Chapter 290: Punishment from Hades
When Malcador left the inner chamber, what he saw was Hades speaking with Sevatar.
As soon as Malcador approached, Hades looked up and gave the old man a smile. The oppressive weight that had been swaying over the entire hall quickly dissipated.
Sevatar tried to rise and salute, but Malcador stopped him with a glance. The old man chose a seat unhurriedly, sitting down and fixing his deep gaze on Hades and Sevatar.
Hades raised a brow, casting a glance toward the inner chamber, while Sevatar also looked in that direction uneasily. Malcador ignored them both and let out a long sigh.
"I underestimated how difficult it would be to communicate with them."
Hades blinked. "Mortarion already bears ill will toward you. The fact that he sat down and talked calmly at all means he was already making an effort."
Sevatar, in contrast, was far more restrained before the Regent of the Imperium. He looked silently toward the old man—the Imperium's appointed judge.
Hearing Hades's remark, the old man sighed once more. He thought of Leman Russ—a clever child who was at least willing to listen to him.
But Mortarion and Konrad Curze… they did nothing but hurl absurd counterexamples or denounce Malcador outright.
Being the Regent of the Imperium was not an easy station. From the moment Malcador assumed it, it was fated that most of the Primarchs would find themselves at odds with him. Few among them could ever truly understand a mere mortal.
Steeling himself, Malcador sought to move past the Primarchs' exhausting quarrel and return to the matter at hand.
"As for how to deal with the Night Lords—what have you agreed upon?"
He was answered by Hades's mocking look, and Sevatar's shocked one.
Hades spoke with a trace of amusement.
"I would guess they didn't come to any substantive agreement or measures?"
As he spoke, Hades cast another glance toward the inner chamber.
Because of Malcador's presence, he had withdrawn the Black Domain; he could no longer observe the movements of the three Primarchs.
Malcador looked back at Hades evenly.
The old man suddenly realized that this kind of provocative, cold humor had also appeared in Mortarion, who often wielded it against him.
"They are blinded by their personal emotions. It is very difficult for them to sit still and handle matters of the Legion."
Hades met Malcador's gaze.
"Understandable. For most of the Primarchs, their emotions clearly take precedence over everything else."
Across from them, Sevatar remained silent. During the earlier exchange, he had realized something—this commander of the Death Guard did not hold the Primarchs in reverence at all.
That was exceedingly rare.
As far as he knew, the only other Astartes with such an attitude was Astelan of the First Legion.
Yet because of that very attitude, Astelan had fared poorly within his Legion… while Hades had become the Death Guard's true second-in-command, even wielding the authority to correct the Primarch's mistakes.
In Hades, Sevatar glimpsed another way—a way a Legion could function properly. But he dared not follow that path. To go against the will of a Primarch was unthinkable.
Swallowing hard, Sevatar felt the pain from the wound on his chest flare. Yet a self-mocking smile slowly tugged at his lips.
Across from him, Hades and Malcador were already veering into uncomfortable topics about the Primarchs. At last, Malcador coughed lightly and shifted the subject.
"So, did you in the end reach a consensus—or are you the same as your Primarchs?"
Sevatar rasped out his reply:
"The Night Lords… are willing to accept punishment."
Beneath his hood, Malcador's politician-like face broke into a smile.
"At least this meeting has not been without its gains."
The old man gave Sevatar an encouraging look, urging him to continue.
"The Night Lords are willing to march into the most difficult war zones, to earn forgiveness with blood…"
Sevatar shifted his gaze toward Hades. The Death Guard returned the look with indifference, his black eyes utterly lightless, frightening in their depth.
"The Legion accepts the reduction of logistical resources," Sevatar went on.
He forced a smile—like a corpse's lips pried apart by hand.
"And at the same time, the Night Lords are willing to compensate the Death Guard with adamantium from our homeworld, and enter into a long-term agreement."
"…These punishments will remain until the Legion has once again proven its loyalty to the Imperium through sacrifice. The exact duration will, of course, be at the Imperium's discretion."
Malcador fell silent. The old man turned to Hades with a grave question:
"These—were they your proposals?"
To send the Night Lords into the harshest war zones, and to deprive them of supplies—inevitably, this would mean the Legion shrinking drastically in a short span of time.
Malcador did not know the Night Lords' internal state in detail, but to him, this already seemed like an exceptionally severe sentence.
The first two measures alone, once enacted, would allow every Legion to see the price the Night Lords must pay for Konrad Curze's madness.
Though Malcador did not understand why the Death Guard were so insistent on Nostramo's adamantium—for their Legion was far removed, and could easily source materials in their own domain.
Sevatar, meanwhile, stared at Hades.
Were they confronting each other?
He could not be sure how much Hades really knew of the Night Lords. These harsh measures looked less like punishment and more like an opportunity to reshuffle the Legion entirely.
What was Hades really thinking?
For Nostramo—the Night Lords' recruitment world—had long since betrayed the Legion. The corrupt nobles had reclaimed power. They left only the "virtuous" behind for their own families, sending the bulk of criminals to be taken as recruits for the Night Lords.
Those criminals, once remade as Astartes, would then exploit their newfound status to advance the power of their Nostraman clans.
By the time Konrad Curze realized what was happening, the Legion was already steeped in violence and rot.
Sevatar had urged Curze to purge the morally bankrupt criminals, but the Primarch, lost in his fractured mind, had refused.
And so, they had watched with unclouded eyes as the Legion rotted away, bit by bit…
And now—Hades had handed them a blade. A bone-scraping knife to strip away their own flesh.
It was punishment, for blood would flow. The Night Lords would be despised across the Imperium for a long time, watching their Legion dwindle step by step, enduring night after night of shortages.
But it was also… a kind of hope. A chance for Sevatar—no, for Konrad Curze—to finally take true command of the Legion.
If it had only been the first two measures, Sevatar might have believed Hades's goal was simply to punish them.
But the third punishment pointed directly at the Night Lords' homeworld, Nostramo.
If the Legion wished to send vast amounts of adamantium to the Death Guard, they would first have to reclaim control of their homeworld…
And what was more—the timespan set by Hades's punishments was almost exactly the length needed to purge the Legion's corruption.
Sevatar felt his mind tremble.
This Death Guard—Hades—just how much did he know? Why did he understand the Night Lords so well? Or was it only coincidence, his own paranoia reading too much into it?
And if everything was as Sevatar suspected—why would this Death Guard, wounded by his father himself, seek to help them?
Hades… what was he really thinking?!
Sevatar could not figure it out. The only thing beyond his grasp was Hades's true stance, his position. All Sevatar could do was consider, with each punishment Hades proposed, how best to preserve the Night Lords.
He did not know what Hades was ultimately aiming at. The only thing he could discern was that Hades bore no overt malice toward him.
Perhaps it was because Sevatar had been staring too long, but Hades suddenly gave him a natural smile—a smile far more genuine than Sevatar's own. Such expressions were rare within the Legion, where seasoned veterans were seldom given to warmth.
Hades smiled, then turned his head toward Malcador.
"Does the Imperium permit this kind of punishment?"
Malcador hesitated.
"If both Legions agree, then the Imperium will recognize the agreement as lawful."
And yet… why had the Night Lords agreed without the slightest resistance to such cruel terms?
Malcador frowned, casting Hades a questioning look. But Hades only returned it with his cheerful, I-know-nothing expression.
"Trust me, Lord Malcador."
Hades's voice was light, though his eyes were bottomless voids.
To outsiders unaware of the Night Lords' inner decay, these measures would seem a harsh and fitting punishment—a chastisement for Konrad Curze raising his hand against his own brother.
The Legion would rapidly shrink in size, dwindling until the set time was complete.
But to Sevatar—and to Curze, should his mind be lucid—this was an opportunity. A chance to scour the Legion clean, though the process would cost oceans of blood and suffering.
As if afraid they might fail to interpret it that way, Hades had even woven in a subtle third measure.
The Night Lords could use war and supply cuts as a pretext to burn through the worthless dregs among their warriors, all while winning more territory for the Imperium.
And when the term was finally reached, the Legion could begin to rebuild its strength. With their homeworld brought back under control, they would inevitably grow healthy again.
But to think Hades was motivated by kindness—that would be far too naive.
He was not such a man. With the Death Guard and Night Lords locked in conflict, his first priority was ensuring that the future Night Lords could never threaten the Death Guard.
Hades's game was not yet finished.
His final move lay hidden in the span of the punishment. When the battered bats were just on the cusp of redemption and rebirth, they would discover—
The Heresy had begun.
Granted, only if the Heresy did indeed erupt at roughly that time. But even if it came later, the Night Lords would not recover swiftly enough to matter.
By then, the Night Lords would be the weakest of all the traitor hosts. Even should they rebel, they would pose no threat.
And Hades had left them an escape route. Should the Night Lords truly repent, they could always retreat to Nostramo. Its remote location made it safe enough.
Hades smiled once more, showing his amiable grin.
"I am glad my conversation with Sevatar went so smoothly. My cousin has understood my good will."
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 351: The Onlooker Sees More Clearly Than the Player[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/145213204?collection=602520[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/145213204?collection=602520
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/145213204?collection=602520
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed