In Byrne's understanding, Blackrot was an epidemic that had ravaged the city of Lopo ten years ago. At the time, the disease had spread extensively, claiming countless lives. Though Byrne hadn't witnessed it firsthand, he had heard the rumors.
According to the official account, the outbreak was caused by a psyker losing control, which triggered a localized Warp incursion. Blackrot was sinister; it began with small dark spots on the skin accompanied by common symptoms like low fever and fatigue. Within three days, however, the black spots would spread like a spiderweb across the entire body. Patients would become manic—behaving like mindless zombies—before their flesh rotted away in extreme agony until they died.
Even more terrifying was its contagiousness: saliva, blood, and even breath served as vectors. To contain the spread, nearly half of Lopo was placed under total lockdown. It took over two months to finally quell the disaster. The cost was staggering—Lopo's population was slashed by more than half. Most survivors were left with permanent sequelae, becoming pariahs whom others avoided at all costs.
Ten years had passed, but the scars on Lopo had never fully healed.
Recalling this, Byrne nodded. "Of course. That was the disaster caused by a psyker's loss of control ten years ago. Why do you ask?"
Keith let out a cold, angry sneer. "Heh, 'psyker loss of control'? That's nothing but a pack of lies. The true culprit behind that disaster is the current Governor, David Rick."
What?
The revelation nearly made Byrne spray out the mouthful of beer he had just taken. He wiped his lip and asked incredulously:
"Because it involved the Warp, the Imperial Inquisition was alerted. The final conclusion was handed down by an Inquisitorial decree. How could it be fake?"
Anyone familiar with the world of Warhammer knew the sheer weight of the Inquisition's authority. They were the defenders of Imperial order, holding the power of life and death. An Inquisitorial verdict was absolute truth; from a Sector Governor down to a common hive-worker, once labeled a heretic or tainted by Chaos, execution was inevitable.
Faced with Byrne's skepticism, Keith remained eerily calm. "You're right. No one dares question a decree from the Inquisition. And that is exactly the result Rick wanted."
Byrne frowned. "What do you mean?"
Keith clenched his fists, his voice dripping with resentment. "The Blackrot ten years ago wasn't an accident. It was a living sacrifice Rick offered to the Lord of Pestilence. That 'uncontrolled psyker' was merely a scapegoat used to bury the truth."
Seeing Keith's agitation and connecting it to his earlier words, a realization struck Byrne. He glanced at the photo in the pocket watch. "The psyker who lost control ten years ago... she was your sister, wasn't she?"
"Yes."
Keith looked at the photo, tilted his head back, and drained the rest of his black ale in one go. He slammed the empty bottle onto the counter, venting his pent-up fury.
"My sister, Leah, was a renowned healer in Lopo. One day, she treated several strange patients. Each had pea-sized black spots—the exact early symptoms of Blackrot."
Keith's gaze drifted toward the distance, as if piercing through time to see the scenes from a decade ago. Byrne didn't interrupt; he simply opened another bottle of ale and pushed it toward Keith.
"Leah knew something was wrong immediately. Through her psychic sensitivity, she felt a filthy, decaying energy within those patients. This wasn't a natural plague; it was a product of Warp corruption.
"She reported it immediately to the City Lord of the time—the man who is now Governor David Rick. But that bastard Rick didn't just suppress the report; he lured Leah into the manor's underground laboratory under the guise of 'researching the cure.'
"It took time for Leah to realize the truth. Her research reports were being used as fuel to perfect Rick's sacrificial ritual. He didn't want a cure; he wanted to cultivate the purest form of corrosive energy to earn the blessing of the Plague Lord. Sadly, she realized it too late.
"To achieve his goals, Rick needed a scapegoat that both the Inquisition and the public would believe. Leah, a psyker who had outlived her usefulness, became the perfect candidate."
"And then?" Byrne couldn't help but ask.
"Once everything was ready, Rick used corrosive agents to trigger a psychic overload in Leah, forcing her to lose control. The Blackrot exploded across the city, and Lopo plunged into panic.
"The Inquisition... those fanatics only care about Warp taint and heresy. They didn't bother to dig deeper. Once the disaster was 'cleansed,' they announced Leah was a Chaos cultist in front of the survivors and burned her body with holy promethium. Rick, under the pretense of stopping the plague, walked over a mountain of corpses to become the Governor he is today."
Byrne took a deep breath. "How do you know all these secrets?"
Keith grabbed the new bottle and took a heavy swig.
"Before Leah died, she used the last shred of her sanity to project her memory images into my mind. For ten years, I escaped the ruins of Lopo, joined the Rebel Army, and honed my skills—all for the day I could kill Rick with my own hands and avenge everyone who died in the Blackrot.
"Finally, I saw my chance. To celebrate his tenth anniversary in power, Rick held a grand banquet at the Governor's Mansion. With so many people around, security was bound to have gaps. It was my only chance to get close to him."
Byrne interjected, "But you failed."
Keith shook his head helplessly. "Yes. I underestimated his personal guard. I doubt I'll ever find an opportunity that good again."
As he spoke, Keith's anger boiled over; he slammed a fist into the counter. The metal surface buckled instantly, leaving a deep fist-print, while the cans and bottles rattled violently.
Byrne now understood the full picture. Keith's reckless attempt wasn't an impulsive act, but the culmination of ten years of accumulated vengeance.
To Byrne, David Rick was clearly no saint. He exploited the lower classes, monopolized resources, and condoned corruption—these were open secrets. If you mentioned the Governor to the people of the Lower District, they'd all grit their teeth in hatred. But Byrne hadn't expected Rick's atrocities to go this far.
The man had used half the lives of Lopo as chips to bargain for the blessing of Nurgle. This level of depravity was enough to make even a Chaos Space Marine look twice.
Fueled by the alcohol, the two talked for a while longer. At 10:00 PM, Keith finally prepared to leave. Before heading out, he even tried to recruit Byrne into the Rebel Army, a proposal Byrne rejected without a second thought.
Was he joking? He had finally found a way to use his "golden finger" to escape his fate as cannon fodder. There was no way he was jumping into the fire of a rebellion.