On the surface, everything seemed to proceed smoothly.
After leaving the command post, Herbert swiftly returned to his temporary residence on Perditia—an administrative building that had survived the war with its structure relatively intact.
The moment he stepped through the door, his retinue of silent servants began a tense yet orderly flurry of activity.
Heavy metal crates were unloaded from anti-gravity platforms with a clang; servo-skulls glided silently through the air, scanning every item to be packed with their mechanical eyes; black-uniformed attendants hurried about, carefully placing various instruments and equipment into crates bearing the Inquisition's emblem. Even a passing Guard soldier, with just a casual glance inside, would immediately draw one clear and unambiguous conclusion: "They are leaving."
And in fact, they were. Herbert had no intention of lingering. The Imperium of Man's domain was vast and boundless, and the troubles requiring attention were equally endless. Now that the conflict on Perditia had concluded, he naturally had to rush to the next burning world, the next troubled place requiring an Inquisitor's iron hand.
But this was merely a facade.
During the brief time his loyal retinue was packing, Herbert was absolutely confident that he could silently infiltrate the two Martyr's battle group space marines' quarters and thoroughly investigate them.
As for the source of this confidence? Firstly, while he was on a lightning assault against the orks with the Wolf Lord of the Space Wolves, his guard contingent remaining in the hive city had not been idle. They had already taken advantage of this valuable window to thoroughly scout the two astartes' defensive positions and their surrounding environment.
Secondly, and most perfectly, the Space Wolves, to celebrate their hard-won victory, were quite naturally deciding to hold a grand feast. The Sons of Fenris were always boisterous, and they had invited all warriors they deemed "worthy" to partake in roasted meat and fine wine. The two astartes from the Martyr's battle group were, naturally, among the invited. This meant their quarters were currently empty.
On a side note, it was a good thing the Space Wolves' battle barge had ample supplies. Otherwise, for a space marines' victory banquet to end with them all sitting around gnawing on nutrient paste would be far too abstract a scene.
The final point was the fundamental basis of Herbert's secret operation. In his long career as an Inquisitor, he had encountered not only endless troubles. On the contrary, thanks to his duty and spirit of thorough investigation, he had mastered forbidden mysteries and xenos technologies far beyond ordinary imagination.
For example, on his flagship, in a secret room that no one but he was authorized to enter, he held captive many demons he had personally summoned and bound with runes—though for his Order of the Holy Hammer, this was nothing new.
Another example was the item he was currently wearing.
Herbert entered his private chamber, and with a thought, the black cowl covering his power armor began to change. It was not fabric, but a flexible material that seemed alive. Fine psychic patterns flashed across its surface, emitting an almost inaudible hum. The lines of the entire "garment" were fluid and elegant, completely unlike the rough and heavy style of the Empire, instead possessing a distinct, delicate, and eerie beauty characteristic of the eldar.
This was a psychic-powered stealth suit. As Herbert infused his psychic energy into it, the surrounding light seemed to be warped and swallowed by an invisible veil. His form began to blur, become transparent, and finally completely merged into the background shadows, as if he had never existed.
In the eyes of others, Inquisitor Herbert Hernampode soon emerged from his room again. His figure was shrouded in shadow, appearing somewhat stiff. With a cold and impatient tone, he sharply reprimanded a servant who was moving a crate, complaining that the servant was too slow. The servant immediately fell silent, his movements quickening.
The real Herbert, meanwhile, had already slipped out of the temporary residence like a ghost. Under the concealment of the eldar stealth suit, his form became a distorted light-and-shadow anomaly, almost imperceptible to the naked eye, blending seamlessly with the environment. He moved swiftly and precisely towards his destination—the temporary quarters of the Martyr's battle group.
The operation went even more smoothly than expected.
The two space marines' quarters were a cleared-out, relatively intact tower, almost completely empty except for a few servitors performing routine cleaning procedures in the corridors.
Herbert easily infiltrated it, and he found nothing unusual about this. space marines, the Emperor's Angels, were the most powerful weapons themselves and did not require the protection of mortal guards. Most of the time, guards were merely a symbol of status and position.
Herbert quickly scanned the room. Based on his years of extensive experience hunting heretics, and the multi-spectrum detector integrated into his power armor's helmet, he found no hidden mechanisms or secret compartments. The air was filled with the scent of sacred oil and metal, and he himself perceived no psychic echoes.
"They openly display their power, clearly unafraid of exposure. So, it's expected that there's nothing hidden in the room." Herbert mused silently in the quiet room, his gaze sweeping over the simple furnishings. "Since it's not hidden, then it must be openly displayed."
His eyes re-examined the plain room, and soon, in an inconspicuous metal drawer, he found two notebooks. The covers were plain black synthetic leather, without any markings.
He decisively opened one of them. The pages were filled with orderly symbols. If this wasn't some complex code he couldn't decipher, then it was a language he had never seen before.
Herbert knew he had found it. He could almost certainly conclude that this was most likely a language. Using a code for daily notes was purely superfluous, something only ignorant teenagers would do. He knew very well that truly important core secrets would never be committed to paper; the two space marines would certainly have them firmly memorized in their minds.
However, even if these were just their logs or essays, for Herbert, it was absolutely worth it. There must be highly valuable information within them.
He activated the high-definition image capture function of his power armor. Amidst silent flashes, pages of symbols were completely recorded. Out of an Inquisitor's characteristic caution, and to prevent this unknown language or the notebooks themselves from possessing some heretical function that could interfere with electronic machinery, he spent an additional two minutes, replicating all these block-like symbols into his mind with astonishing memory.
"Time to withdraw."
Herbert quickly restored everything, placing the two notebooks back in their exact original positions and closing the drawer. Perhaps there were other valuable clues in this empty room, but continuing the search would exponentially increase the risk of exposure over time. That was a cost he could not bear.