Kingdom Come: Deliverance, but Warhammer 40k

Henry sighed; it seemed there was no point in trying to reason with him.

He didn't want to stay here a moment longer and face an old man who seemed to have sided with an evil god.

A nobleman driven mad by time, unable to distinguish between reality and dreams.

Even though the old man didn't hurt him, and even though he looked somewhat pitiful.

"My lord, no matter what lies outside, whether it's hell or something else, I have to go back."

"Baitouwo Town is more wonderful than you think."

The old man sighed and shook his head, his gaunt face appearing even more weathered in the dim light.

"The outside world is too dangerous, child. You could fall into the abyss again at any moment, and your soul could be taken away. He has limited patience for everyone."

"Stay here. The high walls and heavy blast doors will keep out most of the threats. Only by staying under the protection of the Carlos family can you survive, and live like a human being."

Henry was getting impatient.

Locking someone in a basement and then grandly calling it protection—that logic sounds utterly bizarre.

Moreover, this place is far more bizarre than the outside world.

Beautiful Salia is still waiting for him to return.

"What if I absolutely have to leave?"

The old man didn't reply. He turned his back and quickly rummaged through the drawer at the bottom of the control panel. He pulled out a palm-sized black metal block, its surface covered in scratches, with several brass buttons on its side.

"If you really can't let go of your worries about the outside world," the old man stepped forward and handed the metal block to Henry.

"Use it. Press the red button and record what you want to say."

Henry looked down at the vintage voice recorder in his hand and muttered to himself.

"What happens after you finish recording?"

"Leave it to me. I will arrange for the most reliable guards to rush to Baitouwo Town overnight and deliver it to the person you want to give it to."

Henry almost blurted out a curse.

The most reliable guard?

Was he the guard outside the dungeon who ran away in fear at the mere sight of him?

Even if, hypothetically, a guard did deliver the message, who knows if he would simply throw the tape recorder into a ditch on the way?

  

Anyway, I'm locked up here and have no way to verify it.

"Sir, do you think I would believe that?"

"Lock me up and then take pity on me and help me pass on a message? That sounds ridiculous."

"I, Ian Carlos," the old man suddenly spoke, "swearing by the honor of the Carlos family ancestors, I will never break my promise."

Ian stared at the young man before him, his eyes seemingly shining.

"I am not your enemy, child. Never have I been."

He slowly opened his arms, the dilapidated knight mech behind him resembling a silent, massive tombstone.

"Whether you still pray to that cold throne in your heart, or have already opened your eyes and heard the call of other great beings... we are all on the same path."

"Okay, okay, I'll stay."

"Anyway, it seems like I can't leave."

Henry spread his hands, the metal chains rattling. "As long as you provide meals."

"If you need anything, just call the guards; they are all reliable and loyal men."

After listening, Henry did not utter another word in rebuttal.

Two guards escorted him out, one in front and one behind.

The stone steps were dark and long, and the person leading the way walked quickly, frequently looking back as if afraid that something might run out of the darkness.

It seems that all the guards in this castle are cowards; I really don't know where they can be trusted.

Henry was led into a guest room.

The scene inside the door was vastly different from the dilapidated state outside.

An intricately designed brass crystal chandelier hangs from the dome, its warm yellow light illuminating the gold-threaded double-headed eagle tapestry on the wall.

Thick cashmere carpets covered the floor, and next to a huge walnut wardrobe stood a set of gleaming silver wine glasses. The former wealth and status of the Carlos family were on full display here.

Henry went to the large bed covered with velvet sheets and lay down.

The soft mattress supported his back comfortably, but Henry tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.

Out of sheer boredom, he started fiddling with the phonograph in one hand.

My thumb hovered over the badly worn red button, but I hesitated to press it.

Should I record something? Tell Salia that I'm locked underground? That I've gotten myself into big trouble?

No.

If I really relay the message, she will definitely find a way to come over.

When she gets stubborn, no one can stop her; she's such a silly girl.

As he thought about it, Henry laughed.

The image of that long, golden hair and the white linen dress resurfaced in my mind. I wondered if she was still wiping away tears by the bedside.

If I can't go back...

Will Salia wait for me?

She shouldn't waste her youth on a jerk who broke his promise.

It's laughable that I would expect a destitute lord who talks nonsense to keep his promise.

Henry tossed the phonograph next to his pillow, intending to remove a long splinter from the bed frame to test the keyhole of the handcuffs.

Suddenly, there was a strange noise outside the door.

At first, there were only a few footsteps, then it turned into a chaotic, frantic run. Someone was shouting, the exact words indistinct through the thick oak door, but filled with panic. The scraping sound of metal armor against the stone slabs, mixed with the clatter of people falling, approached along the corridor.

Bang, bang.

The gunshot rang out in the enclosed passageway, shaking off the dust from the ceiling.

Henry rolled out of bed, pressed himself against the door, and held his breath.

Just outside the wall, the ear-piercing sound of fingernails scratching at the wall echoed. Then came a scream, but it was abruptly cut off halfway through, turning into a gurgling sound like a broken bellows leaking air.

"Thump."

A body slammed heavily against his door.

A deafening explosion erupted outside the castle, completely drowning out the noise outside the gate.

Immediately afterwards, the continuous sound of artillery fire tore through the night sky.

The entire stone castle began to tremble violently, the brass crystal lamps overhead swayed back and forth, and the glass fittings collided with each other, making a crisp sound.

Henry strode to the window, gripped the door with both hands, and peered outside.

The open field outside the courtyard was illuminated by the successive bursts of artillery fire. Four towering steel giants were rolling over the ruins of the outer walls and entering the battlefield.

There are four knight mechs, each four or five stories high, currently fighting outside. With the roar of their engines, heavy cannons are pouring firepower towards the outer perimeter.

Beneath the four knights, countless Sentinel walking mechs formed a battle array, their machine guns spewing flames that intertwined into a dense network of fire, fiercely engaging the enemy that surged in from the darkness, their full forms obscured.

Stray bullets streaked through the air, leaving trails as they flew about.

Right before Henry's eyes, a knight mech on the left flank of the battle line was entangled by a massive, writhing mass of flesh and blood. The thick metal armor deformed and twisted under the pressure.

The mass of flesh and blood dismantled the mech's limbs bit by bit, stripping away its armor and consuming all the engine flames. Finally, the unbalanced steel behemoth crashed to the ground, completely engulfed by the boundless darkness.

"What the hell?! They've made such a big fuss!" Henry cursed through gritted teeth. "Weren't they supposed to be completely broken?!"

He disregarded everything else and rushed towards the guest room door. The impact outside the corridor had already damaged the lock, and Henry, with a running start, slammed his shoulder against the oak door. With a crackling sound of wood breaking, the door swung open.

A nauseating smell of blood filled my nostrils.

On the stone slab outside the door, several people dressed as commoners were gathered around the body of the guard. They were cutting into the remains with rusty knives. Hearing the noise, they all stopped and turned around at the same time.

In the flickering firelight, Henry could see that their exposed skin was covered with dark red lines.

Twisted and blasphemous handwriting.

Chaos Cultists!