Chapter 297: The Death of the Inquisitor (Patreon)

“Inquisitor.”

“Lord Barent.”

Bellona and Barent Klein exchanged formal bows, the calculated politeness of two powerful individuals who trust each other only as far as profit and necessity demand.

Bellona’s gaze shifted to the young woman at Klein’s side. “She must be your daughter. Emperor’s light, she possesses remarkable beauty.”

The girl dipped her head with restrained poise, her features had the sharp, symmetrical elegance common among voidborn aristocracy, though her eyes carried a spark of genuine curiosity not often seen among merchant dynasties.

After the polite flattery, Bellona produced a bolt pistol, its matte frame engraved with High Gothic sigils of judgment, and offered it to the girl.

“I heard you have a fondness for weapons. Consider this my greeting gift. Handle it carefully, this sidearm has executed more than a few heretics.”

“Thank you, my Lady Inquisitor.” Klein’s daughter accepted the pistol, admiring it with excitement.

It was a bolt pistol scaled for human use, not the massive, brutish variant wielded by Adeptus Astartes, but still more than capable of rupturing a body into red mist.

“That pistol isn’t payment,” Klein said calmly.

“Of course not.” Bellona nodded. “As we agreed: you bring us into any star system under Talon control, and I provide you with one full ton of Blackstone.”

Klein raised a brow. “May I ask how you managed to acquire Blackstone?”

“I leveraged certain… connections within the Mechanicus.”

“…”

While Bellona and Klein conversed, Ayen, silent, motionless, observed Klein closely.

The middle-aged Rogue Trader bore a long scar across his cheek, and thick calluses lined his palms. His grip, visibly widened at the web of the thumb, marked him as someone who had held weapons for decades.

Ayen doubted Klein’s official profile.

According to the data Bellona had received, intelligence painstakingly collected by the Ordo Hereticus, Klein was merely an opportunist. A Talon native who, before the Lord of Talon united the region, had simply discovered the rising power early and provided ships and weapons.

Yet nothing about Klein felt like a pampered profiteer. He moved like a soldier who had killed many men.

His presence felt heavier than his thin frame suggested, as though he carried a history far bloodier than the Inquisition’s reports claimed.

“Pardon me,” Ayen finally spoke, directing the question at Klein. “I’ve heard your stories and I admire your achievements. Is it true that you helped fund the Talon Unification War?”

A smile tugged at Klein’s lips, his brow slightly raised. “There are many rumors about any so-called notable figure. If I had to confirm or deny every tale people tell about me, I would die from exhaustion before old age.”

Ayen gained nothing from the exchange but suspicion. He would’ve pressed further, until Bellona’s sharp gaze told him to let it go.

By then, Bellona and Klein had concluded their negotiation. She handed him the activation key for her transport’s cargo hold. Klein, in turn, pointed them toward the merchant vessel he had prepared for their passage.

The trade was completed neatly, professionally.

“I look forward to our next cooperation,” Bellona said, bowing once more.

“If circumstances allow, I would welcome it.” Klein returned the gesture, turning away with his entourage as the elevator sealed shut.

Bellona motioned for Ayen and Berrant to follow. Their path toward the port led through a long transit tunnel, strangely empty.

Too empty.

No workers. No merchants. No traffic.

“A trading hub should be crowded,” Ayen muttered. The silence gnawed at him.

“I don’t like this,” he said, grabbing Bellona’s arm. “Klein is wrong, everything about him is wrong. He doesn’t act like an opportunist.”

Bellona halted, fixing him with a cold stare. “Keen observation. Good. But tell me, should I trust you, or the combined intelligence of my fellow Inquisitors?”

“You trust your colleagues?” Ayen shot back. “Have you considered that their intel only appeared after you filed the request? And considering the Talon Sector’s near-impenetrable secrecy, how accurate do you think those reports actually are?”

“I understand your concern,” Bellona said quietly. “But we’ve invested too much. We cannot simply retreat.”

Ayen looked helplessly toward Berrant, who merely shrugged and followed the Inquisitor into the dim tunnel.

The further they walked, the darker the lights became. A faint unease prickled Ayen’s skin, whether from the flickering luminants or his psyker sensitivity, he wasn’t sure.

Halfway through the tunnel, the lights died completely for a heartbeat.

When they blinked back on, a towering metal figure stood ahead.

A machine-being, bristling with multiple mechanical limbs, each tipped with a tool or blade, and leaned casually on a power sword planted in the center of the path.

The lights began to flicker.

Ayen studied them. The machine studied back.

The tunnel’s infrastructure was new; the lights shouldn’t flicker. Therefore, the metallic entity was creating the effect on purpose.

It wanted an entrance. A dramatic one.

“You—” Bellona’s words cut off as her right arm detached at the shoulder. Blood splattered violently across the wall.

Before the pain even reached her mind, Bellona rewound the last fraction of a second in stunned clarity.

The machine had been twenty meters away. It leaned forward and in the next instant it stood in front of her, power sword already cleaving.

The machine’s second slash came instantly. But two sparks flared on its armored torso.

Berrant had fired special armor-piercing rounds at point-blank, but the bullets hadn’t even scratched the polish.

Bellona braced for death, but Ayen roared and thrust both hands forward.

A concussive psychic force erupted outward, hurling the iron construct backward down the tunnel.

Having saved Bellona with his psionic energy, Ayen had no time to celebrate; he lifted his blood-drained mentor and sprinted in the opposite direction.

“WE WERE SET UP BY THAT DAMN TRADER!” he shouted. “Why couldn’t you just let it go—! You’re too desperate for results!”

Bellona listened to her acolyte’s furious complaints, blatant insubordination in any other circumstance. She wanted to reprimand him… But her blood loss had drained her strength.

Just as Ayen resolved to get her out alive, another silhouette emerged ahead.

A Pariah. A Blank.

Ayen felt a wave of nausea hit him like a hammer. He staggered, unable to support Bellona’s weight.

Bellona forced her eyes open, she recognized the newcomer.

A member of the Lord of Talon’s personal guard.

She had seen him on Cadia.

A Thunderborn.

The one who wanted her dead was now unmistakably clear.

Yoan approached slowly, power sword at his side, flanked by two more Nulls. The psychic pressure intensified, Ayen could barely breathe, but he still stood protectively before Bellona.

Sweat poured from his brow despite the cold tunnel air, and each breath felt laced with shards of glass.

When the distance between them closed to about five meters, Ayen focused on dealing with Yoan, heard a sharp, single gunshot rang out.

A neat hole opened between Bellona’s brows.

Ayen froze in horror. He slowly turned.

Berrant lowered his smoking pistol, face emotionless. “You have no idea what horrors she would have unleashed,” he said coldly, and fired twice more into her skull.

Each shot echoed longer than it should have, swallowed by the tunnel’s dead silence.

Even Yoan was stunned, he hadn’t expected the Inquisitor’s own retinue to betray her.

Ayen hadn’t expected it either but his instincts, honed from years surviving the Underhive, told him to flee. He spun around, only to find the metallic assassin blocking the path.

“Their psychic strength isn’t even close to a Tyranid’s,” the metallic construct remarked dryly to Yoan. “I told you, beheading her myself would’ve been faster.”