Chapter 40: Are You Willing to Bear the Burden for the Empire? 2/4

Chapter 40: Are You Willing to Bear the Burden for the Empire? (Part 1)

Eisenhorn had grown old. Once a spirited Inquisitor who struck fear into the enemies of humanity, he was now aged, his hair turned white, no longer resembling his former self. Eisenhorn, a high-ranking Inquisitor of the Empire, had once been hunted relentlessly by the Empire as an enemy of mankind.

Later, he devoted all his efforts to proving his loyalty and innocence, and he eliminated the instigator—Quisoth, the heretic Inquisitor who had been presumed dead for years and once terrorized the entire galaxy. Killing Quisoth was his moment of fame, but not the pinnacle of his life.

Eisenhorn had achieved much; he wandered beyond the Emperor’s radiant starfire, hunting down the alien remnants long thought extinct by the Imperial Ministry of Internal Affairs. He had even employed a daemon prince to destroy a fallen Emperor Titan. Time and again, he used daemons against other daemons, thwarted heretical conspiracies that sought to annihilate entire star sectors, and expelled heretics lurking within human worlds.

Yet behind these glories lay a bitter price. His former friends, disciples, and lovers all perished in battles against the daemons, leaving him alone to survive in this world. Eisenhorn remembered every companion’s death vividly. His brain, modified to retain all memories, ensured that no detail of the fight against heresy was ever lost.

For an aged Inquisitor, this was a torment. The images of his fallen comrades seemed etched permanently in his mind, never to be erased by time, haunting him until his final breath. The same affliction plagued him so deeply that priests of the Mechanicus once offered to erase his memories. But he could not bear to lose the only traces of his companions in this world, so he endured the pain of living.

A longevity procedure performed over a hundred years ago still kept him alive, granting him decades more to live. Yet those years were destined to be spent in solitude, endlessly chewing on the sorrow of losing those he cared about.

He sought to continue battling the heretics and daemons who threatened the Empire, letting them know that the fury of Inquisitor Eisenhorn had not yet been extinguished. Unfortunately, though his life lingered, his physical condition no longer supported such perilous exploits. The artificial implants within his body caused him agonizing pain with any intense movement.

Eisenhorn never expected to be summoned by the Imperial Regent. Having fought aliens and daemons for many years, he understood well the might of a Primarch. The galaxy harbored countless horrific, unimaginable xenos—powerful, bizarre beings with unfathomable strength.

Every time an Inquisitor eliminated one, it came at a heavy cost. Yet the Primarchs had purged these monsters and built upon their ruins an empire that endures to this day.

Eisenhorn walked down the wide marble corridors accompanied by several imperial attendants. Along these halls hung portraits of venerable Inquisitors who had sacrificed themselves for the Empire and the protection of humanity. They had fulfilled their oaths and thus earned remembrance.

Eisenhorn wondered if he was worthy of having his likeness hung here—perhaps not. Throughout his long career as an Inquisitor, his sins matched his merits. His use of daemon power was an indelible stain, and he had on multiple occasions turned against other Inquisitor teams to save himself in order to resolve pressing matters.

Passing the corridor led him to a grand hall of judgment. Terminator-armored Honor Guard stood on either side, scrutinizing his entrance. Eisenhorn thought to himself, “With those grenade launchers, just one shot and I’d be blown to bits.”

The caliber of the Space Marines’ grenade launchers was more terrifying than those wielded by Inquisitors or Battle Sisters. He had witnessed these Emperor’s Angels in action many times during missions.

When these armored warriors were cast into battle, any enemy facing them had every reason to tremble. Space Marines were uncompromising machines of war; nothing could stand against their might.

Several servo-skulls hovered in the air, their scanners casting crimson beams across Eisenhorn. Once they confirmed no threat, the servo-skulls ascended, continuing to patrol the hall.

Inside, Eisenhorn immediately saw Saintio, standing respectfully to the side. He had never seen an Inquisitor so humble and courteous. Without a superior, Inquisitors were often overlooked even by the Imperial Senate.

A giant clad in azure armor sat in a massive chair, leafing through numerous documents designated as high-level secrets. His face was perfect and solemn, radiating an irresistible charisma simply by sitting there.

“Sir, he has arrived,” Saintio said.

The Primarch turned to face the white-haired Eisenhorn. Years of warfare had cost Eisenhorn many of his flesh limbs, replaced with mechanical prosthetics.

“Please leave us. I have some questions to ask him alone,” the Primarch said.

Saintio nodded, gave a formal Aquila salute, and stepped out.

The hall was emptied, leaving only Eisenhorn and the Primarch.

“Primarch, do you have something you wish to ask?” Eisenhorn asked with humility. Before him was no senatorial bureaucrat, but a Primarch who had once lived in the age of myth.

Any disrespect would be foolish.

“You once summoned daemons and commanded them. I have seen numerous accusations against you in the archives—times when you fought alongside a daemon,” the Primarch said.

“Yes, sir. At that time, it was unavoidable,” Eisenhorn began, but was interrupted.

“No need to explain. I understand.”

Eisenhorn’s tension rose. He did not know if this great being intended to punish his rebellion. Even though the Inquisition had cleared him and allowed him to teach novices, Eisenhorn knew a Primarch could easily overturn it all.

“To fight those terrible creatures for humanity, any means can be forgiven. Only the most despicable, shameless, and unscrupulous can achieve final victory,” the Primarch continued.

Eisenhorn was stunned. He realized his visitor was not here to punish him.

“Sir,” Eisenhorn found himself at a loss for words.

“Eisenhorn, are you loyal to the Empire?” the Primarch asked, his tone growing serious.

“Sir, I am utterly loyal to the Empire.”

“Do you love humanity, and are you willing to sacrifice everything for its survival?”

“Sir, I have served for centuries, battling countless daemons. My friends, disciples, even my beloved, have died in those dreadful battles. I have given everything for humanity.”

“Very well, Eisenhorn. Will you bear the burden for the Empire and humanity once more? Will you endure the accusations of the ignorant, walk in darkness until the dawn of a new age, until humanity is redeemed?”

The Primarch’s gaze was unwavering, his tone unprecedentedly grave. Eisenhorn understood this was no jest.

“Sir, I am willing.”

Eisenhorn answered quickly, without hesitation. To live in loneliness, to breathe his last breath on a sickbed, should not be an Inquisitor’s fate. To die on the battlefield fighting the enemies of humanity—that was the true destiny of an Inquisitor.

“Can you swear? You shall walk in darkness, uphold your vow to protect humanity, and unless the dawn arrives, never reveal what you do. Whether facing accusation or death, you must never doubt your actions.”

Eisenhorn raised his hand. “I swear, until the dawn of the Empire, I will uphold my oath, never reveal or question my deeds.”

“I hope you will keep your vow, Eisenhorn. I need your help with something. It may seem dishonorable, even treasonous, but it is of utmost importance.”

“What is it, sir?” Eisenhorn asked.

(End of Chapter)