The Problem Was the Copper

The Planetary Governor's palace was a scene of revelry and celebration.

The enormous banquet hall was filled with the aroma of delicacies and fine wines, and the sounds of decadent music.

The Planetary Governor of Anvil -IV, a bloated, richly dressed middle-aged man, was slumped on his enormous throne inlaid with jewels and ivory.

The long table was laden with rare and exotic fruits brought as tribute from various subsidiary planets.

Rare alien meat; scantily clad dancers sway their graceful bodies to the musicians' music, trying their best to please the ruler who holds the power of life and death over the planet.

The governor picked up a crystal-clear fruit, supposedly from some agricultural paradise, and took a large, satisfying bite, the sweet juice dripping down his thick lips.

He squinted, savoring the pleasure on his taste buds and the ultimate enjoyment brought by power, and exclaimed sincerely:

Ah... the world... is truly wonderful...

He reached out his greasy hand, intending to grab another bunch of fruit that resembled grapes but was even rarer, but found nothing.

He turned his head in confusion, looking at where the fruit plate had originally been.

The plate is still there.

But the mountain of fruit inside had disappeared.

A deep, calm voice, yet carrying a strange resonance, rang out beside him:

"Yes, this world... is truly 'wonderful'."

The Planetary Governor's obese body stiffened instantly, as if his blood had frozen.

His neck, like a rusty gear, twisted very slowly, one click at a time.

He saw a figure, incredibly tall and clad in azure armor, casually sitting on the gilded long table beside his throne.

The man was holding the last fruit plate he had emptied.

He poured the last few fruits into his mouth and chewed them a few times.

Then he casually tossed the gold-plated plate aside like a piece of waste paper, making a crisp "clang" sound.

Guilliman swallowed the fruit, clapped his hands, and then turned away.

Those deep blue eyes, as dark as the starry sky, calmly gazed at the Planetary Governor was stunned and utterly terrified.

After an initial moment of stunned silence, the Planetary Governor's boundless fear finally exploded!

His first reaction was to slide off the throne, kneeling heavily before Guilliman with a thud, his head hitting the cold gold bricks with a thud, his voice trembling with sobs:

"My lord! Spare me! I was blind! I was a poor ruler! I beg you to have mercy! Please give me a chance to reform!"

Guilliman looked at his disheveled appearance but didn't speak immediately.

Instead, he took out a bottle of wine, pure silver with delicate patterns, from the storage module at his waist and placed it on the ground in front of the governor.

"Rise, Governor."

Guilliman's tone was unreadable, "Take a look at this bottle of wine. Do you see anything different about it?"

The Planetary Governor trembled as he stopped kowtowing, placed his hands on the ground, and slowly raised his head.

His gaze fell on the bottle of wine, and after hesitating for a moment, he dared to reach out with trembling hands to pick it up.

Inside the transparent part of the bottle, instead of the usual deep red liquid, there was a green liquid with an eerie sheen.

His pupils contracted sharply, and his voice trembled even more violently:

"Sir... this bottle of wine... it seems to have gone bad?"

"Spoiled?"

"Yes, you're right, this wine has indeed gone bad."

Guilliman gave a faint smile and continued to ask:

"So, what do you think went wrong with the spoilage? Was it the wine itself, or the bottle?"

The Planetary Governor's mind was in complete disarray; he could only guess wildly based on Guilliman's words, his tone filled with uncertainty:

"I... I don't know, sir."

But... it might have been stored for too long and expired; or... it might be that the grapes used for winemaking were defective and contaminated...

Guilliman didn't comment on his guess, but simply reached out and took the bottle of wine from his trembling hand.

"Don't be nervous, this isn't anything that will kill you, I'm just curious."

He uncorked the bottle and slowly poured the green liquid inside into the empty dish next to him.

As the liquid continued to leak out, a severely corroded, pitted copper label gradually emerged from inside the bottle.

The label, which should have bore the logo of the brewing world, was now completely unrecognizable.

Actually, there's no complicated reason.

Guilliman placed the empty bottle on the table, his gaze returning to the governor, a colder glint in his eyes.

"It has nothing to do with the liquor industry, nor with the material of the bottle."

It's simply because the Agri World that produces this wine prefers to place a copper label inside the bottle, allowing it to remain in contact with and blend with the wine over a long period.

Over time, the copper corroded, turning the entire bottle of wine into this color.

What a pity! A perfectly good bottle of wine wasted because of this little problem.

He paused, leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharpening like knives, and said to the governor, word by word:

"So ultimately, it's not a problem with the wine, nor with the production process."

The problem lies with the copper inside...

Guilliman lowered his head, looking at the governor's face, which had turned deathly pale, his tone calm yet carrying an undeniable resolve:

"Your Anvil -IV is an important Forge World of the Imperium, a key hub for equipping the Legions and fleets."

Workers are great, industry is great!

In Old Terra, workers were once considered the most advanced class!

In my view, you are the indispensable 'bronze' parts in the vast machine of the Imperium.

But now, you 'bronze' types, like the bronze label in this bottle of wine, have been completely 'corroded' by greed, decadence, and dereliction of duty, and have even abandoned the most basic responsibilities.

I hate it when there are problems with the copper quality. I can't keep you guys around."

"Your Excellency,"

Guilliman straightened up again, his tone returning to its initial calm, yet sounding like a final judgment. "Your term is over."

He paused, then added, his voice revealing neither joy nor anger:

"From this day forward, your family... will no longer have any bloodlines to carry on."

The Planetary Governor was utterly plunged into despair by Guilliman's words!

He wanted to kneel down and beg for mercy again, to promise to hand over all his wealth, to plead for even just a way to live!

However, an invisible, gentle yet absolutely irresistible force supported his obese body, preventing him from even kneeling.

Guilliman looked at him, gently shook his head, as if in pity, or perhaps stating a pre-written ending:

"Stop kneeling, Governor."

There's no hope.

"Your whole family has been killed by us."

You are the last one.