40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 698 80. Interlude: Workaholic (I)

Nothing in this world is permanent, except work.

There is no end to the work. You can risk your life to try, but in the end, it is the work that wins. You can spend 80% of your day working, but you can't finish it.

You can even go so far as to abandon the most basic needs of being a human being and transform yourself into a cyborg that only needs to inject nutrients at regular intervals to meet basic physiological needs, but this still won't help.
"How many officials in the Executive Yuan die from overwork every year?" Carlier asked sincerely.

A man answered his question in sign language.

This person was wearing a black robe and had the personal seal of the seal bearer on his shoulder. He had no hair at all and his pupils were as thin as needles, which was obviously a result of artificial transformation.

On his forehead was embroidered a celestial eagle with gold thread, and his pale, bloodless lips were divided into evenly spaced prisms by the gold thread, subtly imbuing the beauty of mathematics and a certain pattern.

Thirteen.

"There are so many?"

The man nodded and signed again. His blunt emphasis almost gave Khalil a headache, so he put down the data tablet in his hand and asked another question as the shuttle shook under his feet.

“Have there been any reforms to administrative efficiency?”

The man hesitated for a moment, nodded, and made a more complicated sign language.

Khalil saw it clearly, and the depression in his heart became stronger. But it was not because of this terrible language system, but simply because he found it difficult to accept what the mute guard told him.
Three hours ago, he left the Iron Lord's fortress with a belly full of precious wine worth a thousand gold. He didn't know where he was going, and what he would learn that would never make anyone happy.

In fact, he was trying to perfect a joke that had just occurred to him.

He thought that if someone killed him now, cut open his ribs, and then took out the dozen bottles of wine, they might be able to sell them for a good price and live a life of luxury from then on, as long as they were not mixed into unpalatable and deadly chemicals.

And now, he was thinking about the terrible system within the Imperial Executive Council, which was enough to turn any fine wine into bitter medicine, and enough to make anyone who tried to take the risk of killing him to get the wine lose everything.

Executive Yuan. He sighed as he recalled and began to perfect his impression of it.

From the data, he knew that the Executive Yuan was a complex and huge organization. It was located in the solar system, but it did not have a fortress. In fact, it was placed on a huge battleship, which would slowly pass through every fortress and stronghold in the solar system every century.

The complexity of the system can be seen from this incident. Take the most basic personnel selection as an example. Every official who passes the selection and examination and successfully enters the Executive Yuan to take up any position will be reformed one week before they take office.

The Empire had already developed a high level of technology in this area thousands of years ago, especially in life extension and mechanization. Thanks to the common needs of high-ranking officials and nobles and the Mechanicus, the promotion of these two technologies was the most extensive.

But the Executive Yuan's reserve officers face something different; none of the modifications listed on their surgical lists are for the benefit of their own lives or future enjoyment.

Strengthen the heart and make it a furnace-like energy generator. Remove the stomach and replace it with the second energy furnace. Replace blood vessels, nerves, and muscles so that they can react with the energy furnace in the body to obtain better output, speed, and work.
This is just the tip of the iceberg. More advanced operations involving modifications to parts of the brain are not even within the reach of reserve officers. Only high-level administrative personnel are qualified to perform these operations.

In other words, if a person holds a high position in the Executive Yuan, then there is probably not much flesh left in his body.

His bones will be replaced with durable metal, his heart will become a roaring engine, his veins will no longer be filled with blood, but electricity or other energy, and his brain will be connected to the Thinker Array, processing government affairs non-stop in microseconds.
He will not even leave his seat again, but will continue to undergo transformation over the course of hundreds of years, eventually losing his human form.

He no longer needs to eat, various nutrient solutions will replace them to supply his body. He also no longer needs to rest, drugs, electronic stimulation and various suggestions can keep him in working state.

And so he would work until he voluntarily accepted death, or merged with the Executive Council, transforming into an advanced but huge Thinker, the same size as the walls, filling an entire room.

It was something more torturous than any torture, but Khalil couldn't make any comment about it.

Every reserve officer will be assessed for a long time before entering the Executive Yuan. Before obtaining this qualification, they may have worked at the grassroots level for more than ten years or even decades.

After that, they will receive an invitation letter signed by the seal holder himself, which will explain in detail the possible harms of the Executive Yuan's work and the impact on them personally.

If they still agree, they will be taken to the first floor of the Executive Yuan for a tour, and they can leave at any time. Only those who insist on staying will be eligible for training and examinations.

Moreover, even if you have passed the exam, you can regret and quit at any time within that week. There will be no punishment, and you will even receive the Executive Yuan Reserve Badge as a reward and proof of your ability. No matter where you go in the future, you will have a good future.
In other words, they are all voluntary.

They willingly risked their souls and lives, wasting their humanity in endless work, knowing from the beginning that they would become a nail in the hub of the empire and would become part of it after death.

These people know this very well, but they enjoy it.

Khalil looked down at the data board in his hand, on which a report was paused. It used sufficient investigation and data to reveal one thing: since the establishment of the Executive Yuan nearly ten thousand years ago, only eleven percent of people have chosen to withdraw from the selection.

This is simply
He swallowed the second half of his sentence and suppressed the urge to sigh, feeling that even showing a little bit of pity would be disrespectful to these people.

The shuttle continued to shake, and the scenery outside the porthole was spectacular. Dark chains that were no smaller than mountains, or perhaps even larger, floated among the stars, connecting one planet-sized fortress after another.

However, unless you look carefully, ordinary people will never notice these chains. They are so dark that they seem to not exist in the real universe, and no light can stay on their surface.
Everything—the rays, the lights, the tail flames of the engines—was lost in the dead silence and darkness. Between the fortresses, countless ships were sailing in an orderly manner in their assigned areas.

Caravans were with each other, nobles were with each other, warships were parked at the far end, patrolling silently. The small patrol boats of the Ministry of Justice were floating above everyone's heads, and travelers from afar were in the huge cargo ships, bowing three times and nine times to the most dazzling light in the solar system.

order.

Khalil looked away, and the anger in his chest was finally relieved. He felt relieved - order is always good, and the worst, most extreme, and most violent order is a hundred times better than chaos.

If there had been a king on Nostramo who unified the planet of eternal night before he started the massacre, I'm afraid it wouldn't have become as extreme as it did later.

He lowered his head and continued to check the information on the data board, already in working mode. Malcador gave him five days, but he didn't need such a long rest time.
About ten minutes later, the shuttle turned off its engine and docked in a starport.

The mute guard walked out of the plane first, turned back and gestured to him, indicating that he was leaving temporarily. Before leaving, he did not forget to call up a map on the data board for him, as well as a complete route map. After doing this, he put on his hood and left in a hurry.

Khalil watched him completely disappear in the crowd, then he retracted his gaze and began to observe the surrounding environment. This had already become his instinct, but now he was wearing a full set of Inquisitor uniform, a wide-brimmed hat, and holding a data tablet in his hand.
In a short while, the people passing by tacitly turned the area several meters around him into a vacuum zone, and no one got close to him anymore.

Khalil had no choice but to follow the map, feeling both amused and helpless.

The interior of the starport was huge, like an intricate little world, where almost anyone and anything could be found. From vendors to smugglers, everything was available. Khalil even saw some petty thieves sneaking around the edge of the crowd.

He pretended not to see them, but changed direction and took a long detour to walk towards them. The boy on guard saw an inquisitor walking towards them and almost screamed out in fright.
But they still had some psychological quality after all, and soon raised the alarm without causing too much trouble. Khalil secretly found it funny, but still pretended to know nothing and continued on his way.

He quickly left the landing pad and followed the instructions on the map to board an elevator, which eventually stopped at the 32nd floor. When the elevator door slowly opened, the world before his eyes had nothing to do with the previous noise.

The melodious piano music echoed in the fresh air. Large tracts of green plants were scattered on both sides of the road. The white stone brick road and the villas with different designs showed Khalil the true identity of the 32nd floor with their low-key luxury.
He took off his hat and strode onto the expensive road. The workers in uniform, sweeping the road on both sides, immediately noticed him, and many of them began to use the walkie-talkies on their belts to report to their superiors. Judging from their muscular bodies, these people were obviously not just simple cleaners. Khalil took it all in without making any comments - he was here to work, and he should have a working attitude when working, just like those cleaners.

Their diligent behavior soon received a response. When Khalil crossed an intersection and was about to head to the gate of the most luxurious manor in this ecological dome, the sound of horse hooves sounded behind him.

He turned around and saw a pale white carriage. Two white horses that looked like monsters were looking down at him with their heads lowered and hot white mist coming out of their noses.

The door was soon opened, and a lady dressed very elegantly stepped out of the carriage, led by a servant, and bowed slightly to him gracefully.

Khalil glanced down at the data pad in his hand and pulled up the target page.

"Sir, you should have informed us before you came—"

"—That's not necessary, Ms. Rosta Brar."

The lady's smile did not fade at all. She nodded and continued, "So, what is the purpose of your visit this time, my lord?"

"To investigate the murder of Major Abelard Brar at the end of the thirty-ninth millennium," Khalil replied.

He still lowered his head, his fingers sliding on the datapad. The servant standing beside the lady raised his head anxiously, trying to see the information on the datapad with the smallest movement, but to no avail.

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The lady herself was indifferent. She thought seriously for a moment and said, "If my memory is correct, my grandfather's case was declared closed twelve years after his death. May I have a word with you, sir? We have prepared tea."

"I can't have tea now," Caryl said, looking up. "But, yes, Major Brar's case was settled a long time ago, but that's not why I'm here."

".Sir?" The lady's smile finally became a little stiff. "I don't understand, could you please explain it to me?"

Khalil didn't look at her again, but put on his wide-brimmed hat and drew the power sword from his waist. With a hum, the decomposition force field was activated immediately.

The servant's face changed instantly, and he subconsciously stood in front of the noble lady, but the attack he imagined did not come. The judge did not even look at him and his master again, but turned and walked into the manor.

He and his master looked at each other in bewilderment and had to hurry up. The private soldiers in the manor were anxiously asking for orders, and no one dared to act rashly. They could only watch the sudden arrival of the judge walking through the manor's hedge maze, marble square, and historic fountain.
Then he chopped off the statue of Abelard Brar next to the fountain with his sword.

The rocks rolled down and hit the ground, like a dull thunder. Smelly blood gushed out from the broken face of the statue, dyeing the fountain and the white ground red in a moment. Countless human viscera slid out, bringing with them heat and a hellish nightmare.
Khalil narrowed his eyes, threw down his sword, put the five fingers of his right hand together, and stabbed into the base of the statue like a knife, grabbing the throat of a monster tightly to prevent it from screaming and polluting the souls of others.

It was only then that people began to scream.

The private soldiers were screaming, the servants were screaming, and so were the noble young men and young ladies who were inside the manor and peeking out. Among all the people present, only the noble lady remained calm.

She took a deep breath, pulled out a short knife from the servant's waist, cut off her skirt without hesitation, and then strode towards the fountain.

Khalil raised his left hand toward her without looking back.

"My Lord!" She stopped where she was and shouted loudly. "I swear to the Emperor that I will unconditionally support whatever you do next!"

Khalil did not answer, but slowly exerted force with his right hand, completely extinguishing the last bit of hope of the thing in the statue. Only after he finished this task did he speak.

"No, it's not necessary." He pulled his hand away, picked up the sword again, and slowly stood up. "You don't have to prove anything to me. The loyalty of the Brar family is unquestionable, lady. You have devoted your lives to the empire for a long time."

"And the conspiracy of this evil creature has nothing to do with you. It is just lurking here, waiting to stir up trouble one day in the future, so that the half-month perseverance and sacrifice of Abelard Brar and his 673 family soldiers on the cliffs of Rovirus will be in vain, and their blood will be wasted. But it will not succeed."

He turned to look at the woman, who froze, thinking that the Inquisitor did not look human at all at this moment.

Fortunately, his gaze did not last too long, and soon he sheathed the sword.

"The person responsible for handling this will be here in a few minutes." He said calmly. "According to the regulations, they need to thoroughly check every detail here, but I have checked it. Except for this statue, every inch of your family's land is pure."

"So, where are the people?" Rosta Brar asked. She grasped the knife unconsciously, her fingers turning white.

Khalil looked at her and suddenly smiled: "People are the same, but I am just being nosy. It's time to change some of your family's traditions."

"What do you mean?"

Khalil looked up at the two little heads sticking out of the second-floor window on the right side of the manor and spoke softly.

"If I remember correctly, these two children are the only ones left alive in this generation of the Brar family. According to tradition, these two children will join the army as soon as they reach the age of military service, right?"

"Sacrifice is the foundation of the Empire, my Lord."

"Yes, but it is strong enough now. Wait a minute, ma'am, and let your family prosper before we talk about other things. I think if Major Abelard knew about this, he would agree with me."

Rosta Brar's expression changed for a while, and finally, she let out a sigh, and her shoulders, which had been raised, suddenly dropped.

".We must maintain the honor of our family, but, you are also right. But, excuse me, who are you?"

Khalil did not answer the question, but turned to look at the noble lady with a meaningful look in his eyes. Little did she know that in another world, her grandfather was actually standing beside her.

Abelard Brar, who had been dead for many years, slowly made the Sky Eagle salute to him, with a huge hole revealing hideously on his bloodstained chest.

Khalil nodded slightly and returned the greeting, saying, "I am only an inquisitor - may the Emperor bless you, ma'am."

Behind him, the mute guard who had left earlier was walking quickly with a team of people. A few minutes later, the case was closed. According to the regulations, Khalil would bring it back to the court in the near future, hand it over to the seal holder, and finally seal it in the file.

But before that.
The shuttle's engines hummed to life.

Khalil looked down at the data pad in his hand, swiped it several times, looked up at the mute guard, and suddenly made a joke: "I'm afraid you will have to work overtime with me today."

The mute guard shook his head, handed him a new data pad, and then signed: The work never ends.

Khalil stopped smiling.

(End of this chapter)