40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 207 32. Conscription (2)

For a long time, Konrad Coates and Khalil Lohars had an understanding that was hard to understand. This tacit understanding is not reflected in their actions, but in many tacit understandings.

For example, many nights, the Lord of Midnight would put down his work in the early hours and head somewhere in the city. He would squat on the gargoyle and stroke its head thoughtfully, blurring its coldness with the warmth of his palms.

Minutes after his arrival, another would arrive. There is no communication between them, they just look at the city in front of them together.

They chewed and tasted its changes, absorbed the information they needed from the wind, and felt a peaceful joy from the bottom of their hearts. Then, they would leave together after a period of time and return to the daily grind of work.

This is only a one-sided example, and it is not enough to fully express their indescribable tacit understanding, but maybe you can already get a glimpse of it.

Because of this, Khalil was not surprised by Coz's slightly cold tone.

In fact, he felt like he should have asked a long time ago.

"What do you want to ask?" Khalil asked with a sense of relief. They were currently in Conrad Coates's office, which was decorated as usual.

"Let's not talk about the problem for now." The Lord of Midnight said. He reached for his glass and drank all the filtered water in it.

He picked up a bronze kettle and began to pour himself a new glass of water. The kettle didn't look like a Nostramo product, it was too fancy, and it didn't look like something Conrad Coates would have liked.

He probably kept it and used it only because of the relief on its surface. The person who made it carefully carved the scene of three giants standing under the stars talking to each other with fine and continuous brushstrokes. It is very delicate.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know." Konrad Coates gave a cautious answer, his expression looking quite intriguing. He squinted his eyes, held the cup in one hand, and turned the corners of his mouth downward.

"I tried to guess what you were thinking based on my knowledge of you, but I failed." He raised the corner of his mouth and finally smiled. "But I don't seem to know enough."

Khalil sighed.

"Perhaps you should learn more about your brother Rogal Dorn." He said pointedly.

"Dorn is a good man, but I learned this from you." Curze raised his chin provocatively. "Isn't this style of using observation to find problems, then burying them deep in your heart, and only raising them when you have to solve them? Isn't that what you have always practiced?"

"That's in the past," Khalil said. "In the past, I could hide my plans from you, hide the truth and the real problems. But not now, Conrad."

"Yes, you really don't hide these things anymore, because you found some new things to join this annoying game." Konrad Coates shook his head seriously.

"You didn't use your power unscrupulously in front of everyone in the past. No, you used to be very cautious about using your power. What happened, Khalil?"

"These are dark times, Conrad." Khalil said slowly. "As bright as the future ahead of us may seem, I'm telling you, the skies are still dark."

"These words may sound very much like those wizards and witches trying to manipulate their ignorant believers. But, in essence, they are the same as us. They are trying to survive, and so are we. My current status cannot be allowed to I’m no longer stuck in my old ways, and this is the opposite of how I’m used to doing things, but I have to get used to it.”

Konrad Curze nodded slowly, closed his eyes, and let the atmosphere fall into silence.

After a few seconds, his body began to shake. The temperature was getting lower and lower, and the indoor thermometer started to alarm. The machines tried in vain to bring the temperature back to normal, but they were unlikely to succeed, at least not until Conrad Coates took the initiative to stop.

Five minutes later, he opened his eyes and his face looked paler than before.

"How?" Khalil asked.

"I didn't see anything, but I hope Yago Savitarion is in good health." The Lord of Midnight responded with a serious expression and a pretending to be relaxed tone.

His eyes shone with sadness, but not in a negative way. Khalil smiled silently and slowly at him. It was not a gentle smile. It was full of blood and bones flashed in his shadow.

"No need to be sad," he said softly. "Blood debts must be paid with blood."

The conversation ended and everything seemed normal.

——

Recruitment began.

The news was released from the 'Hive', and it spread from the Quintus Hive to the entire Nostramo in just three days.

People rushed to tell each other - the literate people told the illiterate people, the workers who took over the shift told their companions who had just come up from the mine, and the guards preached on the streets. The floating billboards that originally circulated job recruitment notices and welfare regulations were now replaced. A scene.

During working hours under the eternal night, they buzzed and hovered over people's heads, alternately broadcasting recruitment news in Low Gothic and Nostramo.

At first, not many people understood what conscription actually meant until they saw or heard the name of the Eighth Legion. As a result, the cold atmosphere was instantly ignited.

Miners with school-age children at home began to submit their resumes to the directors of the mines in accordance with the instructions. Students in the school who were receiving literacy education repeatedly asked their teachers about the specific procedures.

The guards who patrolled the streets had to spend more time explaining to people why they only had children between the ages of twelve and fifteen.

It may seem absurd to say it, but the enthusiasm of the Nostramo people has nothing to do with whether they can get better treatment by joining the Eighth Legion. There is not a single word about "welfare benefits" in the recruitment news. Something like that.

The people were enthusiastic simply because it would help Konrad Curze, the savior of Nostramo—and the Emperor.

Well. And the Emperor. It may sound like a terrible risk, but considering that this is Nostramo, most of the people who survived are full of hatred for the nobles, and the word emperor

In Nostramo, its connotation is not very good. In fact, it is a new word formed by adding two words together. One of them is ‘nobles’.

So, now you can perhaps understand why the Nostramos are not too fond of the Emperor. Perhaps only more than ten years later, this situation will change.

In short, back to the topic - although the conscription caused a big disturbance on Nostramo, its scale was not very large.

The Midnight Blades have never been a legion with extremely large numbers, and Curze has no intention of changing this. Plus the impact and screening of the twentieth surgery.

According to Jairzinho's speculation, he believes that there may only be three out of ten people who can successfully enter the legion and leave the reserve status.

This success rate can no longer be called low, it is simply appallingly low. Fortunately, the tactics of the night blades do not actually require a large number of people. In the view of the Midnight Lord, it is enough as long as the total number of the legion can be increased to 40,000 or 50,000 in three years.

"The war we are going to fight does not require bombing, frontal advances, and human wave tactics." Konrad Coates said to his first company commander. "Continuing to use fear tactics may make our image look bad, but all we need is efficiency."

VanCleef nodded, agreeing with the Primarch's words, but not just because of the Astartes' natural obedience to the Primarch.

The Nightblades were executioners in the past, and they had learned all too well what fear can do to a man. Van Cleef is one of the best, otherwise how could he become a company commander?

"So, how is the first week going?" Coates asked with some anticipation. He and Van Cleef were walking in the increasingly complete corridors of the lair, stirring up the mist, but they also looked like two ghosts against their backdrop.

"One thousand, two hundred and twenty-three." Van Cleef cautiously reported a number. "There are only so many reserves in Quintus who can successfully pass the twentieth surgery."

"Only? Listen to your tone, Van Cleef, isn't that enough?" The Lord of Midnight laughed and shook his head slightly. "It's not a good thing to be too greedy. What's more, they have only passed the twentieth surgery. How many people do you think can survive the transformation surgery?"

"One third." Van Cleef still maintained his caution.

"Then, let's go see them." Conrad Coates stepped forward with a relaxed tone. The first company commander was silent for a while, but still followed. There was one thing he did not tell his primarch.

There is a tradition within the Eighth Legion.

The veterans would 'pick' the reserves, and they would bet on the recruits. Now, Van Cleef estimates that many people in the training ground in the lair have begun to continue this not-so-glorious tradition.

He didn't know how his primarch would react when he found out, but.

As one of the few people who doesn't bet much, Van Cleef is completely indifferent.

He even had the urge to smile.

3k for this chapter, 5k to go