88: Chapter 88 The Silent Revelry of the Court's Carrion Eaters

Not far away, The New Lord Chancellor was surrounded by a throng of nobles, receiving their hypocritical homage.

The robes, so intricate they were eyesores, made the young man appear even more frail—like a puppet propped up by a magnificent shell, even his smile carrying a deliberate stiffness. He remembered when he first took office, he was just like this, wearing an ill-fitting suit, mimicking his father's ways of brokering interests, believing that by controlling resources and political maneuvering, he controlled everything.

It wasn't until later that he understood the Master of Administratum on Terra was never the owner of power, but merely its vessel—filled with the greed of nobles, the hypocrisy of the Ecclesiarchy, the indifference of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the blood and tears of countless commoners. Once the vessel grew old, it would be discarded without hesitation, replaced by a new, more easily controlled skin.

Now was the moment belonging to the young New Lord Chancellor. Wherever he went, a center of clamor would automatically form; even the candlelight in the air seemed to tilt toward him, making his patterned robes appear even more shimmering and radiant.

Nobles held gilded wine goblets, crowding around him, their flattery as thick as honey. Some praised his youthful talent, some vaguely mentioned their own family's interests, while others carefully tested his boundaries. Every word and every glance hid calculation and opportunism.

The young Chancellor struggled to maintain a decent smile, his fingertips slightly rubbing the alloy seal integrated into his ring on his right index finger—it was the symbol of the Chancellor's office. The cold touch allowed him to barely suppress the panic in his heart. He mimicked the old Chancellor's manner, vaguely humoring everyone, yet he ultimately couldn't hide the rawness and bewilderment in his eyes.

His Chief of Staff stood half a step behind him—a "non-human" augmented being with half his face covered by a cold metal panel, his left eye a glowing red cybernetic eye, and an aura of indifference that warned others not to approach.

He did not participate in the nobles' flattery but simply stood there quietly, his gaze sweeping the room, taking in everyone's expression and every vague conversation. Occasionally, he would lean into The New Lord Chancellor's ear and, in a voice only the two of them could hear, whisper reminders on how to respond and who he was currently speaking with.

He never served The New Lord Chancellor personally; he served the Empire. The Empire belonged to the Inquisition, the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the Ecclesiarchy, and he was also a chess piece used to balance The New Lord Chancellor. The young Chancellor might have vaguely sensed this, but he never dared to test it—in the power games of Terra, even the person closest to you could be a blade ready to turn on you at any moment.

On the other side of the banquet, in the shadows of a corner, a representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus dressed in grey priestly robes stood alone, his fingertips gently stroking the Cog Mechanicum on his robes.

His gaze passed through the crowd and fell upon The New Lord Chancellor, casting a meaningful glance. In that look, there was no flattery, no awe, only the coldness and precision of someone inspecting merchandise.

He had seen the faces in this position change too many times—from high-spirited young men to decrepit, frustrated losers. Every Chancellor had once worn magnificent attire and stood at the center of power, only to eventually fail to escape the fate of being discarded.

He knew clearly that sooner or later, this young man's body would be sent to his workshop; he could even accurately guess the necessary modification projects and their sequence.

If he proved incompetent, there were better ways to handle it; a New Lord Chancellor Servitor would become a collector's item that the Archmagos of Mars would be willing to purchase at a high price.

After all, in the scriptures of the Omnissiah, the only value of the "useless" is to find a way to make them useful.

In a more hidden corner, two grey-haired old nobles stood with their backs to the crowd, holding wine goblets and whispering in voices so low that only they could hear each other.

"Do you remember the Chancellor before the last one?"

One of the nobles' voices carried a trace of subtle malice.

"In his later years, he insisted on pursuing things he shouldn't have, becoming obsessed with those decadent sounds, and ultimately ended up with his family destroyed."

The other noble nodded slightly, a flicker of dread in his eyes.

"Shh—careful with your words. That wasn't an honorable affair. I heard it was tied to the filth of the Warp."

As soon as the words left his mouth, they noticed someone passing by and immediately fell silent. Their faces instantly shifted into hypocritical and gentle smiles as they nodded slightly to the passing noble, as if the secret whispering had never happened.

That whisper about "things he shouldn't have pursued" was like a buried seed, hidden within the clamor of the banquet, waiting to take root and sprout in the future. Perhaps it would become another straw that breaks this New Lord Chancellor—the corruption of Slaanesh always begins with a hint of greed and indulgence, starting from those secret desires that no one dares to speak of.

Every outgoing Chancellor always tries to compensate for the past with extreme indulgence; there are no exceptions. The nobles of Terra always maintain a baseline number; the fall of every Chancellor's family is a carnival for the other Terran nobles.

When a whale falls, ten thousand things thrive—this is a principle on Terra, let alone the collateral families of the old Chancellor's line.

This had long since become the scavenger instinct of Terran nobles. What seemed like the ascension of The New Lord Chancellor was actually the division of interests. The aloof Terran families would only watch coldly, picking apart a corpse without having to bear the infamy of corruption or the effort of pursuit. Simply waiting quietly to harvest what is past—it was truly wonderful.

Amidst this hypocritical clamor and hidden calculation, a tall and majestic figure flashed by in the shadows at the edge of the banquet—it was the silhouette of the Adeptus Custodes.

They wore gilded armor engraved with the sigil of the Emperor. Their faces were grim, their gazes sharp as blades, and they radiated an aura of inviolable holiness. They did not linger, did not participate in this secular celebration, and did not even spare the nobles a second glance, merely patrolling along a fixed route with movements that were swift and silent.

Their presence was like a silent warning, reminding everyone present: the true power of Terra was never in this banquet of clinking glasses, nor in these intricate and magnificent robes, and certainly not in the hands of these calculating nobles.

True power was hidden in the shadows of the Golden Throne, in the armor of the Adeptus Custodes, and in the cold gaze of the Emperor. These mortals were but dwarves struggling in the cracks of power; no matter how they struggled, they could not escape the fate of being controlled and discarded.

Of all those in the hall, only the Governors from outside Terra and the provincials who had just arrived revolved around the new Master of Administratum. The nobles truly rooted on Terra never held any respect for the Master of Administratum.

Inside this hall where a new member of the Twelve High Lords was being sworn in, there were only lambs waiting for slaughter.

One had already been placed on the chopping block—the former Chancellor and his family.

The other, The New Lord Chancellor, was merely their source of future profit, a lamb of the God that had not yet grown up. They were all just here to see the returns, check the breed, and estimate future yields.

Only Trajann Valoris frowned slightly. These nobles, the Ecclesiarchy, and the Adeptus Mechanicus were becoming increasingly excessive. Only what the Emperor permits you to take may you take.

If the Emperor does not permit it, then you may not seize it. This set a very bad precedent.