Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 1026 09.1025: Clues to the Knight Mech

Inside the Black Tower, Yadvig's fingertips traced the sticky, moss-covered stone walls, damp mold seeping into his fingernails.

She slowly ascended the creaking wooden stairs, her boot heels grinding against the dusty steps, raising fine dust.

With a flick of her wrist, she switched on the Imperial standard military flashlight. The grid-like lampshade cut the beam of light into fine prisms, casting dappled shadows in front of her—a concealment technique she had learned on the battlefield to avoid revealing her location with strong light.

The tower, like a rusted silver spear, pierced the night sky of Sintila, and the wailing of the wind through the corridors sounded just like the ghosts of legend.

The oak veneer on the wall had long lost its luster, and dark brown mold had spread along the wood grain in a menacing spider web. With a slight, unintentional touch, her fingertips pierced the brittle wood, and woodlice and lice immediately poured out of the holes, crawling stickily across her palm.

"By the God-Emperor..." Yadwiga swung her wrist violently, slamming the insect against the wall, and continued climbing the stairs.

Time seems to have frozen into solid dust here.

The pendulum of the wall clock is stuck on a certain evening thirty years ago, and every step feels like stepping into the past.

After climbing countless steps, my fingertips finally touched the cool brass doorknob—the door to the duplex at the top was ajar, the hinges making a faint creaking sound in the night breeze, as if waiting for its former owner to return.

The moment she pushed open the door, moonlight shone through the stained glass, casting idol-like dappled patterns of light on the waxed wooden floor.

It's much drier here than downstairs. Although the walnut furniture is covered in a thin layer of dust, it doesn't have the rotten smell of downstairs. Even the wrinkles on the sofa are exactly the same as when my mother was alive.

"Mom, I'm back."

Jadvig's fingertips brushed against the sofa armrest, the leather texture digging into his fingertips, his voice tinged with an unyielding sorrow.

She didn't dwell on the memories; her gaze quickly swept over the long table where she had lain as a child.

Right on this table, I, at seven years old, once clung to the edge and exclaimed, "Mommy, what is this? It's a full twelve meters tall... Are there really people that tall? This giant saw is so cool! I want one!"

The wheelchair's axles creaked softly across the floor. The mother's pale fingers rested on the armrests as she gazed at the molten gold sunset outside the window. A bitter smile, thinner than paper, tugged at her lips. "This is called the Knight Mech, child. It's the legacy of the Wadsław royal family. If even the mech is gone, our bloodline will be completely severed." Her breath carried the scent of medicine, and her chest rose and fell slightly, unnaturally, as she spoke.

"Oh." Young Yadviga swung her short legs, her fingers poking at the chainsaw sword of the mecha in the picture book—at that time, she did not understand that this war machine with the family crest embedded in its shoulder armor was the last line of defense for maintaining the dignity of the royal family.

The mother pushed her wheelchair closer, her thin fingers pinching the sketchbook and turning the pages, the crayon scratching softly on the paper: "This is Polaria, our true home. My old mecha is hidden on that planet. This drawing is a treasure map. Find it, and the mecha will be yours."

Her palm brushed across the paper, a glint of light flashing in her eyes.

“Really? Thank you, Mom!” Little Yadviga rushed to the wheelchair, her nose brushing against her mother’s sleeve. “It’s even cooler than the Imperial Guard’s tanks!”

"I'll give it to you." The mother folded the painting and put it into the velvet box. "When you remember it, you'll find it naturally."

"I will find it!" Memories flooded back like a tide, and receded just as quickly. Yadwiga snapped back to reality, his fingertips tracing hurried lines across the bookshelf.

Yes, that painting! The treasure map Mom hid away!
She pulled the dusty picture book from the top shelf, and the dried flower petals that fell between the pages landed on the dusty floor with a soft sound.
-
In the living room on the other side.

The Duke tapped his knuckles on the ebony tabletop, a cold laugh escaping his white beard: "Now, back to Yadviga. She's a woman, twenty-six years old—six years older than you. She's been in the army too long; she's got the smell of gunpowder on her."

His gold-rimmed glasses slid down to the tip of his nose, and his gaze swept over Horatio through the lenses, clearly knowing everything about this Gothic fleet officer.

“But Cintira’s women have an expiration date.” The cane thudded on the marble floor. “I will never let her marry some ugly duckling from the street. She carries the blood of the Knights of Polaberia and bears the honor of the Lana family. The longer she stays in the army, the harder it will be for her to adapt to aristocratic life, and the risks of childbirth will rise sharply. My wife’s tragedy must not be repeated. I must mold her into a proper bride and marry her to a high-ranking nobleman who will not disgrace her family—this is the only way to maintain the continuation of the bloodlines of both races.”

He paused, his fingertips tracing the family ring: "As for my son, as long as he leaves the army before he turns forty, that's fine. The military supply empire I've built for him is enough to attract noble ladies from all over the star system."

“This is too cruel.” Horatio’s hand rested on the explosive pistol at his waist. Although he had no intention of attacking, the gesture itself revealed his inner resistance to the injustice she had suffered: “She is a republican, and you want to turn her into a breeding tool for the nobility. She has already lost her mother, and now she will lose her freedom, becoming a canary imprisoned in a cage.”

"It's none of your business, you outsider." The Duke stood up abruptly, his cane slicing an ear-piercing arc on the ground. "What can you give her? After you pack up and go back to your post in the Gothic Fleet, can you take responsibility for her and the Lana family's future? I will never let the family perish in my hands!"

"I can take responsibility." Horatio's voice was resolute, the Imperial Navy insignia gleaming coldly on his collar. "The bloodline of Władysław and Rana will not be severed in this generation."

"Outrageous words!" The old duke's beard trembled with anger.

Suddenly, the static crackling from the communicator gave a report from the guard captain: "Your Grace! Miss Yadviga has infiltrated the Lady's room! She's bypassed the cordon!"

"What?!" The Duke nearly dropped his glasses. He steadied himself by grabbing the table, his usually calm tone filled with panic. "What is she doing there?"

Horatio observed discreetly—he had already learned from Jadviga that the Duke had erased all clues about the Knights of Polaberia, except for his deceased wife's room, which remained untouched.

His longing for his deceased wife ultimately became an irreparable oversight, which explains why he ordered guards to strictly lock down the tower.

"Stop her! I'll go myself!" The old duke grabbed his cane, the metal tip tapping rapidly on the ground. As he passed Horatio, his deeply furrowed brows furrowed. "You're one of her accomplices too? Was everything you said tonight a trap?"

“Not entirely.” Horatio’s gaze fell on the silhouette of the tower outside the window. “Every word I say is an oath I swear as an Imperial officer to do what I can.”

“If things get to the point of no return,” the old duke stubbornly straightened his hunched back, slamming his cane into the ground, “even if you’re in the Gothic Fleet, you’ll have to take responsibility for this mess. Otherwise, even Cochran might not be able to withstand Lana’s retaliation. Humph!”

Before his cold snort had even faded, he had already strode heavily toward the door.

Horatio took a deep breath of the pungent air filled with the smoke from the cigar, tightened his grip on the weapon at his waist, and strode after him.

(End of this chapter)