Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but Warhammer 40k

A clanging sound of metal objects coming from outside the iron gate interrupted Henry's thoughts.

Half a figure peeked in from outside the iron fence.

The newcomer wore a makeshift suit of armor, with shoulder pads dangling over his arms and the breastplate buckles completely open. His oversized helmet was askew, almost obscuring half his face. He held a long rifle in his hand, the muzzle pointed directly into the cell.

His hands, which were holding the gun, were shaking violently, making him look more like a prisoner ready to surrender than a guard.

"May the God protect you... May the evil spirits be banished!" the young guard murmured in a trembling voice, his tone completely changed, reminding Henry of those farmers who would tell ghost stories in the dark and scare themselves to death.

But at least it seems like someone you can talk to.

Where there is communication, there is hope.

Since he wasn't executed on the spot, there was still room for maneuver.

Henry seized the opportunity, trying to use his limited eloquence: "Brother, let's talk this over. I'm innocent! There's a huge misunderstanding here. What happened before was all a trick... a simple smokescreen! I swear I'm an honest blacksmith's apprentice!"

"Let me see your manager, and I can explain things clearly."

The other party completely ignored the explanations, the gun barrel swaying like a branch in a storm: "Don't try to fool me! You filthy heretic!"

Before he could finish speaking, it was as if he had been branded with an invisible hot iron. He squeezed out a strange, short cry and turned to run away.

The sound of staggering footsteps faded away in the corridor, accompanied by the thud of armor hitting the ground, and then they disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Henry stood frozen in place, hands raised, staring blankly at the empty corridor.

With such little courage, how did they even get the job?

Didn't he know he had a gun?

Henry lowered his aching arm and looked at the iron knee pad that the deserter had lost on the floor tiles outside. He felt that everything in front of him was extremely absurd.

Finally, after who knows how much time had passed, Henry was starting to get hungry.

The sound of leather boots clattering on the ground came from deep within the corridor.

In the flickering firelight, an elderly man draped in a dark red robe stopped outside the iron fence. The light illuminated half of his deeply lined face and the mechanical prosthetic eye on the other side, its gears turning. The metal eyeball on its brass base gleamed red, and the optical lenses adjusted their focus automatically with the soft hum of mechanical operation.

Looking at the gleaming mechanical parts on the old man's face, Henry finally felt a sense of reality, as if he were on the set of Warhammer 40K.

After scrutinizing Henry for a while, the old man turned his head to look at the guards who had just retreated to the back, and reprimanded them sternly.

"Who gave you the audacity to lock an innocent townsman in the dungeon?"

The guard trembled as he stepped forward, stammering as he tried to explain, "Sir, please let me explain. He was captured from Baitouwo Town. It's said he survived being burned at the stake. Our men searched the entire forest before finally bringing him back..."

"Enough." The old man waved his hand, interrupting the guard's half-finished sentence. "With me here, what are you afraid of?"

The guard was so frightened that he immediately fell silent, frantically pulled a large bunch of brass keys from his belt, and hurriedly tried to open the padlock on the cell door.

Without really understanding what was going on, they opened the dungeon door.

Henry stepped out of the cell.

  

Unfortunately, the electronic shackles on both wrists were not removed.

The old man had a kind and benevolent face, yet he seemed completely oblivious to the conspicuous electronic shackles.

"Young man, I'm sorry you've been wronged." The old man stepped forward. "Your subordinates are incompetent and cause me a real headache."

Henry raised his shackled hands and deliberately made the shackles rattle loudly.

"Sir, since you know I'm innocent, why not do me a favor and let me leave?"

The old man laughed, but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes piled up, making him look even uglier.

"That won't do," he replied matter-of-factly. "My subordinates don't know the rules and have caused you a lot of trouble for no reason. It's only right and proper that I keep you here and make it up to them."

The old man personally led Henry out of the dungeon.

The castle was much larger than Henry had imagined.

The thick stone walls rose all the way up, the vaulted ceilings high enough for a horseman to raise his lance. Oil paintings hung on both sides of the walls, stretching from the entrance of the corridor to the end of the line of sight. There was one every few steps.

The men and women in the portraits are all dressed in luxurious attire. Some wear cloaks, some hold longswords, and others wear heavy mechanical armor that is clearly out of step with the times, along with pilot helmets.

"Your ancestors must have been quite wealthy, sir," Henry couldn't help but exclaim.

The old man smiled.

"They were indeed very wealthy."

That happened a long time ago.

The two walked slowly down the corridor. Henry subconsciously glanced at the portraits.

The first few portraits seemed normal. The people in the portraits had solemn expressions and imposing demeanors, and did indeed look somewhat like rulers. But the deeper one went, the more something seemed amiss.

The figures in the portrait began to grow thin.

pale.

Sunken eye sockets.

It felt like I hadn't slept for many days.

In later generations, obvious pathological changes even appeared. Some people had eerie, deathly gray skin, some had excessively wide mouths and bulging eyes, and some, despite being smiling, gave off an inexplicable sense of unease.

Henry stopped and looked at one of the portraits.

The middle-aged man in the painting is also looking at him. His gaze is cold, and a smile plays on his lips.

Henry had a strange feeling. It was as if the guy had just blinked.

He immediately turned around. Looking again, the portrait was still hanging there quietly, unchanged.

"What's wrong, young man?"

The old man asked.

"fine."

Henry scratched his head. "Maybe I didn't sleep well last night."

The old man nodded.

"Young people really should pay attention to rest."

He finished speaking and continued walking forward. Henry couldn't help but glance back again. The man in the portrait was still smiling. But this time, perhaps it was just his imagination, the smile seemed even more pronounced than before.

Henry withdrew his gaze and then spoke up, "By the way, sir."

"Who was that woman who was pursuing me back then? The woman who was driving a motorcycle... a tractor."

The old man stopped, his mechanical eye turning, his gaze seemingly filled with fear and anger. The sudden change startled Henry.

"Woman? What woman?"

"It's... the one who captured me."

The old man was silent for two seconds, then shook his head.

"Young man. The person you speak of is not in this castle."

Henry was taken aback.

"No?"

"no."

"And what about the Iron Ox? I'm sorry, sir, I don't know its name, but I saw it with my own eyes."

The old man suddenly laughed, as if listening to a child telling a fantasy story.

"Those are called Sentinels. The entire Carlos family now has only twenty-three members left."

"I'm the only one left who can pilot war machines."

"and."

The old man stretched out his withered hand and gently stroked the border of the portrait.

"The last operational Sentinel mech was completely scrapped twenty years ago."

Henry's smile slowly faded.

"It's scrapped?"

"Yes."

"The power core is destroyed, and we no longer have any artifact engineers; they died of old age along with the machines."

"You were probably bewitched by the miasma in the forest. When Tom found you there, there was nothing around you. The great being made you see it all," the old man continued.

Henry felt a little dizzy.

The old man's words and attitude didn't seem fake; what good would it do him to deceive himself?

He couldn't help but start to doubt himself.

I fell off a horse last night and hit my head. Having nightmares and hallucinations seems plausible.

But the blue feathers and the woman in military boots in my memory are so real...

Which one is true? Or rather, who has been deceived?

Before Henry could sort out his thoughts, the old man had already continued walking along the corridor.

As he walked, he began to recount his family history to himself.

"The Carlos family has been on this planet for far too long."

The old man pointed to the first few portraits.

"Our ancestors came from the stars, aboard celestial ships, and established their rule. In those days, this land was full of life, and everyone toiled for the glory of the empire. We guarded the farmland, built fortresses, turned the wilderness into granaries, and eagerly awaited the arrival of the imperial supply ships."

"We are the hope of the empire, the bravest men, and a family of honor."

His hand traced the wall, passing over the increasingly gaunt faces.

"We've waited ten years."

"Then twenty years."

The old man slowed his pace.

"Fifty years."

"One hundred years."

In the empty corridor, only the sound of his leather boots echoed, and his voice became sorrowful.

"Until the communication array became scrap metal, until the stars no longer offered any response. Time gradually eroded all hope."

The old man stopped in front of his own portrait and turned to look at Henry.

"The God-Emperor no longer answers our prayers."

"But the people on this land still have to live."