40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 220 44. A Deserter (3)

According to Khalil, the Indomitable Truth is a very special ship. This specialness does not come from its decoration, but from the knights wearing winged helmets.

They hardly spoke, but the quiet and mysterious atmosphere lingered in the entire corridor. This atmosphere is as conspicuous as their dark green and black armor paint, and there is a distinct smell of incense in the air.

The corridor is wide and has no paintings or other decorations. It is not gorgeous, but it has an extreme sense of solemnity because of the presence of the knights.

Khalil stood by the door, observing them. The people under the winged helmets also stared at him. These dark angels with different markings on their shoulder armors silently paid attention to him, and they all had swords at their waists. Half a minute later, a knight came over.

He had met Khalil five minutes ago and even introduced himself completely. From this, Khalil was able to learn his name. His name was Coswayne.

The knight had been waiting behind the gate early in the morning, and was not surprised when Khalil walked out of the gate. Obviously, he was not here as a bodyguard, so the lion was probably prepared.

Khalil thought about these seemingly insignificant things, slowing down his perception of the outside world. He also lowered his vigilance and a certain instinct that was subtly developed in his body.

Coswayen nodded to him, his winged helmet covering all his expressions, and only a slightly dull word came out of the breathing grille: "I'm sorry to keep you waiting for a while, Instructor Khalil. Now, please follow me. "

"Thank you, please lead the way for me, Lord Coswayne."

"It's your job."

The knight turned and left, followed closely by Khalil.

He walked loosely, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, swinging lightly. The pace of his walking also naturally changed. At this moment, he even gave people a sense of arrogance when walking, with an exaggerated smile on his lips.

This smile was born out of the dance of Nostramo nobles, but now he used it. Within seconds, those piercing stares shifted in intensity.

The knights were still wary and attentive to him, but no longer as undivided as before. Khalil maintained his disguise and followed Coswayne through three halls and two corridors, finally arriving at a tower.

Its underside was humming, steam fumes spreading, forming an escaping mist. There was a slight sound of boots hitting the ground not far away. The Dark Angels did not cover up their tracking, but they also did not put everything on the table.

Khalil lowered his head slightly, using a deliberate arrogance to intensify the feeling of contempt caused by looking down at others at a height of four meters - the knight wearing a winged helmet stared at him calmly, without saying a word, as if he was waiting.

"Is this our destination?"

"Yes," said Coswayne. "Lord Luther conducts his work here."

"I have heard of his name, a brave man?" Khalil chatted with Coswayne skillfully using a technique that made him feel sick. "He is the one who raised your Primarch, isn't he?"

"What the Knight Commander has done is far more than this." The Winged Helmet Knight said stiffly.

"Would you mind telling me a story, Lord Coswayne?"

"This is not within the scope of my authority, Instructor Khalil. If you want to know, you can ask the Knight Commander himself, or our Primarch. As for now, please forgive me, I have to leave."

Khalil turned sideways to make way for him. But Coswayen did not accept his kindness and left directly from the other side. Watching him leave, Khalil smiled silently.

Arrogance - even staged arrogance can lead to bad consequences.

But what else could he say? This matter was not beyond his expectation; rather, it was one of his purposes.

What a dirty politician's tactics. Khalil thought in disgust as he stepped forward and pulled a brass handle on the tower door. It has two flying wings, which are exquisite and majestic. After pulling up and lowering, the door was immediately opened.

A voice came from inside, with a mechanical echo: "Please come in, Sir Khalil Lohars, please come directly to me on the top floor."

On the top floor - actually, the tenth floor - the tower has no quick-lift mechanism. The only thing that allowed Khalil to walk upward was a spiral staircase, which was designed to be very large to fit the size of the Astartes or Primarchs.

Torches were lit inside instead of lamps, and the scent of tallow filled the entire staircase. There are some exquisite patterns carved on the wooden handrails, and Khalil guessed that they should come from Caliban.

The galaxy is huge, and it makes sense to decorate the ship with things that remind people of home.

The walls made of bricks and steel are hung with oil paintings, mostly of knights fighting giant beasts, or protecting innocent people in the dark green forest. There are only a few portraits, one of which is of Leon Al'Jonson, but does not have a full face.

The original figure in the painting is wearing a dark green cloak and shining armor, holding a giant sword, riding a war horse and killing a giant beast. The war horse is almost as big as the prey in the painting.

Each of the ten floors has a platform for people to identify their current location, but their stone doors are tightly closed, and there is nothing else on the platform except cursive numbers.

Khalil retracted his gaze and stopped observing these things and getting more information. He kept his disguise and came to the platform of the tenth floor little by little, where he met a man.

He had short hair, a broad forehead, a firm chin, and a dense beard, which was trimmed very neatly. His face had a distinct sense of weathering, and the eyes deep in the eye sockets behind the straight thick eyebrows were staring at Khalil sharply at this moment. Although he was looking up, he was not humble.

Just one glance, Khalil smiled.

"Hello, Lord Luther."

He tore off the disguise and the skin, and greeted softly. The voice had changed, and so had his face. The bloody truth naturally flowed out on a fragmented face, and blood and flesh splashed, falling on the ground, splashing sticky echoes.

Luther was struck by lightning in an instant.

——

Sitting on the sofa, the lion looked at his brother with a calm look.

They were now sitting on a sofa, which was very precious. A creation that could bear the weight and status of the Primarch would not be cheap. Conrad Curze sat on his right side, and his sitting posture was more serious than the slightly casual posture of the lion.

The lion did not miss this information. His observation was very careful. The results obtained in the silence of these few seconds began to be combined and formed in his mind little by little.

Conrad Curze also stared at his brother. He certainly didn't know what the lion would ask him, but he would tell the truth within a certain range.

He might be honest.

He hoped he could be honest.

"So, the first question, brother." Lion El'Jonson spoke in his unique voice, which was not loud, and could even be called a whisper. "What is your purpose?"

"I thought you would want to talk about things that are not related to work first." Curze sighed. "But... well, after all, I made a promise. I don't have any purpose, Leon, I just want to fulfill my duty and complete the task given to me by Terra, that's all."

"Duty is ahead of the task, very good." The lion nodded expressionlessly, with praise in his voice, but his expression was surprisingly cold.

"I don't mean to say anything about your age, but you are indeed too young, Conrad. You don't understand me and my legion, so you took on this task."

"Do you think so?" Koz asked.

The lion looked at him steadily for a while, and suddenly-he spoke in a harsh voice.

"You don't understand my duty, you don't understand what I have undertaken, so you came here. Yes, that's it, that's what I think, Conrad. Compared with me, you are just a babbling child, just like your legion. The Eighth Legion is an executioner, but the First Legion has gone further than you in this regard!"

Koz slowly narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, Leon, I'm not here to argue with you or compare one or two." He persuaded in a calm tone.

"And my age is essentially just an insignificant lie. It can be one or one hundred. What's the difference? Our minds are beyond ordinary people. How can you look at and evaluate me with a worldly perspective?"

"Because I don't want to convince myself. All this is because you don't agree with me." The lion answered in a low voice.

There was earnestness in his eyes - it was not the earnestness of a 'human', but that of a beast, a beast that finally found its own kind.

"Fulgrim is good at inspiring the world with his eloquence, and Ferrus uses his iron determination to destroy all the fools who try to defy the Empire. Rogal Dorn silently takes on everything, and Robert Guilliman uses his ideals to make every world conquered by the Ultramarines grateful to the Empire." "But I am different, Conrad. What I leave to the Empire is only the unspeakable, unsearchable name and ashes. Most of the victories of my Legion must be hidden in history, but has anyone ever heard me complain?" "My father gave me this duty, and I perform it. And you and I can smell a similar smell on you, Conrad. You are also a beast, the only difference is that I was born in the forest, and you were born in steel and concrete. I have been enemies with giant beasts, what about you?" His sudden long speech ended with a question. The lion tore off his coat, threw away his identity as a knight, and left the shackles of civilization in the dust. His words were sharp, and the questions were even more direct. But his purpose was actually very simple-he just wanted to know more about his brother. So Conrad Curz answered him honestly.

"Guilt," he whispered, and caught the change in the lion's eyes without surprise.

One more chapter.