rule, but after so many years of custom, it has become deeply ingrained in the Litatera people.

No one will fire a gun or knife or commit murder during Holy Spirit Month —unless they harbor immense hatred and can no longer tolerate their enemy living even a single day in this world.

If things develop to this point, then some things will begin to be arranged in advance, such as two knives, a location, and two people without any protective gear.

Amid the noisy crowd, Tujea rubbed his temples, feeling a slight headache.

He turned to Horst, who was standing beside him, and asked in a low voice, "Is this really legal?"

The smiling pastor shrugged and pointed to a bald man standing outside the fence, saying, "Do you see him?"

Tujea glanced discreetly at the man clinking glasses with those around him; the man's protruding belly was particularly noticeable, making his shirt look comically stretched.

"I saw it, so what?"

"He's the deputy inspector of District One," the priest said. "So, in Litatera, this is perfectly legal and legitimate. In fact, even within the law enforcement system, quite a few people are looking forward to the coming of Holy Spirit Month."

He gave Tujea a meaningful smile.

The investigator finally nodded, speechless. He wasn't surprised by the matter, but he was somewhat worried about its legality.

To him, this bloody tradition was nothing surprising; each world of the Imperium had its own unique customs and culture.

Take the Emperor's Ascension Day as an example. In some regions, this festival usually means a grand feast and a large-scale celebration around the world. However, in other places, it can turn into a bloody battle ritual.

One after another, skilled men and women would pay a heavy price to prove themselves to the Emperor, and death was even considered a great honor to be by the Emperor's side.

Tujea had seen too much of this kind of folk custom and was no longer surprised by it, but he was still a little worried.

Not for any other reason than his new job, which he had only been working for eleven days.

"Battle begins!"

Suddenly, someone shouted. Tujea interrupted his thoughts, looked up, and stared at the center of the makeshift space. On the hard cement ground, two shirtless men were warily staring at each other.

They each carried a sharp knife, which they seemed to have brought themselves and was very sharp. Surprisingly, the two men looked very similar.

They all had dark skin and broad faces, even their hair was the same curly. Tujea frowned and glanced at Horst. Before he could ask anything, the priest quietly explained to him amidst the noisy, cheering crowd.

"These are the Torbert Family brothers; the slightly shorter one is the elder, and the taller one is the younger. They've been bitter enemies since their mother passed away three years ago."

"Why?"

"Who knows?" The pastor shook his head. "Brothers killing each other."

He seemed to sigh, and at that moment, the two brothers in the center of the field charged towards each other.

Their boots screeched against the concrete, both men clenching their teeth and raising their knives at each other. About half a second later, two spurts of blood flew out.

The eldest son of the Torbert Family stabbed his younger brother's left hand through with a knife, but he didn't gain anything from the attack. The younger brother then viciously slashed his older brother's cheek with the sharp blade in his hand, leaving a deep wound that looked as if it had almost split the face in two.

They clutched their wounds, took a few steps back, and cursed each other in pain.

"You actually tried to kill me!" the older brother roared furiously. "Mom will despise you! You son of a bitch!"

The younger brother let out a loud, cold laugh, and with his trembling left hand, he forced a lewd gesture at his older brother.

"Don't give me that! Where were you when your mother died? She sent you a letter twenty days in advance, but you'd rather be out partying in a brothel than come back to see her one last time!"

I didn't receive the letter!

"Fuck you!" the younger brother cursed. "Fuck you! Fuck you! Go to hell, you bastard!"

Tujea adjusted his hat with a strange expression, watching the two charge at each other again.

About half a minute later, the younger brother slit his older brother's throat with a knife. His face showed no joy or emptiness after avenging his great enemy, only a fear of finally realizing what he had done.

Trembling, he dropped the knife and rushed towards his brother, trying to save him.

The crowd was forcefully pushed aside at this moment, and two medics in white coats walked expressionlessly to the center of the field. After performing basic medical treatment, they lifted the brother onto a makeshift stretcher and took him away from the field.

The younger brother followed closely behind, his eyes already brimming with tears, repeatedly calling out for his mother.

The crowd reacted differently; some booed, finding the duel unexciting, while others were deeply moved and pleased that this fratricidal conflict had a happy ending.

Tujea is neither one of the above, nor is he one of those who are eager to take the stage.

If you had to put it bluntly, he was just a simple bystander, staying aloof from Horst and the other man in the crowd, waiting for the next legitimate revenge killing.

"Oh, this is going to be interesting," the pastor suddenly said with great interest.

"Why?"

"Because the next two to take the stage are two people who truly have a deep-seated hatred for each other."

Horst gave a rather sinister smile and pointed to two people in the crowd who were taking off their clothes.

Tujea looked up and his brows suddenly furrowed.

He first saw a middle-aged man covered in tattoos, with a gloomy look and a neat mustache, slowly taking off his well-tailored three-piece suit.

The other person was much simpler and younger. He had short hair, a long scar on his right cheek, and a bright red skull tattooed on his forehead.

You know these two people too?

Horst smiled, tapped his temple, and answered Tujea's question quite frankly.

"Of course, I've lived here for almost twelve years—the bearded gentleman is Elvis, and the young man is Billy Paison."

"Elvis killed Billy's parents ten years ago. Ten years later, Billy, who somehow survived, returned here with a new gang. You probably know what he's up to, so I won't go into details."

"A blood feud between gangs?" Tujea asked.

"Yes, and the most classic kind at that." Horst nodded appreciatively, still looking at the two men, or rather, at Billy Paison.

At this moment, they had finished tidying themselves up and were walking towards the center of the arena, knives in hand. The cheers from the crowd erupted again, but Tujea was no longer in the mood to watch. His brows were furrowed, and he looked slightly annoyed.

The reason was simple: it was all because of that man named Elvis. The closer he got to the center of the field, the tighter Tujea's hands gripped.

In his vision, one after another, illusory points of light drifted out from behind the unsuspecting man, forming many figures, and then came the sound.

The voices of lamentation, recounting how Elvis murdered her, and her final scream before death, echoed endlessly, making Tujea's heart race, her breath quicken, and her eyes turn bloodshot.

If Horst hadn't pulled him out of the crowd in time, he probably would have already pulled out his gun and shot Elvis dead.

They silently returned to the street and took shelter under a plastic awning. The raindrops fell sparsely, casting unsettling shadows on it.

Tujea took a deep breath and began to speak slowly.

"That Elvison."

"Yes, I know," the pastor replied softly, but shook his head at him. "But now is not our time."

Tujea remained silent for a long time before finally saying, "I don't understand the point. If Billy Paison doesn't beat him, wouldn't we have let a man with a conscience die in vain? There are no wronged souls behind him."

The pastor sighed and began to patiently explain.

"There will never be a shortage of people with a conscience in the Hive City, just as there will never be a shortage of villains here. You need to look beyond these phenomena and see the essence, understand?"

"Nature?"

"Yes," the priest nodded. "Essentially, it's just two people who hate each other and want to kill each other."

"Elvis hated Billy's parents and the runaway child. He never imagined Billy would cause such damage to his power upon his return, even killing his son."

"As for Billy Paison, the murder of his father and mother alone is enough to make a person and the killer irreconcilable enemies, let alone the fact that Elvison did two. There is a huge hatred between them, and Vengeance is always impartial and fair."

"But what about those who died unjustly—"

Horst interrupted him calmly, and then spoke in an unquestionable tone.

"--If he's not dead, we'll visit him tonight. In any case, hatred needs an outlet. The Holy Spirit Month will last a full thirty-one days; you'd better be prepared, Tujea."

The former investigator, now a novice Vindicators, nodded with a complicated expression.

--

Zel reached out and lifted a woman upside down.

She screamed and struggled, trying to escape the horrible monster that had just killed her entire family, but to no avail. She could only watch as Zel led her, little by little, to the edge of her own patio.

A gust of wind rushed towards her, making it almost impossible for her to open her eyes. Zel listened to her screams and pleas, and slowly loosened his grip on her two fingers. The woman immediately screamed even louder, tears and snot streaming down her face; the force of gravity had terrified her to the point of near fainting.

Zel left her there for a full half minute before finally putting her back on the safe ground.

The woman crawled towards the inner room crying as soon as she hit the ground, her mind completely shattered. Zel glanced at her and casually threw a short knife, which cruelly pierced the woman's left thigh, pinning her firmly to the ground.

Zel bent down, grabbed her legs, and began to drag her back little by little. Just as the blade cleaved her thighs open, the woman broke down completely.

Only then did Zel pull out the blade with satisfaction, grab her hair, and begin asking her questions. A few minutes later, he snapped the woman's neck, pierced her forehead with a knife, and pinned her to his living room.

The ringleader always deserves some special treatment.

The last thing he did was press the alarm. Only after doing that did he leave the luxury mansion located in the high-rise of the Hive City.

Clouds swirled around, the tower and the circular track that stretched across the sky together cleaved the heavens, high-speed trains roared past, and the tense, high-ranking police officers of Litatera sat inside, rushing toward the location where the alarm had been sounded, unaware that two dark figures were coldly watching them from above.

Watching them disappear into the distance, Zel slowly put on his helmet. It was daytime, and they were quite high up. Without his helmet, he might be blind for days.

"Your habit of not wearing a helmet will get you killed sooner or later, Zel," the "master" said coldly.

"I don't care," Zel said. "Let's talk business instead of discussing my bad habits, sir?"

What do you want to talk about?

Zel shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps we should talk about the other twenty-one families on the list? God-Emperor, why are there always so many nobles in the Hive City?"

"They were all dead last night," the official sneered. "The local governor also paid a special visit, and after explanation, he fully understood the necessity and importance of our work, and he agreed to the terms we proposed."

"So, all that's left to do is clean up the lower levels of the Hive City?" Zel asked, tilting his head.

Another train roared past, creating a huge noise. The two dark figures didn't care; they simply jumped onto the power supply pole of another circular track and even started running along the sturdy energy transmission pipe.

The adult spoke in a cold tone, his optical cloak fluttering in the wind.

"That's about it. You're in charge of this, Zel. We have a new list. The rate of Chaos Corruption is still alarming. Even quite a few mid-level officers in the local defense forces of Litatera have succumbed to lust."

Zel sighed.

"What? Are you very dissatisfied?" the adult asked.

"No, I just feel that our efficiency is not high enough."

Zel's words abruptly stopped the adult. A gust of cold wind blew by, causing the Purity Seal hanging on his right shoulder armor to curl up. Zel helplessly looked up, knowing he was about to be subjected to another long lecture.

However, he deserved it.

"Efficiency? This isn't a terrorist operation or raid targeting a rebellious world. You can't expect a quick victory like before. Litatera remains a largely loyal world."

"Every traitor deserves to die, and by the same token, every loyalist should enjoy their hard-won life. We are endowed with special talents, and we should make good use of them."

"We are among the most terrifying Inquisitor in the world, so we must be extremely careful. Do you want to be like those fools whose names are written into the Inquisition's internal textbooks, indiscriminately throwing everyone they deem a traitor into the fire to burn?"

"Yes, yes, I understand, sir," Zel raised his hand and tapped the side of his helmet forcefully. "I really understand, please stop reading."

"I see your understanding is very limited," the adult said with a cold laugh. "Alright then, the brothers in the Chapter still have a voyage expected to last half a month. I'll arrange a special tag-team battle for you on the Soul of Night in advance."

"How about you facing twenty elite Combat Servitor bare-handed, just like Jago Sevatarion? Doesn't that fit your pursuit of speed and efficiency?"

"Ah, not only that, you'll also get to show off quite a bit, great Zel, if you don't end up with a bruised face and a broken arm."

"My combat instructor isn't from Terra's Xianni," Zel retorted, running into a dark tunnel with the adult.

His opponent said nothing more and parted ways with him, leaving him only with a series of disdainful sneers.

Zel angrily cursed in the local Vilayne dialect over the communication channel, then leaped down the pre-existing tunnel maintenance elevator shaft, heading towards the lower levels of the Hive City.

Everything is proceeding smoothly and systematically in the direction they hoped for.

New Vindicators are being nurtured, the Chaos corruption of Litatera is being gradually eradicated, and the Soul of Night is sailing in, laden with Shadow Knights.

Ironically, this was the first time in all the time since it had become the Shadow Knights' nominal flagship that it had carried so many members of the Chapter— recruits, veterans, and even the venerable ones who had perished in the Dreadnought.

And Shen, the only Shen. Shen, who has been out of Chapter Master for thousands of years, is firmly bound by five ferocious iron chains in the deepest Soul of Night.

He has endured this long for a prophecy, a vision seen in a hallucination. Of all the Night Haunter's offspring, he is the only one who has been able to maintain his self-respect for thousands of years within the prison of the Chains of Vengeance.

The Ecclesiarchy had even secretly extended olive branches many times, hoping to bestow some kind of title upon Shen. However, to this day, he has not accepted it.

In his own words, if he were to actually accept it, then the whole thing would seem absurd.

"While that is indeed the case, but..."

Jago Sevatarion spread his hands and gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

"Isn't Shen stubborn? There are clearly no downsides to cooperating with the Ecclesiarchy, yet he just won't accept it."

No one answered; only gusts of wind swept across the Bone Wastes. So many years have passed, and the wasteland outside the Terminus Altar remains deathly white.

Sevatar waited patiently for a moment, but still no one answered him. He nodded to himself and continued speaking.

"Ten thousand years have passed, and we finally have a fragment that has been revived. But, as the saying goes, every beginning is difficult, isn't it, Sergeant Tadeusz?"

No one answered.

"Valtek Nuon Orfion Keg?"

Still, no one spoke.

"Fine, you still don't want to see me. So, what about the old guys? Van Cleef! Ariel! Anyone here? Fer? I know you're here; you even fought alongside us a few years ago! Say something!"

The wind still blew, and apart from his own voice, only this hollow echo remained on the wasteland.

Jago Sevatarion slowly, very slowly, began to laugh.

"Fine." He shrugged. "Whatever, especially you, Terra's."

He lowered his head, took out a skeletal mask from his robes, and put it on his face. With a flash of golden light, he vanished, and the wasteland returned to silence.

No towering black figure wreathed in Black Rage rose slowly from the ashes, nor did anyone whisper mocking his weakness in the wind. Only the increasingly loud wind and a tall giant slowly approaching from not far away.

He bowed his head, raised his hands, and cupped a small pool of white light in his palm, twinkling like a galaxy in his hands. He looked at them tenderly and led them behind the altar.

Here, there is no trace of Embers in the wind, and the ground is no longer littered with pale ashes. It is simply a pure and tranquil place of darkness, where a faint, cool moonlight shines down from the sky, illuminating the coffins scattered on the ground. Some are closed, while others are open.

The giant buried the points of light one by one before turning back to gaze at them. In the moonlight, a smile suddenly appeared on his pale face.

"Ah, Sai," he chuckled. "Not again? They can't handle you."

He laughed, then transformed into a gust of wind and vanished from the spot. The moonlight remained, the coffin closed, and the sound of slumber seemed to rise; only tranquility remained in this place.