Chapter 112: The Wolves Await

A lone figure walked slowly down the cold, dimly lit metal corridor.

He wore a simple yet ominous outfit: a black robe that brushed the deck, draped over plain carapace armor. As the busy crew members lining the corridor caught sight of him, their expressions shifted instantly from weary concentration to a mixture of awe and fear.

Whatever they were doing, they stopped immediately. They stood rigidly at attention and offered the standard Aquila salute.

The rosarius hanging from his belt, glinting faintly beneath the corridor's harsh lighting, explained everything.

An Inquisitor.

Inquisitor Herbert Hernampode paid these displays little attention. His gaze never lingered on the crew as he strode past them.

He made his way directly to the Navigatorium deep within the bridge complex. The guards opened the heavy bulkhead doors without a word.

Stepping inside, he asked bluntly, "Report."

"Very good, my lord." The Navigator replied softly without opening her eyes, her voice distant and almost ethereal. "The Warp turbulence is subsiding. Within approximately one month, conditions should return to a level suitable for safe passage. You have arrived at precisely the right time. The Emperor protects."

Herbert gave a slight nod, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"It seems fortune favors me this time," he said evenly. "Now I can only hope Perditia's planetary governor has prepared the tithes that have gone unpaid for the past thirty years."

It was meant as a joke.

No one laughed.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the Navigatorium. The officers continued their work with rigid concentration, unwilling to meet the gaze of an Inquisitor.

Herbert noticed every detail.

The faint tremor in a hand resting on a control console.

A nervous swallow.

Eyes fixed stubbornly on instrument panels.

It was as though looking directly at him for too long would invite death itself.

He understood the reason all too well.

"You needn't be so tense, Navigator," Herbert said, deliberately softening his tone. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.

She flinched violently, as though touched by a branding iron.

"I am not a madman who draws his pistol and executes people without cause," he continued. "Being this nervous will only hinder your work."

"Y-Yes, my lord."

Her voice shook even more than before.

Herbert sighed inwardly.

So much for reassurance.

Still... perhaps fear served its own purpose.

People terrified of an Inquisitor rarely dared neglect their duties or entertain disloyal thoughts. Discipline improved. Efficiency improved. Fear had always been an effective motivator.

When Herbert had served as an Inquisitorial acolyte, he had often wondered why.

The Inquisition upheld Imperial law, defended humanity's will, and carried the Emperor's authority. Shouldn't its servants be respected—perhaps even admired?

So why did the mere sight of a rosarius make grown men look ready to lose control of their bladders?

Years later, he understood.

The Inquisition existed not merely to punish wrongdoing, but to ensure wrongdoing never began.

Across the Imperium, fear remained the simplest and most reliable restraint. It was a leash, a branding iron, a Sword of Damocles suspended above every citizen's head. The masses might not understand duty, faith, or reason—but they understood consequences.

And throughout the Imperium's endless worlds, the ignorant vastly outnumbered the wise.

Some condemned the Inquisition for ruling through terror.

Herbert did not care.

When the Astra Militarum could no longer contain corruption, when even the Adeptus Astartes sometimes faltered, someone still had to safeguard humanity's future.

If that responsibility fell to the Inquisition, then so be it.

What alternative did the Imperium possess?

Every day, countless heroes died in sacrifice, yet mankind's future only grew dimmer. Until a brighter dawn finally arrived, humanity could survive only through uncompromising resolve—through bolter shells, iron discipline, and relentless vigilance.

The Imperium showed no mercy to heretics, traitors, or xenos.

Nor should it.

Just as Herbert's thoughts settled, the entire ship lurched violently.

The deck seemed to slam to a halt beneath his boots, as though seized by the hand of some colossal unseen giant. Unsecured equipment crashed across the bridge as officers stumbled against their stations.

Though caught by surprise, Herbert's enhanced physique and disciplined reflexes allowed him to regain his footing almost instantly.

Ignoring the cries of alarm around him, he strode out of the Navigatorium.

Moments later, he reached the bridge's primary command station.

"What happened?" he demanded, glaring at the pale-faced captain. "Why was the ship brought to an emergency stop?"

As an Inquisitor who had spent decades traveling the stars, Herbert recognized the maneuver immediately.

The vessel had not slowed.

It had stopped.

Only an imminent collision could justify such an action.

"My... my lord..."

The officer responsible for target acquisition swallowed hard.

"A ship appeared directly ahead of us. Had we not executed an emergency stop... the two vessels would have collided."

"Whose ship?"

Herbert cut him off before he could continue.

A cold premonition settled in his chest.

Who would dare block the path of an Inquisitor's flagship?

Pirates?

Xenos?

Impossible.

If it had been either, battle would already have begun. Nor was this vessel traveling alone—the Imperial Navy escorted the fleet. Few enemies possessed either the strength or the audacity to confront both an Inquisitor and the Imperial Navy in open space.

"M-My lord..."

The officer hesitated before pointing toward the main hololithic display.

"I think... you should see for yourself."

Herbert frowned and stepped forward.

The moment his eyes settled on the tactical display, he knew his instincts had been right.

A colossal battleship drifted directly across their course.

Its design radiated savage antiquity. Grey armor plates stretched across its immense hull, each covered with ancient runes. It resembled a colossal predator lying in wait among the stars, watching its prey with cold, unblinking eyes.

Herbert's jaw tightened.

"Space Wolves."

The words escaped through clenched teeth.

For perhaps the first time in many years, Herbert sincerely wished the fleet had instead encountered pirates... or xenos.

For an Inquisitor, finding himself alone before the Space Wolves was almost as unfortunate as sailing headlong into a Warp storm.