40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 860, Section 8: Only to be Understood (Part 1)

Even with the explanation, Alric von Hemlock still couldn't reconcile the seemingly gentle and always smiling gentleman with the judge.

Although he had never seen them, based on the rumors, these mysterious men and women dressed in black should be the kind of dangerous individuals who wear their 'I am a killer' on their sleeves.

He knew he shouldn't treat this so-called common sense as gospel, but the rumors he'd heard during his years of wandering between worlds made it impossible for him to believe that a judge could act so reasonable.
But now, he has no choice but to believe it.

Astartes, who introduced himself as Skradic, stood opposite him, gazing at him calmly.

From Alric's perspective, he saw a giant so strong it seemed inanimate. Its pale skin and long, gray hair complemented each other perfectly, devoid of any color, and its dark, slightly reddish eyes were as unsettling as a palette in the hands of a mad painter.

But none of that could compare to the throbbing of his right index finger resting on his left arm. He himself was still, so the thorny chill he exuded was still within an acceptable range. But that finger, that long, sharp index finger, was a different story altogether.

It was just moving monotonously and boringly, nothing more, yet it made Alric tense all his muscles, forcing himself to look away with immense willpower.

He would go mad if he kept watching. He didn't know why, but it was terrifying, like staring into death.

Alric lowered his head and asked in a muffled voice, "My lord, what do you need me to do?"

“Nothing is needed, Baron Alric von Hemlock,” Death replied in a hoarse voice. “In fact, command of this mission is in your hands.”

Alric froze, his body stiff with shock and fear.

"Don't you know your hometown very well? You even sent people to investigate tax issues. I know you lied back then, but I don't care. You're not a damn person."

Footsteps sounded, one step, two steps, and death was upon him. He was not breathing, but his heart pounded like thunder, though slowly as the clock ticked.

"Investigation, evidence collection, arrest, interrogation, and execution."

Death spoke, his tone suddenly becoming animated, as if completely oblivious to the bloodshed implied in his words. Or perhaps, he simply didn't care.

“You can compile a list of suspects for me, Baron, and I will then carry out the arrests, interrogations, and executions. Of course, sometimes the lists will be combined. Therefore, if you wish to be present to watch, you will probably have to inform me in advance.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Death said nothing more or asked no questions, seemingly having departed. It took Alric several minutes to recover from that intense sense of unreality, until he realized that his back was cold and damp.

He panted as he spurred his not-so-obedient legs to his liquor cabinet, intending to drink some strong liquor to calm himself, but for some reason, he gave up on the idea. He took a few steps back, leaned against the desk, and sat down without any decorum, still panting heavily.

After a while, he took out a small silver communicator from his waist and used it to send a message.

A dozen minutes later, a robust woman wearing a captain's coat pushed open the door to his study and walked in.

The woman was probably in her thirties, with four scars on her right cheek, seemingly inflicted by some wild animal. She was considerably taller than Alric, and a chainsaw sword, inexplicably stained with dark red blood, was tucked into her waistband. Upon entering, she went straight to Alric and immediately began to question him with a stern expression.

"Is everything you said true?"

“Yes, of course,” Baron von Hemlock replied listlessly, leaning back in his large chair. “How could I possibly joke about something like this?”

"So, your revenge, which you've been plotting for twenty-four years, has finally come to fruition? Have you finally gone mad? Seriously, Alric, I'd rather you pin your hopes on that reporter who's obviously no good than have you deceiving your mind with fantasies like this."

The baron took a deep breath, then sat up straight and covered his face with his hands. His somewhat comical voice reached the woman's ears through his fingers.

"If you don't believe me, you can go knock on the door of the suite we cleared out for that reporter. Trust me, you're guaranteed to see an Astartes open the door for you."

“Alright, alright. But, Alric, even if what you’re saying is true, how can one Astartes be enough? You know Krieg’s situation better than I do; it’s rotten to the core!”

At this point, the woman became somewhat agitated. She took off her coat and threw it on the desk, then turned and walked to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a half-empty bottle of Amásico, casually bit off the cork, and tilted her head back to gulp down three large mouthfuls. Her agitation had turned into anger.

She snorted coldly, slammed the bottle down on the desk, braced herself with both hands, stared at Alric who was still covering his face with his hands, and uttered a chilling comment.

"That place is a living hell!"

The baron did not answer; he understood that his wife, the successor to the captain and partner, was not wrong. Even if her words were spoken in anger, they were not entirely unfounded.
Krieg's tragedy has lasted for many years.

In the past, it prospered because of trade and became a commercial hub. Countless people came here with their dreams, worked hard, and made them come true or shattered.

Countless people died, but many also succeeded. They remained and became part of a story that had played out countless times before—years later, Krieg had become a vast hive city. It remained a commercial hub, where major transactions from several nearby star systems took place, and where immeasurable wealth gathered daily.
Then corruption became rampant.

It should be understood that once corruption begins, it will rush headlong into the abyss at a frantic pace, and rules are utterly worthless in the face of greed.

For example, the Empire had been levying a tithe on the Kreig, but at some point, the Kreig began imposing thousands of taxes on its citizens, one of which was a birth tax. As the name suggests, parents wishing to have a newborn had to pay a large sum of money to be permitted to have their child. But what if they didn't have the money? Don't worry, the Kreig officials and rulers weren't inhuman monsters; they offered various official loans. Interestingly, people preferred selling organs on the black market to signing loan agreements with official institutions.

The reason is simple: money on the black market is instantly available, while loans are not, and the interest rates are shockingly high. The most unacceptable aspect is that if the loan isn't repaid within the stipulated time, the newborn will lose their citizenship. The children will be taken away immediately after birth and sent to various institutions and companies.

They might become brainwashed bodyguards or volunteers for medical experiments, or they might be sent to special places reserved for the entertainment of the upper class, where they would receive special training.
And this was just a small part of the terror that permeated Krieg. No words could describe it, and no place could contain it. Alric even felt that it had devoured Krieg, rather than Krieg giving birth to it.

He didn't realize this when he was young, and he's glad about it. The only thing that can compare to this is his later departure.

Oh, he left it, or rather, escaped its clutches.
His good fortune, and his greatest misfortune.

He distanced himself from it, thus avoiding becoming part of that terror; he distanced himself from it, and in doing so, he dispelled the fog before his eyes. Twenty-four years have passed, he has traveled through hundreds of worlds, met all sorts of people, and even started a family, finding someone he could always rely on in the cold Milky Way, while the image of his mother's withered face on her sickbed from years ago has never faded.

Alric had figured it out; he understood deeply why his mother had died.

Political infighting? No, that was just a pretext. The real issue was that his mother had promised the people something that hadn't been done in centuries in order to get a seat in parliament.

She said that once she takes office, she will exempt birth tax in her jurisdiction.

In Krieg, parliamentary positions are typically hereditary. The lowest rank is district councilor, then city councilor, and the highest rank is dictator, a position held by only a handful of people. District councilors, however, are different; hundreds of millions hold this position. The primary method of succession is still hereditary succession, followed by donations.

Of course, there is one last way, one that has been forgotten deep within the Krieg Constitution: elections.

Alric didn't know why his mother wanted the district council position; he only knew that if Vivian von Hemlock unearthing the word "election"—a word unused for millennia—from the dusty constitution was still within the rules of the game, then the nature of things changed the moment she launched her campaign and promised tax breaks to win votes.

She broke the taboo.

No member of parliament, executive, or nobleman would allow her to do this, so it was obvious that she would die.

Pain, excruciating pain. This was Alric's first reaction upon realizing the truth.

Over the years, he never gave up his desire for revenge. In his imagination, his mother was murdered because she wanted to do a good deed.
This righteous indignation, this clarity of mind gained from being far removed from the evil environment and thus recognizing injustice, was one of the driving forces that kept him going. He couldn't accept that his mother wasn't actually that noble, because he needed her to be noble; he needed a sense of moral superiority to suppress his uneasy conscience and to distance himself from the truth he had already realized.

Krieg was a hellish place, and he was one of the devils who wielded a pitchfork and drank the blood of the innocent. Therefore, his revenge was neither noble nor necessary.

Alric von Hemlock slowly lowered his hand, stretched out his arm, picked up the bottle of Amassac that his wife, Veronica Lunaster, had placed on the table, and downed the rest of the wine in one gulp. Ignoring his beard, damp with the wine, he put down the bottle and spoke in a gentle tone.

“You’re right, my love. Krieg is a living hell where billions of people suffer in silence. Do you know what’s the worst part? It’s that they’re completely unaware that they’re living the wrong way. Your father and I did 322 jobs and visited 42 worlds. I’ve seen civilization and progress, and I’ve seen barbarity and backwardness. But no world has ever been as terrifying as my homeland.”

He slowly widened his eyes and continued his narration, but his voice was no longer as loud as it had been in the banquet hall.

“I must confess something to you, Veronica, my revenge has become less pure over the years. I miss my mother, but the thought of what she might have done makes my stomach churn. And I'm no better myself; I'm a wicked seed. I beat beggars with sacks full of gold coins and make them count their money with blood streaming down their faces. These things torment me. I can't escape it; the God-Emperor is destined to send me to Hellfire for what I've done. But billions of people in Krieg are suffering.”

He blinked, seemingly forgetting where he was. His face was obscured by a thick beard and hair, leaving only his eyes clear. They were brimming with tears, staring blankly at his master's wife, lost and helpless.

“Hundreds of billions, hundreds of billions,” Alrik von Hemlock murmured. “Do you understand, my love?”

Veronica glared at him angrily.

“I don’t understand!” the captain roared. “All I know is that you’ve fucking gone mad again! Did you forget to take your meds today?! Did you, Alric?!”

The baron snapped back to reality, then shrank back and replied in a trembling, ingratiating tone, "No, no, I forgot."

"Eat up!" the captain said impatiently, taking a small bottle of medicine from a storage compartment in his belt. "After you finish, tell me the whole story. This is a life-or-death mission; we need to get everything sorted out!"

"I know, I know."

"You know nothing!" Veronica laughed angrily. "You're hopelessly stupid! That inquisitor was clearly using you as a test! They were probably already planning to make a move on Krieg, and then you had to show up at this crucial moment. Now look what's happened, he's sent you some Astartes from who-knows-where, and he's ready to send you to your death! And you didn't even ask a single question!"

“I come from the Crimson Claw Chapter, one of the Five Blades of Conrad Coz, the Night King. I am its Chapter Master,” a voice suddenly said.

The baron and the captain were both stunned. They slowly turned their heads and looked at a corner of the room.

There, Skladrick was calmly nodding to them.

(End of this chapter)