Hades stared exasperatedly at the so-called "more highly educated folk" before him.
"My lord, I am their current supervisor," declared a plump, oily man unctuously.
Behind him was a sizable crowd of people with somewhat tattered yet still ostentatious clothing barely concealing their former finery.
Hades felt a vein bulge angrily on his head already. He had specially set aside supervision of ring construction and Barbarus migration registration to come welcome this batch Malcador sent him.
Not long ago as lavish opulence visibly spilled from the transport ships newly granted to Mortarion by the Emperor, Hades also harbored some slight anticipation toward Malcador.
But as expected of you, Malcador.
Eyeing the refugee-like huddled masses disembarking, Hades sank deeply into doubtful thoughts.
If he had known sooner, he would have just asked the Emperor directly!
But Hades was well aware Imperial administration was chiefly Malcador's responsibility. Any command from the Emperor would ultimately still get implemented by Malcador's hand.
Hades grinded his teeth resentfully at the thought. Though in this matter, Malcador was also hapless—Terra's key departments had massive talent demand that even he found insufficient. How could he possibly allocate personnel to some remote planet? Even the Primarch's cradle world did not warrant exceptions.
Hence, Malcador decisively issued edicts to the Tempest Star Zone where Barbarus was located to gather disgraced noble scions across all worlds.
And thus, Hades received a pile of failed court rivals, derelict ministers sentenced for negligence, or corrupt officials nearly condemned to death sentences as his "educated talent".
One could only say the interpretation had been stretched quite splendidly indeed.
As the lord before him ignored his words, the middle-aged man named Fowler remained unhurried, his well-practiced smile neither humble nor haughty as he stood awaiting beside Hades.
Formerly an executive in the spire cities, he rose thus high solely due to backing by a powerful bloodline. But when that house required a scapegoat sentenced to death, Fowler was promptly pushed out.
Yet Fowler bore no resentment. From the day they shielded him, he already knew his eventual fate. Hence Fowler never saved much for himself—make merry while he could—and never started family either, feeling free of regrets before this incarceration.
But he never imagined that one line from figures high above would have him hauled roughly out of prison by guards and crammed onto ships bound for Barbarus.
Not bad, he could live a while longer then.
If only the lord before him did not look absolutely livid now. Fowler discerned this lord clearly did not welcome their ilk of dissolute nobles.
In all likelihood...this lord must have been shafted covertly by his superiors without recourse, forced to swallow mute grievances.
Fowler made efforts not to seem too unpleasant. Sighing inwardly that as their makeshift supervisor pushed out hastily, misfortune would surely befall him.
He caught glimpses of these Legion lords' tempers—mighty awful indeed, holding mortals utterly beneath notice.
Yet the lord opposite, after some rigid moments, questioned in an indistinct tone:
"You are called?"
"Fowler, my lord. I am Fowler," he answered promptly.
Hades paused, suppressing his urge to murder Malcador.
"Very well, Fowler. Tell me the background of all your people here."
Immeasurably honored by this reasonable lord who did not vent emotions, Fowler felt the few strands left on his head flutter. He hurriedly babbled all he knew out like smashing garlic.
"My lord, most among us hail from the Tempest Star Zone nobility. All fluent in High Gothic. We were convicted of various offenses but have now been assigned to you."
Very good. Criminals, even. Hades could now guess Malcador's ploy.
He decided to rescind any sympathy once held toward Malcador getting berated by Mortarion back on Mars.
Education was crucial indeed, but sending a pile of...
Hades felt anger welling again.
"Convicted?" he slowly asked.
The Death Guard's heavy voice rippled outwards. The formerly restless crowd instantly stilled, deathly silent.
Sensing the abrupt thirst to kill exuded by Hades, Fowler's knees turned soft. He knelt down directly.
Witnessing Fowler's descent, the glimpse of asphyxia from earlier returned to jolt the masses into hurriedly kneeling as one.
But witnessing the nobles' behavior, Hades felt somewhat helpless instead.
It wasn't their fault either...
Ha.
Malcador, you *#!@$!!!
Though convicted, Hades could not execute them all. He still needed them to work. Just had to filter out the trash first and find supervisors for their conduct later.
"Do not kneel," rang a clear girlish voice, breaking the silence.
Hades sighed and turned. Sure enough, Little Kor Phaeron again.
Thanks to the Death Guard's ample rations and Kyriss intentionally keeping the siblings apart, the young girl's pariah field strengthened swiftly over this period.
She even intuitively awakened the Untouchables' Stealth ability.
Upon discovering Little Kor Phaeron abruptly growing difficult to find, Kyriss promptly reported the anomaly to Hades.
Eyeing the girl, Hades seemed to recall Stealth was a formidable skill only mastered by potent Sisters of Silence.
Realizing her pariah field had intensified to an extent, Hades decisively took over caring for the child himself.
Still free-range parenting of course—just tying a locator beacon on Little Kor Phaeron and informing her what zones she could roam freely in. Wandering beyond would trigger automated alerts.
And she could always find Hades if anything came up.
The more docile Kyriss willingly immersed himself in the archives to study instead. Bored by books, Little Kor Phaeron would come pester Hades occasionally out of boredom.
Hades scratched his chin. He suddenly realized no one ever taught Little Kor Phaeron that children should not interrupt adults working.
A native Barbaran clearly did not comprehend such aristocratic manners. She merely drew from personal experience on Barbarus that kneeling was unacceptable.
Could other Barbaran children be at similar standards... Hades sucked in a breath. He grasped that it might actually be so.
Death Guard of Barbaran stock—their discipline had all been instilled early on by Mortarion. Usually, such rules never existed in the scattered villages.
Everyone lived sloppily. Perhaps base dwellers behaved a tad more appropriately.
But that was it.
"Little Kor Phaeron," Hades opened a private vox, speaking solemnly.
"You cannot butt in when people work, or speak out of turn."
"Oh, sorry!"
The girl instantly wilted. Newly aware of her mistake, she activated Stealth and covered her mouth with one hand, obediently moving to stand by Hades' side.
Still kneeling, Fowler trembled beside them, utterly bewildered over what just happened.
Before his eyes, a girl had abruptly popped up then vanished inexplicably!
Far too bizarre and creepy! Was that a ghost?!
Fowler shuddered all over, paunch jiggling. He did not fear death but remained utterly terrified of spirits!
Terror led Fowler to unconsciously overlook the now eased tension permeating Hades.
"Rise now."
Hades sighed inaudibly.
"Queue up to register over there, everyone."
"Write down your full names, ages, home worlds, convictions—or how you came to be here, clearly."
"Anyone fabricating their pasts..."
Hades left his words hanging. Satisfied at watching them totter over hurriedly.