dmims Chapter 12 Nobles
Chapter 12 Nobles
While Achilles and his men were fighting fiercely, a grand feast in the palace lasted for three days and nights, and the ceremony for the transfer of power on the planet Troy proceeded steadily within the strict order of the empire.
Hector did not order anyone to find his brother Paris, even though he did not want his brother to be in such danger.
But when it actually happened, Hector respected his brother's choice, feeling both furious and proud.
Hector then coldly watched as the noble sons of the Trojan nest were all dressed in magnificent robes adorned with stars and family crests.
These young men and women who did not participate in the selection of warriors formed a line and walked slowly with the procession.
Their arrogant and self-satisfied manner, boasting of their intelligence, is like that of a peacock displaying its colorful tail feathers—all show and no substance.
The elders of the family never revealed the truth about this annexation into the empire to these younger generations, but everyone clearly sensed the family's fervor for surging profits.
After the banquet, the elders will be immersed in extreme excitement and tyranny for days, locking themselves in the family mansion.
Every day, several demi-human slaves are carried out of the heartland, their deaths gruesome.
They vented their anger uncontrollably, a mixture of bloodshed and manic ecstasy.
This instilled in the young nobles a deep-seated conviction that their families were about to ascend to an unprecedented pinnacle of power through this imperial upheaval.
Hector coldly surveyed this group of parasites from powerful families who held high positions but lacked any iron will or courage, and he made a mental note of their actions.
He then withdrew his gaze and turned to his son, Holmes, who was standing close to him, his brows furrowed with barely concealed excitement.
A paranoid and delusional idea suddenly took root in Hector's mind.
The imperial sacred music hastily learned by the Trojan native honor guard, blended with the planet's unique grand and ancient tunes, intertwined and echoed in every corner of the giant dueling arena.
This colossal arena, modeled after the ancient Terran gladiatorial arena, is magnificent. The circular stands are layered and reach all the way to the dome. It is covered with a standard holographic projection array, with clear light and shadow covering the entire arena, ensuring that every dignitary and every spectator can capture every movement in the arena without missing a thing.
The central viewing platform, offering the best view of the entire arena, is the supreme seat reserved exclusively for the human emperor and the lord of Troy.
Macardo and Narcissus did not attend the ceremony in person. Instead, they were in the palace, discussing with the Martian Mechanicus, leading the reconstruction of Troy's territory, infrastructure upgrades, and institutional reforms, in an effort to fully integrate Troy into the imperial system.
During this time, Narcissus developed a growing respect and admiration for Macardo, regarding him as his mentor, and repeatedly referring to Hector as his Chiron when they were alone together.
Macardo was generous with his advice, and the two maintained a friendly relationship with the Minister of the Interior, who was destined to become the mortal commander of the Second Legion.
On the vast, high platform, apart from the emperor sitting on the throne and Hector, there was no one else.
Only Holmes of the Second Legion remained, along with several tall, imposing Imperial Guards, their faces hidden beneath golden armor and ceremonial visors.
These imperial guardians from the sacred Earth, from Terra, have remained silent ever since they arrived in Troy. They have never shown any emotion, like ancient golden sculptures.
Hector sat at the table as equals to the Emperor, and without Macardo and Narcissus present, the two fell into an eerie silence.
Hector tried to start a conversation, but looking at the Emperor's consistently serious expression, he opened his mouth but ultimately chose to remain silent.
As Hector observed the Emperor, the Emperor was also observing Hector. He looked at the golden laurel wreath on Hector's head, at Hector's black hair, brown pupils, and bronze skin exposed outside his white robe.
The face hidden beneath the psychic energy softened involuntarily, filled with nostalgia.
Then came the resolute decision.
Even though the warp is currently in a relatively peaceful state, the Emperor can still see countless possibilities for the future.
Unable to control the Second Legion's fall into the abyss, the Second Legion's infinite glory, and the Second Legion's complete destruction, they could not escape one key figure.
Remembering the boy beside Hector, the Emperor spoke: "You should be wary of your brother, Paris."
Holmes, who was carefully adjusting his posture behind his father, raised his head in disbelief upon hearing this.
Hector, still hesitant about how to start the conversation, was momentarily incredulous at what he was hearing.
Hector raised his head, his handsome and resolute face showing disbelief and anger at being provoked.
The Imperial Guards behind him made a subtle movement, their hands holding weapons tightening slightly.
"I will pay close attention to his studies, Your Majesty. He is very intelligent," Hector said coldly.
He thought of the advice from Macardo and Narcissus, and the incredibly generous conditions offered by the human empire, but in the end, he chose to pretend he didn't understand and completely lost interest in talking to the emperor.
His genetic father may have been powerful and intelligent, but he certainly didn't understand how to get along with people and maintain stable relationships.
Before the emperor could say anything, Holmes mustered his courage and stepped forward to act as a servant.
With the tacit approval of the Imperial Guard, he carried fruit and Trojan-style ale to the Emperor, acting as a buffer between the two men in contrasting moods.
"Emperor".
"My lord."
Holmes broke out in a cold sweat and bowed humbly.
Having abandoned the idea of speaking with the Emperor, Hector closed his eyes slightly, his thoughts drifting involuntarily to the arena, to Paris, who had not yet stepped onto the stage for his duel.
Worry and pride swirled in Hector's heart.
Then he thought of those aristocratic sons who seemed as proud and arrogant as peacocks.
Those men were dressed so well that, before he had fully become the ruler of Troy, their fathers had traveled in great processions between Upper Nest and Middle Nest, dressed in the finest clothes.
They fired their guns and killed faster than the hurled insults they uttered.
Finally, Hector opened his eyes, looked at Holmes, and made up his mind.
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When Achilles and Patroclus emerged from the labyrinth carrying a minotaur's head that was even larger than the heads of most proud and self-satisfied noblemen and ladies.
Everyone fell silent. They admired, respected, and were amazed by Achilles, who was supporting Patroclus with one hand and carrying the bull's head with the other. Everyone made way for the two of them without any hesitation.
They stood on either side, paying homage to Achilles and Patroclus as if they were heroes, applauding the two men. Among them were many of the participants in the brawl who had been soundly beaten by Achilles earlier.
Those who managed to survive the maze knew all too well the strength of these aliens, especially one that was so large.
As for those who were unclear about the situation, most of them did not get to be rescued by the guards who were secretly protecting them, and instead became spoils of war under the horns or hooves of bulls.
"Well done, Achilles."
At the end of the road, three giants of different heights were waiting for them.
The tallest one was someone Achilles and the other man recognized; it was Moriarty, who had been waiting there long after escorting Paris.
Of the other two, Achilles had seen one before, but the other had a bruised face, a half-collapsed nose, and very prominent eye sockets. He was a giant about 2.2 meters tall, and Achilles did not recognize him.
And the defiant Astartes was none other than Jefferson, the commander of the Bloodhounds of the 2nd Regiment of the 9th Company, who was acting under orders from the acting commander, Sherlock Holmes.
Upon seeing the enormous bull's head in Achilles' hand, the man's initial defiance turned to silence, and he finally said to Moriarty in a lukewarm tone, "This man is mine, sir."
Moriarty didn't speak, but instead gave a half-smile.
The meaning is exceptionally clear.
Don't even think about it.