The red warning line on the system panel was still flashing; Karen had already started running.
“Let’s go!” Horus didn’t move.
He turned around, facing the direction of the tunnel dug by the Stealers inside the temple, as if assessing the battlefield situation.
“Inquisition.” The Wolf Shepherd God rolled the word over his tongue.
“What kind of Imperial institution is this?
There were similar organizations during the Great Crusade, but back then they were under Malcador’s oversight.
How many are coming?” “You don’t understand.” Karen ran back and tugged at his cloak, but it wouldn’t budge.
He tried pushing, but that didn’t work either.
He simply stood directly in front of Horus, craning his neck to look up.
“The Inquisition isn’t here to save people.
Their standard procedure—step one: eliminate the xenos.
Step two: purge all witnesses.
Step three: burn the entire area to the ground.
Hundreds of believers in the temple just saw you—a 3.5-meter-tall bald giant tearing Stealers apart with his bare hands.
How do you think the Inquisition will classify you?” Horus frowned.
“I am a Primarch.” “Right, go explain that to the Inquisitor.
‘Hello, I’m Horus Lupercal, the Empire’s number one traitor, but I’ve turned over a new leaf now.’ Do you think he’ll fire his gun first or call for an Exterminatus first?” The Wolf Shepherd God’s frown deepened.
“Big brother, we’re unregistered now!” Karen’s voice rose an octave.
“You have no Legion, no warships, no logistics—you’re just a shirtless casualty!
Broaden your perspective; staying low is the ultimate win!” Three seconds.
Horus was silent for a full three seconds.
Various emotions battled across that sharp-featured face.
Pride, indignation, and reason; finally, reason narrowly won.
“Let’s go.” A single word, forced through gritted teeth.
Karen thought to himself, *Thank goodness this ancestor of mine finally saw sense.* The two of them slipped into the mid-level freight passage along the side of the temple’s drainage ditch.
This passage was a main artery for transporting ammunition and industrial raw materials through the Hive City, wide enough that Horus didn’t have to hunch over.
Red emergency lights flickered, the air was filled with ozone and the smell of char, and the ventilation system overhead emitted a piercing howl.
Karen walked ahead to scout, stopping at every junction to check the tracking countdown on his system panel.
Nine minutes.
Seven minutes.
Five minutes.
When they reached the fourth junction, he stopped.
Fifty meters ahead, the passage was blocked by a temporary barricade.
Two humanoid silhouettes stood behind the barricade, their black Storm Carapace absorbing most of the light, revealing only the T-shaped red visor slits on their helmets.
Inquisitorial Stormtroopers.
One of them held a device that emitted a continuous high-frequency beep—a Psionic Detector, scanning every passing organism.
Karen pulled Horus into a maintenance alcove on the side.
“Damn, they’re faster than expected,” he cursed under his breath while quickly pulling up the system mall.
[Psionic Jamming Beacon (Single-use)]: Releases a false psionic signal to lead tracking protocols in a designated direction.
Duration: 15 minutes.
Price: 3,000 points.
Buy.
A thumb-sized metal buckle fell into his palm.
Karen peeked out to scan both sides of the passage, his gaze locking onto a giant mutant rat gnawing on cable insulation at the base of the wall.
Half a meter long, with a tail thicker than Karen’s arm and fist-sized tumors bulging under its fur.
Karen clipped the beacon onto a crumb of dry ration and slid it in front of the giant rat.
The rat snatched the crumb, and the beacon got stuck in the folds of its neck.
Karen grabbed an iron pipe near his feet and slammed it hard against the ground behind the rat’s rear.
Clang!
The rat jumped in fright and bolted in the opposite direction of the passage, dragging its half-meter-long tail.
Five seconds later, the beeping of the Psionic Detector behind the barricade suddenly changed pitch.
“Signal shift!
Northwest, moving fast!” The two Stormtroopers glanced at each other and took off in pursuit.
Karen tugged Horus’s cloak and rushed past the empty barricade.
The sight of Horus being pulled along by a mortal was absurd in itself, but he didn’t say a word.
Leaving the freight passage, the two slipped into the “Grey Zone”—the gap between the Hive City’s mid-level and the bottom level.
This area had no administrative designation and belonged to no jurisdiction.
Shacks made of scrap metal and plastic film were stacked layer upon layer, piled crookedly up to the ceiling.
Beneath their feet was nothing but compacted trash.
Mutant fungi sprouted from every wall crack, their fluorescent green caps emitting a faint light.
This was the only lighting in the Grey Zone.
The air was damp and stuffy, a mix of boiled synthetic protein and industrial waste that could turn a normal person’s stomach.
Horus stopped in front of a corrugated iron shack.
The door was open.
An old woman sat on a tattered mattress, cradling a skin-and-bones young boy in her arms.
The boy was already asleep, while the old woman continued to murmur softly: “The Emperor above, grant us tomorrow’s rations…
The Emperor above, protect our souls…” Her voice was dry and raspy, like wind blowing over rusted iron.
Horus stood outside the door, motionless.
Karen didn’t rush him.
Three seconds.
The Wolf Shepherd God looked away and continued forward.
After seven or eight steps, his voice was so low it was almost inaudible: “Father indeed never imagined being prayed to like this.” He paused.
“But if these prayers can get them through the night, then let them pray.” Karen glanced at him but said nothing.
But he remembered those words.
This was the first time Horus hadn’t lost his temper at the Ecclesiarchy.