40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 303 23. The Good Show (VI)

Magnus could feel the vibration in the air and the eyes of the people. He could hear the heated discussions from all directions without using psychic power. Everyone in the amphitheater was curious about what he would do next.

This is good, in fact, very good.

The Red King smiled and set his eyes on the pale white gem on the surface of the instrument. It was glowing and seemed to be changing forever. The colorful light looked so beautiful from every angle.

Now, he thought, the Old Night was indeed a terrible disaster, but there was no definite evidence of the specific cause until now.

So, why do people blame the psychic?

But it doesn't matter. Today, the controversy over the years will come to an end. Everyone will see the stability of psychic energy. As long as he activates the device, Mortarion's opposition will become a thing of the past, or even a joke. He chuckled, raised his right hand, and used a psychic signal to guide a servitor to put the wrongly connected cable duct back to the correct position. At the same time, there was a sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't need to look back to know who it was. "Azek, what's the matter?" Magnus asked as gently as possible. He didn't want his excitement to be caught by his offspring. Azek Ahriman was a smart man, sometimes even too smart. "I just want to ask," Ahriman said hesitantly, his voice full of doubt. This emotion made Magnus' smile disappear instantly. He turned around and interrupted his think tank director without even giving him a chance to finish his words. "I remember we talked about this, Azek." Magnus said, his facial muscles were being pulled by hypocritical emotions, showing an obvious fake smile. "Or do you think I can't complete this experiment? We have done preliminary tests on many volunteers, and they are fine, right?"

"But they all fell into madness after finishing their observation of the Vast Ocean, my Lord."

"Yes, but that was after they briefly mastered psychic power-and this kind of madness can be reversed. Didn't the 18th and 27th subjects successfully recover their sanity?"

"But this is obviously only a low-probability event, Primarch." Facing Magnus's almost gloomy gaze, Azek Ahriman spoke with great difficulty and for the last time.

"It took us a year to arrive in Nikaea, and your experiment has only advanced the progress of this year. Only two of the 131 volunteers recovered from madness, which can't be used as a convincing number at all."

"Their recovery can't even be called a success, it's just a low-probability event. I beg you to think about it again, Primarch. It's not too late now."

"What are you thinking, Azek?" Magnus looked at him disappointedly, and this look made the think tank director feel a helpless pain. Magnus is like this, he doesn't like to hear any opposition.

"Didn't you hear what those people say about us? They have begun to compare us with primitive and barbaric wizards. This is undoubtedly a slander and a crime that we should not bear."

The Red King took a step closer, looked at his offspring, and whispered sincerely.

"What's more, psychic power will inevitably become another power mastered by humans in the future. This is almost a foreseeable future. It will definitely come, and if no one is pushing it, I will do it myself."

He waved his right hand resolutely, and his one eye was still staring at Azek Ahriman.

"Listen, my son. I understand your doubts and demands, but we don't have time to wait any longer. Success or failure depends on this one move, and the truth has always been in the hands of a few people."

"Why do you think there are so few wise men among humans? Because most of the wise men were murdered by those so-called civilians who are as stupid as pigs and dogs! I won't let this happen. Even if I have to bear the blame for it, I will let everyone see their mistakes."

Azek Ahriman was finally speechless, not only because as an Astartes he could not go against the nature of the Primarch, but also because a corner of his heart was being touched by Magnus's eloquence.

Yes, it is just as he said. For a long time, the think tank system and the existence of psykers have been criticized by people. They can't see the superiority of psykers, and even belittle and insult it.

What's more ridiculous is that every time they talk about this, the victories that were once created by psykers suddenly disappear and are placed on others, such as some mortal auxiliary troops. Are they worthy of this honor?

These accusations have never been a secret. The Thousand Sons can hear them, but they ignore them and just take them in stride. As long as the Emperor does not speak out against it, it means that they are on the right path. But this does not mean that they will remain silent and indifferent to any words.

"Now, do you understand, Azek?" Magnus looked at him with hope in his eyes.

"I understand, Primarch." Azek Ahriman answered solemnly.

"Very good." Magnus smiled, he turned around and walked to the instrument.

The servitors lowered their heads, and the simple program settings in their minds began to be replaced by another power.

It was born from Magnus' thoughts, and was pulled by him to cover the brain chip that originally controlled the servitor. Under the influence of psychic energy, the eyes of the twelve servitors lit up with blue light.

The next second, in the sudden burst of sound in the theater, these twelve servitors instantly turned into substantial spiritual flashes - their bodies were melted in an instant, and the whole process lasted less than a second. But it can still be clearly captured by many people.

The flesh, flesh and machinery turned into a stream of light blue energy, and finally gathered in Magnus's hands, forming a floating light group.

Countless doubts, objections and even curses rushed towards Magnus in an instant, but he stood there without any worry, even with a smile on his face.

Yes, that's it. He raised his head with a smile and looked at the golden platform. You must have fought against the whole world in this way, father?

On the throne, the emperor looked down at him expressionlessly.

"I know that you have doubts about this." He said slowly. "You may think this is a human sacrifice, but it is not. The servitors are not human beings. In fact, they are already dead."

"In their lifetime, they were death row prisoners or deformed clones, but now they are flesh-and-blood mechanical combinations driven by chip programs. No matter from any angle, they cannot be regarded as human beings."

In the original body's box, Leman Russ shook his head slowly. The Fenrisian's voice has never sounded so low as it does now: "He has definitely done similar things with living people, believe me."

Magnus raised his right hand high, walked to the instrument, and poured the energy ball into the pale white gem.

The blue light flashed without any warning, and the dizzying brilliance suddenly bloomed the next moment. Starting from the entire instrument, it almost completely affected the entire venue.

At the same time, Malcador on the golden platform snorted coldly, waved his scepter, and tightly bound the light within the instrument. Magnus raised his head slightly surprised and glanced at him.

"This is just a normal experimental phenomenon, Palm Printer. It will happen every time the instrument is started."

"Every time?" Malcador shook his head. "Go on, Magnus, and let us see what you have accomplished."

There was no hint of coldness in his words, but Magnus felt a slight twinge of doubt. In order to confirm this, he looked into Malcador's eyes. The moment their eyes met, he saw a kind of opposition in Malcador's eyes.

And everyone knows that Malcador is the other hand of the Emperor, and the attitude of the palmer can completely represent the Emperor on some level.

Does this mean that the Emperor disapproves of his actions?

The Crimson King looked at the Lord of Humanity again, whose expression remained calm. As a result, this wave of doubt quickly sank in his heart and disappeared like floating grass passing over the water.

The Emperor made no objection. he thinks. This means I'm not wrong.

"Now, I need a volunteer!" He raised his arms, left the instrument, and walked along the edge of the amphitheater like a teacher giving a class.

The officials and nobles were inevitably distracted by the approaching Primarch, while others scorned his behavior. Mortarion crossed his arms, leaned against the pillar of the box and sneered coldly.

He didn't speak, but everyone could hear his disdain in the laughter.

"Now, what he is doing is completely incompatible with the rigorous experiments required." Robert Guilliman sighed. "He looked almost like a street juggler showing off his sword-swallowing skills."

"Moreover, this sword is real. He will pierce his own intestines and stomach, and the sword will eventually come out of his stomach." Angron took over his words.

The gladiator's face was slowly twitching, his hands were clasped together, the muscles of his arms were knotted, and the veins on his palms popped out. Just being activated by the instrument already made the Butcher's Nail active.

In the venue, the Crimson King knew nothing about these things. He was still raising his arms and shouting, hoping to find a volunteer.

He spoke passionately, hoping that people would spontaneously participate in this experiment and join him in becoming a highlight in future history books.

Unfortunately, so far, no one has been persuaded by him. Everyone saw how Magnus treated the twelve servitors, and no one wanted to be next.

Therefore, even though the Crimson King stated over and over again that the experimenter himself would never be in any danger, no one was willing to leave his seat or box.

The scene and atmosphere gradually became awkward, and the smile on Magnus's face began to fade. At this moment, a man sitting on the sidelines stood up. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and a heavy black camera hung around his neck.

"My name is Berros von Sharp, and I am one of the military chroniclers of the Eighth Legion, sir." He stood up, bent down politely, and bowed. "I am willing to be your volunteer to assist you in conducting this experiment."

"Thank you!" Magnus walked towards him overjoyed. "Your name is - ah, yes, Herr Bellows von Sharpe. Thank you! You won't regret it!"

"I hope so." Bellows took off his gold-rimmed glasses with an undiminished smile and put them back into his coat pocket. Following Magnus's guidance, he walked into the theater, came to the instrument, and put his hands on it.

On the throne, the Emperor finally changed his sitting posture. Malcador stood beside him and sighed: "It's too late to regret now, Your Majesty."

"I never regretted letting him go," the Emperor said nonchalantly.

"You know that's not what I'm referring to." Malcador held the scepter tightly, and his psychic powers were already gathering momentum. "No matter what that thing is, the chance that Bellos will be safe and sound is extremely low."

The Emperor made no further reply to this sentence.

In the center of the field, Magnus also placed his hands on the instrument. He looked at Bellros for a few seconds, and then he remembered that he should do a little research in advance. Fortunately, it doesn't matter, it's the same if you make up for it now.

The crimson king once again had that fake smile on his face. He bowed his head gracefully and politely, and asked seemingly humbly: "So, Mr. Bellos, have you ever been in contact with psykers before?"

"Oh, I've had a lot of contact with them." Bellos nodded. "I know your tricks, such as lightning, sky fire, etc. I have seen them all."

Magnus frowned: "But you said you are from the Eighth Legion. Their think tank director is Fel Zalost. He should not be able to use these spells."

"I am a chronicler, my lord. Therefore, I have met many people." Belros said, with a far more fake smile on his face than Magnus, who was not aware of this at all.

"Okay, okay." Magnus nodded and ignored the question perfunctorily. He should have taken this matter more seriously, as he had done before.

The one hundred and thirty-one volunteers were carefully selected. It is not easy to find these mortals who do not have psychic qualifications among the Thousand Sons. Even the recorders are required to have psychic talents.

This is enough to prove how carefully Magnus treated this experiment before. Unfortunately, the Crimson King was not aware of this. There was only the simplest thought left in his mind.

prove yourself.

He has endured criticism for too long, and he will never tolerate it any longer.

"Then, Mr. Bellos, please close your eyes and stay calm." Magnus said softly. "I'll guide you, okay? All you have to do is sink your consciousness completely, like in a dream or sleep."

"I haven't had a dream for many years, sir." Belros closed his eyes. "But I'll try."

This chapter is 4k, coded.

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