Chapter 287: Elevated to Count
After the cigarette, the Planetary Governor settled back into his sofa with the comfortable ease of a man who had nowhere to be.
"You stirred up quite the spectacle. All to pressure me into rewarding you. So. What do you want?"
Kian stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his hands together.
"Whatever you think is appropriate. Land, title, and some money. I'm not picky about the amount."
The word "money" hit the Governor like a slap.
"You have the nerve to ask me for money? Do you have any idea what your little performance cost this Hive? Standing in front of every screen in the city and swearing to donate a hundred billion to the radiation patients?"
The hundred billion bounty had always been decorative. The noble houses had posted it fully expecting that no freelance bounty hunter would ever actually kill the Aeldari warrior, and if someone somehow managed it quietly, that person could simply be made to disappear before collection. Problem solved, money never spent.
Then Kian appeared. His standing made him inconvenient to remove. He broadcast the entire fight live. He killed the Aeldari warrior in front of ten billion witnesses and immediately, loudly, on camera, reminded everyone that the hundred billion was owed.
The noble houses had been left with precisely no room to manoeuvre. Refuse to pay with ten billion people watching, and the city would tear itself apart. They had ground their teeth and pooled the money and paid it out to the radiation victims, every Agri-Scrip of it.
It stung. But the Hive's civilian population was already stretched to breaking point between the ongoing rebellion, the food shortage, and the radiation crisis. Keeping the city stable required some investment. The money, viewed in that light, was damage control rather than charity.
Kian spread his hands.
"You can't give me nothing. I killed the Aeldari warrior. I gave the entire Hive something to believe in when it needed it most. I bled for this city. I delivered results. I'm owed something."
The Governor's expression was serene.
"No money. What I can give you is a Countship. Hereditary, fully recognised. As for territory: everything outside this Hive is contested ground. Whatever you can take and hold, up to a hundred thousand square kilometres, is yours. Earn it."
Kian blinked.
"That's it?"
The Governor gave him a flat look.
"What else would you like? The Hive treasury is empty. The food reserves are gone. Beyond the title and the land ceiling, what exactly do you think I have to give you? You're a living saint, allegedly. You killed an Aeldari warrior with your bare hands and a sword. Taking back a hundred thousand square kilometres from the rebels should be a light afternoon for someone of your calibre."
Kian stood up and slapped the table.
"Hey. I've been patient with you. Do you have any idea how tight-fisted this is? I did something historic and you're handing me an empty title and telling me to go conquer my own land grant? How does anyone work under you? Go home and grow root vegetables."
"Oh, you absolute—"
The Governor snatched up his wine glass with every intention of hurling it at the floor, which would have served as a pre-arranged signal to the forty or fifty power-armoured axemen waiting in the adjacent room.
The Planetary Bishop, who had been watching events develop with increasing anxiety, moved faster. He quietly collected every glass and vessel from the table surface before the Governor could find one to throw.
The Governor's hand swept empty air. The pre-condition for summoning the axemen could not be met.
After this brief interlude, Kian and the Bishop departed the dining hall, leaving the Governor to return to his meal.
The Governor watched Kian's retreating back. His small eyes narrowed slightly.
"The tithe fleet will come eventually. Twenty-odd years of arrears. I wonder what a psyker Immortal is worth as a submission payment."
He had known about Kian since shortly after the business with General Zeppelin. A full intelligence workup had been compiled and placed on his desk. The resurrection events were in the file. For an ordinary citizen, that kind of information would be nearly impossible to obtain. For a Planetary Governor, anyone who had left any trace of activity within his city could be researched comprehensively.
Immortals were not common, but at his level of governance he encountered references to them periodically. A family's ancient patriarch. A noble house's long-serving advisor. In some cases, a friend of the Emperor from before recorded history. They tended to have value in contexts that went well beyond the merely political.
The Governor helped himself to another handful of food.
"Immortality. I don't envy it, actually. In a world like this one, death is rest. Death is peace. Immortality just means the suffering never stops."
He muttered this to himself and kept eating.
Kian, unaware that the fat man was already pricing him for resale, followed the Bishop back toward the Ecclesiarchy tower for the investiture ceremony.
The Imperium ran on medieval logic with void-ship infrastructure. A king needed the High Priest to crown him. A new Count needed the Planetary Bishop to perform the rite. The ceremony was substantial: in the great prayer hall of the Ecclesiarchy tower, nearly a thousand nobles had assembled to witness the elevation.
A Countship carried genuine authority. Planetary policy, legislative decisions, matters of governance: all of it required the consent of the Count's council. This was actual power, not decoration, and everyone in the hall understood that.
The assembled nobles watched with a mixture of admiration, envy, and calculation.
Families with unmarried daughters were running the numbers on a potential alliance.
Various political factions were mentally drafting their pitch to bring the new Count into their coalition.
The subject of all this attention was in a back room, speaking quietly with the Planetary Bishop, shaking his head repeatedly.
"You actually want to formally declare me a living saint? No. Absolutely not. Do you know what happens to living saints? It's not a career path, it's a target painted on your chest."
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