40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 265 36. Judgment Day (5)

"Is this a trial, father? For what I did? But what are they guilty of?!"

——The holder of the True Word, the One with the Great Word, Lorgar Aurelion lives in the Perfect City.

"No."

——The Emperor of Mankind, in psychic energy, the echo of pain.

"He comes, but the Son of God is in my hands. The work is done."

——Dark Apostle, Hand of Destiny, Erebus in the Perfect City.

"I will kill you."

——The False God, the Dead, the Darkest, the Lost One, Khalil Lohars in the Perfect City.

——

Run, run with great strides. Siani ran non-stop. This was not the highest speed he could reach, but it was the limit that the wide and dark corridors of the Night Veil allowed him to reach.

He is fully armed, with no ribbons or medals on his updated MK4 power armor. He kept running with an expressionless expression, his helmet shaking and banging on the buckle of the armed belt behind his waist.

Along the way, he passed four servitors holding documents and thirteen crew members before arriving at his destination. It was a black door with a sharp blade dripping blood.

The First Company champion stepped forward and passed the door's biometrics with his completely black eyes. Its built-in machinery began to operate, opening it little by little, and Siani's heartbeat began to accelerate.

Once again. He will face Khalil Lohars.

The champion lowered his proud head and began to stare at the ground. A few seconds later, a cold voice came from the door.

"Come in."

So Siani did as he was told, still lowering his head. The Night Blade instructors' office on the Night Veil is the same as it was eighteen years ago, without any change. Nothing increases, nothing decreases.

Documents that need to be corrected by him still come in and out every day, but only the Night Blades themselves know how big the changes have been here. Siani walked to the huge desk with his head lowered and heard the cold and emotionless voice again.

"It's you, Siani from the First Company. What's the matter?"

"The Lord of the Thirteenth Legion wants to see you." Siani said. "He said he has brought a gift from Ultramar and would like you to chat with him. The Primarch will also be there."

"Chatting?" The coldness in the voice became more and more obvious. "I don't have time for this, Siani of the First Company."

With a small hope that would be extinguished every day, Siani raised his head: "But, instructor"

He stopped. He had to.

The gaze of the man sitting behind the long adamantine table was so cold that it almost froze his soul. Siani knew he had to stop and leave, otherwise he would be in for a harsh lesson.

But this matter was unusual. Robert Guilliman, the Lord of Ultramar, personally issued such an invitation. Reasonable, Siani thought that he should try it again.

He once again rekindled that little hope, even though it had been extinguished once before.

"Please," Siani said in a veiled plea. "This is no small thing, just like the Emperor's order. We must be more cautious about the Perfect City. The Ultramarines are also one of the enforcers. Don't you think we need to communicate with them before it begins? Two?"

Khalil Lohars did not answer his words, but slowly stood up from his seat.

He was cloaked and wore dark robes. There is a skull face covering his true expression. He put on this mask many years ago and never took it off again.

Siani pursed her lips and lowered her head silently. He knows what's coming next and he's ready

However, a few seconds later, he only heard a sentence with a completely different tone from before.

"Indeed," their instructor said thoughtfully. "You're right, Siani. This whole thing does require careful thinking, and rashly destroying an entire model city is simply appalling."

The Terran raised his head in disbelief, just in time to see the mask peeling off the man's face, pale white, like ashes.

Khalil Lohars raised his head and smiled at him: "Good evening, Siani. Is it evening now?"

Siani couldn't say anything. He stood stiffly on the spot, with an expression on his face between ecstasy and extreme shock. After a full two minutes, he came back to his senses and uttered a short and urgent question.

".ah?"

——

".Huh?" Konrad Coze uttered a cry and repeated it. "ah?"

It took a lot of effort for Robert Guilliman not to follow him and make this sound. The Thirteenth Son put down the book wrapped in soft paper in his hand slightly at a loss, with a very confused expression.

After a while, he turned to look at his brother: "This is different from what you and Angron described to me, Conrad."

His brother ignored him, not yet. Guilliman knew the reason and was not angry. He turned his eyes, and like Konrad Coze, he cast his gaze on the giant standing in front of them with his hands behind his back.

The latter was silent in front of a light blue star map, and his thinking was quite obvious.

"This should just be a punishment or a lesson," Khalil mused. "The Emperor had no reason to destroy the Perfect City, but he asked for it anyway."

"If you look at it from another angle, this matter is quite interesting. It is full of warnings from a disappointed father to his incompetent son. It's a pity that he didn't come in person. He asked the other two legions to handle the matter on his behalf, huh."

He pondered, and Konrad Curze had left his seat. The original body clenched his fists and walked to Khalil's side. Robert Guilliman watched this scene slightly nervously, unsure of what would happen next.

He and Angron had discussed Konrad Curze, and they both agreed that although the Lord of the Night was a wise monarch most of the time, that was just an appearance.

Deep in the heart of the Lord of Night, there is still a shadow called the Midnight Ghost.

"Are you finally back?" After standing still, Conrad Coates spoke softly.

His voice and tone made Robert Guilliman increasingly nervous. Guilliman didn't know what was going to happen next, but he hoped it wouldn't be too ugly. He didn't want to go through anything like Nostramo's tarmac again.

"I never left, Conrad." Khalil replied gently, tilting his head.

The Lord of the Night stared at him for a while and shook his head: "In a sense, that's true. You have never left. However, something that only you can share has been away from us for eighteen years. I I don’t know if you can understand this.”

"In fact, I'm still not sure whether the person standing in front of me is Khalil Lohars or just a phantom wearing his body."

Khalil was silent for a while, and Guilliman had begun to sit upright. If he hadn't been a Primarch but a commoner, he would have started sweating. This kind of scene was really torture, and Guilliman was not good at staying in such situations for long.

If necessary, he would sometimes even avoid certain expressions of emotion from Jotun Thalasa. But he couldn't escape, so next, he saw everything with his own eyes.

Khalil Lohars slowly opened his hands.

"Would you like to come and check for yourself?" he asked.

"Don't tell anyone what happened today, Robert." The Lord of the Night said gently, clasping his hands together, they were still trembling, like pale and perfect sculptures. "Otherwise I'm going to have to do something not so good."

Guilliman looked away from his brother's hands and asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I made a special trip to tell Ms. Youdun that you were far away from your own bodyguards during a certain gang jumping. Or maybe you told her that you thought she should retire, and you complained about it for several hours."

"You can't do this." Robert Guilliman's eyes suddenly became serious. "You shouldn't have done this, Conrad. You're betraying me, and if you do this, I'll tell everyone you're a traitor."

"Who did I betray?"

"I."

"I just said a few words, how can this be considered a betrayal?" The Lord of the Night raised his head as if nothing had happened, loosened his hand and rubbed his cheek.

He glanced at Khalil sitting aside from the corner of his eye, focusing on the latter's face. After confirming that it was a familiar face and not a mask, he put his hand down.

"Tsk, did you learn this rhetoric from Fulgrim?" The Lord of Ultramar raised his hand in slight annoyance and sternly poked the table with his finger. "Don't imitate his nonsense, Conrad. You don't know how he tortured Ferrus with these words."

"Ferrus is obviously enjoying himself. Who among us but Fulgrim can call him Gorgon?" Curze grinned, and there was a real happiness on his pale face that has become rare in recent years. emerge.

"You have to argue with me on this matter, don't you?" Guilliman sighed heavily. The Macraggean shook his head helplessly, not very good at dealing with his brother as always.

Fortunately, a communication request from his legion quickly rescued him from this situation. A few minutes later, when he put down the communication device that had been improved many times, his expression became serious.

"Malcador has arrived," Robert Guilliman explained briefly. "That means we're down to the last few hours and once it really starts, there's no going back."

Conrad Coates nodded slightly.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "So, Khalil, what do you think?"

The instructor of the Eighth Legion, who was reading the Emperor's order, slowly raised his head.

This chapter is 3k, and I will update another 7k after I wake up.