Chapter 44: You Like to Talk Tough?

Chapter 44: You Like to Talk Tough?

"Tch, foolish mon-keigh," the Archon, who had been reduced to a living torso, muttered in the Eldar tongue as he watched the praying Space Marines and Sisters.

The gazes of both Cawl and Romulus immediately snapped to him.

Romulus's eyes became dangerous. He had been interrupted by the sudden bout of religious fervor and wasn't sure what to do next. Then he remembered they still had a prisoner.

You like being the center of attention, do you?

He knew exactly what the Archon was sneering about. For a certain period in their history, the Eldar's experience had been remarkably similar to that of the current human Imperium. In ancient times, the Eldar had been incomparably powerful. Their near-infinite lifespans and the technology inherited from the Old Ones had made them the masters of the galaxy for a very long time.

And as everyone knows, people can't be left idle for too long. This applied to the Eldar as well.

With their productivity liberated and no real competitors left, the Eldar began to pursue sensory stimulation. Relying on the fact that they were practically immortal, they began to descend into increasingly depraved lifestyles. The countless extreme emotions generated during this process awakened the Prince of Pleasure, Slaanesh, which directly led to the collapse of the Eldar Empire and its fragmentation into the three major factions that were now struggling for survival.

Doesn't this sound a lot like the current human Imperium? Both ruled over the vast majority of the galaxy, and both were sclerotic and decadent. The only difference was that the Eldar had indulged in hedonism due to a lack of rivals, while humanity had descended into fanatical extremism in the pursuit of survival.

So, in the eyes of most Eldar who understood humanity, the current Emperor was no different from Slaanesh. And the humans who worshipped the Emperor were, in their eyes, no different from the Eldar who had worshipped Slaanesh—the stupidest of the stupid.

Of course, those who understood humanity particularly well were just jealous. This race should have fallen along with the Eldar during the Age of Strife, but the scales of fate had been forcibly tipped in their favor by a god who showed them special preference.

But what right did a Drukhari have to run his mouth? It was one thing for the protagonists to complain about the Emperor and the Imperium. The Emperor being a flawed man and the Imperium being a pile of crap were well-known facts. But you guys, the ones who created Slaanesh and still haven't learned your lesson, you have the gall to talk?

"..."

Romulus and Cawl's eyes met for a fraction of a second. It was clear that both understood the Eldar language.

That doesn't look like someone who has no experience fighting Eldar, both thought simultaneously.

Romulus had reason to believe the Archmagos knew how to interrogate an Eldar, but he just hadn't said anything. Or rather, the moment the Drukhari had boarded his ship, his primary goal had been to maintain stability.

Cawl then took half a step back, indicating that he was ceding the right to handle the xenos to them. "He is your prize," Cawl stated.

"Understood." Romulus nodded and looked at the Archon, who was now hanging from the adamantium coffin, his features mangled beyond recognition. To prevent him from committing suicide, the Carcharodons' Apothecary had performed a thorough examination. And when dealing with xenos, an Apothecary's methods were anything but gentle.

"Heh heh, if you have any questions, just ask," the Archon said, lifting his head. His sinister eyes scanned the crowd, searing the faces of these monkeys into his very soul. The Archon swore he would repay today's humiliation. One day, he would add these monkeys to his collection, torture them with the most terrible torments, and then hand them over to the Haemonculi to be remade into Pain Engines.

"And you will tell the truth?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you won't. You people always enjoy weaving webs of intrigue. Not a single true word ever leaves your mouths. I'm afraid some... necessary measures will be required."

"Oh? Perhaps if you beg me for mercy now, I will consider sending you an invitation when I come to take your life in the future."

The Sisters and Astartes present all glared at the xenos with fury, wanting nothing more than to slice him into a thousand pieces. To insult a holy warrior like that had pushed everyone's anger to its limit.

"Heh heh."

Even now, in the hands of his enemies, with all ability to resist gone, the Archon showed no awareness of his status as a prisoner. His gaze was contemptuous, devoid of any fear or despair. He glanced at the black box that held his subordinate, then began to curse everyone present with the filthiest words in his vocabulary.

He had once spent three years in the silent darkness of a Haemonculus's prison. It was only when his soul was on the verge of fading away that the Haemonculus, having learned nothing, was forced to honor their contract and release him. The Archon didn't believe that these monkeys, who had never even touched the limits of a sentient being's perception, could make him talk with mere torture.

The Apothecary, annoyed, followed Tyberos's order and gagged the Archon.

But the transmigrators, looking at the incredibly tough Archon, only found it comical.

Yes, literally comical.

The thought that this tough guy, who could withstand any torture, would soon be crying his eyes out and spilling everything he knew, was hilarious to them.

Compared to most Imperials, who were at a loss when faced with the Drukhari, the transmigrators had plenty of methods.

"Inquisitor Aglaia," Ramesses, the team's Librarian, spoke up.

"My Lord!" Aglaia quickly straightened up, a little confused as to why he was addressing her first. Her own interrogation had been quite embarrassing; she had learned nothing and had even been tricked. As a result, when she saw the captured Archon, she had forcibly suppressed her excitement, planning to let Romulus and the others handle it first.

"I have heard that among the upper echelons of various civilized worlds in the Imperium, a heretical sect known as the 'Pleasure Cult,' which focuses on decadent indulgence, often becomes popular?"

Aglaia didn't deliberately seek out knowledge of daemons; she knew all too well where that path led. But she was aware of the Pleasure Cults, which often erupted among the Imperial nobility. After all, if you were studying the history of the Imperium, you couldn't avoid Chaos. The Horus Heresy, a topic Aglaia was currently researching, was a prime example of how the betrayal of the primarchs was inextricably linked to Chaos.

"That is correct," Aglaia replied. She wasn't sure why Ramesses was asking this question. After confirming that everyone present was authorized to hear such forbidden knowledge, and after a moment's thought, she decided to play along.

"And according to the records, these cults are generally difficult to detect. They usually only come to the attention of the Inquisition after a daemonic incursion has already occurred?" Ramesses's demeanor was that of a sincere inquirer seeking the truth.

Aglaia keenly sensed this subtle shift. She looked up at the Archon's eyes and saw that his once-defiant gaze now held a deeply hidden flicker of terror.

"Yes. Because these heretics are usually hidden among the upper classes, even the Inquisition cannot investigate them without cause. And the power they wield allows them to conceal their heretical activities very well, which is why these cults often lead to major disasters," she immediately replied, cooperating fully.

(End of Chapter)