Chapter 251: The Letter
A sheet of pure white paper shimmered with specks of golden light.
But aside from the Emperor's signature at the bottom, everything else was blank.
There's absolutely nothing.
What on earth is this supposed to be?
Hades frowned, trying to see if there was some kind of hidden code or cipher embedded within it.
When his gaze fell upon the Emperor's dazzling golden signature—
Hades's left eye suddenly began to flicker, and then, he saw.
It was a recording.
[
A lamp lit up in the darkness.
The soft orange glow illuminated a small corner of the world: a desk, carved from solid wood, its edges inlaid with golden trim. The light rippled faintly across its surface.
Someone was seated at the desk, hunched over, writing.
A man with long black hair, wearing a crown of olive leaves, dressed in a simple linen robe fastened at the collar with a golden clasp.
It was the Emperor.
He set down his pen, slowly lifted his head, and in his dark eyes, golden flames danced. He stared in Hades's direction—Hades realized the Emperor was looking at him.
"Greetings, outsider."
The Emperor spoke calmly.
"You are permitted to know."
In the next moment, the only source of light was extinguished.
Huh?
Before Hades could react, blinding, arid sunlight blazed down on him. Around him he heard the gurgling of water, the croak of frogs, the hum of insects.
He stood beside a wide river. Along the banks, straw-roofed huts dotted the land; fishermen paddled their boats through the water, and farther away, farmers stood in their fields, gazing into the distance.
"They're watching the clouds."
The Emperor's voice came from right beside him. Hades turned sharply—there the Emperor stood, looking off toward the clouds.
"The farmers and fishermen who live along the Sakarya River know to look up. From the shapes of clouds at the horizon, they predict whether tomorrow will bring endless rain."
Starlight flickered in the Emperor's eyes.
"A storm is coming."
Hades narrowed his eyes. He stared at a small, dry-looking cloud on the horizon—but there was no way he could read anything from that. In his limited experience with farming, Barbarus had never had normal clouds.
"You can't tell, can you?"
The Emperor turned his head to look at Hades.
In the eyes of this greatest ruler in human history—a tyrant, a dictator—rested a still, fathomless lake.
Above the surface, clouds floated serenely. Beneath the surface, violent magma churned and boiled.
"But you still know that it will rain tomorrow. That a storm will come."
"You know the raindrops will fall—even if you can't see the clouds. You know what the storm will ultimately look like. You know it will come and wash everything clean."
"But clouds change. The slightest breeze can reshape them, transform them."
"You cannot sculpt a cloud. Once you leave, it will no longer hold the shape you hoped for."
The Emperor gazed quietly at the tiny cloud on the horizon. Under the kneading of the wind, it had already changed form.
"All we can do is place our trust, as much as possible, in the great surging tide."
"To sense the wind, to see the clouds—humanity can briefly glimpse the future."
"The future shifts and transforms. Every wave in the ocean of fate could be a possible tomorrow."
"But the storm that belongs to humanity will arrive."
The next instant, Hades felt himself falling—plummeting—stars streaked past him at incredible speed, constellations quivered, and veils of mist roiled toward him in waves.
"But humanity has still not gone far enough."
The voice continued.
"From the Age of Terra, to the Age of Technology, to the Age of Strife—all the way to the 30th millennium—humanity's primary method of long-distance communication and travel has still been through the Warp, still reliant on psykers."
"Humanity's enemies can sever it at any time—silencing the dim, muffled whispers of the stars so they can never again be heard, and leaving ships adrift in the void, forever unable to find their way home."
At last, Hades came to rest within a region of the Warp, where radiant, illusory nebulae streamed endlessly, surging and colliding.
The Emperor's pause was like a quiet sigh.
"Under the sun, there is nothing new."
"Humanity must not flounder in the ignorant darkness of shortsighted survival. Nor must we tread the same path as the Eldar. Humanity must seize the scepter of its own destiny."
"Before the hands tightening around its throat close fully, humanity must wrench itself free—must strike, must triumph."
"And the Webway—that is humanity's path. The only spark humanity might yet control. The key to shielding mankind's resplendent soul from the Chaos of the Warp. The technology that would free long-distance travel from reliance upon the Warp."
"The construction of the Webway demands vast resources—billions upon billions in material. It is not a miracle that can be wrought by draining a single star system dry. It requires the utter devotion of an entire species."
"To build the Webway, and to secure the Imperium, I began the Great Crusade."
"In the earliest days of the Crusade, time's cadence had not yet grown so urgent."
"But they will not stand idly by."
Before Hades's eyes, the tides of the Warp grew ever more violent. The currents quickened, pressing together in chaotic, frenzied surges.
The Emperor's voice carried no trace of emotion—cold, implacable.
"Time is short. The Crusade must accelerate."
"Imperfections and flaws are no cause to halt. The Legions must fulfill their purpose."
"The storm draws near. Every soul has their necessary role to play."
"And you, outsider…"
The Emperor's words shifted, suddenly turning toward him—
"You have proven your loyalty, and your worth. I entrust to you the Fourteenth Legion, and the Blanks of the Imperium. Ensure the Fourteenth Legion's Great Crusade, and prepare in every way you can for the storm that is to come."
"You must act with caution and subtlety—gather to yourself a force dedicated to combating the creatures of the Warp."
"You may attempt to stir the threads of fate, but that is no easy feat. The slow accumulation of details, the small manipulations—that is the craft of the weak. The strong face destiny's final judgment directly."
"And finally—I wish you fortune."
Hades's eyes snapped open.
Parsing this message from the Emperor had drained him terribly—his breath came ragged, and instinctively he lowered his gaze to the letter.
Flames erupted. The Emperor's golden signature was consumed in the fire, vanishing swiftly into ash.
"Wait—"
Hades, still panting, called out to Charon, who was about to leave.
"This… it's one-way. I need to tell him something."
"My lord, is it about the future?"
Hades nodded.
"There's no need," Charon said calmly.
"Our master makes his own decisions. He is presently focused on the Crusade. The time has not yet come."
Huh?
Hades was baffled. The time has not yet come?
Did that mean the Emperor had plans to meet with him again later?
Seeing that Hades said nothing more, Charon departed straightaway with the Sister of Silence.
Not long after, Hades received a letter from Malcador.
The gist of it was an explanation of what exactly this title—[Head of the Silent Sisterhood]—meant.
In sober, measured, detailed, and "constructive" terms, Malcador introduced the title to him, and then went on at length praising Hades for his youth and talent in earning such a distinction.
After reading three and a half pages of empty flattery, Hades skipped straight to the end.
By rights, Malcador wrote, most of the Imperium's blanks ought to fall under Hades's authority.
But—Malcador heavily emphasized the logistical challenges of transporting blanks, as well as the various psychological issues they might develop when integrated with the Death Guard, and how those could affect training and operations.
Finally, Malcador delivered his conclusion.
The Imperium could indeed supply blanks to Hades, the so-called [Head of the Silent Sisterhood]—but only in limited numbers. And if some mission of critical importance arose, Terra would reassign them as it saw fit.
At the same time, having learned of the Wraith Knights Hades had developed, Malcador immediately stated that since the blanks under Hades's control were being trained on Terra, and to ensure rapid reinforcement in the future, Hades should dispatch at least two Wraith Knights back to Terra for permanent stationing and training.
Hades fell silent.
He stared at the sheet of paper half the night, yet still couldn't figure out how Malcador had managed to write such brazen, shameless words with a straight face.
At last, Hades understood.
So the Emperor and Malcador had conspired to draw him a pretty picture—nothing more.
They had given him neither methodology, nor the actual resources befitting this lofty "title."
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