Watch Station Hesperus was a sanctuary of silence. Days bled into weeks in the cold, recycled air of the Librarius, a place where the only calendar was the slow, methodical progress of research. For Rimuru, it was a period of intense, focused work, a task so monumental it would have taken a thousand Imperial scholars a lifetime to even begin.
His method of study was a source of constant, dumbfounded awe for the few agents Varrus had permitted to observe. He did not read. He did not scan. He would simply place his hand upon an ancient data-slate, a xenos artifact, or even the skull of a long-dead savant, and in a matter of seconds, Ciel would absorb, process, and catalogue every iota of its information. He consumed knowledge as a starving man might devour a feast.
He sifted through the wreckage of the Dark Age of Technology, through fragmented theories on reality-engines and dimensional science that were so heretical they were written in a language of pure mathematics. He studied the Inquisitorial records on warp-drive malfunctions, cross-referencing thousands of instances where ships had vanished, only to reappear years later, their crews dead or insane, their chronometers reporting a journey of mere minutes. He analyzed the dissected anatomies of xenos creatures that could phase through solid matter.
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A tangible map, a path of stellar stepping-stones, began to form in Rimuru's mind. For the first time, the journey home felt less like an impossible dream and more like a complex engineering problem.
"We have a path," Rimuru announced to Kael, who was observing from a respectful distance. "All we lack now is the power source."
Far away, in the velvet darkness of the void, a different kind of research was being conducted. Aboard the Battle Barge Divine Right, Canoness Celestine knelt before a grand altar, the bridge of her ship a functioning cathedral. Around her, a circle of emaciated, blindfolded psykers known as Sanctioned Mystics writhed in a state of ecstatic trance, their minds cast adrift on the tumultuous sea of the Warp, shielded only by the Canoness's iron faith.
They were not searching for a ship or a coordinate. They were searching for a feeling. A feeling of hope, of purity, of a light so bright it cast a shadow in the Immaterium.
For weeks, their search had been fruitless, a blind hunt across a dozen sectors. But now, one of the mystics, a woman with scars on her lips from where heretic-oaths had been burned away, began to shudder violently.
"I see it… I see it!" she rasped, her voice thin and reedy. "A dying ember… a star of red… a sentinel of secrets, so old its name is forgotten… a library of bone and iron…" Her head snapped up, her blindfolded eyes seeming to stare directly at the Canoness. "The light… the holy light is there! He is there! The Emperor guides our hand!"
A holy fire ignited in Canoness Celestine's eyes. The vague whispers had coalesced into a specific vision. A dead star. A secret fortress. A library. It was enough.
She rose to her feet, her silver armor gleaming in the candlelight. "The Emperor has shown us the way," she declared, her voice ringing with absolute certainty across the bridge. "All ships of the Pilgrimage Fleet. Set a new course. Converge on the Hesperus Sector. We will sweep every dead star and forgotten rock until we stand before His chosen servant."
The hunt was no longer blind. The net of faith was tightening with terrifying speed.
Aboard Watch Station Hesperus, the quiet hum of research was shattered by a blaring proximity alert. Varrus, Kael, and Arken convened with Rimuru around the main holo-lith in the strategium. It showed their position, a lonely icon in a sea of black.
"My spy network within the Ecclesiarchy has confirmed it," Varrus said, his ancient face grim. "The Sororitas fleet has changed course. They are converging on this sector. The mystic's vision was… accurate."
"Their faith is a compass," Kael added, his voice tight. "And it is pointing directly at you, King Rimuru. We have days. Perhaps less."
As if to punctuate his statement, a new icon appeared on the edge of the display. A single, black, monolithic vessel.
"The Black Ship," Varrus announced, a hint of relief in his voice. "The Silent Vigil has arrived at the rendezvous point. It carries a tithe of ten thousand sanctioned psykers. Their combined psychic potential will be the fuel for your journey." He looked at Rimuru. "We have the map. We have the fuel. But the gate is about to be besieged."
The tactical display updated again, showing the converging vectors of the Sororitas fleet. They were a closing fist, and the Watch Station was at the center of their palm.
"We must leave now," Kael urged. "We can transfer the psykers, and you can begin your journey before they arrive."
"And what of you?" Rimuru asked Varrus. "They will know the Inquisition was here. This will cause a conflict."
"Let them come," Varrus said, a dangerous light in his old eyes. "I will handle the politics of my own Imperium. My priority is to see our covenant fulfilled." He looked at the closing net of the enemy fleet. "They believe you are a holy weapon to be wielded for their faith. I believe you are a key to understanding the universe. But in the end, we both see you as a tool. The difference is, I am willing to ask for your cooperation."
Rimuru looked at the holo-lith, at the secret station, the waiting Black Ship, and the oncoming fleet of fanatics. He had come here seeking a quiet place to work. Instead, he had become the eye of a holy storm. Running, he knew, would only delay the inevitable. These people would hunt him across the galaxy, their faith an unyielding, illogical bloodhound.
He looked at the three Imperials who had, against all odds, become his allies. A weary, ancient spymaster. A sharp, curious interrogator. A stoic, honorable warrior. They had risked everything for this alliance.
"A king does not flee from those who wish to speak with him," Rimuru said, his voice calm and decided.
The three men stared at him. "You intend to fight them?" Arken asked, his hand instinctively going to his weapon.
"No," Rimuru replied, a thoughtful, calculating expression on his face. "Fighting them would only validate their methods. I have no quarrel with people of faith." He looked at Varrus. "But if I am the 'saint' they are so desperately searching for…"
He tapped the icon of the approaching fleet.
"Then perhaps it is time they had an audience with him."