Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 1032 (09.1031): 'Things have come to this, let's meet the challenge!'

"Shut up! This is not a reason for you to arrange a marriage for me!"

Yadwiga met her father's gaze without flinching, her beautiful eyes burning with a fierce fire.

"Even if I choose to marry a penniless commoner, that is my own choice!"

I don't need you to force me into a pairing like animals are mating! Look at the kind of trash you've chosen, like Dumourier, a piece of trash who's all show and no substance, and you dare to push him next to me!
If you truly cared for me, you wouldn't have arranged such an ending for me, one that's no better than death!

"Now, I'm giving you a year."

The old man's voice was filled with indescribable weariness, as if all his strength had been drained away in an instant.

He slowly turned around, his tall figure casting a long, lonely shadow in the dim garden light, facing both Jadviga and Horatio.

"This year is an opportunity for you, and also a chance for you to go to Polaberia and experience true growth. I have only one request for you to go there."

He gazed quietly at his daughter, those eyes that had once stood firm against millions of orcs, now held only a father's most sincere plea, his gaze seemingly trying to pierce her soul and imprint those words on her heart.

"Come back alive."

The garden was deathly silent.

A night breeze rustled the leaves, and the hustle and bustle of the distant city seemed to be shut out by this heavy silence.

"I am a soldier of the Empire. My safety is none of your concern, bureaucrat!"

Jadwiga's voice was cold and distant, like a block of ice that refused to melt in the sunlight.

She finally avoided her father's worried gaze and turned aside, saying, "Right now, I only have one question."

She abruptly raised her eyes, looking directly at the Duke again, each word seemingly squeezed out from between her teeth: "Did Mother ultimately... die in an accident, or... be murdered?"

This question hung like an invisible sword over the Duke's head.

His body stiffened almost imperceptibly, and his Adam's apple bobbed with difficulty.

He took a deep breath, a breath that seemed to weigh a ton, causing his already hunched back to bend even more.

His brows were furrowed tightly, and his lips moved, but he ultimately made no sound.

He did not answer, and it seemed he was unable to answer.

But Horatio saw it clearly: it wasn't heartlessness, but a father facing the cruelest truth, unsure how to reveal the last, and bloodiest, wound to his daughter.

His silence was the most painful answer in itself.

Seeing his father remain silent, the last glimmer of light in Yadwiga's eyes was extinguished and swallowed by the endless darkness.

She let out a suppressed sound, somewhere between a groan and a sob, and without saying another word, abruptly turned around.

The heavy military boots pounded on the hard stone pavement, making a dull thud. Each step felt like it was stepping on everyone's heart, heavy and resolute.

She didn't turn around; her straight back quickly disappeared into the thick, impenetrable darkness outside the door.

After she left, Horatio prepared to take his leave and wait for her on the hovercar. But as soon as he took a step, the Duke called him back.

“Young man,” the old man’s voice was hoarse and weak, “now you understand the situation, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Horatio replied calmly. “But don’t you doubt me? After all, we’ve only known each other for less than two hours.”

"By choosing to reach an agreement with you, I have already made my stance clear."

The old man gazed at him, his complex eyes a mixture of scrutiny, earnestness, and a hint of helplessness. "Trust those you employ, and don't employ those you don't trust. Remember your promise and vow tonight: whatever you face in Polaberia, take good care of her."

He let out a long sigh, a sigh that seemed to have exhausted his last bit of energy.

When the willpower that had sustained him, called "father," finally weakened, the old man's once upright shoulders and back visibly slumped, gradually becoming hunched and curled up, like a punctured balloon rapidly deflated.

"Cough! Cough! Cough!"

A violent, suppressed cough erupted from deep in his throat. He bent over in pain, his whole body trembling violently. He quickly pulled a white handkerchief from inside his coat and covered his mouth tightly.

Upon seeing this, the chief attendant immediately stepped forward, draped a thick windproof coat over him, and had the accompanying doctor examine him.

The old man clutched the handkerchief tightly and, with the help of the head servant, quickly put it back into his pocket.

In that split second, Horatio's heightened eyesight clearly spotted a striking red stain on the snow-white handkerchief. [That's...blood?]
Under Horatio's gaze, the old duke leaned on the scepter that symbolized the family's power, his once imposing figure now appearing so fragile, as if he might be blown over by the night wind at any moment.

And so, step by step, he walked alone into the depths of his dimly lit, tomb-like official residence.
-
[What a complicated family...] Horatio thought to himself.

Horatio helped Jadvig carry his luggage onto the hovercar, and the two of them got into the car together.

The interior of the carriage was dimly lit, with only the indicator lights on the control panel flashing faintly.

He could hear faint, suppressed sobs coming from the side.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"I'm very good."

She said, her voice thick with nasal tone, her face stubbornly turned away from him, pressed tightly against the cold car window, watching the city night view rushing past outside.

This strong woman never exposed her most vulnerable side to others.

Horatio did not press further, but calmly said, "I have a feeling we will find the truth in Polaberia. I am prepared to face any challenge."

Jadvig was silent for a moment, her profile reflected in the car window as she bit her lower lip.

“Me too.” Her voice still trembled, but it held a steely resolve. “I will find out the truth. I will dig those murderers out of the gutter one by one, and then kill them all.”

The hovercar roared into the clouds, while below, the Sibelius Nest City shone brightly, like an endless sea of ​​stars, indifferently witnessing yet another night of revelry.

Meanwhile, not far from the throne district of Sibelius's nest city, within the secret stronghold of the Inquisition.

They requisitioned the hideout of the Exile Order here—a small, unknown crypt hidden atop the state church’s Cathedral of St. Drusus.

This place is perpetually shrouded in darkness, and the air is thick with the scents of hard lime, ancient incense, and fresh blood.

A girl dressed in black hunting attire stood quietly in front of a huge screen.

The curtain was illuminated by a dim crystal chandelier, on which were pinned with thumbtacks sheets of scribbled kraft paper. Threads of different colors crisscrossed between the thumbtacks, forming a complex and chaotic web of sin.

That was all the results of her recent investigation.

As Thee gazed at the spiderweb-like clues, a bloodstained, sharp scalpel was dangerously spinning and leaping between her slender fingers clad in white nitrile gloves, its blade reflecting the light and tracing cold arcs.

Behind her, a man in a white coat was firmly strapped to a metal interrogation chair.

His eyelids had been cruelly cut off, leaving him only able to stare in terror, unblinking, at the blindingly bright light above him.

Judging from his attire, he is a doctor of high social status.

His mouth was sealed with a metal gag and soldered shut, so he could not make any sound and could not disturb the people singing hymns in the lower hall of the church.

Even more horrifying, the upper half of his skull had been precisely cut off with a bone saw, exposing his bloody, still slightly pulsating brain underneath.

These surgical instruments were taken from his operating room and are now being used on him.

Several menacing yet precise probes were inserted directly into his cerebral cortex, connected to a mind-writing machine.

The machine was clicking away, translating the deepest fears and memories in his mind into lines of text, which were then printed onto parchment.

His eyes darted wildly in terror as he stared desperately at the giants surrounding him, who resembled black iron statues. Their power armor was as black as night, and their crimson visors held no emotion as they silently watched him.

This silent gaze is more devastating than any form of torture.

His shackled hands were grasping at the air in vain, his fingernails already cracked from the force.

"I'll only ask the last two questions."

Thee's voice broke the deathly silence. She didn't turn around, still with her back to the poor soul, her voice as calm as if she were discussing the weather.

"First, who instructed you to implant that denture with a built-in neurotoxin in the mouth of that frontline intelligence major?"

She paused, letting the fear fester in the man's exposed mind. Then, she extended her gloved fingers and gently touched a yellowed surgical record on the screen.

"Secondly, what does the note tucked inside this record of the childbirth procedure—'Let the crown fall'—mean? This piece of paper is yellowed and looks very old. Who left it here?"

(End of this chapter)