40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 412 138. Interlude: The most incompetent father in the world

"Take off the mask," Conrad Coates said. "I want to see my father's face."

Khalil said nothing, just shook his head. After a few seconds, he asked a rhetorical question that should not be uttered at this moment.

"Which one?" he asked, standing surprisingly calm.

Kurtz was startled for a moment, and then he laughed, but his posture also changed along with it. The hand holding the knife is behind his back and his left hand is placed on his chest, almost as if he is about to bow or salute.

"You just killed a lot of people, Conrad," Khalil continued. "But the smell of blood is too strong, and there are even minced meats left on your hands. What did you just do?"

"I have to protect Nostramo, and I will do anything to do that, father."

Coze replied softly, tapping the breastplate with his left index finger, and blood was flowing down along the golden lines. He narrowed his eyes, lowered his left hand, and naturally clenched his claws, looking like a dangerous predator that was not yet full.

This flesh and blood cannot satisfy him, he needs more.

"Yes, you protected it." Khalil nodded. "But what did you just do?"

Conrad Coates sighed.

"Do you have to ask to get to the bottom of it?"

"Do you have to talk about him right and left?"

"I learned this from you." Coz smiled evilly, but his right hand was still behind his back. “Isn’t this your most common tactic to politely and seriously change the subject when faced with a question you don’t want to answer?”

For a moment, none of them said anything.

No one changed the subject, but no one spoke again. Silence always comes inadvertently. Some people are afraid of it and are unwilling to bear the price behind silence, but they are different. They have always been good at silence.

So the strong wind roared past, blowing through the bone temple called the Altar of the End behind Khalil, and also blew through it to the plain covered with thick ashes behind Konrad Coze.

This place was once filled with dead people, but now it is empty except for the skeletons.

The sky was still scarlet, and strong winds were raging in the mountains and cities in the distance. Their mere presence made people feel tingling on their skin—even Conrad Coates could not escape this tingling.

In fact, things even got worse for it. The voices of the dead could be clearly heard in the howling of the miserable wind. To him, these were no secrets at all.

Whether he thought it or not, no matter what the circumstances were, he had divine grace, so he heard them all.

For example, a woman tells how she was skinned by the Word Bearers, a father tells how he witnessed his family being devoured by demons, or a babbling child clumsily calls for his parents.

He heard these words clearly.

He finally spoke.

"Have you been listening to these voices, Father?"

Khalil nodded slowly.

"I have to listen," he said. "I am also willing to listen, at least, for a while. He will not listen, He will only hand the blade to their hands. There are endless avengers, Conrad, but there are few people in the world who can avenge."

The King of Night blinked. He seemed to have a lot to say, but could not say a word. At the end of the long, awkward silence, all he could say was a long, trembling sigh.

"A few years ago-" Then, he suddenly spoke. "——I heard some condemnation of us from Terra."

"who?"

Coates smiled, did not answer the question, and just continued to tell.

"Some people accused us of violating Imperial Truth, thinking we were playing with the dead, and pinned a complex series of charges on us. I didn't understand this, so I started trying to get to the bottom of it. It took me several months to do it myself. investigation.”

He paused and deliberately left a blank space. Khalil knew what he wanted to hear, so he asked, "What did you find?"

"There is no source, it's just public opinion." Coates said. "This is the fact. Although I don't care what people think of us, I am still surprised that this matter can be jointly held accountable by the Ministry of Military Affairs and the Ministry of Justice."

He paused again, and when he spoke again, his voice had become deeper.

"The officer in charge of this investigation wrote me a personal letter in which he quoted an old saying with great earnestness: The living should not call the dead unless you want a response."

"Now I don't understand it even more. An officer who can act as an investigator will also be confused by those rumors? So I restarted the investigation again, but this time it was a thorough investigation within the legion. I want to know if there are some people in the public I used some special abilities before me.”

"The first person I checked was Savita."

He laughed, but the skeleton remained unmoved. His pale bones showed no emotion, only the black fire burning in his eyes flickered for a moment, as if in response to Conrad Coates' laughter.

"Yes, but it turned out that it was not him. In fact, it was not anyone in our legion. Do you know who the source was? It was Mr. Bellows von Sharp."

Conrad Coates shrugged, and the skeleton tilted its head, looking slightly surprised.

If he could take off his mask, maybe he wouldn't have to work so hard to express his emotions. Or he could be indifferent to what Konrad Coates said—but therein lies the rub.

Neither was an option for him, so he had to act comically surprised.

He must respond.

Coze took in the whole thing. He shook his head sadly, his black hair spread out, and his dark eyes were cut into multiple pieces of different sizes, with boiling emotions spreading quietly in them.

He began to tell more.

"The old chronicler added too many miraculous descriptions when writing his book. He is obviously not as good at writing books as he said. In his book, Iago Severtarion and his team members , and us.”

He sighed.

"It's almost always possible to talk directly to the deceased, but of course that's not his intention, just because the way he describes it doesn't feel right."

"For example, he recorded a corrupt judge we found. Then, during the interrogation, he spent three pages describing how Sevatar stared at the judge with a 'psychic' look. How did the judge use the "soft voice of the dead" to make the judge admit his crime? "

"His works sell well within the empire, I think, because he inadvertently fulfills people's wishes."

Kurtz shook his head, his expression slightly helpless.

"We are a mysterious corps. Almost no one has directly witnessed us in these years. He has unveiled this mysterious veil, coupled with the identity of his narrator"

"So things fell into place." Khalil took over. "Interesting, honest mistake - no wonder the chronicler always complained that critics were unkind to his work."

"No."

"What?"

"No," Curze denied. "The real reason is because he described it in too much detail, father."

Once again, Conrad Coates paused deliberately for the place, the surroundings fell into silence, the howling wind, and the Skeleton Plain were silent.

"He likes to expand a sentence into thousands of words, and likes to speculate on the psychological activities of Severtarion, as well as the psychological activities of everyone - do you know where the most important thing is? He usually guesses very accurately, almost Never go wrong."

Khalil nodded.

Kurtz grinned, his white canine teeth sticking out of his lips, and he looked inexplicably happy.

"Are you laughing?" Khalil asked.

"Of course, I think you won't lose your eyesight, father?" Coz raised his eyebrows and asked. "You just became a god - what kind of god would be blind?"

“It’s not like there are no blind gods in myths and legends.”

"They didn't really exist!"

"That's impossible to say."

Khalil crossed his hands and nodded seriously. Even though he was wearing a mask, it didn't affect his relaxed mood at the moment.

"Who knows, Conrad? There is so much to tell about the wild days."

"for example?"

"For example, there was an ocean on Terra. There were many oceans. There were also rivers and waterfalls."

"I know this."

"forest."

"I know too."

"So, why ask, Conrad?" Khalil looked at him inquiringly. "You're trying to prolong this conversation, I can tell you're trying, but I have nothing left to teach you."

"No, it's not that," said Conrad Coates.

He denied, shook his head, and repeated - "No, that's not it, Father."

"But, I have said all the things that need to be said, and the same goes for all the things that need to be done." Khalil persuaded gently. "We have reached the final moment, and success or failure depends on this."

"I also know that you have also made a lot of efforts in the darkness over the years, such as your talent, and you have used it very well. You warned many people in advance, which allowed them to survive - and these people did not die , then more people can be saved by them.”

"You have become a hero, Conrad, don't hesitate at this time, don't waste all your efforts. What else do you want?"

Konrad Coates did not answer this question.

He closed his mouth tightly, as if to prevent himself from saying the answer. His right hand behind his back tightly grasped the long and narrow blade that was escaping like a shadow. His sharp claws rested on the handle, which seemed tense, as if he was controlling the life and death of a world.

Or, many worlds.

So Khalil didn't press any further.

They have a tacit understanding, and this kind of silence has been practiced between them countless times.

And if someone could turn the hands of a clock and turn them back many years ago, they would be able to discover when Conrad Coates learned to adapt to this silence.

At that time, he only had one name, and his only companions were a group of gargoyles. As early as that time, he understood that there were some things that Khalil didn't want to explain, or that he was too lazy to speak, just because he wanted to say something. Too much, that’s all.

Khalil never lied to him, which was, in his words, ‘honesty as a matter of course between partners’.

So, regarding these things, if he neither wants to lie nor knows how to explain those words clearly, in the end, there will be only one option left.

Silence, that's all.

Just like the current Midnight Ghost, he did not answer that question. The reason is actually very simple.

First, he didn't want to lie. Secondly, he didn't know how to explain things clearly. So he remained silent, he could only remain silent, as if to fight against the time that did not exist here.

It's an unwinnable matchup, and he can't win because he can't be selfish.

He was taught so well by Khalil.

He knows what is right and what is wrong. He knew the price of staying on the right path, and he had the courage to bear it—not the courage, to be precise, but the necessity of understanding it.

It has to be this way, it can only be this way, otherwise we have to sit back and watch the world burn, destroy, and chaos laugh wildly to achieve the final victory.

So, he hissed.

"Stick to the principles." Midnight Ghost said quietly. "You taught me many things, how to kill, how to move in the dark, how to understand the world. This is the most important thing you taught me, father."

"Yes." Khalil said.

He seemed to be shaking.

"So, I should stick to my principles, and I should-"

The ghost stretched out his right hand, and the shadow blade that surged like darkness immediately became active. It would never have resisted Conrad Coates's grasp before, but now it was beating endlessly in his hands.

"-it's back to you."

"indeed so."

"Is this the right thing to do?"

"...I'm not sure," Khalil said.

His answers were always firm or quick, but now he seemed hesitant.

He looked at Midnight Ghost, who looked back. As their eyes crossed, Ghost understood what he had never said with extraordinary tacit understanding.

These words have been hidden in the heart of Khalil Lohars for a long time. Once, when he still had eyes, the ghost was not aware of them. But now, he saw everything from those dark eyes.

The irony is painful to realize.

The sound in Ghost's ears suddenly faded away, leaving only the whistling of the wind, the smell of burning, and a false perception that was quickly blurring his vision.

He didn't want to admit it, so he lowered his head and kept shaking his head like an incorrectly programmed machine. The noble demigod in blue-gold armor involuntarily bent down and whispered in the wind.

Actually, it was more of a whimper.

"You can't see the future. You're not like me or a god." Ghost said in a low voice. "It's always been like this, you don't know what's going to happen - so you just bet, Dad, you always bet."

After a few seconds, he looked up and glared at his father.

"Why do you think I can always make the right decision?!" He asked hoarsely, waving his right hand endlessly, and the trembling of the blade became more obvious. "Why do you believe in yourself like this?!"

"I don't believe in myself," Khalil said. "Never, I'm a pessimist, Conrad. Remember? But, because of you, I'm willing to be optimistic."

He raised his right hand, grasped the edge of the mask, and then he began to exert force.

There were pale ash hanging upside down from under the mask, and sounds like cracking bones began to resound. One after another, it was heartbreaking, but the hand never wavered at all.

He exerted his strength little by little, and suddenly dark clouds formed in the sky, covering the scarlet color and plunging everything into darkness. Thunder and lightning continued to fall around them. The ashes kept splashing, and the burning stench came one after another.

The dark red broken crown on Khalil's head began to tremble, buzzing and rotating, and the Skeleton Temple suddenly rose from the ground. Under it, endless injustice souls that had existed since ancient times roared up.

The mask fell to the ground, the crown covered it, and the innocent souls praised in unison.

"Sing for me," he said. "Always."

Conrad Coates looked at him blankly.

The face under the mask remained unchanged.

A pale face with dark eyes, like dim stars, resting quietly above the cheekbones. The bridge of the nose is high and the lips are thin and pursed into a line, like a sculpture.

The only difference is that the crown, that broken crown - the fragments are gluing together, getting closer and closer, and the songs of the dead are starting to get weaker and weaker, at first high, Now it became almost like a murmur in sleep.

Conrad Coates suddenly realized something.

He flew away, almost flying close to the ground. He thrust the knife into Khalil's hand with such force that it shouldn't have been there - he was a deadly killer, and his ability to control power should have been at its peak.

Except now. Now, he's not a killer.

"Father."

He called, lowered his head to wipe away his tears, and took a few steps back. He raised his head and stared into those dark eyes. After a few seconds, the Lord of Blades spoke loudly, with a tone that sounded like a declaration.

Yes, there is nothing left to say.

"Be sure to triumph."

"I'll try."

Khalil answered with a smile, without evading or changing the subject. Likewise, he didn't lie. as always.

He clenched his right hand.

For the first time in his life, and for the first time after a long separation, he truly grasped the knife. This time, he didn't reject it.

Fear roared with excitement.

The wind blew, and the ashes turned into a terrifying storm, obscuring everything Conrad Curze could see. Even if he is the original body, he must raise his hands to cover. The wind seemed to never stop, but a heavy object fell into his hand with a flash of golden light.

It was a mask, made of bones, with deep eye sockets, like the eternal night of Nostramo. The golden lines shone on the top of the forehead, as noble as a crown.

The Lord of Blades suddenly smiled.

"So, what about you?" he asked.

Neos walked up behind him with a proud smile on his face. This was unique, he had never shown such an expression.

"We will win, Conrad," he said slowly. "We have no reason to lose anymore."

Finally finished!

If you say you don’t want to use the knife, then don’t use the knife. Isn’t it very sweet?