Michael let his head drop again.

  'Judging by your reaction, it seems my knowledge is not that accurate after all,' he said.

  'I will be the judge of that,' said the interrogator. He grabbed the chair and pulled it closer and poured another glass of the wine. He sat down in front of his prisoner, eyeing him with great interest.

  'Go on,' Lord Lucian said. 'Enlighten me.'

  Mike sighed and answered.

  'The Knights of Steel are a mystery even in the stories. They are described as a subfaction of the Imperial Knights. They pilot similar war machines, and they protect the people, but in a very different way. They are said to be superhuman in almost every way—in some stories they can even fight space marines in hand-to-hand combat, although admittedly, these are rare events and full of controversies'.

  Lord Inquisitor Lucian interrupted.

  'You know of the Astartes?' He asked.

  'The Angels of Death. The ultimate warriors were created by the Emperor himself. Yes, I know of them. They are recognizable to many even without any other knowledge of the tales.'

  'Interesting. But let's not deter the conversation. Continue,' ordered the listener, while taking a sip out of his cup. He acted like a listener to a great lecture, not an interrogator to a prisoner.

  Regardless, Michael continued.

  'As I said, the pilots themselves have incredible abilities. They are faster, stronger, more durable, and smarter than the average human, with a great affinity for machines. As if they could talk to them directly. Combined with the might of their suits, they are nigh unstoppable. Their steeds are more agile, stronger and are always ready to take on any role on the battlefield required, unlike the other knight suits we see in the setting. With time, they can even heal minor damages to their system, make new weapons from their armor, and act on simpler commands given by their pilots on their own. Each of them has a personality and an artificial intelligence as well. No one knows their origins; no one has ever contacted them. They usually rise from the crowd; as they live in disguise among the people, they use their incredible power to save humanity, and then they vanish without a trace. Silent protectors, helping humanity in their darkest hour. These are the Knights of Steel.'

  After the lecture reached its end, silence fell between the two, as the inquisitor thought about all he had heard and the imprisoned waited for a reaction. The tense void of words was broken by a beeping sound given by the lord's communicator. He quickly silenced it and stood up.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  'Well, nothing of the sort exists in the real world. I am afraid this story was just a waste of my time. But what else can be expected of a servant of the dark gods? Always scheming, lying, and trying to lead the righteous astray. Oh well, I hope our next meeting will be more fruitful. For your sake'.

  Hearing these words, Michael finally felt something for the first time since he had been here. He snarled at Lucian.

  'ENOUGH! You can do what you want with me!! Torture me, cut me open, beat me senseless, but you do NOT have the right to even suggest that I serve the chaos gods! I am NO cultist! I fought against them and slew them because they have threatened me and my home, and should I come across another of their kind, I would make sure that they would die by my hand, all of them'!

  Lucian turned back, smiling.

  'Well, well, well,' the inquisitor said. 'There is some fight left in you after all. Good. You are going to need it if you wish to survive. In the meantime, remember:' He walked closer to his prisoner, leaning in to his face. 'I have the right to call you anything I want. For I speak with the voice of the God Emperor himself! His divine authority is represented through me. My will is his will. Do not forget that'!

  Michael looked deep into the dark eyes of Lord Inquisitor Lucian. He started to realize now just how convinced this man was. How devoted he was to his religion. To his god. Something that eluded him so far. But something, he knew, he could use to finally have his eternal peace. So, he started laughing aloud. The inquisitor's face reflected irritation from this reaction.

  'I almost left out the best part of the stories! The greatest irony of the setting. Tell me, inquisitor, do you want to know what is one of the biggest sins in the eyes of your emperor'?

  Lucian could hardly contain his rage. Seeing this filled Michael with hope that his pain will soon be over.

  'It is you and your entire religion! For the Emperor of Mankind had made the decree of the Imperial Truth: there are no gods, including himself! If he could get up from his Golden Throne, he would personally burn down your whole church and organization! For in his eyes, religious zealotry is the one thing that holds back humanity, dooming it for all eternity. In other words, your god hates you and everything you ever stood for!'

  Michael saw the face of the lord inquisitor run rampant with rage. He looked like he wanted to shout. Wanted to reach for his plasma gun. But instead, he took a deep breath in and then let it out to calm himself.

  Then he punched Mike in the face with such force that he started to bleed. Then he hit him again. And again. Lucian grabbed his hand and hammered it into the wall continuously. As the beating went on, Michael's face became a bloody pulp. He almost lost consciousness again. But he did not cry out. Did not yell. Did not beg for it to stop. He just took it, in hopes that in the end he would just stop feeling anything. The pain, the void inside, the helplessness. He was ready to give up his life if it meant that those would go away as well.

  After a while the beaten could barely breathe, yet the inquisitor readied a blow again. Then, he looked at his hand. Full of his prisoners' blood. He stared at it for a moment. Then he let his hands drop. He got his clothes in order, turned around, and just left.

  He stopped at the door.

  'I know,' he simply said in a somewhat somber voice.

  Michael let his head drop again. He did not get what he wanted. He was still here and heard his interrogator, faintly, speaking to someone outside of the room.

  'He's yours.'