Raynor followed Callum into the magnificent dining hall. The entire room was decorated with such exquisite beauty that it was impossible to look away. Some statues were so lifelike they appeared as if real humans had been turned to stone. Oil paintings, vivid in color, felt novel even to someone like Raynor who had seen the heights of the internet—yet there was something unsettling about the texture of the pigments and the canvases.
Finally, they reached the main dining table. The long table was adorned with an array of fine cutlery, and attendants moved through the space in ghostly silence. The head seat remained empty; that was Caladogong's place. Callum invited Raynor to sit in the guest seat while he took the chair opposite.
Dish after dish was served. Snow-beef, ice-plain fish, and vegetables shipped from Dorito—in Brevis, these items were more precious than gold. Every dish looked so delectable that Raynor couldn't help but swallow his saliva.
Raynor picked up his knife and fork, cut a small piece of meat, and put it in his mouth. He was certain he had never tasted anything so delicious. He was not a man driven by gluttony, yet at this moment, he found himself unable to stop eating.
Across from him, Callum's smile grew increasingly radiant. He watched Raynor intently until Raynor looked up at him. Only then did Callum take a small sip of soup before calling for the chef in a sudden fit of rage.
The chef wore a completely sealed helmet, but his every movement and word betrayed immense exhaustion and terror.
"This soup must be as scalding as magma, yet leave a sweet aftertaste of ancient ice from the plains," Callum hissed. "How many times must I tell you?"
This was the first time Raynor had seen an expression other than a smile on Callum's face. But as Callum's emotions fluctuated, Raynor felt a sudden jolt of clarity. He watched Callum scold the chef and saw the poor soul trembling as he knelt on the floor.
At the exact moment of Callum's emotional outburst, a "buzz" rang in Raynor's head. It was as if a tightly sealed door had suddenly been pried open just a crack. He blinked, and only then did he realize—where was Doudou?
The 2.6-meter Ogryn, his personal guard captain, had clearly been right behind him moments ago. Where was he now? Raynor looked around; aside from him and Callum, there were only the silent attendants moving through the room. There was no Doudou, nor anyone else.
And he hadn't even realized it until now. He looked down at the plate of snow-beef, of which more than half had been consumed, and his stomach suddenly churned.
Something was wrong. Raynor closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shouted in his mind: "System!"
A pale pink, semi-transparent interface unfurled at the edge of his vision. In that instant, the world before his eyes transformed.
The "delicious snow-beef" on the plate turned into a chunk of meat he had never seen before—bright red flesh dotted with sickly yellow fat. The "ice-plain fish soup" had unidentifiable chunks settling at the bottom. And the precious "fresh vegetables" were a cluster of writhing, eye-covered fleshy orbs.
Raynor's stomach cramped violently; he was on the verge of vomiting. He forced it down and looked around. The exquisite murals turned into twisted, blasphemous paintings depicting unspeakable acts of obscenity. Those lifelike statues weren't carved from stone at all; they were petrified humans, their faces frozen in a mixture of ultimate agony and ultimate pleasure.
Finally, he looked at Callum.
The handsome, elegant lord who had felt like a spring breeze now looked completely different. His face remained the same, but his skin had taken on a sickly pale-purple hue, and a small, curved bone horn sprouted from the left side of his forehead. His eyes were no longer clear green but deep purple vertical slits, with fires of depravity burning deep within the pupils.
His smile was still perfect, but beneath that perfection was something that made Raynor's skin crawl. It was the satisfaction a predator shows when looking at prey that has fallen into its trap.
Slaanesh.
Raynor whispered the name in his heart, his hand gripping the fork a bit tighter. The Prince of Pleasure—the youngest and most dangerous of the four Chaos Gods. Their domain was the extreme of desire, the infinite amplification of the senses, and the madness that follows the twisting of normal emotions. Their followers sought the "perfect experience."
And Callum had clearly fallen completely into its grasp.
Raynor took a deep breath to calm himself. Though he seemed trapped, it wasn't a dead end yet. Moreover, seeing Callum's brimming confidence, the noble clearly hadn't realized that Raynor had "escaped" the illusion.
Raynor thought rapidly. How much power could he use? The system was still there, but he couldn't reach Sarah. Furthermore, he felt a strange blockage within his body, as if something was suppressing him. He couldn't muster his strength; it seemed the food was indeed drugged.
But the system allowing him to see the truth was enough. He needed time. He needed to figure out what Callum was planning and find an opportunity to escape.
So Raynor lowered his head and continued to cut the strange piece of meat, though he made no real progress after quite some time.
After Callum finished scolding the chef, he turned back, his anger vanished and replaced by that perfect smile. "My apologies for the scene, Governor," he said, returning to his seat. "These servants are never attentive enough."
Raynor looked up, a smile on his face that suggested "I just enjoyed a wonderful meal."
"Not at all," Raynor replied. "Lord Callum's pursuit of culinary excellence is truly admirable."
Callum's eyes lit up—the kind of light one shows when finding a "kindred spirit."
The ensuing conversation became more "in-depth" than before. Callum began to talk about fine food, art, and music. His taste was indeed high, if one ignored the twisted nature hidden behind the topics.
A dish he described was, in reality, a bowl of writhing maggots. A painting he praised was, in reality, a woman being flayed alive. But Raynor listened, nodded, and showed expressions of "admiration" at the appropriate times.
"So," Callum said, picking up the wine carafe and filling Raynor's glass with a purple liquid. "Governor, would you like to experience true perfection?"
He pushed the glass toward Raynor. The liquid bubbled, a strange iridescent layer floating on its surface, emitting a sickly sweet aroma.
"This is a treasure bestowed upon me by the Prince of Pleasure," Callum's voice became seductive. "Drink it, and you shall receive His blessing. Then, you will experience pleasure like never before; you will see the truth of this world!"
His gaze turned feverish. If Raynor drank this wine, Callum would uncover the secrets hidden within this man and gain even more favor from his god.
Raynor looked at the "wine," his mind racing. He couldn't muster his strength, he had lost contact with Sarah, and Doudou was missing. If he fought now, he likely wouldn't be a match for Callum. But drinking this thing... his stomach churned again.
He couldn't drink it. Absolutely not. He had to find a way to refuse, but it couldn't be too obvious.
As Raynor swirled the wine glass, thinking of what to do, Callum provided him with an opening. "Governor," he said, suddenly changing the subject. "What do you think of High King Caladogong as a person?"
Raynor's heart jumped. Here it was! He put on a hesitant expression, looked left and right, then lowered his voice. "Truthfully?"
Callum leaned in closer, anticipation shining in his eyes. "Truthfully."
Raynor sighed. "Too tyrannical. I've been in Brevis for so long, yet when he wants to see me, he demands I come. When he doesn't, he tells me to get lost. In his eyes, I—the Governor—am probably just a decoration."
Callum's eyes grew even brighter. "You feel that way too?" His voice trembled slightly. "You've... had enough of him as well?"
Raynor nodded, wearing an expression of shared misery. "Haven't we all?"
In that moment, Callum's psychological defenses loosened. He began to talk. He spoke of his childhood, his youth, and every resentment he had carried throughout his life.
"I loved combat since I was a child," he said, looking into the distance as if reminiscing. "I first touched the controls of a Knight suit when I was eight. I knew then it was my life's calling. I wanted to be a Paladin, to drive a Knight at the front of the charge, to let everyone see my radiance."
Raynor listened in silence.
"My talent was better than my older brother's," Callum continued, his voice tinged with bitterness. "The instructors said that if I were allowed to pilot a Knight, I could have become one of the greatest Paladins in the history of House Saint Gallus. But..." He paused, pain flickering in his eyes. "Because I was the second son, because the family needed a 'Lord of Internal Affairs' to manage trivial matters, and because of those damned rules, I was stripped of my eligibility."
His voice grew sharp. "My brother can go to the battlefield, he can pilot a Knight, he can be a hero. While I... I can only sit in the castle, managing ledgers, handling disputes, and receiving guests. Do you know what that feels like? To watch someone else do what you love every single day while you are forced to do things that are boring, trivial, and meaningless?"
Raynor remained silent. He didn't know what to say, but he knew the most important thing was to let Callum keep talking.
"Later," Callum's voice dropped low, "I met Him. He made me realize that combat isn't the only perfection. What is glory on the battlefield? It is but the crudest form of joy. True perfection is the infinite amplification of the senses—the infinite sublimation of experience. Food, wine, music, art, and..." He looked at Raynor, his gaze becoming suggestive. "...even more wonderful things."
The hair on the back of Raynor's neck stood up, but he maintained his look of "understanding." Callum was immersed in his own world and failed to notice Raynor's subtle movements.
Raynor took the opportunity to pour the wine onto the floor. The purple liquid seeped into the carpet, silent and unnoticed.