40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 128 31. The Resurrection from the Cemetery (End)

Jairzinho Guzman felt that his identity as a medical officer was being challenged in some strange way.

What? Where does the challenge come from?

Here comes the challenge of performing a physical examination on a huge skeleton that has no vital signs but can move freely and even talk.

"How is it?" the huge skeleton in black robe asked, and there was a hint of relaxation in his voice that made Guzman not sure what to do. "I hope my health has improved."

"Instructor, you-" Guzman stopped talking, took a deep breath of air, and at the same time began to tell himself that this matter can only be done by you.

After all, no matter what, coming back from the dead is a terrifying thing. Conrad Coates didn't want too many people to know about this, at least until Khalil Lohars' body was completely back to normal.

"——Your body still doesn't have any relevant data. I mean, at least our medical equipment didn't give me any relevant data." Guzman said. "In other words, you are still a dead person, instructor."

The skeleton nodded calmly.

He had expected it.

There is a lot of lost knowledge in the library on the Emperor's Dream. They are memories that will never die, just waiting to be touched again, read and remembered again. Words are magical, and the things they carry can sometimes be overwhelming. For example, history, the real reason for the death of a certain king, and some concepts.

The Eternal One.

In that book written by an unknown person, the immortals are those who enjoy the gift of God and they all have immortal life.

But if that alone is not enough to be called 'immortal', they are not just as simple as not aging. In fact, there is no way to kill an immortal in the conventional sense. Even if you throw him into the lava, he will crawl out one day.

After Khalil finished reading this book, he did not agree with the so-called "gift of God". The secret and origin of the immortals are unanswered secrets for mankind and the universe as a whole. This is undoubtedly true. Not even the Emperor himself could answer this question.

However, both he and Khalil knew that gods would never send gifts.

Gods only take.

And of course he himself is not an immortal. The reason why he can "come back to life" and walk in the material world again is just because of a covenant.

It is essentially an anchor and a precious testimony. But there was no doubt that he was dead, and the effects from behind the veil were still wreaking havoc on his current body.

In Khalil's vision, he could see the continuous burning blood flames burning his skeleton, trying to take this body as his own.

Fortunately, they are already very weak and cannot escape the constraints of his power to affect other people.

Those two weeks of fighting were worth it.

"Instructor?" Jairzinho Guzman asked softly, hiding his uneasiness about silence well, but not well enough. "Should we repeat the test again? Maybe the results will be different this time."

"No, that's not necessary," said the skeleton. "From a medical point of view, I am indeed dead. This incident probably makes you very uneasy, Jairzinho, I'm sorry."

"."

The medical officer nodded silently, but did not deny it.

Khalil smiled—a smile that Guzman would have seen if he had muscle and skin on his face, but there was none. Therefore, he could only see the skeleton's jaw opened slightly, and the blue light in its eye sockets flashed steadily.

"It's good that you are direct, Jairzinho. Well, if you don't mind, I have some questions for you about the current situation in Nostramo. Would you like to answer them for me? "

Guzman breathed a sigh of relief - he thought their instructor had changed his mind and planned to continue checking again. Rather than doing this, he would rather stay in the duel cage for eight hours before coming out.

"Of course I do, instructor, but what do you want to know?"

"Just some basic stuff about what's going to happen now that I'm gone," Khalil said.

He could see the medical officer's relief and smiled silently again.

Khalil must admit that he has begun to like this state of not having to put on a calm expression all the time - although staying in the form of a skeleton for a long time is not a good thing for anyone, but he may be able to create a new one after recovery. A similar mask.

Although it seemed a bit sad to say this, he had begun to understand why the Emperor maintained a terrifying distance and calmness in most situations.

——

With a certain emotion that he didn't want others to see, Kahn put down the company flag in his hand smoothly.

This is a huge flag. It was originally hung in the meeting hall of the Unwavering Resolve. It belonged to the Eighth Company, old and bloody. It was sewn together from many different flags. These flags came from the dead flag bearers of the 8th Company. They crossed countless battlefields and were stained with countless blood. Finally, they were sewn together.

The Warhounds did this before setting out, determined to leave all decisions to the Primarch, and so sealed up their past honors.

And now, it's being built over a cemetery, and no one thought it would be used for something like this. Under the flag, there are countless raised edges and corners, and Kahn knows what they are.

They were coffins made of iron, and within them lay the ashes of their brothers.

The bottom cabin of the Unwavering Resolve has been emptied. It originally belonged to many civilians and was their home. War Dogs returned their freedom, but left behind this place where generations of people had lived together. Now, it's an empty lot.

All metal appliances, walls and even pipes were completely melted and made into coffins, and a huge area was cleared, large enough for war dogs to stand here, dispersed into companies, covered with the blood and honor of the past The coffin of their dead brother.

Their primarch Angron said that after death a protector should dwell in that which was protected.

Kahn agreed, but still felt uncontrollably sad.

There are now only 53,213 War Hounds left in the Twelfth Legion. The situation of each large company is different. The 1st, 3rd and 8th companies are the most severely damaged. The casualties among high-level officers and middle-level command chains were even more terrible, almost one out of ten, which was not unrelated to the sudden half-betrayal.

Kahn closed his eyes and stopped his thoughts. He didn't want to recall the terrible things while sailing in the subspace.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes again and heard the voice of their original body on the communication channel. He raised his head and saw a giant on the iron platform not far away with his back to everyone. The cables behind his head like steel braids were trembling.

"Remember the dead, their names, their looks, everything about them." Angron whispered.

His voice, which had been tortured and turned terrifying, now sounded slow and calm.

"Because if we don't remember, they will truly die. We will be an extension of the dead, we will carry their honor, their pain, every drop of blood they shed. We will hold their lost possessions in their stead. Weapon."

"Then we will avenge them, Warhounds."

After the funeral, Angron slowly returned to his room. The pain caused by the Butcher's Nails was still tormenting him. However, compared to them, this room actually made Angron feel a little uncomfortable the most. At a loss what to do.

He could sense the care the war dogs put into decorating it from those details, but because of this, he didn't want to live in this room.

They are dead, and there is no warmth left in this room, only pain. Angron sat silently on a chair. Everything here was intact. It was lucky to have avoided all the bullets during the war on the Resolute Resolve.

But what about others?

The question swirled in his mind, making him sigh, making him unbearable. He began to recite the names silently again, from Oinomouth, Akar, Mirkan, Yanio. Then to Gil Baldwin, Jaeger, Kunna.

With the memory of the original body, it is not difficult to remember everyone's name, but some people's appearance can never match the name.

Angron gently raised his hand, pressed his index and middle fingers under his eyes, and then slowly moved downwards. What he touched was a rough feeling, and then warm blood spread from his fingertips.

He was thinking, the nails wouldn't allow it, and he started to bleed.

Or tears.

Call it what you will - Angron didn't care anymore, he remembered them and he would always remember them.

Never forget.

update completed.

I have written almost 250,000 words this month. At the end of the month, I want to write less, save some manuscripts, and prepare for more updates.

Thank you all for your support.