Under the crystal chandeliers of the Governor's Mansion banquet hall, the faces of twenty-eight nobles were reflected as pale as parchment. Without exception, these were the individuals who had participated in the heckling during the previous council session. Now, they all sat with heads bowed; no one dared to speak, exchange glances, or even draw a full breath.
The dishes spread across the long table were incredibly lavish: roasted snow-beef, honey-glazed ham, fresh vegetables, and Dolido wine. In a resource-strapped world like Brevis, this was the pinnacle of extravagance. Yet, not a single person touched their utensils. They sat rigidly, staring at their plates like prisoners awaiting execution.
The doors swung open.
Raynor walked in, leading Yisu de by the hand, followed by the towering Ogryn, Dobby. Ignoring everyone, Raynor walked straight to the head of the table and sat down. He picked up his knife and fork, sliced off a small piece of roasted snow-beef, and began to eat as if he were the only person in the room.
The nobles looked at one another tentatively. It was a long time before someone dared to pick up their cutlery, their fingertips trembling violently. Even then, no one truly ate; they merely pushed the food around their plates.
Sitting to Raynor's left was a patriarch of a minor noble house named Hope. Unable to endure the oppressive silence, he squeezed out a smile that looked more painful than crying.
"The Lord Governor is wise and mighty! The expedition against the Greenskins is a grand undertaking we have long anticipated! We, the House of Hope, are willing to donate eighty percent of our assets to support the military's needs."
Before the words had even fully left his mouth, Raynor swiftly drew a chainsword from his waist.
Whirrr! The high-speed rotation of the serrated teeth shattered the silence with an ear-piercing mechanical shriek. Raynor swung the blade in a single, fluid motion.
Hope's head slid off his neck, thudding heavily into the plate before him. Red and white brain matter mixed with warm blood sprayed outward. Arterial spray erupted, drenching the faces of the nobles sitting nearby. The corpse remained seated for two seconds before slumping heavily to the floor.
Raynor raised his hand and flicked the blood off his fingers. Droplets of gore flew, landing on the face of the Loren patriarch. The fat man shuddered violently but lacked the courage to even raise a hand to wipe it off.
"Eating time is for eating," Raynor's voice carried a tone of sharp impatience. "Why all the useless talk?"
He rested the chainsword against the corner of the table, picked up his knife and fork again, and continued slicing his meat. "Eat," he commanded simply.
The nobles snapped out of their stupor like waking from a dream. They lunged at their cutlery like madmen; some even grabbed food with their bare hands and shoved it into their mouths. No one dared to chew; they simply swallowed, forcing the food down their gullets. One man turned blue as he choked on dry bread, grabbing the Dolido wine and guzzling it down before continuing to stuff his face, as if being a second too slow would make him the next to fall.
Hope's corpse lay right beside them, yet no one dared to look. Their eyes remained glued to their own plates.
After a moment, Raynor set down his utensils and fixed his gaze on the Loren patriarch—the fat man who had been the first to jeer in the council hall the day before. He was currently stuffing bread into his mouth so fast his cheeks bulged like a hamster's.
"Ah? You're actually eating?!"
Raynor didn't say another word. He drew his bolt pistol from his waist.
BANG!
The Loren patriarch's head exploded instantly. His body collapsed forward onto the table, his bloated stomach pressing into his dinner plate.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The shots rang out in quick succession. Each report was followed by the collapse of another noble. Dishes were overturned, wine spilled across the floor, and blood was splattered everywhere.
After the eighth shot, Raynor stopped. The pistol's magazine was empty. He looked down at the bolt pistol in his hand, then scanned the corpses and the pools of blood littering the floor.
Only twenty living nobles remained in the banquet hall. They were huddled in a corner of the table, covered in blood, shivering like terrified rabbits. Raynor's face twisted into a faint, chilling smile, and his voice carried a bone-deep frost.
"I'm not full yet."
Those four words sent the remaining nobles into a state of absolute terror. The smell of urine began to waft through the room. Raynor reached out, swapped in a fresh magazine, and clicked it into the holster with a sharp clack. He sat back down at the head of the table and resumed slicing his meat.
"Keep eating."
No one dared to stop. The survivors continued to mechanically shove food into their mouths, their taste buds long since numbed. Their mouths were filled with the metallic tang of blood mixed with the taste of food, a nauseating combination. One noble couldn't help but gag halfway through, desperately clutching his mouth to suppress the urge to vomit.
Suddenly, a young noble across the table snapped. He bolted upright and stumbled toward the door in a blind panic. Raynor didn't move. The massive Ogryn, Dobby, took two giant strides, reached out a hand the size of a shovel, and grabbed the young man's head. He hauled him back like a wet rag and slammed him back into his seat.
"Where are you going?" Raynor asked without looking up, continuing to cut his meat. "The main course hasn't even been served yet."
The young man froze instantly, paralyzed by fear, not daring to move an inch.
The bloody banquet lasted for two full hours. The blood on the floor began to coagulate into a deep brown, and corpses lay strewn about.
When the dinner finally ended, the twenty surviving nobles were taken one by one by Dobby to an adjacent room. In that room sat a long table covered in white paper, pens, and ink pads. Documents had already been prepared, and Geth stood beside them with an expressionless face.
"Sign," Geth's voice held no warmth. "Donate all your assets, retaining only the bare minimum required to keep your families alive. You may leave once you have signed."
Someone tried to argue. As soon as their lips moved, the clerk pointed coldly at the document. "If you don't sign, you're welcome to take a swim in the Man River until you're willing."
The Man River's temperature remained near freezing year-round; an ordinary person would be frozen solid and sink to the bottom in moments. They looked at each other with eyes full of despair. They could only pick up the pens and, with trembling hands, sign their names and press their crimson thumbprints. Every stroke felt like carving away their own flesh. Soon, all twenty documents were signed.
The last to sign was a white-haired old man. He used the table for support as he stood up, his steps stumbling as servants led him out. At the end of the corridor, the other nobles were waiting. Raynor stood in the shadows ahead and spoke coldly.
"I hope you all keep your mouths shut about what happened tonight. Otherwise... Adasi, you know my methods best!"
No one dared to answer. The nobles nodded frantically, like chickens pecking at grain, lacking the courage to even glance at Raynor. They turned and fled the Governor's Mansion, collapsing to the ground outside the gates to gasp for air, their faces filled with the terror of having survived a disaster.
The news leaked out eventually. Twenty-eight nobles had entered the Governor's banquet hall; eight never came out. When asked what had happened, the survivors remained silent, merely shaking their heads with a fear that reached their very marrow. This only served to heighten the panic among the nobles who hadn't been invited.
Inside the Governor's Mansion, Raynor was looking at the asset list handed to him by Geth.
Rena's cold voice rang out: "The Winter family and the Hostein family were absent from the banquet yesterday, citing sudden illness."
Raynor said calmly, "Geth."
Geth pushed the door open and entered. Raynor handed him a list. "You handle this."
He knew that ever since the events on the Hymn of Offering, Geth had awakened some... peculiar hobbies. It was the perfect time to let Geth deliver their "sentence."
Geth took the list and nodded. "Yes, Lord Governor."