Chapter 300: A Masterpiece (Patreon)

…

One week later.

The Black Void entered the Talon System.

After the ship’s crew transmitted a docking request to the voidport, the entire warship was immediately seized by powerful tractor beams and dragged smoothly into its assigned berth.

Berrant stood the entire time before the bridge’s panoramic viewport, silently observing the Talon System.

There were only three worlds.

One was an unremarkable, habitable planet, its continents broken by cloud cover and the faint glimmer of orbital defense grids.

One was an ocean world, its seas an unnaturally deep blue, almost unsettling in their clarity.

And the last was a planet that appeared to be a city on a planetary scale, its surface layered with continent-spanning structures and artificial lights.

Even from orbit, the city-world radiated a cold orderliness. Towers rose in carefully planned strata, traffic lanes traced precise arcs, and entire regions pulsed faintly with industrial output. It was not a hive in decay or excess, it was a machine.

That was the entirety of the Talon System.

It was… different from what Berrant had imagined.

As the capital system of an entire sector, he had expected the void itself to be crowded with traffic, endless merchant convoys, Imperial warships, and orbital installations so dense they turned the planets into little more than anchors for megastructures, rotating in lockstep with rings of steel and fire.

Instead, it was quiet. Clean. Controlled.

“Welcome home, Thunderborn.”

A starport official’s facial projection appeared on the bridge. His tone was utterly flat, his expression devoid of warmth. The words welcome home carried no sincerity whatsoever.

“A teleportation station has been prepared for you,” the official continued mechanically. “After disembarking, turn right and exit through Dock Three. The teleportation platform assigned to you is located at the end of the corridor, left-hand side, against the bulkhead.”

As he spoke, a schematic map was transmitted to the bridge, the teleportation station marked in cold, precise lines.

Yoan had been received by this same official more than once before. In the past, he would have found fault with the man’s attitude. Now, however, he was just as numb as the official himself.

“Look at that sour face of yours,” a crewman laughed. “What, someone die in your family?”

“Don’t start with me,” the official replied icily, tapping at his control console as he continued the docking sequence. “The new supervisor is a bastard. I made a minor mistake, and he punished me by forcing me to work seventy-two hours straight.”

The tractor beams restraining the Black Void disengaged, replaced by a stabilizing energy field that locked the vessel firmly into its berth.

Automated shuttles flew in and out, docking at the hangar bays to ferry crew and cargo into the starport.

“So what was this ‘tiny mistake’?” Yoan asked casually. “Accidentally blew up a ship trying to dock it?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” the official said flatly. “I just didn’t flush the toilet.”

“Serves you right.”

“…”

One by one, the bridge crew powered down their stations and departed, boarding the waiting shuttles.

The shuttles made repeated runs between the Black Void and the starport interior, disembarking the crew.

Every single member of the Black Void’s crew was a pariah.

The moment they entered the starport concourse, civilians recoiled. Passersby deliberately detouring around them, casting looks of open disgust and loathing.

It made Berrant deeply uncomfortable.

He had believed or hoped that discrimination against blanks did not exist within the Talon Sector.

Fortunately or perhaps tragically, none of the other pariahs cared in the slightest. Through experience and instruction, they had long since learned why normal humans reacted to them this way.

Along the route to the teleportation station were several small vendor stalls. The Black Void’s communications officer jogged over and bought two packets of snacks. The shopkeeper recoiled as if burned, clearly considering even the offered money tainted, and refused payment entirely.

The communications officer returned and distributed the snacks to the others, even to the Iron Man.

“…”

Heatdeath lowered his head, staring at the offered food. After three seconds, his twin red optical sensors rotated to focus on the communications officer’s face.

“You people in the Talon Sector…” Berrant said quietly as he walked beside Yoan. “You seem… very equal.”

“How so?” Yoan asked.

“You’re a Thunderborn,” Berrant said carefully. “Yet that official didn’t use any honorifics. No reverence. No fear. You know what I mean.”

“Hah.” Yoan snorted and shook his head. “That guy’s the nephew of one of the heads of the Talon II Knight Houses. I didn’t bite his head off purely out of respect for his uncle.”

The group soon arrived at the teleportation station. Yoan pushed Berrant gently toward the communications officer, then stepped onto the platform with Heatdeath.

“Destination set: Talon I Research Facility. Primary Teleportarium.”

[“This location is classified,”] the system intoned. [“Thunderborn Yoan, please verify your identity.”]

Yoan allowed the scanners to sweep over him without resistance, then turned his head slightly and issued an order.

“Take our new companion back to District Thirteen. See that he’s properly settled.”

“Understood,” the communications officer nodded.

In a flash of blue light, Yoan and Heatdeath vanished from the platform.

…

“Just because you’re an Iron Man doesn’t mean you can ignore etiquette when standing before the Lord of Talon. He appreciates good manners. I hope you are a polite Iron Man.”

Yoan stepped off the teleportation platform inside the research facility.

Even while traveling through dimensional transit, he had been briefing Heatdeath on how to behave when meeting Qin Mo. Heatdeath found carbon-based ceremonial customs pointless and inefficient, but remembering Yoan’s words, he listened carefully and stored every instruction.

The planned procedure was to pass through over a dozen security checkpoints before ascending to the highest level of the facility to report on the events at Baal.

Yet the moment Yoan stepped off the platform, he froze.

Qin Mo himself was standing directly in front of the teleportation platform.

“Governor,” Yoan said immediately, dropping into a formal salute.

Heatdeath mimicked the gesture a heartbeat later.

“You’ve worked hard,” Qin Mo said calmly. “Did everything go smoothly?”

“Perfectly,” Yoan replied. “Inquisitor Bellona is dead. The pariah at her side was brought back with me.”

He continued, recounting the incident in detail.

“The pariah killed Bellona. A Puritan Inquisitor wanted her dead even more than we did.”

“Bellona truly was a wretch.”

“Heatdeath’s surveillance programs also recorded her telling her acolyte that she intended to come to Talon to carry out her plan.”

“…"

Throughout Yoan’s report, Qin Mo’s gaze never once left Heatdeath.

His eyes were alight with interest, almost enthusiasm and a smile tugged persistently at his lips. Bellona’s death barely seemed to register.

Heatdeath felt a strong urge to interrupt and state that he possessed a complete hololithic record of the incident, but recalling Yoan’s warning that the Lord of Talon favored politeness, he remained silent and waited.

“She’s dead,” Qin Mo said at last, cutting Yoan off. “That’s enough. Go rest on Talon III for two days. Then contact Anruida. He has matters that will require your assistance.”

“Yes,” Yoan replied, saluting once more before returning to the teleportation platform.

A flash of blue light, and he was gone, back to the starport.

Only Heatdeath remained.

Qin Mo stepped closer, examining him with open admiration. His smile widened.

“An interesting Iron Man,” he said. “Formidable combat capability. True intelligence. You are a masterpiece, one that makes me proud. There are only three creations that have ever truly filled me with pride: dimensional teleportation, the Thunderborn… and you.”

At that moment, Heatdeath’s data-processing core detected a completely unprecedented surge of internal signals, vast, complex, and impossible to quantify.

If summarized in a single word, it would be: joy.

Suddenly, Heatdeath recalled what the mothership’s central intelligence had once told him. Driven by a need for confirmation, he spoke.

“The core intelligence said… that I was its creation.”

“Don’t listen to it,” Qin Mo replied dismissively. “When it decided to create a more powerful Iron Man, it asked for my input. I personally designed your systems. You merely utilize a portion of its computational capacity, nothing more. Had I been present in the Red Scar Sector at the time, I would have built your intelligence core myself."

“I knew it,” Heatdeath said, nodding, deeply moved.

“Come,” Qin Mo said, turning away. “Let me examine you more closely.”

He gestured for Heatdeath to follow.