Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 983, 08.982: 'The Spy Gone North'

In a conference room wrapped in heavy tapestries, isolated from all the wind, sand and the roar of gunfire, the air was filled with expensive amasec, pungent cigar smoke and a nauseating, decadent atmosphere called "extravagance".

This is the headquarters of the Sintira conservatives on Minerva, and also the core of a festering sore.

"General, according to the Quartermaster Department's report, the Imperial Navy's lord colonel has recently made a series of unusual preparations."

One staff officer cautiously reported, “We have good reason to believe that he has completely mixed up with those ‘sans-culottes’ (military reformers). They…they are working on a new type of ground force.”

The head of the long conference table was occupied by the obese Lieutenant General Billona's bulky body.

Around him sat more than ten senior officers from the Sintira flintlock regiment.

From Major General Dumourie, whose face was covered in scabs from whip marks and whose eyes were sinister, to the heads of other departments, it could be said that the highest-ranking members of the Sintira conservatives on this planet had all gathered here at this moment.

"This unit is a ladder to heaven that General Palus managed to secure from the Ministry of Military Affairs, a stepping stone for you noble-blooded individuals!" Vice Admiral Billon's voice was somewhat muffled due to his obesity. "This is our only chance to enter the Imperial Navy after failing the previous naval examinations. We must not let those 'sans-trousers' usurp this opportunity! The alliance between the Navy and the sans-trousers must be stopped. Rear Admiral Dumourie, what are your thoughts?"

The man sitting to the right of the lieutenant general had an uncontrollable hatred burning in his eyes. Because of the humiliating whip marks on his face, he couldn't wear thick makeup for the time being, which, combined with his fierce eyes, made him appear much more masculine than before.

"Of course, we must not let the military reformists succeed!" His voice was like two stones rubbing together. "My suggestion is to take a two-pronged approach. On the one hand, we must firmly block them through administrative procedures; on the other hand, our frontline must achieve a major, decisive breakthrough!"

We must achieve results before the military reform faction! Only then can we completely oust those sans-culottes from the arbitration table of the Ministry of Military Affairs, forcing them to firmly grasp the leading role in establishing the railborne landing force! At that point, whether or not there is cooperation will be solely up to us!

His gaze was so fierce it seemed capable of tearing a person to pieces, which made a brigadier general sitting across from him very uneasy, and he instinctively avoided his eyes.

"I heard... that the military reform faction is preparing to launch a large-scale ground offensive on the front lines."

The Calicus fleet has not informed us of their current movements; all we know is that most of the warships in orbit are now leaving Minerva, leaving only two cruisers and that Gothic detachment.

"Send spies to investigate!" Major General Dumourie slammed his fist on the table. "We must find out what the Navy is up to! We need to get intelligence on them! That way, when we take evidence they can't afford to commit and accuse them of dereliction of duty at the Ministry of the Interior, these high and mighty guys will be begging us for mercy!"

"Use...use our spy network to investigate our own people?" Across from him, the brigadier general, who had temporarily taken over intelligence work after Major General Julesclere's death, broke out in a cold sweat.

“That’s right. We’re just exercising our right to ‘surveillance.’ Find out what they’re doing, and how those ‘sans-culottes’ are planning their ground offensive. Have your agents infiltrate their command post and steal all the intelligence!”

"But...General...who will be in charge of this operation?"

"You're in charge of intelligence, so of course you're in charge!"

Upon hearing this, the brigadier general couldn't help but shudder: "Sir... what I mean is, if... if the Imperial Navy and the 'Sans-culottes' discover that we're using spies to investigate them, who will be held responsible for the consequences of this operation after we're found out..."

"I told you to investigate, so you investigate! Useless! Your job in this position is to accept orders, not to question or disobey!"

"Yes... I obey."

"Alright, it's time for dinner. Let's discuss other matters another day."

The obese lieutenant general washed his thick, short hands in a golden basin brought by a servant, then let out a loud yawn. He didn't want to think about these troublesome matters for the time being.

"Officers of colonel rank and above, stay here. Everyone else, leave."

"Cheers to your health, sir!"

Everyone immediately stood up from both sides of the long table, raised their wine glasses, and paid tribute to the obese man.

After receiving a briefing on the tasks to be implemented, the mid-level officers bowed and took their leave.

A lieutenant colonel staff officer, clutching a data board, left the meeting room. Among Sintira's conservative faction, unlike the reformers, they didn't undertake sweeping reforms of military ranks, but instead retained the nearly equal ranks of lieutenant colonel staff officer and frontline battalion commander.

Of course, within the prestigious General Staff, the position of a lieutenant colonel staff officer is far more prestigious and easier than that of a frontline battalion commander who toils in the mud. This position is typically reserved for scions of the most elite families in Sintira.

The lieutenant colonel, carrying the documents, walked to his office. It was an extremely luxurious private intelligence processing room, containing countless classified files that could not be brought to light.

A staff captain saw his superior arrive and quickly opened the heavy wooden door for him.

After the lieutenant colonel went inside, he carefully closed the wooden door, then took a bottle of fine fruit wine from the wine rack and poured it for his superior.

“Sir, this is a small gift from Sir Kingston.” The staff captain smiled and took a check covered with sealing wax from a letter.

The check clearly stated "5% profit margin".

That's right, it's the profit point. It's a hard currency belonging to the top echelons of the empire that ordinary people can never see in their entire lives, let alone imagine how much wealth is hidden behind it.

"We're going to investigate what that naval lord colonel has been up to lately. We need to find out exactly what he's done. Tell Mr. Kingston we're happy to share this intelligence with true friends."

The man, holding a wine glass, stood smugly in front of the tall, glass-walled window, admiring the world outside shrouded in sand and dust.

This comfort of being completely isolated from the harsh weather gave him an involuntary sense of superiority.

Unbeknownst to him, about 600 meters away from the window, atop a taller building ruin, a black-armored warrior covered in yellow sand and dust was coldly observing him through a high-powered sniper scope.

The crosshair in the center of the mirror first fell on the wine glass in his hand, and then slowly moved to his head.

Then the camera pans across the corridors surrounding the building. A few scattered Sintira flintlock musketeers are lazily patrolling there.

"The patrol route has been mapped. The power to the corridor can be cut off." Brother Derek's left hand was slowly twirling a string of beads made of pure silver bullet casings as he reported to the distance via an encrypted channel.

"Received. 'Nightingale' is in action." A cold, emotionless female voice came through the channel.

beep—

A slight crackling sound of electricity rang out, and the entire corridor was suddenly plunged into complete darkness.

"Huh? Damn it, the sandstorm has snapped the damn power lines again?" A flintlock gunner patrolling the corridor cursed as he looked at the sudden darkness before him.

Immediately afterwards, he felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down his spine to the back of his head.

“It’s too dark, it’s really creepy. I don’t want to slip and fall while walking. Let’s go back to the barracks; there’s backup power there. We can come out on patrol again after the electrician fixes the lines. It’s impossible for anyone to get in here, right? There are three battalions of troops guarding our base outside.” Another flintlock musketeer said.

"Let's go, let's shine a tactical flashlight. We can grab a drink when we get back..."

Several patrolling musketeers unanimously chose to abandon their posts and head towards their warm and comfortable guardhouse barracks.

After they left the corridor, under the cover of darkness, two women, one in a black hunting outfit and the other in a plain white dress, strode towards the lieutenant colonel's office like ghosts.

In the shadows higher behind them, several crimson goggles slowly lit up.

That was the iconic crimson light on the Astartes power armor helmet, a symbol of death and judgment.

(End of this chapter)