The Emperor’s Angel of Death

After leaving the Imperial Palace, Solzhenitsyn did not immediately return to orbit because he received a mysterious invitation.

Considering the help the other party had given him on Terra, Solzhenitsyn did not refuse, and he uncharacteristically changed into a silver-gray casual suit to go to the other party's residence.

As the sun set, the golden afterglow reddened the mist-filled bushes. Tyrian sat in a garden full of colorful flowers, a thick gold chain twisting back and forth in his fat hands. Many precious alien gems were strung on the chain, sparkling in the sunset. His fat body shifted uneasily on the heavy marble seat, his eyes darting around as if searching for hidden enemies. Around him was a circle of tall, thin trees, their branches overlapping to shade him from the sun.

In a place like Terra, the value of just this garden might exceed that of an entire star system in the remote areas of the galaxy.

Amidst the chirping of insects and birds, the sound of silver bells came from a fountain not far away. There were many other unseen fountains in this large garden, murmuring an eternal symphony day and night.

But Tyrian was not alone. Behind him leaned a tall, beautiful woman with healthy wheat-colored skin. She had beautiful wavy black hair that cascaded from her left shoulder down to Tyrian's shoulder. She wore a sexy deep V high-slit dress, revealing a large expanse of chest skin and most of her ample cleavage. Translucent crystal stilettos made her already slender legs even more perfect. The slit in the skirt almost reached her hip, vaguely revealing two black straps at the base of her rounded thighs, igniting the imagination.

“You value him highly. I have never seen you care so much about whether someone is late.”

Anna Murza Jack, Tyrian's work assistant and life secretary, teased softly while using her fingers to pinch strands of hair and tease Tyrian's ear.

“The High Lords will know he came here.”

“That's not a problem.”

Tyrian's fat face squeezed out a smile.

“I didn’t plan to hide it from anyone anyway.”

“What, do you want them to become another Minotaur?”

“You know, the reason that old stubborn fellow, Itu Hamotalion, is so arrogant is largely because he is the only High Lord who can truly control an Astartes Chapter. There is an old saying in ancient Terra, political power grows out of the barrel of a gun. Although the weapons of war on Terra are mostly language and conspiracy, violence can often play a key role. That's why everyone is so afraid of the Assassinorum, even more so than the Inquisition. The power of the Inquisition ultimately comes from authority, while the power of the Assassinorum comes from their violence.”

“But the Star Knights are not the same as the Minotaurs.”

“I never said there were any similarities between the two.”

Just then, a bell rang from the treetops. Tyrian's eyes flashed, and Anna Murza Jack, behind him, immediately stood up straight, transforming from a seductive little devil into a dignified noblewoman.

Soon, Solzhenitsyn, wearing casual clothes, walked along the path from a distance, led by a servant.

Tyrian then stood up and opened his arms.

“Oh, welcome, our Imperial hero, Chapter Master Solzhenitsyn. Your arrival makes my humble abode shine.”

Solzhenitsyn, wearing casual clothes, did not have the same powerful oppressive aura as when he was armored, but he was still a towering giant in front of Tyrian. He smiled and nodded.

“I am very honored to receive your invitation, Prime Minister.”

Tyrian turned to look at his secretary.

“Anna, go see how their preparations are going.”

“Yes.”

After the secretary left, Tyrian looked at Solzhenitsyn.

“Chapter Master, there's a tiny bit of time before dinner starts. Would you like to admire my private garden?”

Solzhenitsyn smiled and nodded, his attitude very humble.

“It would be an honor.”

Then the two strolled along the shaded path. Although the difference in size was so great, Tyrian did not appear humble or small. The aura of a superior was revealed in his demeanor. Obviously, he was very good at dealing with powerful warriors, like Solzhenitsyn.

“Sometimes I envy a life dominated by war. To be honest, I also underwent arduous training and almost became someone like you. If I had really become a member of the Imperial Fists or some Chapter, would I be able to walk side by side with you now?”

Tyrian stopped in front of a statue of a Space Marine, then sighed softly.

“Instead of being entangled with endless documents and reports every day, as if the work in front of me may never end.”

Solzhenitsyn replied with a smile:

“I almost became an Imperial civil servant like you. If I hadn't been chosen, perhaps this would be fate, or the Emperor's arrangement.”

As he spoke, he looked up at the distant Imperial Palace spires.

“After coming to Terra, I found that there is not much difference between the two. We fight in the galaxy, and you fight in the Imperial Palace. I really don't know which of our jobs is worse.”

“There is no doubt that it is worse here.”

Tyrian said the answer with a smile.

“After all, even the statues here have to learn to hedge their bets. Trust is more precious than the Emperor's handwritten letter. At least you can wholeheartedly trust your warriors and brothers.”

“It sounds like it.”

The smile disappeared from Solzhenitsyn's face, replaced by a pensive expression.

“But this may be more of a fantasy. You probably can't imagine the real battlefield. No disrespect, Prime Minister, but I have seen things that no normal person should see. I have seen the most steadfast and loyal Astartes defeated by the enemy, and I have also seen the fall and betrayal of the Astartes. Most people in the Empire do not believe that will happen, but I have seen it with my own eyes. I have also seen very terrible forces, terrifying evils lurking in the Warp, whose power is difficult for any real-world weapon to resist.”

Tyrian turned his head and saw Solzhenitsyn's gaze as firm as steel, then nodded.

“That is indeed terrible, but if I had a choice, I would not hesitate to follow a great warrior like you into the battlefield. It is always more meaningful than dying despairingly in bed or in a political assassination. I have always envied the power that the Astartes possess.”

“Prime Minister Tyrian, although you are not a High Lord, you are the indispensable lubricant for the operation of the Empire's ancient machine. Losing you is something we cannot afford. The power you possess is what we cannot match.”

“Haha, you flatter me. I am not a warrior, nor a general, nor a fleet commander. My power comes only from Imperial law, like my other colleagues, protected by words written on parchment. They give me status and define it. Without this piece of parchment, even the most ordinary hive city wanderer could kill me without hesitation and take the jewelry in my hand to exchange for weapons, and no one would stand up to help me. People in this galaxy only recognize power, it was so in the past, it is so now, and it will always be so.”