The Chimera APC's engine rumbled lowly, finally coming to a stop on the rough open ground in front of the command post. Its tracks crunched over gravel, kicking up a choking cloud of dust. Herbert and the players nimbly jumped from the bumpy vehicle, their heavy military boots thudding softly as they hit the ground.
The player whose vehicle had been destroyed didn't speak immediately. He first walked around to the rear of the vehicle, glancing down at the completely disfigured, blood-and-flesh pulp mixed with the ground's sand and gravel.
A smirk played on his lips, and then he let out a loud, joyful whistle. He walked back to Herbert, unceremoniously extended his fist, and bumped it hard against the Inquisitor's, producing a dull clang of armor.
"I declare, I'm changing my stereotype of Inquisitors now," he grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth.
"Oh?" Herbert raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of curious interest on his face. "What was your stereotype of me before?"
"You'd better not ask," the player shrugged, offering no further explanation. He simply turned around with a flourish and deftly climbed back into the driver's seat. He gripped the control stick, and the engine's roar sounded again. "See you next time."
With that, he drove the chimera away, kicking up dust. Judging by his unreduced speed, he intended to thoroughly grind away the remaining half of the mass at the vehicle's rear. It seemed that the death of his pet dog had indeed made him incredibly furious.
"Heh, this is the first time in thirty years I've heard someone say 'See you next time' to me," Herbert watched the receding dust, instinctively reaching up to touch his chin, letting out a low chuckle. "It's quite fresh... Do other Inquisitors get to hear such words?"
He shook his head self-deprecatingly and turned to walk into the command post. The heavy metal door happened to open at that moment. Robert was walking out with another figure. Herbert looked closely and saw it was Magos Reddito of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
The two parties met at the doorway, both stopping and exchanging an aquila salute.
"This is?" Herbert asked.
"I'm busy, ask him," Magos Reddito's uninflected mechanical voice sounded. He didn't even linger for a second, but walked past Herbert with precise, rhythmic steps, quickly leaving the area.
"Simply put, now that the war is nearing its end, I just wanted to ask him if there was any possibility of changing the existing production order," Robert turned aside, gesturing for Herbert to walk into the command post with him, explaining as they went.
Herbert followed his pace, entering the brightly lit command center, filled with data streams and communication sounds. He asked with interest, "So what did he say?"
"Magos Reddito replied, 'Why change? If you don't produce military equipment, what do you intend to produce?'" Robert's face showed a helpless yet relieved smile. "I thought about it for a bit, and he's right. I was being fanciful."
"It seems you don't intend to rebuild Perditia's past civil and noble system," Herbert pointed out the subtext of his words incisively.
"The Helldivers are eager for battle; we are not people who like to rest on our laurels," Robert spoke the truth. The players came to this game to fight, not to be civil servants serving the people.
The two walked one after another into the depths of the command post. It was much quieter here than outside, with only the low hum of data slates and servo-skulls, and a giant holographic star map slowly rotating in the center of the room, casting a ghostly blue light that reflected on their dust-covered armor. Robert casually pulled over two cold metal chairs, gesturing for Herbert to sit down.
"Also, as you know, Perditia has been brought into this state..." Robert sat down, his fingers intertwined on the table, his body leaning slightly forward, his expression unusually serious. "I actually don't have much talent for internal governance. If we want to restore it to its former state, relying on conventional taxes to meet the tithe is definitely out of the question."
"Then it's a blood tithe," Herbert leaned back in his chair, his posture very casual.
"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you," Robert's tone grew heavier. He stared intently into the Inquisitor's eyes. "I want to know, how many Astra Militarum Soldiers should Perditia submit each year? If we can't gather that number, how should we discuss it with the Astra Militarum? And what is the specific submission process?"
"All your questions..." Herbert tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, pondering for a moment, seemingly organizing his words so that mortals could understand the great logic of the Imperium. "...don't need to be considered."
"What do you mean by that?" Robert's brows furrowed.
"Firstly, you don't need to think about how many soldiers to submit, nor do you need to think about discussing it with the Astra Militarum. The Astra Militarum doesn't have the time or manpower to calculate the specific output of your single planet," Herbert spread his hands. "As for how to submit them—just wait for the troop transport ships to arrive in orbit, then have your soldiers board them. Fill as many as you can."
"That's too..." Robert's mouth twitched. "...Isn't there any official to handle the handover with me or anything?"
"Even if you searched from Macragge to Holy Terra, you wouldn't find an official responsible for such matters," Herbert's answer was unequivocal. "The Astra Militarum is very busy and doesn't have enough manpower to liaise with every planetary governor individually."
"Then I dare to ask..." Robert felt an inexplicable sense of exasperation. "If the Astra Militarum is so busy, what exactly are they busy with?"
"Hmm..." Herbert pondered for a moment, his profound gaze seemingly piercing through the command post's ceiling, looking out into the endless star sea. Finally, he replied, "I don't know."
This sentence seemed to say nothing, yet it seemed to say everything.
"Alright then..." Robert let out a long sigh. He stood up and extended his hand to Herbert. "Then I have no more questions. Do you have anything else? If not, then... see you next time."
"No," Herbert also stood up and shook his hand. "This is the second time."
"What?" Robert was a bit confused, not understanding his meaning.
"No, nothing," Herbert released his hand and turned to walk out. However, after his tall figure had completely exited the command post and was once again bathed in Perditia's dim yellow sunlight, an uncontrollable, low, and hearty laugh finally erupted from his chest, echoing over the ruins where the fires of war had just ceased.