40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 112 15. Red Sand (3)

At ten-thirty noon, Khalil returned to Macragge's Flare. This ship, like the Night Veil, is a Queen of Glory class battleship, but its boarding deck is not as simple as the Night Veil, to the point of being almost eerie.

Stepping off the transport plane, the first thing Khalil could see was the thick tapestries woven by the various groups of Ultramarines. They are well maintained every day. Not only are they as bright as new, but their color has not changed at all.

He sighed quietly, feeling a little headache from the ubiquitous solemnity - which was certainly not a bad thing, but he couldn't help but think back to the empty Nighthorn, and those dark and dilapidated buildings. corridor.

Repairs are a piece of cake, but does anyone in the Eighth Legion know how to weave tapestries? You can't even learn from the Ultramarines about this, right?

Khalil shook his head, cutting off his thoughts. Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his destination via helicopter. After greeting the two victorious soldiers standing guard, he pushed open the door of Robert Guilliman's study and intuitively saw the scene inside.

"."

silence.

No one spoke.

One of the victorious soldiers turned around, wondering what was going on, but Khalil raised his hand unexpectedly, stopped his movement, and gestured to the victorious soldiers to stay away.

The bodyguards of the original body were puzzled by this. One of them peeked in, then turned around suddenly and led his companion towards the other side of the corridor.

As for Khalil.

He looked at the scene inside without saying a word, and the two people in the room fell into an awkward silence at the same time.

Half a minute later, Guilliman coughed lightly and took off the helmet he had taken out from nowhere - Khalil could see clearly that the thing was forged from metal and had a certain The protective ability, T-shaped opening, is surprisingly simple.

And it's original size.

As for Angron, the reborn gladiator was wearing a hospital gown, holding the dagger of two wooden daggers, standing awkwardly between the moved sofa and coffee table.

Just now, he was attentively telling Guilliman how the gladiators used double swords in the arena. The details of the two swords he held did not escape Khalil's eye, both had Guilliman's name engraved on the tail.

".Frankly, I'm surprised."

Standing in front of the door, Khalil spoke slowly, deciding to break the silence, but not in a serious way.

In fact, he was holding himself back from laughing.

"But, I must admit, it's a rare kind of brotherhood."

"If you want to laugh, just laugh, Khalil." Guilliman pursed his lips and said, holding his helmet under his arm, looking like a warrior who had just finished fighting.

However, the laurel wreath on the warrior's head was shockingly crooked, and his hair was messy, but he obviously did not realize this.

"No, I won't laugh."

"I'm serious—but I want you to close the door."

Khalil nodded and slowly closed the door.

from the outside.

After another half minute, he walked in with a serious face, but the dagger and helmet had completely disappeared, and the coffee table and sofa had returned to their original appearance, staying quietly on the carpet.

Angron was wearing a hospital gown, sitting upright on one of the chairs, staring intently at Robert Guilliman, who stood in front of him holding a heavy tome and told him something.

"."

Khalil walked into the study calmly, closed the door with his back to them, and slowly exhaled a breath.

The next second, both Angron and Guilliman were sure they heard a chuckle.

Khalil turned around expressionlessly: "Good day, Robert, Angron."

"."

The gladiator glanced at his brother silently - similar things had not never happened in the gladiatorial arena in the past. Although he could not find any specific images in his fragmented memory, he could clearly remember the emotions that surged in his chest at those moments.

That emotion was not much different from now. It is a rare joy that should be cherished.

Feeling his gaze, Robert Guilliman silently put down the book in his hand. He lowered his head, flipping through the thick tome, from front to back, and from back to front, and finally settled on a chapter that had little to do with what they had said before.

"There is a tradition of cooperation between legions." Guilliman said seriously. "I mean - maybe one day there could be a collaboration between the Warhounds and the Ultramarines."

"Yeah, yeah." Angron nodded quickly. "No problem, brother."

"Then, today's lesson ends here." Guilliman said with the calmness of a politician. Then, he turned his head and used another skill of a politician.

"Good day, Instructor Khalil." He greeted solemnly with no expression on his face.

Khalil did not answer his greetings in words. He was silent for a while, nodded, and then looked away with a smile. Laughter finally began to swirl around the room, not from Khalil, but from Robert Guilliman's brother.

Guilliman sighed deeply, and then actually laughed.

After a few minutes, the atmosphere finally returned to normal. The serious conversation finally started to continue.

——

".It may take three to five months for your legion to reach Nuceria. This is based on the premise that everything goes well in the warp. We need to pass this message to them, and they also need to set off for Nuceria. Anyway-" Guilliman paused for a moment, sat behind his marble table and made a gesture. "--You still have plenty of time to think about the whole thing, brother." Angron nodded to him, his rough face full of scars. At this moment, a slow and serious thinking was taking root on this mutilated face. This incident made the Butcher's Nails tremble again. They did not crawl and drill down, but began to punish Angron's behavior with pain, but the gladiator himself did not care about it. Khalil, who was sitting next to him, glanced at them and did not speak. After several minutes, Angron spoke again: "No matter what orders I give, will they obey?" "Yes." "Even if I ask them to massacre unarmed people?" "." Guilliman pursed his lips and nodded seriously. "It's not like there's no precedent for something like this. Sometimes, sacrifice is necessary."

"Even if I ask them to attack each other?"

"It's common for the Primarch to consider the fighting skills of the Legion warriors."

"No, I mean killing each other." The gladiator said in a low voice, breathing as heavy as a beast. "Based on the death of one side."

Robot Guilliman lowered his head, then raised it again. He had realized what his brother was saying and what he was implying, but he didn't know how to refute it.

So he could only nod dully.

"I understand." Angron said calmly. "So, my biological father arranged a group of slaves for me when I was just born?"

"They are not slaves!" Guilliman retorted instinctively. "They are your offspring, and they are connected to you, Angron, if you see it with your own eyes you will understand!"

"But I can't see it now." Angron said. "I can only guess what they look like based on your description. If it is really as you said, Robert, I would rather they stay away from me and not listen to any of my words, not even a single word."

"But the legion cannot be without the Primarch."

"Really? So, what were they doing before you met your Ultramarines?"

"."

"What were they doing, brother?"

". It seems that I can't defeat you in a simple verbal confrontation."

Guilliman smiled bitterly and glanced at Khalil, who shook his head calmly and rejected his proposal, so he had to continue.

"But, Angron, I hope you understand that although they will obey all your orders, it really does not mean that they are your slaves."

"Do they have freedom?" The gladiator frowned. "Do they have the right to disobey me? Or, do they have the right not to accept me?"

"No legion will reject their Primarch."

"Then this is a kind of slavery." Angron said seriously. "I still don't understand the details of the relationship between the Legion and the Primarch, brother, but I know another thing, another thing you know very little about."

"What is it?"

"Slavery."

Angron spoke slowly.

"I have been in the Deshea Arena for more than ten years. During these ten years, I have witnessed countless ways of enslaving others. The simplest one is brainwashing. All it takes is hunger, darkness and fear to turn a person into an unconscious and numb accomplice in a few days. Now, you say that there is such a large group of people who will obey any of my orders unconditionally. Including but not limited to dying for me, or slaughtering innocent unarmed people - even if I want them to kill each other, what is this, brother?"

Robert Guilliman was speechless - his brother provided him with a new way of looking at the world, and this way was completely unfamiliar to him.

It was like a person who knew that a monster existed but had never seen it with his own eyes, and ran into the monster on his way home one day, as horrifying as the bloody victims under it.

"If you don't mind, Angron--" a voice sounded in the silent room. Khalil stood up slowly and smiled at the two Primarchs who looked over: "--I can tell you about the special relationship between the Primarch and the Legion on behalf of Robert."

".Okay, but before that, I have something to say to you, Khalil."

Angron also stood up slowly, like a stretching mountain.