Chapter 288: Sponsored Content, Apparently
A living saint, in the Imperium of Man, occupied a position of extraordinary reverence. Some were regarded as the Emperor's own presence made manifest on the mortal plane. A formal declaration from Terra could elevate a saint to a level of authority that put Chapter Masters in the same room as equals, with Planetary Governors standing respectfully to one side.
Sounds appealing. The reality was considerably less comfortable.
The moment you accepted the title, you became permanently and irrevocably bound to the Imperial war machine. A martial saint especially. The schedule wrote itself: finish with the Aeldari, move on to the Orks, finish with the Orks, move on to the Tyranids, finish with the Tyranids, move on to the forces of Chaos, keep going until something finally killed you. No rest, no retirement, no exit. Just glory and exhaustion until the end.
And knowing himself, Kian was fairly certain that given the resources and influence a saint's reputation would attract, he'd spend every waking moment building fleets, armies, political networks, and factions, which would make him exponentially more useful to the Imperium and exponentially more dangerous to the Lords of Terra sitting in their palaces on the Throneworld.
The High Lords had a well-established view on this question. The only good saint was a dead saint. Living saints with genuine popular support who started developing opinions about governance tended to acquire a remarkable range of sudden medical conditions. Dissolved in water. Suffered catastrophic falls. Experienced acute heavy metal toxicity. The pattern was consistent enough to constitute policy.
The Planetary Bishop, watching Kian's refusal, was visibly distressed.
"My lord! The Emperor's miracles have already manifested through you. We have an obligation to ensure the wider Imperium knows of this!"
Kian read the situation immediately.
The Bishop wanted to claim credit. A Planetary Bishop who personally oversaw the emergence of a living saint on his world would have extraordinary documentation for his career file. That kind of credential could carry a man from Planetary Bishop to Sector Bishop, possibly further, given sufficient longevity and ambition.
Kian shook his head firmly.
"Don't pursue this, my lord. I won't agree to the title and I won't cooperate with any effort to build toward it. My goal is freedom. The stars. I have no intention of being permanently assigned to this planet or permanently attached to any power structure. I'm sorry."
The Bishop accepted this with visible reluctance and made a private note to discuss the matter with Confessor Pious at the earliest opportunity. The Confessor seemed to have an unusual relationship with the man. Perhaps he could be more persuasive.
"Very well, my lord. I won't press the point today. I hope you'll allow yourself to reconsider in time. Your investiture ceremony is prepared. The notable citizens and nobility of this Hive are assembled and waiting. You might consider preparing a few words of address for the occasion."
They moved through to the great hall.
This was Kian's second time here. The first had been his elevation to Baron. Today he would go one step further.
The ceremony proceeded before an audience of nearly a thousand of the Hive's most prominent figures. The Bishop read the formal investiture text. Kian received a parchment warrant, the kind that carried Imperial recognition across most of the sector's civilised worlds.
Its practical value was real. When you arrived at an unfamiliar planet with that document, the local nobility acknowledged you as a peer. They gave you a table, an audience, a conversation on equal terms. For someone with Kian's particular talent for talking people into things, equal terms was often enough to accomplish almost anything.
The ceremony concluded. The investiture address came next. Every new Count was given the floor to speak to the assembled gathering, to declare their intentions and establish their house's character in public.
The Bishop handed Kian the warrant and stepped back from the lectern.
Nearly a thousand faces looked up at him. Several servo-skulls drifted into position around him, the human-cranium-and-anti-gravity-unit constructs that served as the Imperium's all-purpose amplification devices, ready to carry his voice across the hall.
Kian cleared his throat. He surveyed the crowd. He spoke.
"I don't eat beef."
The assembled nobility stared at him.
The Bishop leaned toward his attendant and murmured urgently: "Remove the braised Antelope-Bull from the banquet menu immediately. The Count has dietary preferences."
Kian, satisfied that he'd established control of the room, continued.
"I assume most of you know who I am, so I'll skip the introduction. Let me speak to something you'll actually find interesting.
You watched me fight that xenos. You saw me go three hundred exchanges, circle the duelling ground multiple times, take a blade through the abdomen, and come back to win. You may have asked yourself: how?
Four generations my family has held the answer. Passed from father to son, never written down, never shared.
Today, with xenos and heresy pressing on every side, I have decided to break with tradition. I am going to share the secret with all of you."
The hall leaned forward.
Kian reached behind his back and produced a bottle of wine in both hands, holding it up for the room to see.
"Novice-Stomped Vintage. Organically cultivated grapes, no pesticides, no artificial treatment. Harvested and pressed entirely by the tender feet of sanctified novices of the Ecclesiarchy. Blended and monitored by a master vintner across every degree of temperature variance, every stage of fermentation.
Each batch is a unique creation. A painting. A sculpture. The finest art this Hive produces.
One glass and your mind is sharp and your body tireless. Two glasses and you're ready to put a xenos in the ground. Three glasses and you're ascending directly to the Golden Throne to share a laugh with the Emperor himself.
Purchase today and receive your second bottle at half price. For inquiries, contact the Red Lady Trading House or call vox-channel 8888888."
The ceremony concluded.
Kian's wine sales doubled by the following morning.
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