Chapter 70: Echoes of the Siege
Kian Voss strode back onto the main thoroughfare of the Mid-Hive. Behind him, Dr. Drax came scurrying out of the clinic like a panicked scavenger bird.
"No! Wait! Don't go! We are men of reason! Let's talk!"
Kian didn't slow down.
"Fifteen scrips per hundred milliliters! Come on, man! Think of my overhead!"
Kian kept walking.
"Twenty! Twenty scrips! Fine... twenty-five! That is my final offer, I swear by the Omnissiah's holy gears! Twenty-five is the floor!"
Kian didn't even look back. He was heading straight for the Cathedral. He'd seen this show before; Drax was the same kind of "Space-Squid" who'd tried to hike the price on the Matrix. The only way to deal with a vulture was to let it starve until it cooperated.
Finally, as the gargantuan shadow of the Emperor's statue loomed over the street, Drax collapsed in a heap of desperation.
"Fine! Forty! Forty scrips it is!" the chirurgeon shrieked. "Forty scrips per hundred milliliters! But you have to promise me—you won't sell to any other chirurgeon in this sector! I want the exclusive!"
Kian stopped and turned around, looking down at the vulturous man. "Only if you can buy every drop I produce. If you can't move the volume, I'll find someone who can."
Drax's face twisted into his signature oily, calculating grin. He stood up, rubbing his hands together with a dry, rasping sound. "Do not worry, my 'quality' customer. No matter how much you bring me, the Order of the Twin Serpents will find a way to bleed the patients for it."
They finalized the trade in the middle of the street. Kian handed over the five liters of ethanol. Drax wrapped the bottles in his blood-stained white robe, cradling them like a sack of gold. He counted out 2,000 scrips and pressed them into Kian's hand.
[DING! MISSION COMPLETE: THE ETHANOL DROUGHT]
[Reputation: Dr. Drax (Twin-Serpent Chirurgeon) Rank 0
→\to→ Rank 1]
[UNLOCKED TIER-1 MEDICAE REQUISITION]
Refined Med-Kit (1200 Durability): 5,000 Scrips.
Master-pattern Surgical Suite (12 Uses): 5,000 Scrips.
High-Intensity Pain-Suppressants (8 Uses): 5,000 Scrips.
[UNLOCKED SANCTUM UPGRADES]
Liquid Extraction Unit: 200,000 Scrips.
High-Resolution Logic-Lens (Microscope): 50,000 Scrips.
Bio-Variant Incubation Chamber: 400,000 Scrips.
Kian looked at the prices for the upgrades and felt a fresh wave of nausea. He'd just made 2,000 scrips, and the next piece of gear cost 200,000.
"I'm earning in copper and spending in gold," Kian muttered. "I need to find a way to automate this profit."
Drax adjusted his bundle of booze and looked at Kian. "If you can bring me a full Metric Ton of medical-grade spirits in a single shipment, I will give you more than just credits. I will give you my 'Eternal Friendship.' And believe me, having a Twin-Serpent doctor owe you a life-debt is worth more than a Spire-Noble's head."
[DING! MISSION UNLOCKED: THE SPIRIT MONOPOLY]
Objective: Deliver 1,000 Liters of Medical Ethanol to Dr. Drax.
Reward: Drax's Life-Debt (Unique Perk) + Mass Scrip Bonus.
Kian looked up at the golden statue of the Emperor, glinting 45 degrees in the artificial Mid-Hive sun.
"PDF heroes holding the line in the mud, and vulture-doctors selling 'mercy' for gold in the Hive," Kian whispered. "Truly, Imperial Lord, you've built a masterpiece of a civilization."
Minutes later, Kian paid his entry fee and stepped into the Cathedral of the Blessed Martyr. The air was thick with the same chanting and the same desperate prayers.
He scanned the rows of cenobites and spotted the bribeable monk from his previous visit standing in the exact same spot. Apparently, the hierarchy of the Cathedral was as rigid as the stone walls.
Kian shuffled over, blending in with the crowd of worshippers, and offered a Lho-stick. "Praise the Throne. How's the light today?"
The monk took the stick, tucking it away with practiced speed. "Praise the Throne. He saw I had a bout of gut-rot, so he saw fit to switch my rations to 100% corpse starch. Now, I can't even pass my own waste. Truly, His light is blinding and His wisdom is absolute."
Kian bit his lip to keep from laughing. He pulled out Little Joel's envelope and handed it over, making sure the monk felt the 100-scrip note tucked beneath it.
The monk's eyes didn't even flicker. He pocketed the bribe and the letter. "Wait here. Do not wander."
As the monk vanished through the side-door, the Preacher at the pulpit reached the crescendo of the noon-litany. "LOYALTY IS ITS OWN REWARD! THE UNCLEAN SHALL PERISH!"
The crowd roared back in a chaotic wall of sound. Kian figured he'd better join in before someone noticed he wasn't shouting. He cupped his hands and began his ritual "Warp-Shitposting."
"Hey, Old Man on the Chair!" Kian bellowed into the noise. "When you finally struck down the Arch-Traitor, did you think about the good times?
"In the meat, Horus was the son and you were the father! But in the heart, you were the career-man and he was the one who just wanted to be loved! You gave him the titles, you gave him the fleets, but you wouldn't give him the truth!
"He gave you his soul, and you gave him a 'Mission Statement'! You crushed the fire in his heart with your logic of 'Humanity First'! He wept when he realized he had to kill his father, the one man he wanted to walk into the sunset with!
"Horus hated you because he loved you too much, you golden-plated fossil! What do you have to say for yourself now?!"
The blasphemous rant was perfectly hidden under the thunderous shouts of "GLORY TO TERRA!" from the rest of the faithful.
However, one man—the same pilgrim who had overheard Kian's riddles last time—was kneeling just a few feet away. He froze. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face.
"Truly... a tragic romance of the stars..." the pilgrim whispered to himself. He didn't dare look at Kian. He didn't dare report him. He just assumed Kian was some sort of high-level madman or a daemon-vessel, and if he ignored him, maybe he wouldn't be purged along with him.
Kian was finishing his rant when the side-door creaked open. The monk returned, but he wasn't alone.
He stepped aside, and a young girl in the white and grey robes of a Cathedral Novice stepped into the nave. She was pale, her eyes red from crying, but she looked healthy.
"Sister Theresa?" Kian asked, his voice returning to its professional, neutral tone.
The girl looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, clutched the letter to her chest, and took a step forward.
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you