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SCL Chapter 63: The Devil’s Inventory
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 04:51:05 +0000 UTCAfter unconsciously obeying Augustus's orders, Tychus left sulking, then returned dragging a man with a shock of unruly hair. “All he had on him was a wristwatch. Damn it, Mengsk, I shouldn’t have trusted you.”
“That’s just bad luck on your part,” Augustus said. Then he turned toward Raynor, who was trying to avoid his gaze. “Jim, tell me—what did this guy do to you earlier?”
“He threw me in the pit and said he was gonna douse me with water,” Raynor said, relieved that Augustus had finally calmed down. He had no interest in revenge—he just hoped Augustus would cool off.
“Throw him down. Just make sure his head doesn’t hit first,” Augustus said to the Heaven’s Devils at his side.
“Wait! You can’t do this!” Silas Trask shouted in panic as the marines with skull-marked helmets closed in on him. “I still have value—you can’t do this!”
“Funny, that’s not what you said ten minutes ago,” Raynor quipped. “You’re a revolutionary, the son of a worker, fighting for the enemy.”
“Then prove your value,” Augustus said calmly, staring at Trask. “Otherwise, I’ll string you up and let the sun of Turaxis II dry you out for a month. I swear—I’ll make you regret ever being born into this world.”
“I’ve got twelve sets of power armor hidden in the warehouse and basement—plus a few Vultures. Two decommissioned Goliaths from the Federation too. And I’ve got two million credits in cash, with another one and a half million in my bank account,” Trask confessed, pulling out a hand-drawn map and handing it to Augustus.
“Good.” Augustus took the map and passed it to Lundstein. “Verify it.”
“Tychus, make it quick.”
...
Orley Town lay 27 kilometers north of Fort Howe. Thousands of vertical Gothic-style buildings stood atop New Heracles Mountain, which rose 3,000 meters above sea level, its peak blanketed in snow.
It was the hemisphere’s most famous ski and resort destination. The tectonic activity in the region had formed numerous hot springs, giving rise to Orley Town’s world-renowned spa hotels and holiday lodges.
Before the war, Orley Town had been a favorite getaway for the social elites and high-ranking officials of Turaxis II. Wealth poured into this small town—barely two decades old—and brought with it unprecedented prosperity. Streets lined with luxury goods and souvenir shops sprang up around the ski slopes, while the rich bought castle-like mansions to enjoy the view.
But that was three years ago.
By the time Augustus and the First Squad of the Heaven's Devils arrived, the splendor was long gone. The streets were desolate. The residents, with guarded expressions, watched their every move with suspicion. Drunks and sex workers were more numerous here than in any city or town they had passed before.
“Haven’t you figured out what the buyer actually does?”
The frigid wind cut through the air as Augustus leaned against the locked display window of a ski equipment store. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, eyes scanning the red-brick-paved street. Four Heaven's Devils stood in front of him, each in their own distinct posture.
Standing to his right was Lisa Cassidy, wearing the same brown parka as Augustus. Her long ginger hair was tied into a ponytail with a blue ribbon, draped neatly over her right shoulder and down across her chest.
The soldiers were all physically imposing, hardened by daily training and combat. Connor Ward, whose skin had tanned to a deep bronze, and Tychus Findlay, whose permanent scowl made him look perpetually hostile, stood like two upright bears. The tall and lean Harnack and Josephine had skull tattoos on their necks, partially visible beneath the high collars of their coats—enough to make any would-be troublemaker think twice.
“The buyer is a friend of a friend,” Lisa said. “Supposedly, he’s a nouveau riche who made a fortune off the war and is in desperate need of luxury goods and decent weapons to boost his influence. But you know how it is—can’t take his word at face value.”
“Smugglers, human traffickers, drug cartels, space pirates, or just scavengers living off space debris… they could be any of them,” Tychus said. “The best thing is not to get too entangled. Asking too many questions makes people nervous. We don’t know who they are, and they don’t know we’re Marines. That’s for the best—on both sides.”
“Even if you do get close to them,” he added, “don’t forget they could turn around and sell you off the next minute.”
“Mm, that reminds me—should I trust you without reservation, Tychus? Are you going to turn around and sell me off too?” Augustus nodded slightly, an unreadable glint in his cold gray eyes.
“Come on now—you won’t find anyone more trustworthy than old Tychus,” Tychus said, throwing an arm around Augustus’s shoulders. “Back where I’m from, everyone says the Findlay boy is honest, reliable, and loved by all.”
“Funny,” Augustus said, “because the version I heard was that you once tried to sell your own mother just to get a drink.”
“Who the hell said that?!” Tychus’s eyebrows scrunched together in genuine outrage. “I loved her, dammit! No one loved her more than I did. But I had to leave that boring little town behind. Everyone there buzzed around like flies. During the summer, all I could do was sit in my old man’s coffee shop, staring off into space while the customers grinned at me like idiots.”
“I couldn’t take that kind of life anymore—that’s why I’m here now. That’s why I chose to become a loyal, unwavering soldier.”
“How’s your mother doing?” Augustus asked. Tychus kept changing the subject—never quite willing to swear loyalty to him. But honestly, Augustus didn’t care all that much.
“I dream about her a lot,” Tychus answered.
At that moment, from the corner of the street—down a narrow alley between a luxury boutique and a grocery store—a man emerged. He wore a flat-brimmed miner’s cap and a low-grade miner’s uniform.
He looked around cautiously before pulling his hat lower and walking toward Augustus and his team. Following closely behind him was a man with a bulging belly, accompanied by several burly bodyguards. One of the guards carried two coded lockboxes.
“What a bright and sunny day, gentlemen. Days like this always remind me of my wife, who died during childbirth.” The pot-bellied man jogged up to Augustus, came to a halt, and wiped his gleaming scalp with a silk handkerchief.
“Do you have a wife, sir?”
“I never met my bride,” Augustus replied. “We’ve brought the goods.”
“Where are they? If Mr. Smith’s information is accurate, then we’re looking at fifty electromagnetic rifles, two hundred KMC-12 automatic rifles, and one set of CMC power armor.” The large man was no longer sweating uncontrollably. His expression turned unnaturally calm, and his pencil-thin eyes gleamed with shrewd intelligence.
“You are Mr. Saint Nicholas Caesar Augustus?”
“That’s right,” Augustus answered with an impassive face. “Follow us. Don’t ask questions. Eyes forward.”
Seeing the man nod, Augustus motioned with his hand and led the Heaven’s Devils away. The buyer’s men followed closely behind.
“11:03:46. This is Ryk. No signs of pursuit.”
A voice came through the mini earpiece nestled inside Augustus’s ear—a model manufactured on Umojan soil. It was Ryk Kydd, the designated sniper of the Heaven’s Devils squad.
“I’ll report again in five minutes.”
The previous night, Augustus had sent away the Re-Socialization Platoon’s commander and led the Heaven’s Devils to inspect the supplies held by the local gang. They had discovered over three hundred .50 caliber automatic rifles, dozens of crates of copper bullets and electromagnetic grenades, and nearly a hundred outdated electromagnetic rifles.
There were also fourteen sets of power armor, two Goliaths, and five assault APCs. As for the gold and silver jewelry piled up in the warehouse—it took Raynor and Lundstein so long to tally it up that their hands went numb.
Who knew why a gang leader would be sitting on such a fortune? Augustus was beginning to suspect there really was a large organization out there calling itself the 'Free Revolution Army'.
He handed over a portion of the low-quality equipment to Warfield, and the food was delivered to the Whitford Refugee Camp under the name of the Heaven’s Devils. The rest was kept sealed in place, exactly where it had been found. Originally, Augustus had considered hoarding all of it, but after a long night of contemplation, he decided to sell off a batch to test the waters.
Korhal IV’s independence was now a foregone conclusion. As a member of the Mengsk family, even if he wanted to flee, Terran Dominion agents would hunt him to the ends of the galaxy. Augustus would inevitably be drawn into his father’s revolutionary cause, bound to Korhal IV’s war machine. Either they would rise together—or be destroyed together.
Since his brother Arcturus was so determined to realize his ideals in the depths of the mines, Augustus had no choice but to shoulder the burden of saving both the Mengsk family—and Korhal itself.
