63: Chapter 63 Songs That Do Not Praise the Emperor

As they drew closer to the Hive City, more and more people were active on the ground, and a scene, completely different from any other world in the Imperium, slowly unfolded before their eyes.

People built houses using materials unloaded from conveyor belts; the structures were simple yet orderly. People collected tools from the conveyor belts and busied themselves on newly reclaimed land; sweat dripped into the soil, yet it brought a sense of groundedness they had never felt before. In the supply stations, people collected food and water in an orderly fashion, without fighting. In the sky, logistics transport aircraft shuttled back and forth, delivering necessary supplies to people in every corner.

There were others who carefully cultivated small plots of land around their houses, attempting to grow fungi seeds brought from the Hive City, their eyes full of hope for the future.

Gluck's voice came from the cockpit, still in that relaxed and casual tone. His words seemed to carry a note of reproach, but in reality, they hid a hint of subtle bragging: "It's only been three months."

"Back then, people used to die just fighting over tasteless protein bars. Now, they don't even want to eat the chocolate-flavored ones."

He paused, his tone tinged with helplessness. Sister Superior Ludmilla could not see his expression, but she could imagine the half-smile on his lips. "And now! Everyone says they're sick of it and are clamoring for some mushroom soup to mix things up."

As he spoke, he turned from the driver's seat, spread his hands, and winked at the three sisters in the carriage with his right eye, which had not yet undergone mechanical augmentation, his expression filled with playfulness.

Outside the window, children ran freely in the sunlight, their laughter crisp and clear, penetrating the window and entering the carriage. Old people sat on the stone steps of their homes, basking in the sun with serene expressions. Meanwhile, young people sang around bonfires fueled by Promethium in the evening, their voices melodious.

Those songs were old tunes passed down from the lower levels of the Hive City, but the lyrics were quietly changing—they no longer praised the grace of the nobles, nor did they pray for the Emperor's protection; they only sang one simple and direct phrase: "The orange sun has risen, and happy days have arrived."

Most people in the Hive City had never seen the sun in their entire lives. In their generational traditions, the sun was orange, and even though the blue giant hanging in the sky now was more blue-white, they were unwilling to change it.

Complex emotions welled up in the depths of Sister Superior Ludmilla's heart: anger, helplessness, and a hint of indescribable wavering. The people of this world had abandoned the faith of the Ecclesiarchy, yet they were practicing the reason and order advocated in the ancient records of the Imperium.

Everything she had been taught, the faith she had upheld her entire life, collided sharply here, in the material world.

At that very moment, she realized that ever since she arrived in this world, she had been completely out of place with the rest of Vulcan-IV.

Subconsciously, she wanted to push the carriage door open and rush out, wanting to argue loudly with the people singing, to tell them of the Emperor's greatness, and to tell them of the sin of abandoning the faith.

She even wanted to draw her bolter pistol and fire into the sky.

But just then, her mechanical left arm suddenly exerted force, gripping the seat beneath her so tightly that it almost deformed the material, forcibly preventing her from rising.

A steady vibration emanated from the joints of the mechanical left arm, slowly spreading up along the limb, passing through her shoulder, reaching her chest, and gradually synchronizing with her heartbeat.

It was actually keeping up with the singing of the people outside the window, matching the beat and the rise and fall, as if it were humming along gently, or perhaps offering silent comfort.

Her prosthetic limb was singing along.

Sister Superior Ludmilla froze, looking down, stunned, at that rough mechanical left arm. This prosthetic had been with her for many years; occasionally it would malfunction, occasionally it would twitch, and occasionally it would seize up at the most critical moments.

She had always thought this was a sign of the machine spirit's displeasure—that she had failed to soothe it properly, had failed to oil it or recite the litanies on time, which was why it caused problems so frequently.

But at this moment, its vibration was gentle and steady, without the slightest hitch, as if it were silently telling her: Perhaps, this is the reason the Emperor guided them here.

Vera seemed to notice her strangeness, looked up, and fixed her light gray eyes on Sister Superior Ludmilla. Her gaze held a meaning that Sister Superior Ludmilla could not decipher—confusion, inquiry, and a hint of subtle probing, as if she had many questions she wanted to ask but hesitated to speak.

Elena remained silently leaning in the corner of the carriage, her gaze fixed on the window, her expression calm. However, the hand that had been gripping the melta cannon tightly loosened slightly, and her knuckles were no longer white.

Occasionally, a brief trance would appear in her eyes, as if some blurry images were flashing before her, yet she could not grasp them at all.

Just then, Gluck's voice came again, his tone carrying a sense of profound meaning, perfectly interrupting Sister Superior Ludmilla's anger and Vera's probing, subtly diffusing the awkwardness in the carriage.

His words, seemingly casual, sounded more like they were spoken specifically for Elena, as if all the difficulties on this planet had never existed.

"The people migrating out of the Hive City are increasing at an astonishing rate."

He spoke slowly, his tone relaxed, "We have never forced them; all of this is voluntary."

"Three months ago, on the eve of the defense of Vulcan-IV, the elites of the Hive City forcibly launched the cruise ships that were still operational. The Warp was raging, so they recklessly adopted a method of escaping without traversing the Warp, drifting directly through the void. They abandoned this world."

"At first, it was just some bold lower-hive residents—those born in the darkness, raised in the darkness, who had never seen the true sun—who were the first to leave the Hive City."

"They heard that the outskirts of the Icarus Industrial City had abundant protein bars and water, that there was no need to pay a 'breathing tax' to the nobles there, and that the air there was clean enough to breathe directly."

"The news spread rapidly through the ventilation ducts and secret passages of the Hive City, faster than any official announcement."

"When the first group arrived at the edge of the Icarus Industrial City, they were still filled with deep fear. They huddled in corners, ready to flee back into the darkness of the Hive City at any moment if they were driven away."

"But Icarus did not react at all. It did not drive them away, nor did it welcome them; it simply continued to operate at its own rhythm, producing and delivering protein bars and water to the supply stations."

Gluck smiled, "Come to think of it, I was actually the first person responsible for transporting supplies."

Just then, the lights in the carriage suddenly flickered a few times, dimming and brightening, as if protesting something.

Gluck spread his hands helplessly and continued, "Oh, right, and this one—#0042. It was #0042 and #0037 that helped me transport supplies back then."

As he spoke, he raised his hand and gently patted the inner wall of the carriage, the movement as gentle as if he were patting an old friend on the shoulder, his tone filled with a hint of doting affection: "Alright, I know you heard me; don't feel wronged."

The lights flickered again, then returned to normal, as if expressing its grievance. After all, they were the main force for transporting supplies back then, but now, all the work had been taken over by the logistics transport aircraft. Ultimately, it was because they were weapons, and they would make the civilians feel afraid.