40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 194 19. Winning is not the only goal

"You did a terrible feat." Van Cleef said. "At least I have no idea how to write this in the report afterwards."

"Just report it truthfully." Khalil replied gently.

"You beat a Primarch in public?"

"No."

"But you asked me to report it truthfully."

"You can change the wording a little, Van Cleef, such as education, teaching, and teaching - or just be direct and write beating, I think that's OK now."

The captain sighed helplessly.

This mission was issued by the Sigillite Malcador himself. Whether before or after the name change, this was the first time that the Night Blades received a direct order from him. Considering the position of the Sigillite, it is not an exaggeration to say that this mission is the Emperor's intention to some extent.

But Van Cleef always sees more.

First of all, why did Malcador issue such an order?

He asked the Night Blades far away in Nostramo to cross half of the galaxy and arrive at the planet called Cordibo. Why didn't he ask other legions closer to come?

Secondly, the Night Blades could not compare with the Iron Warriors in numbers even in their heyday, not to mention that they only have 6,000 people now. Although their fighting style is indeed an alternative, tactical reinforcement for the Iron Warriors.

However, everyone knows that Perturabo, the Primarch of the Iron Warriors, is not a person who will listen to anyone's advice. He even turned a deaf ear to the advice of the members of the Trident Council he formed, not to mention the advice from other legions.

The accumulation of many clues made it impossible for Van Cleef to regard this mission as the so-called "support".

".Perhaps we should go back to the ground directly, instructor." After a short silence, the captain of the first company spoke in his unique tone without pause and even without fluctuations.

"Reason?" Khalil asked.

"We should end this war quickly." Van Cleef said. "To be honest, I don't know what you did in the infirmary just now, and I don't really want to know. But, in my opinion, Lord Perturabo will probably fight you again after he wakes up."

"You know him well, Van Cleef."

"The only use of living long." Van Cleef shrugged, showing a rare self-deprecating sense of humor. "Although I haven't seen many primarchs, I have heard many rumors."

"Rumors?" Khalil raised his eyebrows. "Mind telling me a few?"

"Now?"

"Now."

".Okay."

Van Cleef pondered for a moment and spoke again. It was still the same tone without pauses or ups and downs, but it didn't make people feel drowsy.

"The angels of the Ninth Legion would privately exchange and collect their father's paintings, some of which were painted by themselves, and some were from some outstanding painters. They regard this as a responsibility."

"It is said that they work so hard just to create works of art that can better express the charm of Sanguinius. I don't know the real reason, but the painter who mentioned this to me said that he didn't think anyone could use a brush to touch one-tenth of the appearance of the archangel."

"Yeah," Khalil nodded. "You are not doing this too?"

"Of course not." Van Cleef replied calmly. "We only know how to kill and have no interest in painting or sculpture."

Khalil snorted and said nothing more.

The Iron Blood is really amazingly large-this size is different from the maze-like width of the Nightfall. Its size is reflected in the ubiquitous wide corridors and long walking stairs.

Yes, it may be a bit weird, but there are not many elevators or fast-moving devices on this ship of the Queen of Glory. The only ones that were available were placed on the gun deck or in the hangar. There were no elevators in the area used for the main traffic.

Moreover, there were no windows.

Combined with the iron-gray minimalist style, it looked no different from a prison.

"So, let's go on. Who is the next rumor about?" Khalil asked with interest. "I'd like to know more about this."

"Do you want to hear more?" Van Cleef asked in surprise. "I thought only Ciani or Jairzinho would be interested in this."

"Of course I would." Khalil smiled. "But. Does Jairzinho like to hear these things, too?"

"He is the chief medical officer after all," said Van Cleef, and emphasized the word "chief". Other than that, he didn't say anything more. The captain stopped and frowned abruptly: "Instructor."

"It's okay," said Khalil. "You go to the landing deck first, Van Cleef, and take them back to the Nightfall."

"But..."

"It's okay." Khalil turned his head and looked at the figure who was limping towards him, and the smile on his face disappeared. Van Cleef was silent for a few seconds, and without hesitation, he turned around and left immediately.

And the person who came was Perturabo.

He came alone, still wearing the hospital gown. His forehead was swollen and his fingers were wrapped in thick bandages. He didn't walk very smoothly and seemed to be limping, but this was not because of his legs and feet, but because of his difficulty breathing.

Khalil had broken some of his bones, some of which made breathing a harrowing ordeal.

However, none of this seemed to have any impact on Perturabo himself. There was no so-called expression on his face. In fact, at this moment, if the eyes that were staring at Khalil were covered, some people might think that he was dead.

Khalil stood there and waited for a while. When Perturabo came to him, he spoke again: "Is there anything else, my dear Perturabo?"

"."

"Son of Olympia?"

"."

"Ah, are these still not enough?" Khalil nodded. "So, what do you want me to call you?"

"As you wish." Perturabo gasped and spoke gloomily. "Foolish Perturabo, cruel Perturabo you may call them whatever you like, I will not deny them."

"But it's an insult."

"There is no insult in the face of facts," the Primarch said, straightening his back. "You can call me whatever you want, I will not deny the facts. I may be incompetent, but I am never shameless."

His body was still in pain, and Khalil could tell something was wrong from the frequency of his heartbeat. However, what really interested him was Perturabo's unconcealable torrent of emotions at this moment.

They invaded from the depths of his eyes like a tsunami. Although they were not really revealed, for Khalil who was looking at him, Perturabo's emotions could not be hidden at all.

Perhaps Perturabo had no intention of hiding it either.

Sad? Maybe.

Regret? There should be.

But the more overwhelming emotions are anger and disgust. His cheeks twitched, as did his lips. His teeth were clearly visible behind his lips, looking like a wolf trying to draw blood with its fangs. But his pinched nostrils and widened eyes made him look non-hostile.

After staring at each other in silence for five minutes, Perturabo finally spoke again. His voice was low and calm, forming an extreme contrast with his appearance.

"I'll prove it," he said. "I will prove it to Eltros."

"But he's dead."

"He didn't."

Perturabo twitched his cheeks nervously.

"I am his primarch, and I will not allow him to die, do you understand, Khalil Loharth? I don't know what hex you just did to me in the infirmary, and I don't care, but Listen to me. I will prove to Eltros that I am not who he says I am. I join the war because I am far better than ordinary people. They need my protection and leadership, not for gain. What a damn recognition!”

"Even approval from your father?"

"He has approved of me a long time ago!" Perturabo growled. "He gave me his legion."

"Then, you led your legion to fight high-casualty, low-efficiency wars over and over again. Three recapture battles in sixteen months may sound bluffing, but the Iron Warriors have lost so far How many brothers?”

Khalil twitched the corners of his mouth and smiled. This expression, used to express goodwill or malice, now fell into Perturabo's eyes, but it became pure nothingness.

He couldn't see any 'emotion' on Khalil Lohars' face. The smile seemed to be just a mask, but only those words were true.

"In other words, how many sergeants of Elteros have died on your orders, Perturabo?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Does it work? They're dead."

"I'll compile the statistics," Perturabo repeated.

"Then what?"

Khalil put his hands behind his back and shook his head: "Then, what are you going to do, Perturabo?"

"You don't have to worry about this matter," Perturabo said coldly. "Now, have your men wait on deck. You and I."

"I remember I said, you have no right to order me, right?"

"This is not an order." Perturabo gritted his teeth and his eyes widened to the limit. "Come with me, Khalil Lohars."

After saying that, he turned and left. Khalil stood there, thinking for a moment, and finally informed Fel Zalost on the deck through psychic communication, asking him to bring the unfortunate news to his brothers.

——

"The Cordibo people had a lot of forts, a lot of heavy firepower, and were very fanatical about it. I'm not interested in why they have this tradition. I'm not a historian. I'm here just to conquer."

"So they had only two choices, surrender or die. They initially sent a diplomatic envoy to try to communicate with me, but the envoy said something they shouldn't have said."

"Did you kill him?"

"No, I gave him two extra prosthetic legs." Perturabo said. "But that's not the point. Look here, Khalil Lohars."

He raised his hand and pointed at the screen in front of him. The holographic projection rippled along his fingers, showing a hint that it could be dragged. This is not an effect that can be achieved by common tactical sandboxes in the empire. There is no doubt that it is Perturabo's own modification.

In fact, all the machinery in this private tactical deduction room was made by Perturabo himself. In his words a few minutes ago, he ‘disdains junk that is full of stupidity and poor design’.

Whether they are garbage or not, Khalil is naturally opposed to it. But it was an irrefutable fact that Perturabo's creations were much better than those that Khalil was familiar with.

"Did you see it?" Perturabo asked breathlessly, his left hand still covering his chest and abdomen.

"This is my tactic for the Cordibo fortresses. They have built many fortresses along their broken land and planet, but these fortresses are all in precarious locations. Weapons, ammunition and even the most basic food need to rely on several of the largest Fortress to transport to the whole planet.”

"This is why I will extend the battle line so long. They like to defend the city and are proficient in defending the city, so let them defend it. We only need to cut off the transportation routes and occupy some key transportation hub fortresses to easily let them defend the city. They surrender!"

His eyes widened: "——Do you understand now?! They have no chance of winning!"

Khalil nodded slightly.

"Indeed." He folded his hands and said while standing next to the holographic projection. "But how many of your legions are going to die? The Cordibo people like heavy firepower, and there's something about it that even we might find a little tricky."

"According to your tactical style, you can indeed win by facing them head-on and capturing the transportation routes and those fortresses, but how many people will you have to sacrifice?"

"."

Perturabo was silent, and there was a special look on his face that only a downtrodden person would have. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but when he reached his mouth, he held back the words and spit out another sentence.

"This is none of your business." He forced himself to look proud. "There's nothing wrong with my strategy."

"So, is there something wrong with the Iron Warriors?"

".They don't have a problem either."

"Oh, that's really strange." Khalil smiled. "A war destined to suffer heavy casualties, a commander who believes that he is right and his soldiers are also right - then, who is responsible for this destined heavy casualties?"

"I can win!" Perturabo clenched his right fist. "Are you going to deny this?"

"Of course I won't deny it, but what do you think of war, Perturabo?" Khalil wiped the smile from his face, and the emptiness that made Perturabo feel scared and angry at the same time Back again.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking at Perturabo, but also as if he wasn't. His eyes focused on Perturabo's shoulders, not his face. There was no emotion left when he spoke, as if he was simply expounding a mathematical theory that everyone knew.

For example, 1+1 is equal to 2.

"You pulled me into your private tactical deduction room and told me about your strategic direction and the reasons why you wanted to extend the battle line so long. So, Perturabo?"

"I just want to prove to you that there is nothing wrong with my strategy!"

"You don't have to prove these things to me, and I never said there was a problem with your strategy. The purpose of war is to win, and I will not deny this. But winning cannot be the only purpose."

"If you continue fighting like this, you will indeed win, but it will only reduce the number of your legions by 40% or more. You have already seen the artillery fire fired from those fortresses. The terrain of Cordibo is mostly plains. , our heavy-duty vehicles cannot be deployed at all.”

"Air raids can cause some problems for the fortress, as long as you are willing to send out ten Storm Eagles at the same time and endure that six of them may be shot down. The temporary defenses you built will not allow your legion to advance at all. , and there is no point even if they advance, the Cordibo people will not come out of their fortress at all.”

Khalil paused for a moment and saw with satisfaction that Perturabo's expression changed little by little. The imaginary pride disappeared, replaced by shocking whiteness. His breathing was rapid, and the hands covering his chest and abdomen began to sink deeper and deeper.

Khalil waited for a moment, and after a few seconds, he launched a long-planned attack.

"Since the war started, how many members of your legion have died under artillery fire without even seeing the enemy's face?"

Perturabo's body shook violently, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to feel sick and vomit. He raised his right hand and pressed it on the projection sand table. The huge force caused the precious machine to be damaged immediately, and electric sparks burst out.

Broken pipes and cables were exposed between the twisted metal, his face and heart were burned between the beating arcs, and every cell in his body rioted. In a daze, Perturabo felt extremely weak.

He lowered his head to look at the sand table, which was strong enough to withstand bolters, and saw its embarrassed appearance at the moment. A confused and confused smile appeared on his face.

Steel, invulnerable steel.

After a long time, he spoke again. This time, he sounded nothing like Perturabo.

"So." The original body asked in a low voice. "What do you think should be done?"

"Does the great son of Olympia actually want to listen to my advice?"

Perturabo raised his head and glanced at Khalil. His face was pale, and there was a pungent burnt smell coming from the hand that was in contact with the iron table.

"Yes." he said. "There is nothing wrong with my strategy and tactics, that's what you said. So, how are you going to achieve my tactical goals without relying on frontal attacks? Rely on the 6,000 people you brought to carry out airborne raids, or stealth tactics ?"

"No." Khalil shook his head calmly. "We have a better way, an old way. Can the Ironblood take over the Coldibo communication channel and broadcast it?"

"Can."

"That's enough," Khalil said. "But, like I said, Perturabo, what on earth are you doing this for?"

The proud man from Olympia slowly gritted his teeth and refused to answer.

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