Chapter 1089: Go in vertically and come out horizontally

midnight

11 o'clock on Terra

The private skyport of the Witheran family was shrouded in false tranquility.

Three camouflaged Pilgrim-class transport ships were quietly moored at the third berth, their portholes covered with special paint and their engines running at minimum power.

The bald head of the butler Leonard Kraus was covered with sweat, glistening in the moonlight. He kept wiping his gold-rimmed glasses and occasionally looked at the ruby-inlaid precision timer on his wrist.

"Hurry up! Throw away all those paintings!" He lowered his voice and scolded the servants who were carrying the goods. The silk gloves made a slight friction sound in the dark. "Only take the gold bars, gems and the box containing the genetic medicine!"

In the deepest shadows of the skyport, Lord Witheran was having his final argument with his eldest son Edmund.

The Count's fat fingers tightly grasped a forged Mechanicus pass, and the parchment made a slight rustling sound as he trembled.

His luxurious sable cloak was covered in dust, and the ring inlaid with the family crest glowed an ominous blood color in the moonlight.

"Father, it's not too late to turn back now."

The last gleam of light flashed in the eyes of Edmund Veselan, the youngest graduate of the Imperial Military Academy.

"We can now send our private soldiers to the front lines to prove to the Inquisition..."

"idiot!"

The earl interrupted his son's words with a slap. The ring left a deep bloody mark on Edmund's face. "What do you think those bugs are? Those filthy aliens will eat you so hard that you won't even have time to scream!"

"We are not those idiots!"

When the last box of psychic artworks collected by the family for generations was loaded onto the transport ship, the entire airport's lighting system was suddenly activated.

The blinding white light split the darkness like a sword of judgment. Twelve Chimaera armored vehicles emerged from various entrances and exits, their multi-barreled melta guns and black muzzles emitting dangerous red light.

"In the name of the Holy Inquisition and the Emperor!"

"Stop!"

Inquisitor Eric von Strucker's voice echoed across the skyport via the encrypted communicator.

The tall man in black armor walked slowly out of the shadows, the scarlet Inquisition rose blooming on his chest and the incinerator at his waist emitting scorching air waves.

Behind him followed a team of armed legal officers from the Ministry of Justice in gray armor, their blaster guns had been released.

Count Veseland's legs immediately lost strength, and his fat body collapsed to the ground like a puddle of mud. The expensive perfume and the fearful smell of urine mixed into a disgusting odor.

Edmund subconsciously reached for the laser pistol at his waist, the graduation gift engraved with "Born for Honor", but froze when he saw the rotating black muzzle of the gun behind the Inquisitor.

"What a...disgusting sight."

"God Emperor above..."

The Inquisitor used his armored fingers to pick up a pearl necklace that had rolled out of the overturned box. "The holy soldiers of the Empire are using their flesh and blood to build high walls for the Emperor and the Empire, and you..." He suddenly exerted force, and the pearls turned into powder between his fingers, "but you are collecting these dirty treasures?"

"What do you want me to call you? Traitors? Heretics? Or perfidious people?"

"As for the rest, you can go to the dungeon and talk to the interrogator."

Inquisitor Stark made a gesture, and twelve law enforcement officers from the Ministry of Justice in black uniforms immediately lined up from the shadows.

Their visors with skull emblems glowed with a cold red light, and the finely crafted restraints clanked around their waists.

"Take them all away and put them in a dark cell."

The law enforcement officers took immediate action.

The leading law enforcement captain, a sturdy man whose left eye was replaced with a red prosthetic, grabbed Count Veselan by the collar.

The gorgeous silk ripped under the mechanical grip, revealing the Count's pale, sagging skin.

"No! You can't do this!" the count screamed, scratching the air with his fat fingers. "I am a noble! I have immunity!"

In response, he was struck with a precise neural whip. The high-voltage current passed through the Count's fat body, causing him to twitch violently like a fish on land.

Two law enforcement officers lifted up the limp count, and the heavy magnetic shackles locked his wrists with a "click".

Edmund tried to resist, but the enforcer's shock scepter was already pressed against the back of his neck.

With a dazzling blue light, the young noble fell to the ground like a piece of wood.

The law enforcement officers dragged him across the marble floor like cargo, leaving a long trail of blood.

The cries of the women echoed in the empty courtroom.

The elderly Mrs. Weserland fainted on a pearl-inlaid fan and was picked up by the law enforcement officer like a chicken.

The young noble ladies' exquisite hairstyles were dishevelled and their priceless skirts dragged on the rough ground.

The elevator leading to the dungeon hummed ominously.

When the rusty fence gate opened, a smell of mildew and despair hit us.

In the dim light, you can see dried blood and countless scratches from fingernails on the wall.

"Go in."

The captain of the law enforcement officers kicked Count Veselan into the deepest dungeon. The muddy sewage immediately soaked the count's expensive shirt, and several radiation-infected beetles crawled on his body.

In the next cell, Edmund was roughly handcuffed to the wall. His face was pressed against the cold stone wall, and he could hear his father sobbing next to him.

Further away, the women were locked up in collective cells, their jewelry roughly torn off by law enforcement officers and thrown into iron boxes filled with evidence.

When the last cell door closed, the captain of the law enforcement officers saluted the monitor and said, "The prisoner has been taken into custody and is awaiting execution."

When he turned around, his red prosthetic eye drew a bloody trail in the darkness.

"Time is running out, let's hurry up and get started."

In the interrogation room at the deepest part of the dungeon, the iron chains made a tiny clanging sound in the darkness.

Count Veseland was hung upside down on the rack, his fat body shaking like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.

Interrogator Marcus was slowly wiping the bone saw in his hand.

"According to the Imperial Interrogation Regulations, we need to identify your accomplices."

The bone saw suddenly started up, and the teeth tore a gash in the count's thigh.

Amid the screams, Marcus leaned over to the bleeding wound and said, "Let's start with the simple one - how much munitions have you sold to the Rogue Traders?"

Just then, the sound of gears turning came from the torture room next door.

Edmund was fixed inside the Iron Maiden, and the sharp steel needles were slowly closing at a speed of three centimeters per minute. Blood oozed out through the gaps in the device and formed a thin stream on the ground.

"Did not say?"

Marcus pressed a button on the console, and the Count's left hand was sent into the crusher, with the sound of bones breaking accompanied by hysterical wails.

The robotic arm then injected him with stimulants to ensure that he would not faint.

"Let's continue, take our time..."