40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 245 16. Return, return home?

The Tridesia's engine roared violently, and it disappeared silently in the black vacuum. But the sudden brightness of the tail can still be observed through the porthole, resembling the flickering and flickering of stars.

Flames of light splashed out, and a fleet led by the Tridesia slowly left without any intention of stopping. On the bridge, Khalil flipped through the battle reports, memorizing more data and experiences.

Of course he didn't like doing it, in fact, he wasn't good at it but he had to do it.

The predecessors planted trees, and the descendants enjoy the shade. This has been the case since time immemorial. He wants to record all the experiences gained by the blood of the night blades. After returning to Nostramo, they will take root in the hearts of another group of new blood.

One day, they will grow into towering trees, shielding the new blood from the enemy's blades and artillery fire.

But yes, the Eighth Legion left like that, there was no reason for them to stay near Lycaeus, was there?

In fact, they didn't even have a reasonable reason for coming. Naturally, Khalil would not tell his true purpose of coming here, and if he intervened in some things, the taste would change.

Conrad Coates will take care of everything on his own, what do relationships mean?

Keeping thinking, Kalil stopped reading the battle reports. He tapped the data pad in his hand lightly with his fingers. Turbulence flowed across it, and its screen immediately fell into darkness. He put it down and turned around.

A gray-haired man was standing behind him, holding a complex instrument with both hands.

"Can you change your stance to a more serious stance?" Narrator Bellos asked.

"No," Khalil said. "That's the most serious pose I can do."

"But you look like you're just standing around casually."

"Yes."

"Is this serious?"

Khalil nodded: "Look at my expression, Mr. Bellows, don't I look serious now?"

The corners of the reporter's mouth twitched. He seemed to have the urge to smile, but he forcefully suppressed the urge. He pressed the shutter, took the last picture and put down the camera. It fell down by gravity and was tied to his chest by a rope.

The reporter, who was wearing a brown leather vest, lowered his head and rummaged through the satchel at his waist to find a kraft paper notebook and a very simple, even paint-off pen. Then, he quickly opened the vellum book and made a gesture as if he wanted to be interviewed.

Khalil shook his head helplessly, turned around, and made a gesture to Captain Gisbier Hasil and his crew who were watching silently.

The old captain immediately understood, and the loud roar resounded through the entire bridge again: "You lazy guys, move your butts and lift your legs for me! Adjust the engine output and confirm the course. The destination is Nostramo. , return!”

The crew answered Gisbier with a chorus of shouts.

"So, what do you want to ask, Mr. Bellows?" Khalil crossed his arms, leaned back, and leaned on the data table. "According to regulations, I will tell everything I know to the extent allowed by military discipline."

"Okay, okay." The narrator nodded repeatedly. "So, first question, how does it feel to be aboard the Emperor Dream?"

"Oops."

Bellos' hand that was about to write paused, and he raised his head. There was an indescribable look boiling in his eyes under the gold-rimmed glasses: "I'm sorry, there seemed to be something wrong with my hearing just now. Can you say it again? ?”

"Awesome," Khalil replied deadpan. "Every time I board that magnificent ship, the majestic cathedral, which is full of artistic flavor and religious details, makes me feel refreshed, open-minded and happy. I have not boarded her many times, but every time it is an unforgettable experience ”

".Do you really want me to write that?"

"Just kidding - but are you really going to write this down?"

Belros nodded: "Only a few people in the empire can be lucky enough to board the Emperor's Dream. If possible, I certainly want to describe her in detail and unveil her mystery for the general public, so that they can also Imagine stepping aboard the Emperor's flagship."

Khalil resisted the urge to sigh and spent about thirty minutes talking about the decoration style of the Emperor Fantasy and the scenic spots that could be called landmarks.

Bellos nodded and quickly wrote down the information on the vellum notebook. There was a portable recording device on the collar of his vest, with a blinking indicator light.

Khalil guessed that he would probably make changes on the vellum notebook while listening to this conversation during his night's rest.

".Well, that's pretty much it. I've said all I can, Mr. Bellows. Do you have any questions?"

"Yes." The narrator raised his head again. "It is said that you have a room on the Emperor's Dream. Is this true?"

"."

"Is this true, Instructor Khalil?"

"Yes." The instructor of the Eighth Legion said expressionlessly. "Yes, I have an exclusive room up there. It covers a vast area and even has an enclosed balcony for stargazing and a small garden."

"So luxurious?" Bellos was obviously surprised. "So, how did you get it? I mean, is there any legendary story behind it that can be recorded?"

"The question you asked seems to have nothing to do with the Great Expedition, Mr. Bellows."

The reporter raised his right hand and temporarily turned off the recording device on his collar without blushing or heartbeat. Khalil looked at his movements and suddenly felt a very strong urge to sigh.

Fortunately he held back. Facing Bellos's expectant eyes, he spoke slowly.

"No," Khalil said firmly. "There is no legendary story, it is just a simple room. There are many people who have their own rooms on the Emperor's Dream, right? One more than me is no more."

"But I can't interview them either." The narrator spread his hands. "Who else could I ask but you?"

Khalil finally sighed.

"Ask something else." He said, with a hint of warning in his tone, but with an expression of extreme helplessness.

He even rubbed his eyebrows.

"You can ask some questions related to war, or some cultures in the legion, Bellos."

The narrator did not pursue the case any longer. He wisely and wisely turned on the recording device again: "So, do you have any stories you can tell me about Captain Yago Severtalion?"

Khalil raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." He nodded and spoke slowly. "Yes, there are many. What kind do you want to hear?"

——

Conrad Coates read many books.

Time passes, slipping away from people's perception silently and silently. To this day, he has read many books. He was no longer the ghost on Nostramo, acting only on instinct and the innate knowledge in his head.

He knew about the saying that people are timid in their hometown, but he didn't expect that this would happen to him one day.

What a headache.

The Lord of the Night curled his lips and traced his pale fingers maliciously on the metal dummy in front of him. The harsh and terrifying sound of metal friction immediately sounded, and the training ground, which was originally bustling with people, fell into silence.

Third Captain Fel Zalost coughed behind him, his voice was soft and hissing, and he used Nostramo.

"Primarch. This is not appropriate."

"What?" Kurtz asked without looking back. "What's inappropriate, mourning bird?"

The director of the think tank raised his head and his throat rolled up and down. There was a hidden laughter behind him, and he could guess who was laughing at him without looking back - no one except his adjutant Adebeman Basili dared to do so.

"I mean--"

Feir, who had a few new scars on his face, kept his calm tone and spoke like this. He did not intend to lose his composure in front of the primarch at this time. He had plenty of ways to deal with his lieutenants afterwards.

"——This metal target is not suitable for you to use to test your strength."

Curze chuckled obviously, but said nothing. He lowered his shoulders, bent down, held his right hand empty, and quietly closed his five fingers, piercing the air as if he was holding a knife.

The Night Blades in the training ground didn't cast any glances at this place - at least they didn't look directly at it.

"So." The Lord of the Night spoke softly while waving the non-existent blade at the imaginary enemy in the air. "Has the statistics been completed?"

"It's done, Primarch."

“Have we not recovered, but how many worlds have we conquered?”

"Forty-six," said Fair. "If you count the quelling of the rebellion and those worlds that surrendered without fighting, then there are one hundred and two."

"That sounds like a lot." The Lord of Night sneered and stopped.

The lines of his back were clearly revealed under the black tights. Looking at the back of his original body, Feir could only feel a shudder.

Every muscle is purposefully arranged in advance, with perfect lines and perfect distribution. The combination brings a sense of sharpness that is not human-like. Staring at them, a scene suddenly appeared in front of Feier's eyes.

It was his primarch standing on a pile of corpses wearing battle armor, and it happened not long ago. The Lord of Midnight sneaked into a city that was unwilling to surrender at dawn. At dawn, the Night Blades entered the fortress smoothly.

And the corrupt city lord and all his subordinates had gathered in the largest square in the city. Konrad Curze trampled their bones, his armor covered in blood, surrounded by kneeling civilians.

Despite this, the blood-stained face of the original body was calm, as if he had just done an insignificant thing.

"...But compared with the entire galaxy, it can only be said to be a drop in the bucket." Kurtz commented in an indifferent tone that was not often seen, and then quickly changed his tone.

He turned around, his expression softening at some point.

"I really want to apply for a medal for each of you." The Lord of the Night said with a smile. "That's a number I'm proud of, a number that would make anyone proud. It's a pity we don't have a medal to win, Phil."

"And we don't care." The third company commander shrugged. "Honor is essentially just a bondage."

Cozz snorted softly, stretched out his finger and tapped Feier's armor: "But if I really apply for an honor, you'd better not play any painful drama for me that I don't want to get, Feier. Otherwise, I will I’ll kick you into the hunting team and let you personally bring in new blood.”

"."

Fel-Zalost wisely chose to remain silent, while his primarch began to pace softly, seemingly slowly but actually swiftly, past him, and slipped majestically into the darkness.

Feir and his adjutant watched the movements of the original body and were silent for a moment. Then, two blue lights suddenly lit up in the eyes of the third company commander.

"Adbeman."

"Using psychic powers? You are so shameless."

"Ha." Feier sneered, raised his fist, and the blue light in his eyes went out. "I'm just using it to make sure the Primarch is really gone. Come on, get into the cage."

His adjutant shrugged nonchalantly: "Okay, come on."

Standing beside them, Conrad Kurtz smiled silently, and then really left.

He practices this skill every day and never lets up. But it actually has little to do with the skills he first learned from Khalil. Now, it is more like an instinct engraved deep in the bones.

Just like some monsters are naturally fond of darkness, Conrad Coates can accurately capture the most secret and dark corners in every place. Using this technique, he made it back to his office without being noticed.

Next, he spent a few minutes recording the names of those who passed him on the road without noticing him. Their names were written down on a data pad.

It may be a bit paradoxical to say, but there is indeed something like a "monthly assessment" within Night Blade, of which stealth and anti-stealth training occupy the majority. Those who fail, or fail too many times, can only stay on the bridge while everyone else rushes out to perform their missions.

After doing this, he put the data tablet aside, and suddenly felt a sense of unreality in his heart - in just a few years, he had completely integrated into this place, as if he was born to lead such an army. I was born to get along with the Night Blades like this.

Curze narrowed his eyes and threw away these useless thoughts. He picked up another data tablet and wrote the order, with the words "The Primarch's Visit" shining in solemn font at the beginning.

The Night Veil will soon return to Nostramo, and his orders will be transmitted directly to the surface the moment the Night Veil is parked in orbit. A visit from a Primarch is an event on any world. What's more, the person coming this time is Fulgrim.

He lowered his head and stretched out his hand to press his chest. Between the clothes and the chest, there is a pendant exuding warmth. Conrad Coates smiled slightly and continued to devote himself to his work.

The update is complete and will be updated tomorrow.