Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 1058, 09:1057: 'Here it comes!'

"As an Imperial Guard, you have absolutely no sense of duty as a guard! Stand at attention!"

Horatio suddenly raised his voice and roared, startling the demi-humans in front of him into standing still and saluting him with the eagle salute, even though they didn't know who he was.

“Listen to me, I know your battalion commander, Luisa-Antoine de Sai de Vigo! If you dare to misbehave again, I guarantee your battalion commander will find out!”

When Horatio uttered Desai's name, the bizarre demi-humans shuddered. The battalion commander was clearly an officer who valued military discipline, for even the dim-witted Oglin among them showed fear.

Horatio released the steel left hand that had been gripping the Leyterian by the neck, almost suffocating him. "Guard, as punishment, I'm confiscating this silver coin!"

"Did you hear me! Get the hell out of here!" Poniatovsky stepped forward, rolled up his sleeves menacingly, revealing his muscular forearms, "If I see you guys in Stuttgart again, you'll be sorry!"

"Yes, sir! Thank you for your mercy, sir! Thank you, sir!"

The group of demi-humans, who were still dawdling and groaning with their heads in their hands, were startled by the roar and fled from the Broken Wheel Tavern like a swarm of rats, disappearing into the night.

The Oglin ape-man whose face was scratched by Youyou ran in the wrong direction and bumped into a pillar. He spun around in a daze before catching up with his companion.

The tavern was in a mess.

“Seriously, the Sintira flintlock regiment is a den of scum and scoundrels. By the way, why don’t you call the police and arrest them?” Poniatovsky asked, puzzled, kicking over an overturned stool. “According to the current laws of Pola Bellia, cheating at a gambling table is punishable by having your hand chopped off.”

"Is the local law enforcement system your man?" Horatio retorted, his gaze calmly sweeping over the chaos.

Poniatowski shook his head, somewhat dejected, and said, “I only have the legal ownership of this land, but the law enforcement system still belongs to the planetary governor. The era of knightly fiefdoms is over. I’ve heard that my ancestors managed this land quite well, upholding justice and clearly distinguishing between rewards and punishments.”

"That's why I don't want to call the police."

Horatio picked up his handkerchief from the table and carefully wiped the blood from his hands—blood that came entirely from his adversaries, these thugs who were nowhere near his level. “After all, we were involved too. You don’t want to be taken away with us tonight and spend the night in a cold interrogation room, do you?”

Although, given our status and privileges, we will ultimately be able to leave unscathed.

But I don't want to be treated like a citizen fighting and investigated for hours inside, and I don't want to confront the local bullies in this way.

In particular, we have built a military training base right under the nose of the colonial governor without even having formally consulted with him.

Maybe they're just looking for something to use against us to give us a hard time."

He tossed the bloodstained cloth into a still-smoking fireplace, where the flames instantly engulfed it. Looking at Poniatowski, he said, "Even a powerful dragon can't suppress a local snake. We're new here, so it's best not to cause trouble right now. And even if we do, it's best not to get caught. We need to gather more information before making any further plans."

Of course, while he said that, Horatio actually spared her men out of respect for Battalion Commander Desai. After all, she had saved him at the Cathedral of Enlightenment not long ago.

Horatio didn't want things to get too ugly and cause both sides to lose face.

“You’re right,” Poniatowski agreed, cracking his knuckles.

He instinctively reached for his glass of ale on the table, but his hand grasped at nothing.

He then remembered that the damned brat had drunk all his wine before the final round of dice rolling.

"Kurwa!! Damn it, that little scoundrel drank my wine!" he cursed angrily.

"Ahem! Gentlemen."

Just then, a calm, steady voice, yet tinged with suppressed anger, rang out behind Horatio and Poniatowski.

Satalin, the proprietress of the Broken Wheel Tavern, had somehow appeared behind them.

She crossed her arms and glared at the two "distinguished guests" who had turned her tavern upside down.

"Yes, you may be of high status. But I must remind you, there's a sign in my shop that says—fighting is prohibited!"

"..."

"Uh……"

Horatio and Poniatowski turned away awkwardly, following her resentful gaze, and looked up at the stair pillars leading to the second floor.

There, in huge, blood-red letters, a warning was clearly written: "Fighting is prohibited! Violators will be held liable for all losses incurred by the store!"

"I'm sorry for the trouble. We will compensate you for all the losses."

Horatio immediately reached into the inside pocket of his coat and prepared to take out the checks he always carried with him.

With this check, you can exchange it for the equivalent amount of currency at any starport of the Imperial Fleet (Imperial Navy, Civilian Fleet, Charter Fleet), or even at the banks of merchants or companies of the Imperial Trade Alliance, such as those run by Skyren Hars, with a minimum withdrawal of 5.

“I’ll pay for it; after all, I started it.” Poniatovsky preemptively pulled out a thick wad of large bills and handed them over. “Oh, well, we did break quite a few tables… We’ll probably have to close here until the new tables and chairs arrive. How about a week’s worth of revenue?” “Mr. Poniatovsky Hunyati!”

The proprietress didn't even glance at the stack of banknotes. She walked up to him, put her hands on her hips, stared intently at him with her piercing eyes, and said in an unquestionable tone, "I must tell you, money isn't everything! You must clean my shop yourself!"

"Uh...would it be alright to hire a cleaner..." His eyes began to dart away, and his two long, horse-like ears drooped down somewhat awkwardly.

"No way! You have to take full responsibility for the things you've done!"

The proprietress pulled out a mop stained with wine from somewhere and shoved it into Poniatovsky's hands without a word. "That way, you'll remember what rules are! Just like how you always talk about promoting equal rules that everyone should follow in this land! Then you should set an example and follow the rules yourself!"

Poniatowski looked at the heavy mop in his hand, sighed with a sense of despair, and said, "Sorry, brother, it looks like you'll have to go home by yourself tonight."

"See you tomorrow, buddy. Thanks for the treat tonight."

"See you tomorrow... Hey, I'll head back to the barracks after I finish cleaning. That woman is really..." He stammered, making a face at the woman's retreating figure.

The proprietress, her face puffed up with anger, threw a wet, steaming towel accurately at Poniatovsky's face with a "smack".

"Make sure every single floor tile shines!"

"Hey! This counts as an employment relationship, right? So, am I getting paid?"

"This is community corrections community service! At most, you'll be rewarded with a glass of ale to quench your thirst, nothing more!"

Amidst the playful bickering of the two, Horatio couldn't help but chuckle. He led Yoyo, who had already jumped off the bar and was licking the blood off her paws, out of the messy, dilapidated tavern.
-
The following day, at the Royal Palace in Władysław.

“Commander, citizen, a messenger has arrived at the door. He says there is a letter from the Colonial Governor’s Office.” Jadvig, dressed in full armor, entered the spacious room that Horatio had temporarily used as an office and bedroom, accompanied by two fully armed guards.

"By the way, where did that Poniatovsky guy go? I haven't seen him wandering around all day," she asked, looking around.

"Hmm... I think he's probably doing some voluntary work somewhere?"

"Voluntary labor?" Yadviga frowned in confusion.

Meanwhile, in the cellar of the Broken Wheel Tavern.

Poniatovsky Hunyati was sprawled in an extremely contorted position inside a huge, empty ale barrel, emitting a deafening snoring sound.

After getting up in the morning, Satalin, the proprietress who had been searching for him, finally found the man, who was reeking of alcohol and completely drunk, in her own wine cellar after turning the entire tavern upside down.

"Mr. Hunyati!"

what! ! !
After a roar, there was a heart-wrenching scream as the horse's ear was twisted.

"If you keep doing this, I'm really going to send you to the police station!!!"

"No, no, no! Have mercy! Hey, lady, have mercy! Ahhh! I'll pay! I'll pay, okay?! Hey! Hey! Hey! Be gentle! My ear's going to break!"

In the palace.

"The colonial governor's letter... it's like speaking of the devil and he appears."

Horatio took the ornately decorated letter from Jadviga, used a letter opener to peel off the sealing wax bearing the governor's emblem, and quickly scanned the contents of the letter.

“What did he say?” Jadwiga asked.

"The beginning was all empty pleasantries. The main point was that he 'sincerely' hoped we would pay a visit to his governor's residence so that we could 'better' serve the formation of the Imperial Navy's railborne landing force."

"You believe this guy?" Yadviga raised an eyebrow, an incredulous look on his face. "He's a notorious scoundrel. He's infamous even in Sintira's aristocratic circles."

That's why Marius Hax sent him here as the colonial governor, essentially throwing him here to avoid seeing him and getting annoyed.

You don't actually believe his nonsense, do you, Commander Citizen?

"Do not believe."

Horatio casually placed the letter on the table, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "But I want to see what his governor's mansion looks like inside."

"Look... what his governor's mansion looks like?"

Yadwiga was somewhat confused.

This sounds like an old farmer going to the city to broaden his horizons, but Horatio? According to the imperial rank system, it's hard to say who would be seeking knowledge from whom.

(End of this chapter)