Melissa Springer tried to relax and reminded himself that his explanation of prophecy was never straightforward. After all, even the library of the Psychological Academy is often filled with the most ridiculous meditation fantasies, often those that were proven predictions.
But she still hesitated and felt uneasy about the vividness of the dream.
"It's me, but...but I look different. I'm dressed in tatters, and... my face has blood. One of them...oh, the throne... one of my arms is gone... blood is like a fountain... I want to say something, but the wind is too strong, I...I can't hear, and then I see...I..."
She vaguely realized that a tear had slipped down her cheek, and, far, surreal, wondered why it was there.
What does that mean?
All the sentences were now smuggled into a ball, refusing to stop, she felt like she was trapped in a terrible fear of meditation, rolling, screaming and freezing, and it was over in an instant.
"I looked at it...that shadow, I mean...it's like I'm falling, going straight through the snow, and then...that something is chasing me, burning me from behind my eyes...the Emperor blessed, that was the size of a nest city, falling from the stars...and..."
"…Dark crawled out of her womb."
She opened her eyes hard for a long enough time to check if the servant recorded every word.
It stared at her silently, waiting for her next order.
She sighed, indulging herself in deep, exhausted fainting.
But soon, her lethargy was interrupted.
"who?"
"You're awake?"
"Ah, judge."
Melissa Springer bowed respectfully, his eyes drooping.
She was not used to the quirks of her new master, but soon knew that his extraordinary temper was more likely to be reflected in those who failed to show the respect he deserved, and considering his insistence on wearing a mirrored helmet with only the narrowest slit of eyes, it may unfortunately be that any gaze interested in his peculiar headdress would be mistaken for disrespect and might arouse all his anger.
In short, Inspector Leonard Meyers has always been a good person to get along with.
Even most of his colleagues in the Inquisition think so.
But Melissa thought she was relatively safe at the moment, as long as she lowered her head and occupied her sight with the hem of a plaid robe and heavy armor boots, rather than his feather shawl and reflective mask.
“No need.”
But today the facts proved that she was wrong. For such a majestic figure, the judge's voice today was surprisingly soft.
"I will not let my assistant bow down like a grass-roots. I am your supervisor, girl, not your master."
"Sorry, sir."
She straightened up and adjusted her gaze upwards, revealing a repentant look. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to be as tall as her chest.
At the same time, her gaze crossed the judge's shoulder and looked back. There were masked figures forming the judge's entourage. Several of them chuckled and were amused by her disobedience.
She suppressed the strong desire to press down their heads and forced herself to calm down.
As the latest member of the entourage, she soon learned that rank is not important at all: technically, she is second only to the judge herself, but among this colorful crowd, respect seems to be won, not demanded.
Each judge will have a team of followers of different sizes. The size of the followers is often related to the judge's might and power. Of course, wealth is also part of it, but not the main factor.
Leonard Meyers has more than sixty entourages, covering many fields such as negotiators, merchants, liars, killers, soldiers, psychics, mutants, etc. These entourages follow the judges based on the prestige of the other party, and seek asylum on the other hand.
Of course, the large political legacy left by Inquisitor Leonard Meyers' late mentor is also a very important reason.
“I’ve read the scene you described.”
Leonard Meyers' voice was confused and waving a slender data board in her field of vision.
"You've fainted before this."
"Because... the prophecy is too realistic, sir."
"I don't care how realistic it is, girl, but I won't tolerate my servant fainting at important moments."
"This won't happen again, sir."
"Of course, it won't."
As the data board tilted upwards, the judge's eyes moved up the spider-web-like text.
"Your description...is interesting to read, what does it mean?"
"I don't know, there is no meditator here to interpret-"
"I didn't ask what the emperor's damn machine would do, girl! I'll ask you what you think."
She swallowed and resisted the urge to see his eyes.
"I...I think something is coming, sir, coming here, I mean-"
“‘Something’, is this the best you can do?”
She was so nervous that she was about to tremble, and she clenched her fists to her side, trying to restrain the bitterness in her voice.
"Things from the stars, a huge and dark thing...the dark thing,'
For a moment, the dust particles circulated in the beam of the hovering illuminator, and at the edge of her vision, Melissa could see her follower shuffling.
Did her words resonate?
Suddenly, the judge's deep voice broke the silence and her hope.
"The Emperor's Blood."
He said loudly, with regret in his voice.
"How should I deal with it in such detail?"
As expected, the room was drowned in laughter, and people vented their flattering pleasures in a burst of laughter.
For a moment, she found herself hating them.
She relaxed herself, gracefully endured humiliation - digging her nails deep into the flesh of her palms, and blood oozing out between her knuckles.
"Enough."
The judge's smile disappeared, and suddenly silence enveloped the room. He squinted his eyes and looked at the crowd, his strong shoulders thrust.
To Melissa, reluctantly bathed in the hustle and bustle of spiritual release, this sentence was like a gust of spring breeze, she had enough of them, and although they might be fools, they shut up.
"The action takes place in half an hour."
The judge raised his head to his staff and roared with orders.
"Everything ready for all tools and vehicles, take the B-level grouping mode, now."
Soon, the group of people were divided into groups like machines in a short time. Melissa was not familiar with everyone here, and she could still see some clues of resource allocation: in each group there were at least a strong warrior or soldier, a psychic psychic lying on the mask, a mechanic believer fiddling with the device, a priest wearing a hood and holding a chainsaw, and a sniper with a cold eyes.
The judge had only one command, and the overall ability and expertise were spliced together just right, without bullshit. This was also impressive efficiency even for Melissa, who was still struggling with their contempt.