Imperial Inquisitor Redemptor

No world has ever been declared clean under his seal.
He does not consider this a failure of method.

When the Redemptor arrives, the question is never whether corruption is present. Corruption is always present. It is in the grain of the stone, in the pause before an answer, in the way a man holds his hands when he knows he is being looked at. The only variable is how deep it has been allowed to root, and how much of the population must be removed to reach it. He has spent a lifetime refining his answer to the second question. The answer is usually: most of them.

Bare-faced, he preaches. The mitre goes up, the jaw opens mid-sentence, and the burning blade is raised so that the back rows can see it. This is the aspect he wears for the guilty who still have ears. He wants them to hear the charge read. He wants them to see a human face deliver it, so that nobody mistakes the verdict for machinery. Then the blade comes down, and the sermon continues without interruption.

When sealed behind the rebreather, he does not speak at all. That build is for the places where the air itself has been entered as evidence - undercity levels, plague wards, shrines that started answering back. The raised palm is not a blessing. It is a stop command, issued to whatever is still moving. The censer-chain swinging behind it burns the ground the way lesser men salt it.

The shrine goes where he goes, and the man carrying it does not put it down. He confessed. He was believed. That is the full extent of the mercy available here: the penitent crawls under the weight of the lectern, carrying both the record of his sin and the text that condemns him, and he is granted the privilege of hearing it read aloud each morning until his spine fails. The horned head at the Redemptor's hip is the only trophy he has ever kept. Proof, he calls it, that the method is sound. He does not mention the eleven compliant worlds where nothing like it was ever found.

On the line he is not an asset. He is a condition. Regiments hold longer in his presence because the alternative has been demonstrated to them, in the open, at a pace of roughly one man per minute. Officers stop filing withdrawal requests, because a withdrawal request is a symptom, and symptoms fall under his authority. The enemy, at least, gets the clean death. His own side gets the questions first.

When it is over, the world is entered into the record as saved. There is no field on the form for how many were left to save it for.

The kit builds him two ways: bare-headed with the burning greatsword raised, or sealed in the rebreather mitre with the open hand and the censer-chain. Old but Gold - pulled out of the back catalogue and back in print.

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