Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 612 Investigating the Primarch
Qasim Warren's fleet, consisting of the specially modified Moon-class cruiser "Purifying Flame" and its two escort ships "Iron Fist" and "Doubt", resembled three shadow hounds gliding silently through the Void Sea, and finally arrived at the outer perimeter of the Medusa star system.

They maintained a carefully calculated distance, staying close to the limits of patrols permitted by imperial law, both to demonstrate their presence and to carefully avoid being directly perceived as an armed intruder.

The ship's hull was painted in the solemn black characteristic of the Inquisition, and the huge scarlet "I" on the hull stood out starkly in the dim light of the distant stars, like bloodstains that had just congealed.

An encrypted communication request arrived at the main communication array of the Karada Fortress in a standard format. Its wording, carefully crafted by the Law Order, was rigorous and restrained, even revealing a deliberate, almost obsequious, respect.

The decoded message was quickly presented to Chen Xi.

He stood before a massive star map in the strategic chamber, the lights of Rostov and Medusa flickering stubbornly against the deep darkness.

He read the telegram line by line, his face devoid of any emotion, except for the unconscious, rhythmic tapping of his fingertips on the cold, fine-gold tabletop, producing an almost inaudible sound.

"By order of the Mariupol Sector Inquisition Headquarters, to celebrate the glorious return of Primarch Ferrus Manus to his homeland, a momentous occasion of unparalleled Imperial honor, and to conduct routine regional security patrols and friendly technical exchanges..."

Chen Xi repeated the key passages in a low voice, his tone calm and revealing no emotion.

"Friendly exchange?"

He paused briefly, lifting his gaze from the vast star map as if it could penetrate the layers of thick decks and look directly at the uninvited ships.

"Bringing a cruiser armed to the teeth, capable of suppressing a small-scale galactic rebellion, and a full-strength stormtrooper commando unit for friendly exchanges?"

"Warren's 'friendliness' always carries the smell of a burnt crematorium."

He could almost see through these cold, neat words Warren’s face, which was tense from years of being immersed in paranoia and doubt, and feel those eyes that seemed to be burning with cold flames, trying to dissect everything abnormal.

A direct refusal is not a viable option.

The Empire’s complex and labyrinthine system of regulations grants the Inquisition, especially the teams with documents endorsed by the Sector Headquarters, considerable freedom of inspection.

A firm refusal will only play into the other party's hands, providing them with a long-awaited excuse to escalate "non-cooperation" into "confrontation," thereby igniting a more intense conflict.

He forwarded the telegram to Ferrus, along with his own concise and incisive analysis.

The Primarch's reply was swift and direct, with the rough texture of a Medusa storm: "The flies of the bureaucracy are always attracted to the stench of Terra's deep palace."

"Let them come."

“I will make them feel with every inch of their nerves that Medusa’s storm is far beyond what their weak wings can withstand.”

"Get ready to 'receive'."

The audience ceremony was held in the largest reception hall of the Karada fortress – the "Anvil Hall".

In contrast to Medusa's usual rugged and practical style, this place was built to standard specifications to cope with the inevitable red tape at the Imperial level—the towering dome is supported by huge intersecting steel beams, and the walls are covered with thick alloy plates etched with the Imperial Eagle and Steel Hand war emblems.

A colossal imperial statue stood at the deepest part of the hall, its majestic face blurred and inscrutable in the flickering candlelight. A faint mixture of promethium incense, engine oil, and highly effective disinfectant permeated the air, mingling with the ever-present, chilling metallic scent of this steel fortress to create a unique and oppressive atmosphere.

A squad of Steel Hands warriors stood like statues on either side of the passageway, their armor polished to a gleaming shine, but their cold goggles and tightly gripped explosive pistols conveyed a chilling sense of vigilance.

The servo skull hovered silently in the low air, emitting a faint hum, recording everything in the arena.

Warren led his core team into the hall.

He was dressed in a crisp, black judge's uniform, with impeccable silver shoulder buckles and collar insignia, and his face was covered with a thin layer of icy, formulaic respect.

Two technical priests followed closely behind him. Beneath their red robes, various sophisticated mechanical appendages were faintly visible, moving almost silently. However, the scanning lenses hidden deep within the optical sensors were finely adjusting their focus at an extremely high frequency, greedily capturing energy readings, thermal signals, and sound wave vibrations in the environment.

Two clerks in gray robes humbly held heavy data boards and tablet recorders, but beneath the shells of these devices were also integrated detection modules unknown to outsiders.

A squad of elite stormtroopers remained on board, on high alert – a clear demonstration of military power.

Ferrus Manus sat enthroned on the enormous steel throne at the far end of the hall.

It wasn't a luxurious, decorative throne, but rather a combat position integrating multiple command and data interfaces.

Her massive body was encased in cold, gray, precision-engineered power armor. Her silver-gray right arm, made of "Gorgon Skin," hung naturally on the armrest, and under the light in the hall, the liquid metal surface occasionally shimmered with an elusive, mercury-like light.

She was not wearing a helmet, and her face looked as if it were cast from the hardest alloy, with sharp features and every line etched with millennia of vicissitudes and unquestionable authority.

Her cold, silver eyes, like two high-powered searchlights, looked down at the approaching group of inquisitors. The Primarch's natural spiritual pressure and majesty made the air in the entire hall seem thick and heavy.

Chen Xi stood quietly in the shadows behind the throne, like a silent yet crucial footnote.

He wore a black robe symbolizing his status as a judge, but he concealed his aura to the extreme, almost blending into the relief in the background. Only his deep eyes, like the most sophisticated sensors, constantly analyzed every subtle change in the room and assessed all potential risks.

"Inquisitor Qasim Warren, acting on orders from the Inquisition Headquarters of the Mariupol Sector, leads a delegation to pay homage to you, the great Primarch, Lord Felus Manus."

Warren stopped about twenty meters from the throne and performed a standard but slightly exaggerated Eagle salute. His voice, transmitted through a miniature amplifier hidden in his collar, reverberated clearly throughout the hall, sounding almost too loud and breaking the previous silence.

"Your return is a manifestation of the Emperor's supreme divine grace, an unprecedented ray of hope illuminating the dark ages of the Empire."

"We are here for two reasons: first, on behalf of the Sector Tribunal, to extend our sincerest and warmest congratulations to you; and second, to fulfill our sacred duty of conducting a routine regional security assessment and updating of technical files. We sincerely hope to have a beneficial and in-depth technical exchange with the learned mechanical priests of Medusa."

His speech was fluent and rigid, clearly the product of careful rehearsal, an attempt to conceal his true intentions with official rhetoric.

But every word carries a scalpel-like coldness and scrutiny, attempting to peel away the polite exterior to explore any possible anomalies or contradictions within.

(End of this chapter)