The awkward tension didn't last long.
Carter stepped forward, gesturing for the guards to quickly clear away the xenos heads rolling across the tarmac. As the grisly trophies were removed, the dignitaries guided Raynor and his party toward the waiting convoy.
Raynor and his inner circle traveled in a lavishly decorated Leman Russ Battle Tank—a vehicle that served as both a security measure and a blatant display of force.
As they boarded, Raynor noticed a subtle detail: only Carter's soldiers and squires lacked the twelve-star insignia on their right shoulders, a mark of their distinct factional loyalty.
The convoy slowly ground its way off the airfield, heading toward the Imperial Cathedral. Both sides of the thoroughfare were choked with "welcoming" crowds. They waved the flags of Brevis or small banners bearing the twelve-star emblem, their faces beaming with rehearsed smiles as they chanted synchronized slogans:
"Welcome, Governor Raynor von!" "Brevis welcomes its new hope!" "May the Divine Emperor protect us!"
Their voices were loud and clear, their movements so perfectly timed they resembled a troupe of marionettes performing a well-worn play. Raynor sat inside the tank, his purple eyes scanning the faces through the one-way armored glass. He caught something beneath the surface. The smiles were fake, but in the depths of their eyes lay something more primal: fear and resistance.
This was their instinctive aversion to the new Governor's "unconventional" entrance. The people of the Upper Hive were used to the stable, almost monotonous rule of the Noble Council. To them, past governors were merely passing shadows from the distant stars—temporary "procedures" to be managed. They were empty shells that needed replacing every few years, men who knew only how to put on a show.
The citizens never expected real change, and more importantly, they were terrified of it. Today, the new Governor had used hundreds of alien heads to shatter that complacency. He had declared, in the bloodiest way possible: "I am not here to go through the motions."
Gus sat behind Raynor, watching the flag-waving crowds with an increasingly grim expression. Initially, seeing Raynor enjoy such a grand welcome had sparked a flicker of envy in him. It was the scene Gus had imagined for himself countless times—standing in the spotlight, holding the reins of power, draped in glory. The thought was bitter, like mistaking a sour crabapple for a sweet tangerine.
But as he felt the scrutiny hidden beneath the cheers, Gus's mindset shifted. The Leman Russ led the way, flanked by elite PDF escorts in a display of Brevis's highest hospitality, yet the smiles outside were hollow.
Gus suddenly realized that the governorship was far more than glory. it was a solitary peak. Those who stood atop it were exposed to the judgment of the entire world, bearing the combined pressure of a planet: the disdain of the Aristocratic Council, the scrutiny of the State Religion, the rejection of the people, and the looming threats from the frozen wastes.
If one wished to wear the crown, one had to endure its crushing weight.
After twenty minutes of travel, the convoy arrived at the absolute heart of the Brevis Main Hive: the Great Square of the Imperial Cathedral.
The square was cavernous, paved in massive slabs of white stone. In its center stood a fifty-meter-tall golden statue of the Emperor, holding a flaming holy sword pointed toward the horizon, as if the Great Crusade of ten millennia ago were still unfolding before his eyes.
At the far end loomed the Cathedral itself—a colossal Gothic miracle. Its towering spires seemed to pierce the artificial clouds of the Hive, and a massive bell at its peak tolled a solemn greeting. The facade featured a ten-meter-high relief arch depicting the unification of Terra.
However, what truly caught Raynor's eye were the two gargantuan figures flanking the main entrance. Two enormous war machines, each over ten meters tall, stood like silent gods. Their sacred metal hides were covered in battle scars and the etched litanies of the Cult Mechanicus.
The left arms bore massive Chainswords; the right, Gatling Cannons. Their heads featured the classic knight-helm design, with narrow observation slits like squinting eyes.
"Swift-class Knight Suits."
Even inside the Leman Russ—the "Main Battle Tank of the Imperium"—Raynor and his companions felt like children looking up at giants. Beside these Knights, their armored transport looked like a toy.
Gus swallowed hard. He knew the Saint Garus family possessed Knight suits, but the physical reality of them was overwhelming. The Butcher's face turned grave, and Dobby stared wide-eyed, his limited mind struggling to comprehend how a "lump of iron" could grow so large. He wanted to ask what the machines were fed to reach such a size.
Sarah—maintaining her role as "Puppet Number One"—sat with an elegant, practiced smile. But the moment the convoy entered the square, her body tensed unnaturally. Through their neural link, Raynor felt a surge of vigilance and unease from her consciousness.
Raynor reached out and gripped Sarah's hand tightly. Her skin was icy.
"It's alright, Sarah. I'm here," he projected through the system.
He understood her fear. At the heart of a Knight is the "Throne Mechanicum," a neural interface that, over centuries, nurtures a "Machine Spirit"—a fusion of ancient AI, ancestral memories, and religious fervor. It naturally rejected anything non-human. Sarah was feeling the raw, psychic pressure of the Knights' souls.
Raynor's own blood began to boil. This wasn't a greeting; it was a blatant show of force.
"They've come with ill intentions," Raynor whispered, his purple eyes narrowing with murderous intent. He hadn't even begun his first day in office, and the Noble Council was already trying to break his spirit.
High up in the main tower of the Cathedral, High King Caladogon Saint Garus watched the square through a magnocular.
He tracked Raynor's every move, looking for a flinch, a sign of awe, or the obsequiousness typical of a new official. But the Governor showed no such weakness.
Suddenly, Raynor turned his head. His purple eyes seemed to lock directly onto Caladogon's position, despite the distance and the tinted glass.
Caladogon stiffened, surprised by the man's sharp perception. He signaled his servants to remove the viewing equipment.
"Showing off your aura already?" Caladogon muttered to the empty room. "You want to die real bad, don't you?"