40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 294 14.Nikea

".I have been walking with the Emperor's Eighth Legion for twenty-six years. I have witnessed countless 'new blood' leave the lair of Nostramo and embark on an endless journey across the vast sea of ​​stars."

"According to rumors, they are bloodless and tearless monsters who kill all day long and crave fear. They feed on blood and bones in the darkness, but this is just a rumor, and anyone with any sense can hear its falsehood."

"To me, the Eighth Legion is just a group of people who are dedicated to their duties. They will never evade their responsibilities and destiny. Therefore, those terrible rumors will have the ground to spread. I have no intention of commenting on the combat style of the Midnight Blades. , they have already proven themselves.”

"But I want to know, where will they go if the war ends?"

Khalil put down the book and stopped reading.

This notebook was born from a narrator, but it was not Bellows von Sharp. That person would not ask the question "Where to go?" He already had the answer to this kind of thing.

Of course, Belros is not the only one who writes within the Eighth Legion.

Konrad Curze, though not as extreme as Horus Luperkar, demanded that the Luna Wolves. No, each company of the Sons of Horus be equipped with a Narrator so that 'our deeds would be known throughout the world. empire'.

But he is not someone like Leon El'Jonson or Leman Russ who is very resistant to chroniclers. Compared to his brothers, the Lord of the Night's attitude is actually quite interesting. His attitude towards the chroniclers It can be summed up in one sentence - just don't go to him.

Of course, it was impossible for the narrators to leave him alone without interviewing him. Most of these people did not know how to shoot, but they still dared to walk with the Astartes and enter the most brutal battlefield.

They even have the courage to interview the original body.

Courage.

Khalil chuckled and tapped his desk with his fingers. The lightning patterns that were originally bright and dim all dimmed at this moment.

On the other side of the desk, a person who was busy correcting documents raised his head and glanced at him pretending not to change his expression. His expression looked calm, but his right hand holding the pen was trembling slightly.

"Watch what I do, Cy?" Khalil looked at him gently. "Continue to do your work. Didn't you say that instead of bringing in new blood and becoming their instructor, you would rather help me correct official documents? Why did you stop now?"

"You didn't say there were so many at the time."

"Is this called too much?" Khalil put on a puzzled face and deliberately used a softer tone. "There are not enough official documents sent today, sergeant of the first company. If we were still in Nostramo, you would be too busy to talk now."

"Can't we use the data pad to correct the files?" Sevatar couldn't help but ask - at this moment, he would rather take the wooden stick and go to the training ground with Sigismund for another 48 hours than hold it again. I started writing line after line of neat cursive calligraphy.

"It's possible in Nostramo, but not here. Not everyone in the Empire wants to accept the data-slate office policy implemented by Robert Guilliman. Paper-based materials are still prevalent."

Khalil shook his head in seeming sympathy at Sevita and left his desk at Nightfall.

This office has remained unchanged over the years. You could call it nostalgia or a stubborn reluctance to change, but no matter what, Khalil still likes his porthole.

He came to the window and saw through it a terrifying planet. Nightfall is parked in its low-Earth orbit. At this distance, Carrier can clearly capture a series of natural disasters such as volcanic eruptions and lightning storms.

The planet, called Nicaea, was discovered in the middle of the Great Crusade. It is a new planet, the landscape is not even fully formed, and various extreme climates are common. Now, it will be the venue for a conference.

He turned to look at the other end of the track and caught a glimpse of several equally huge ships. The Red Tear, the Unwavering Resolve, and the Glory of Macragge. These ships, which only appear together in the legends of the Empire, are now anchored near Nicaea one after another.

Some are located in far-end orbits, and some are located in low-Earth orbits. The reason why they are parked separately is to avoid tidal effects.

The weather in Nikaea is bad enough. Its structure is in a long flow, full of moving blocks, chaotic gravitational waves and lightning storms. The navigation and radar of shuttles and gunships may even completely fail during navigation.

If the weather were to get worse, this meeting might not have to be held somewhere in Nicaea and could be changed to an online meeting, at least that way no one's life would be in danger.

There are also some smaller ships parked between the Primarchs' flagships, and densely packed shuttles are busy going back and forth. The Legiones Astartes and Primarchs were not the only ones who arrived here, there were also many delegations.

The empire's huge and bloated bureaucracy was unusually smooth in the five months before the Nicaea Conference. Countless documents and notices were issued, and all major departments sent people to bear witness or provide evidence.

The high lords of Terra, the Mechanicum of Mars, the governors or lords of the galaxies who have come all the way to the Sun Star Domain, the Astral Chamber, and the Psychic Academy. As you can see, this meeting is unprecedented in scale.

So, what is its issue?

Khalil fell into thought little by little. He stood like this for more than two hours without moving. It wasn't until Yago Savitarion finished correcting all the documents that he made any move.

"Continue tomorrow, Sai." With his back to Savita, who was undergoing a mental torture, Khalil spoke softly. "Of course, like I said, you can still choose between training with new blood or helping to correct documents. It's never too late to choose."

".I was forced to teach the Primarch how to make those gestures."

"So, what about those things Leman Russ learned?" Kalil turned around and stared at him with a half-smile. "Is this what you were forced to teach too?"

"That's not true. He threatened me with a whole piece of Fenris honey-flavored Glocks steak. I was forced, instructor."

Khalil smiled and psychically pushed him out the door, ending the conversation. However, after that, his smile disappeared immediately. From the patch of darkness behind him, Konrad Curze emerged listlessly.

"Is this really necessary?" The Lord of Night asked, leaning against the wall with his hands folded.

"What?" Khalil replied casually. He had already walked to the desk and was checking whether there was any inappropriateness in the official documents that Savita had corrected.

"You're asking questions knowingly again." The Lord of Night looked at him dissatisfied.

"Ha" Khalil laughed happily. "Well, if it's just because of some gang gestures, of course it's not necessary. But he will need to correct a lot of official documents in the future, so it's better to take advantage of this reason to get him familiar with it first, what do you think?"

"I don't want to express any opinions, I'm just worried about his future." The Lord of the Night said.

——

Malcador tightened his grip on his scepter and walked away from the burning stars. This is not a metaphor, but an exact description of where he had previously stood.

The bearer of the seal took a step and finally set foot on the ground again. The scepter was lowered, and a force swept across the entire rock chamber, and the burning stars immediately disappeared. He let go of his hand, brought the scepter close to the wall, and touched his face with both hands.

The feeling of old age made his fingertips a little embarrassed. Malcador shook his head and simply put on his hood again. Then he took the scepter and left the rock room.

The outside world looks like a tunnel, with a bright and smooth surface. It is terrifyingly large. Even if several Primarchs are walking side by side, it probably won't make the place look crowded.

The ground was covered with some kind of transparent material, and magma was rolling underneath it, making it terrifyingly bright. The fiery brilliance and temperature illuminated the tunnel, causing Malcador's scepter to reflect an even brighter light.

Half a year ago, a group of well-trained 'workers' used the best hot melt tools to dig here.

The Tunnel Palmist walked calmly, as if he had no intention of using his psychic energy to speed up, and just moved forward on foot. Despite this, the vigor and agility he showed when walking were definitely not what an old man should have. After a while, he arrived at a side hall that was not very wide.

Under the illumination of the golden eagle, a giant wearing golden armor was turning his back to him, flipping through a suspended book.

"Are you reading a book at this time?" The person holding the seal said accusingly.

"Isn't it possible?"

The giant who manipulated books with his psychic powers replied nonchalantly. He turned around, and the golden laurel wreath intertwined with it above his shining eyes. But Malcador's words seemed to have some effect, and the book finally fell back into his hands and was closed safely.

"There are still two hours." The palm-printer spoke again, revealing a cold time. "Dear Your Majesty, in up to two hours, this trial will be held. What words do you want me to use as my opening remarks?"

"You can decide for yourself," the Emperor said. "If it doesn't work, you can prepare a few speeches for yourself, old man. I believe no one will care about this kind of thing."

Malcador smiled, laughing at the title the Emperor spat out. He shook his head, his eyes under the hood were smiling, but he quickly regained his composure.

He waved his scepter, and the brilliance of his spiritual power flashed away, and several speeches actually fell into his hands. The emperor looked at him, and there was something unexpected on his face that was enveloped by the light.

"People always have to obey their old age." The palm-printer pointedly raised his right hand and flicked the speech notes. "What do you think, Your Majesty?"

"I am not old." The Lord of Mankind replied calmly.

Preview.

Magnus: aieeeeeee——! Emperor? Emperor why? !