85: Chapter 85 Succession of Power: The Cycle of Fate (Part 1)

The banquet hall was located on the periphery of the Imperial Palace, outside the Lion's Gate; it was a hall dedicated to the most solemn high ceremonial rites of the Imperial Palace of Terra.

Ten thousand years ago, this was the place where the Primarchs gathered to discuss the affairs of the Imperium.

After the Horus Heresy swept across Terra, this site was renovated and designated as the Royal Ceremonial Sanctuary, only to be unsealed and used for the Imperium's top-tier grand celebrations.

Just like today—the transition of the High Council of Terra and the coronation of the new Master of Administratum were being held here.

The position of Master of Administratum originally originated from Malcador, the Emperor's closest friend and the first Grand Master of the Imperium, and it serves as a symbol of the Imperium's core authority.

Through the changing ages, this position was once deliberately usurped by the Ecclesiarch, sparking the Age of Apostasy and leading to a bloody past; this history is buried deep in the hidden corners of the Imperium's official records, and no one dares to mention it lightly.

The new Master of Administratum walked up the wide marble steps outside the hall, one step at a time.

On both sides of the stone steps, Planetary Defense Forces and Imperial Skitarii stood straight, their armor polished and their presence solemn; among them were the figures of Sisters of Repentance and several Astartes battle-brothers standing silently to observe the protocol of this transfer of power.

In the sky, Cherubs circled and flew, scattering rose petals picked from distant Garden Worlds mixed with confetti across the heavens.

A cloying fragrance filled the air, exuding the grandeur and flashiness unique to the Imperial Palace of Terra, yet beneath this flashiness lay a rot that went unnoticed by all.

He suddenly slowed his pace slightly.

Occupying this position required reserve, composure, and even more so, a touch of majesty.

Deliberately slowing his pace was both a display of his own poise and a way to make a clear distinction between himself and the previous Master of Administratum.

His gaze inadvertently swept forward, and he saw his predecessor who had just stepped down.

The old Master stood in an inconspicuous shadow at the front of the hall, silently watching him with emotions hidden in his eyes that he could not decipher—there was the relief of a burden lifted, mixed with a few hints of faint blessings.

In his memory, the previous Master was always busy, walking in a hurry.

He never paid attention to his own appearance, rushing to meetings, rushing to discussions, and rushing to leave; day after day, he never stopped for anyone or anything, as if he were forever being led by the nose by complex administrative affairs.

It was precisely by relying on the protection of this predecessor that his family could take root on Terra, gradually rising to become a pivotal clan power in the Imperium's political arena.

Now, the power had been handed to him, and he would lead his family to stand at the pinnacle of power on Terra.

He climbed the stone steps step by step; with every level he stepped on, the guards on both sides would bow in unison, performing the Imperial Aquila salute.

Even the proud Astartes battle-brothers were no exception, greeting him, the new successor of power, with a solemn posture.

This extreme reverence brought immense satisfaction to his vanity.

He frequently nodded to the dignitaries on both sides, a perfectly measured warm smile on his face, appearing both approachable and maintaining the decorum of a high-ranking official.

In front of the main entrance of the banquet hall, two Custodian Shield Captains adorned with magnificent sashes stood with their Guardian Spears crossed, forming a gate of spears.

This was the Custodes' recognition and courtesy toward the new Master of Administratum, as well as a symbol of the inheritance of power.

The Captain-General of the Custodes, Trajann Valoris, stood before the door, nodding slightly to him before stepping aside to clear the path, allowing him to pass through this spear-gate that symbolized authority.

The moment he stepped into the hall, everyone present stood up, and applause thundered through the entire chamber.

The crowd automatically parted to form a straight path, and everyone's gaze was focused on him.

Flattery, expectation, fear, yearning, blessing, scrutiny... all sorts of complex expressions intertwined, along with many profound meanings hard to articulate, hidden within every gaze.

These people included old-money nobles of Terra and governors and dignitaries from various sectors of the Imperium.

The operation of countless worlds throughout the Imperium revolved around these top-tier powers; they were the rulers who controlled their respective domains.

And at this moment, these people who held the power of life and death had to revolve around him and obey his commands.

This was the first time he truly felt the sweetness of power.

That cloying sweetness seeped into his heart, making him feel somewhat dazed, as if he were already standing at the peak of power.

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as he saw the retired old Master again.

The old Master's posture was as humble as a 'rat' living in the mid-levels of a Hive City, slipping silently past the back of the crowd to whisper a few words to the Ecclesiarchal Cardinal before hurrying away.

Afterward, as if no one else were there, he sat in the most secluded corner of the hall, his hands never stopping as he almost greedily stuffed the food from the table into his mouth, lacking any of the dignity expected of a retired High Lord.

The meals on the table were all top-tier ingredients rushed in from distant Agri-Worlds and Garden Worlds.

Fresh vegetables and fruits, rare meats—even mid-to-small-scale nobles might not even see them despite exhausting their family fortunes, let alone taste them.

The value of just one meal, if converted into the Protein Bars that low-level Hive City residents rely on for survival, could feed tens of thousands of civilians; if converted into the cheapest corpse starch, it could feed even more.

His heart was filled with incomprehension and disdain.

As one of the retired Twelve High Lords of Terra, with power spanning the sea of stars, how could he be so obsessed with carnal appetite and live in such a pathetic manner?

Given the old Master's family background, the delicacies he enjoyed daily would only be more luxurious and rarer than those here.

He knew in his heart that even the ingredients presented to the Imperial Palace and the Ecclesiarchy were only at this level—only Grade A products with stable production could be continuously supplied without the error of being 'available this year but not the next.'

In the Imperium, such an error was a profanation of the Emperor, and no one was willing to bear that guilt.

Therefore, those most precious Grade S delicacies with unstable production would never flow into the overt supply system; they would only circulate privately among the top nobles of Terra—an unspoken rule known only to the top-tier elite.

Logically, material enjoyment should have long since become passing clouds to such a great figure; besides, they were both mortals, so how much could one spend on food, clothing, and daily use?

But he did not know that the old Master's present was his own future.

The old Master had gone for too, too long without properly eating a single bite of normal food.

Crushed by administrative affairs for years, he had long ago undergone extensive cybernetic augmentation; usually, he relied entirely on specialized nutrient paste imported into his body via tubes for the sake of efficiency, discarding all culinary desires, as time was too precious for him.

In fact, for him, all banquets were not for enjoying fine food, but were silent political gambits.

As the Master of Administratum, every banquet required interfacing with countless nobles and governors; interest exchanges and power balancing—everything had to be finalized one-on-one in private, without the slightest error.

He never had the leisure to sit down and eat a meal peacefully; he could only wander through the crowd with a wine glass, exchanging pleasantries and constantly engaging in political wheeling and dealing. The Imperium's territory was simply too vast; if he didn't seize the limited time of a cocktail party to communicate, missing any single governor or noble could trigger a political realignment or even an uprising.