"So… what exactly did I do wrong?"
Claudia blinked innocently, puzzled by the serious expressions on Caelan and Angron's faces. The two stood before her like interrogators before a prisoner.
Caelan said, "This city has thirty-five High Knight families. Twelve went to the arena, five entered your palace. So that leaves seventeen unaccounted for. Claudia, do you have any idea where they went?"
Because of generations of inbreeding, the High Knights' families had very low birth rates. Some families had only a single heir; others were not much better off.
Still, it was strange that not a single one of them was found when the rebels stormed the palace. Not only were the knights missing, their household guards had vanished as well. It was as if they had evaporated into thin air.
The rebellion had been swift and decisive, largely because of this, but someone still needed to figure out why they disappeared.
"I have no idea," Claudia said slowly, shaking her head. "Maybe they ran off and hid somewhere?"
Angron gave a subtle nod; she wasn't lying.
Caelan asked, "You never left the palace?"
"I didn't even leave the main hall."
Angron nodded again. 'True.'
"It's been two days since the uprising. You haven't stepped out at all in that time?"
"Nope, I swear." Claudia raised four slender fingers.
"I'm not accusing you," Caelan said. "Just… curious."
"Curious about what?" Claudia asked.
"I'm curious how you went to the bathroom."
Claudia's smile froze. "My dear, it's terribly impolite to ask a lady something like that."
"Are you a lady?"
"I'm still a virgin."
Caelan couldn't argue. 'Fair point.'
He stepped back. "Angron, you talk to her."
He knew he wouldn't get much more out of her anyway, and he was being deliberately restrained. Everyone had secrets. He just needed to make sure hers weren't dangerous.
Pressing further would simply be rude.
Angron said, "Sister Claudia, the properties of the other Houses have all been confiscated. Only the House Octavia remains."
"That's fine," Claudia said lazily, reclining on her gilded throne. "All of House Octavia's assets, every coin, and this palace too, belong to you. Only I am not included, because I belong exclusively to your father."
"You're not."
"I could be," she replied playfully.
Angron said, "You misunderstand, Sister Claudia. You're one of the revolutionaries. I won't take everything from you. The Octavia estate and the palace are still yours. I was asking about Sister Enor and the other maids."
Claudia gave him a teasing look. "You want to give them freedom?"
Angron shook his head. "The right to choose."
If he was to liberate the world, he had to treat everyone equally.
Claudia was of the ruling class, but also a revolutionary.
She had never truly believed in the cause, but her contribution to the uprising was undeniable. Whatever her motives, that merit couldn't be erased. Keeping her family's estate was her rightful due.
But the maids were different; they were living people. They deserved the right to choose their own lives.
Everyone had their own standards, and Angron had his.
He knew his request might be difficult for her, but then again, wasn't revolution itself a demand the High Knight found unbearable?
If Claudia refused, he wouldn't force her. That would be ungrateful. He'd simply talk to the maids himself and persuade her later.
But if he couldn't even find the courage to ask, what right did he have to speak of liberation?
"Very well, my child. If that's what you wish," Claudia said softly, like a sigh. "Enor, bring the girls here. I'll give them the right to choose."
The maid bowed silently, hands folded before her apron, and withdrew.
Moments later, thousands of maids in identical black-and-white uniforms streamed into the grand hall like a silent tide. Their steps were as light as feathers brushing the marble floor.
In the perfectly ordered ranks, the only sound was the faint rustling of skirts, an awe-inspiring display of discipline and grace.
Each face looked like a piece of fine art, sculpted with obsessive precision. Every detail met the highest standards of noble aesthetics. Their beauty was so flawless it seemed inhuman, like living dolls.
They radiated distinct temperaments, some dazzlingly beautiful, others serene or cold as ice, like stars shining in the dark sky, each unique yet harmonious together.
But without exception, they all kept their heads bowed, long lashes trembling as they hid the fear flickering behind their perfect composure.
"How are there so many?" Caelan couldn't help but exclaim; he'd expected a few hundred at most.
"Many?" Claudia looked genuinely puzzled. She had kept the number strictly controlled; compared to other nobles who kept tens of thousands of servants, her few thousand maids were modest.
Caelan said, "The number's not the problem, it's the quality. Yours are leagues above the rest."
"Oh, you noticed." Claudia tilted her chin lazily, clearly pleased to have been asked. "Even in the Dark Age of Technology, House Octavia was among Nuceria's elite, wielding unique gene-optimization technology."
"And you?"
Claudia gave a soft snort, brushing a finger across her flawless face. "I'm different. I'm pure, all-natural, zero additives. Want to test for yourself?"
Was genetic modification considered cosmetic enhancement? Caelan wasn't sure. But such technology wasn't rare in the Warhammer universe.
During the Dark Age, humanity had mastered gene engineering to the point of creating psychic races. Compared to that, noble "beautification" was trivial.
Still, there was a vast gulf between M23 and M15 technologies. Both were ancient legacies, but worlds apart in sophistication and value.
"My children," Claudia's voice turned gentle, "my son wishes to grant you freedom. Do you desire it?"
Her gaze swept slowly over the pale, doll-like faces. "Don't be afraid. Speak honestly, like Enor does. You know it won't anger me."
Enor kept her eyes lowered. Her mistress had many terrifying qualities, but lying wasn't one of them.
To ordinary men, these women were treasures worth a fortune. To Claudia, they were drops in the ocean.
Even though new "treasures" were now hard to come by, she never lacked patience.
But true freedom? That was something they would never have. Their bodies were marvels of genetic craftsmanship, but how long could they live? A few centuries? A few millennia?
Brief freedom meant nothing. It was cruelty disguised as mercy.
A maid curtsied slightly. "Mistress, we are honored to serve you. It is our greatest privilege."
As the maids bowed their heads in perfect unison, their obedient posture said more than any words could.
Claudia looked at Angron. "My child, are their words insincere?"
"No," Angron said quietly.
He could sense their trembling souls. It wasn't quite fear; it was something deeper, primal, the instinct of prey before a predator.
Yet they truly believed that serving Claudia was the highest honor.
That contradiction unsettled even Angron.
"Forgive my rudeness, Sister Claudia," Angron said sincerely.
"Come here," she said, curling a finger with elegant command.
Angron approached. The boy was still shorter than her.
"Your honesty and respect please me," she said with a faint smile. "I'd hug you, but little Angron's all grown up now. I wouldn't want my dear to get jealous."
"Not even a little."
Claudia gave him a teasing look. "Not now, but who knows later? You men are so fickle."
Then, with lazy mischief, she added, "Angron, you should call me Mother."
Angron shook his head. He could call Dorothy and Sylvia "mother" out of respect for his brothers, but not Claudia.
Her eyes glinted with cunning amusement. "If you call me Mother, no matter what happens, I'll always stand behind you."
The maids looked up in shock. They thought their mistress was just toying with him, but… was she serious?
Could their mistress actually be having a maternal awakening?
Some maids exchanged uneasy glances; perhaps they shouldn't have refused to call her "Mother" earlier?
Angron said calmly, "If Father has no objection, neither do I."
Claudia tilted her head slightly, eyes shining with anticipation.
Caelan said, "I object to this marriage."
Claudia twirled a strand of her hair idly. "We're a perfect match. What gives you the right to object?"
"Oh, you meant the Emperor?" Caelan said. "Then I don't mind. I'll introduce you to Neoth someday."
Compared to the mothers of the Primarchs, Claudia was practically normal.
If the Emperor could tolerate Aeldar, he could tolerate her.
Claudia snorted. "I don't know any Neoth. I meant you!"
"Then why can't I object?"
"I've helped you so much. Shouldn't you be grateful?"
"Thanks."
"Just 'thanks'?"
"Thanks."
"…Hmm?"
"That's two. Want more?"
Claudia's heterochromatic eyes filled with irritation. Her delicate body slumped back onto the throne from sheer annoyance.
"The next city-state is Devash."
The golden palace of House Tarc had been stripped bare. Every ornament was confiscated, every treasure repurposed for rebuilding the people's lives.
The rebels had turned the palace into their command center because it housed an ancient holographic system.
Tarc had used it for pleasure and performance; now, under Angron's command, it projected cold tactical maps.
Oenomaus pointed at a city-state three hundred kilometers from Desh'ea. "Months ago, the High Knights sent me and other gladiators there for a 'friendly match.' The prize was an adamantine mine."
"Devash is much like Desh'ea. Its vast personal guard will be our biggest obstacle. As for their High Knights, I doubt they're stronger than Desh'ea's."
The rebel officers smiled knowingly. The high knight's implants were powerful, but luxury and decadence had long dulled their fighting spirit.
In single combat, as long as the knights couldn't fly, the rebels could take them down one by one.
And now, armed with Desh'ea's arsenal, they could fly too, making it even easier.
Angron stared at the holographic map, his voice steely. "Countless comrades' blood bought us this victory. Don't let arrogance stain our hard-won honor."
The warriors lowered their heads. Any trace of overconfidence melted under his gaze.
Whenever doubt or anger stirred in them, Angron was always there to crush it.
"Three days from now," he said, "we march. Liberate every village enslaved by the nobles along the way. Remember what I taught you?"
The warriors struck their chests with their right fists. "Our blades cut only chains, not the innocent."
This was no hollow slogan; they knew who their true enemies were.
A maid stood quietly at the doorway, waiting for the meeting to end. "Lord Angron," she said softly.
"Sister Enor," he greeted. "What message does Sister Claudia send?"
Although Enor now served Mira, she still carried out Claudia's orders willingly.
"Desh'ea's auger arrays detected an anomaly two hours ago. An unidentified fleet is approaching Nuceria from orbit."
"Can we hail them?" Angron asked.
He knew the Great Crusade was ongoing. If a foreign fleet had arrived, it was likely of the Imperium.
Enor shook her head. "After the Beast War, the ancient technologies of Nuceria were divided among the High Knights. Sadly, Desh'ea never possessed the technology for deep-space communication."
Nuceria was advanced, but fractured, like its city-states.
"Which city has that technology?"
"Devash."
How convenient, Angron thought silently.
Oenomaus asked, "Leader, should we strike early?"
"Leader", a word from ancient Nucerian, chosen to honor Angron.
He had refused the title "Master," which slaves once used for their owners.
The rebels had first suggested "Führer," but Caelan vetoed it immediately.
Angron, ever trusting Caelan's judgment, hadn't argued. "Leader," it was.
"The army needs rest and training," Angron said. "We must also prepare supplies. Three days is already the limit. Oenomaus, form a task force. I'll lead it myself at dawn tomorrow. Dismissed."
"Yes, Leader." Oenomaus struck his chestplate with a heavy thud.
The armor he wore, once Tarc's, adapted perfectly to his frame.
....
"Do you think it's the Imperium?"
In the twilight garden, Angron walked beside Caelan.
Angron looked up at the dusk sky, half hopeful, half fearful. If it was the Imperium, his cause could advance faster. But he feared it too, for he knew what would happen when the Imperium arrived.
Caelan would leave.
His brothers had all had three years with Caelan. He had barely one.
How was that fair?
"Most likely," Caelan said. "But it could also be the Aeldar."
"The Aeldar?" Angron was surprised.
"When you were born," Caelan said, "a group of Aeldar came to kill you. You slaughtered them instead. If I were them, knowing that, I'd keep sending more."
Angron thought for a moment. "Whoever they are, they've already contacted Devash. If it's the Aeldar, there's no chance for peace. If it's the Imperium, we must avoid conflict at all costs."
If the Imperium sent down troops, Angron wasn't afraid. He was a Primarch, after all, even if not yet grown, he could speak to them as an equal.
During the Great Crusade, the Imperium often sought peaceful integration first, using force only against hostile or dangerous civilizations.
But what if they attacked without warning?
What if Devash fed them lies?
If the Imperium bombarded Desh'ea from orbit based on false reports, then reconciliation might be impossible.
And Angron, son of the Emperor or not, would never forgive that.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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