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The Salamander had expected Cerakos to recover quickly, but he did not expect him to have fully steadied his emotions by the very next day.
His battle-brother said he was already prepared to meet Gotthardt—and equally prepared for a vacation. Ignis immediately contacted Von Lycaon, and the furry butler gentleman raised no objections, agreeing at once to drive over and pick them up.
The holiday was already nearing its end, yet the streets remained lively. The roads from the Venus Quarter to the Faunus Quarter were unexpectedly clear—after all, the latter was neither a tourist destination nor a consumer hotspot. This was the first time the Salamander had ever sat properly in a passenger seat; Lycaon had somehow procured a large off-road vehicle spacious enough for a three-meter-tall giant to fit inside.
"We finally have something," Lycaon said calmly as he drove, briefing Ignis on the investigation he had previously commissioned. "There has been little progress regarding the Saint Love Behavioral Correction School. The Sailing Education Group has also shown no unusual activity. Although the two are nominally a parent company and subsidiary, their financial ties are distant—more like a name-only affiliation. There are no personnel transfers between Saint Love's management system and Sailing's system. From every angle, it appears to be an independent company merely attached to the group in name."
"Are places like that common in New Eridu?" The Salamander had no fondness for such institutions—he had lived through two wars himself.
Electroconvulsive Therapy, Room Thirteen, Internet Addiction Treatment Centers—he still remembered those words. Sometimes they were spoken as jokes, but the hatred buried beneath them was never forgotten.
"Not many," Lycaon replied evenly. "Their target market is limited… most families don't need this. But that portion of profit alone is enough to drive people mad."
"Yeah. Boss Nicole helped me gather intel too. Most of the kids taken away were just introverted, had their own ideas, or were victims of bullying. The real bullies? They don't dare take those. In their words, they're 'too deeply polluted by society.'" The Salamander let out a low sigh. Once someone entered a place like that, little Fischer's chances were grim.
"I have no intention of judging their behavior," Lycaon said, his tone tinged with regret. "Where there is demand, there will be supply. They transport children through Hollows, which makes it extremely difficult to track their exact location. The city isn't covered by surveillance everywhere—there are always blind spots."
"So even you don't know where they were taken?" Ignis felt a headache coming on.
"They maintain several public-facing education bases. We had people investigate them. Neither the student rosters nor the facilities themselves showed any record of a boy named Fischer Dragovich."
"That sounds like he vanished into thin air." The Salamander snorted coldly. "No enrollment records at all?"
"None. No written documentation whatsoever." The well-connected Wolf Thiren butler sighed. "All existing evidence indicates that the Saint Love Behavioral Correction School has no relationship with a boy named Fischer Dragovich."
"But the person is gone—even with testimony from his parents."
"There are no receipts, and no transfer records," Lycaon replied coolly. "Victoria Housekeeping mobilized its connections. There truly were no traces left behind."
"I heard it was paid in cash. They said they'd assess the results first—satisfied, they issue a receipt; dissatisfied, they refund directly." Ignis rubbed his temples.
"Mr. Ignis, we will continue to look for ways to investigate this matter," Lycaon said at once, noticing the Salamander's agitation. "If there is any new development, you will be informed immediately."
"That's all we can do for now." Ignis exhaled slowly.
The pickup point Cerakos had agreed upon with Cecilia was the abandoned school that served as their temporary base of operations. On navigation maps, the area showed up as an empty blank, but under Ignis's guidance, Lycaon still found them.
Cerakos was dressed in a fairly formal suit, clearly brand new. The Space Marine looked extremely nervous, holding shopping bags in both hands. From what was visible, there were several different kinds of alcohol—and a pile of fried food. Cecilia, meanwhile, had changed into a white dress and wore a wide-brimmed straw hat. With only two days of vacation left, they had packed light, sharing a single suitcase.
"So there really is a butler!" the young lady exclaimed excitedly upon seeing Lycaon in the driver's seat. "I've only seen them in comics!"
"Miss Cecilia, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Von Lycaon of Victoria Housekeeping. Please, just call me Lycaon." After parking, he immediately stepped out and bowed. The gesture startled Cecilia—being a poor girl from the Faunus Quarter, she had never encountered such formality and could only bow back awkwardly.
"Hello, Mr. Lycaon." Cerakos extended a hand to the Wolf Thiren, who was not much shorter than himself. "Cerakos, Ignis's battle-brother."
"I have already heard your story. I hope you will soon emerge from your grief," Lycaon said, clasping his hand before inclining his head in respect.
After brief pleasantries, the two of them got into the vehicle as well. Since it had been specially prepared to accommodate the Salamander, the interior felt absurdly spacious for them.
"I brought some grape wine I brewed myself last year. I hope you'll like it." Cerakos glanced at the suitcase in the rear. "Will that food really make an ancient warrior happy?"
"Trust me. He will like it. And wine from an Angel's lineage is not something just anyone gets to taste." Looking at his battle-brother, the heaviness in the Salamander's heart eased for the moment.
"A private beach, a luxury car, and a dedicated butler and maids!" Cecilia was completely lost in her fantasies about the next two days. "This is really… something I wouldn't dare dream of!"
"Understood, Grandpa Cerakos!" The unhappy young lady emphasized the word "grandpa" with extra force.
"Grandpa?" Lycaon did not turn around, but even from his voice, the Wolf Thiren sounded unsettled. Cerakos looked barely in his early thirties—how could he be called grandpa? Only that elderly gentleman inside a mech seemed remotely old.
"I was close friends with her grandfather," Cerakos explained. "Her father and grandfather have both passed away. I'm the one taking care of her now. By seniority, she calls me grandpa."
"Mm. Girls that age tend to have very strong opinions." Lycaon sighed, as though the topic struck close to home.
He must be talking about Ellen… Ignis recalled the time he had been commissioned to pretend to be her guardian. Come to think of it, Lycaon had handled that job before—how the serious butler managed to keep a straight face remained a mystery.
"About that armor," Ignis brought the topic back. "Most of the components are intact—frighteningly good condition. Aside from the chest plate you pierced clean through, the rest only need minor modifications to fit your body."
"That's excellent news. My own power armor is covered in damage—some plates are even cracked." Cerakos looked at the Salamander. "Once the vacation ends, I'll visit you."
"The only real issue is the jump pack. Its energy transmission lines are damaged. You remember those Ether crystals? They were actually powering the jump pack, bypassing the broken lines and connecting directly." Ignis still found it astonishing. "But once you leave the Hollow, the crystals dissipate. Repairing that system will be troublesome."
"If it can be fixed, good. If not, I'll simply do without it." The Son of Sanguinius sighed. "It's unfortunate, but unavoidable."
"Someone on this trip might have a solution." Ignis thought of someone. "Remember when I told you the Leviathan Dreadnought was found in a damaged state? The woman who repaired it is also on this vacation. I believe she'll be interested in that jump pack."
Grace would definitely be interested—Ignis even suspected she might reverse-engineer it during the repair process and then strap an oversized jump pack onto Gotthardt.
Well, the Blood Angels really do have Dreadnoughts like that. If so, maybe the Imperial Fists will get their first one too.
He shook his head, banishing the mental image of Gotthardt laughing uproariously while flying around and using mechanical arms to haul steel beams into place. If that old veteran had such a device, he would absolutely do exactly that. Absolutely.
"You're saying she alone fully understood Leviathan technology and repaired it?" Cerakos felt as if he'd seen a ghost, even hearing it a second time.
"Not fully understood—she replaced the power system and swapped out the mechanical arms." Ignis felt that sounded somewhat reasonable.
"Are you serious? That's a Leviathan Dreadnought—by your account, technology from ten thousand years ago. Even the Adeptus Mechanicus would find it a headache, yet she repaired it in under a month." The Angel's descendant felt genuine fear. Within a single month, she had not only grasped the power system but replaced it entirely. The new mechanical arms integrated without rejection and even allowed multiple interchangeable modules for different scenarios.
This was far beyond anything that could be explained by the favor of the Omnissiah. It's like the machine spirit was drugged.
Cerakos searched for words but found his vocabulary utterly insufficient to express his shock. If the Chapter's Techmarines heard this, they might pass out on the spot.
"In truth, both Gotthardt and I were stunned," Ignis said with a sigh. "That level of overhaul should've taken at least five years. She finished it in about a month. I even wondered if she might be the Omnissiah's long-lost daughter."
Cerakos felt his worldview crumbling. What kind of people are these? New Eridu truly hid dragons and tigers.
The real shock, however, came when they arrived at the private beach.
"Mr. Lycaon… before I left, wasn't everyone setting off fireworks on the beach?" Ignis did his best to keep his tone steady.
"Yes, Mr. Ignis." The Wolf Thiren calmly pulled an expensive-looking camera from the trunk. "A moment worth recording."
"This is a private beach?" Cecilia was completely frozen.
"At least there's a sea." Cerakos pointed toward the shimmering waters in the distance.
"There has to be something wrong with this world!" the girl cried in despair. Everything she'd imagined was… off.
The beach was still a beach. The sea was still the sea. But the shore was different.
The sand had been excavated into a complete trench system—communication trenches, sharp turns, artillery shelters, supply caches, all fully realized. Machine-gun nests and infantry positions provided mutual cover, and several concealed bunkers were visible. Behind the trenches stood a fortress, its firing ports creating overlapping kill zones that covered the entire beach. Ignis even spotted concealed tunnels for troop and supply movement, connecting to every corner of the trench network.
Emperor preserve us—how did they turn this place into a miniature fortress in just a few days?
Ignis wanted to ask Lycaon, but the Wolf Thiren was busy photographing everything, missing no detail. Watching Lycaon's tail sway to keep balance, it was obvious he was genuinely excited.
If there was any flaw, it was that everything was made of sand—no reinforced concrete, no armor plating.
With a surge of mechanical roaring, the Leviathan Dreadnought "Terra's Wrath" strode out from behind the fortress, its sarcophagus open. The old veteran inside was thrilled, charging forward as his massive steps shook the ground.
"So, this is the Angel's descendant you mentioned? Greetings! I am Gotthardt Stahlgriff, an old veteran of the Imperial Fists Legion, First Assault Company." The Dreadnought extended a power claw.
"Y-you… hello." Cerakos was momentarily stunned—the ancient warrior looked energetic beyond belief. "Cerakos, of the Blood Angels' successor Chapter, the Lamenters. This is a gift."
He hurriedly raised a bottle of grape wine. "Home-brewed."
Gotthardt pressed a button on the sarcophagus, and a small hoist basket descended. Cerakos placed the wine inside, staring blankly as it rose back up.
The old veteran took the bottle, bit off the neck with one snap, spat it aside, and sniffed the aroma. "That scent—excellent. It's been a long time since I last tasted wine brewed by the Angels."
He lifted the bottle and took a huge swig. "Didn't expect to meet another battle-brother again. By the way, since you're of the Angel's lineage—can you sculpt?"
"A little," Cerakos answered, unsure where this was going.
"Perfect! Then come add some decoration to this fortress!" the old veteran laughed loudly. "Even if it's just a toy made of sand."
"Wait—Mr. Gotthardt, how did you build all this? The fortress and the trenches?" Ignis pressed a hand to his temple. He wouldn't sleep until he knew.
"Easy. Many hands make light work." The old veteran snorted. "You lot!"
With ground-shaking rumbles, three machines emerged from behind the fortress—Belobog Heavy Industries intelligent engineering units.
"Boss!" the three machines shouted in unison. "What are your orders!"
"Yo, isn't that Ignis?" Koleda Belobog called out from atop the tunneling machine Gleiter. "So, how about it? Pretty nice sandcastle I built, right?"
Nice…? This was a massive construction project! As expected of a construction company boss. Playing with sand and causing this much chaos—was the budget really fine?
"Where's Ben? I don't see him." Ignis thought of the long-suffering bear Thiren accountant.
"Oh, him?" Koleda thought for a moment. "He said he felt a bit dizzy and's been resting in the villa these past couple of days."
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