40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 438 164. Terra (thirty-two)

Numbers, everything will come down to numbers.

Rogal Dorn picked up the grains of sand, counted them, and watched as they were gradually blown away by the breeze in his palms. The dull red color was lost and returned to nothingness, instead of falling on the ground somewhere.

he knows.

He stood up and looked at the sky.

There was dazzling sunlight shining down, falling on his armor and skin, torturing him persistently and eternally. But the thing in the sky is not the sun, but a blood-red eye.

Dawn stared directly at it, counting to five seconds, then looked away and started walking.

He knew what He wanted to do, but He wouldn't do it.

In the name of the dead Horus Luperkar he would not do so.

He stepped across the endless red sand, and the thing was still chattering in his ears. He has been there from the beginning

He was there when Dorne understood that Horus was dead, heard about Angron's broken arm, saw Fulgrim's madness, and realized that he was about to send countless people on a path of certain death.

Khalil Roharth had warned him, Malcador had warned him, even the Emperor had taken the time to warn him - and Dorn had taken every suggestion to heart.

Khalil Lohars said: "You can ignore Him, He is just a parasite."

"He cannot defeat you, but you still have to be vigilant because He will do anything," Malcador said.

The Emperor said: "My son, just keep to yourself."

Their suggestions are all very useful.

"You can't defeat me." Dorn said. "You're just a parasite, you're trying to devour me and replace me with something else, but you're not going to succeed."

He spoke, but it was not a speech, it was a declaration.

He walked across the dunes and slid down the sloped edge. That thing is still talking and chattering, but He will not get tired, so He can keep talking. Donne ignored him until nightfall.

It may seem absurd to say it, but there is indeed an alternation between day and night here, although the alternation is not very gentle.

He looked up at the sky. The gentle blood-red light was still lingering on the horizon. The real bloody sun was still staring at him, but the night had come. The dark night with countless stars pressed down hard on it, casting a refreshing coolness.

The night fell, the stars twinkled, and Donne looked at them until he had to leave and then lowered his head.

He walked to a large red stone and drew out the short sword from his waist. It was made of rare fine gold and ceramic steel, sharp and hard. And now it's just a ridiculous handle with a small piece of metal attached to it.

He looked up at the red stone.

They stretch from here to the end of the red sand. They are walls and his prison. They were what He used to trap him here, but Dorn was good at taking advantage of everything.

This is the case for the Invite people. If they want to survive in the cold land, they must be tough, tenacious, and good at uniting and using all people and tools.

He raised his dagger, pointed it at the stone, and began to write something.

To be precise, it's not the thing, but the name - for a primarch, it is very simple to remember the name. But here, it’s hard to keep remembering.

So, in the third or fourth century, Donne began writing the names to make sure he wouldn't forget them. First, he wrote battle plans and books he had read, and now, he writes names.

Names on the list that he had seen. He remembered the names, the names of the dead, and their introductions.

Horus Luperkar. Primarch of the Luna Wolves, my brother.

Malak Castivolo, commander of the 1st Terran Infantry Regiment. A proud and strict commander, he has been in the army for thirty-one years.

From the very beginning, Dorn failed to keep track of numbers. He knew it wasn't necessary, because the thing outside these stone walls was watching and listening, and He wasn't going to let him successfully remember how many names he had written.

After all, if this behavior can be quantified by time, then he can determine how many pieces he writes in a day and how many pieces he writes in a year to measure time.

His purpose is to confuse him, to confuse him, and finally to succumb. Donne knew about this and foresaw the methods He might use, so he neither wrote nor memorized numbers.

He just writes.

He kept ticking off the names in his memory, and brave or calm faces flashed before his eyes. He doesn't know if they are still alive, or even if he is still alive, he just writes.

Then He was furious.

Dawn smiled a little at this.

"I know." He said as he wrote. "You don't like me turning prison walls into monuments, but what can you do?"

There was a roar from outside the wall.

Dorn writes about Erasmund Astus, a warrior of the 128th Company of the Imperial Fists. I haven't met him, but I sent him to the edge of the solar system. He may die, but one day, he may also find me.

"I don't know what you are, but it seems to me that you are just a pattern in the universe. Because of some coincidence, you have become self-aware. But you are still just a pattern. You can cajole, plead, command, whatever It's your fault, but I'll get out of here eventually."

The roar outside the wall gradually subsided and was replaced by one of persuasion. He said, you don't have to be so stubborn, I won't interfere with your will, I just want to give you strength, give you the power to end all this.

Written by Dorn, Boleyn Redd, one of Malcador's chosen Dumb Guards. I met him twenty-two years ago and he is now on the front line. I don’t know what he is doing or whether he died in the battle, but I wish him victory.

"End of what?" Dorn asked.

everything. He answered.

"I don't want all this, I just want humanity to win."

Donne said, and he wrote down the last name, the last name he remembered.

Khalil Lohars. My brother's adoptive father, a noble man, a hero destined to remain unknown in history, died before the turn of night and dawn. I remember him, and everyone.

The blood outside the wall roared.

You're done! He laughed loudly. Seven centuries and there is nothing you can do!

Dorn raised his hand and wrote the name Horus Luperkar on the wall.

My brother, Primarch of the Luna Wolves, Son of the First Return, Son of the First Fall, we honor him for his defiance.

The roar outside the wall stopped.

"I could write it again, for another seven centuries."

Dawn spoke calmly and slowly.

"I will keep writing. If the blade is used up, I still have the handle. If the handle is used up, I will replace the saw teeth of the chainsword. Its serrations also have adamantine in them, and each serration requires at least two Centuries of wear and tear. Count it for me, you have nothing to do anyway.”

"And if the saw teeth run out, I still have fingers. I have ten fingers, and I have adamantine and ceramite in my gauntlets. I can use them to write for twenty centuries."

"If the fingernails are worn out, I will cut off my teeth to write. If the teeth are gone, I still have the finger bones. If the finger bones are damaged, I still have the forehead, arms, and everything."

"I will keep writing until you lose this battle. When I leave, I will spit on you, and I will set up a monument for you where you failed to declare to everyone that you were defeated by Rogge. Dorn's men. I took a victory from you, do you understand?"

There was an explosion-like sound from something outside the wall.

Don smiled, he knew what He was going to do, it was part of the plan. Provoke him, make him lose his mind, and cause changes in the red sand. He started hatching this plan from the moment he came in, and it took him seven centuries to complete it.

And he was indeed angry. The opponent who was easy to foresee was not that difficult to deal with.

Then came the change.

Strong winds, thunderous shouts of death, and thunderous drums. Some were roaring, some were killing, and some were covering their bullet wounds and slowly falling down. The demons were laughing wildly, and each one's laughter sounded insane, befitting their identities.

The strong wind slowly died down, and the thing outside the wall, the blood-red thing, revealed its sharp blade.

You wanted to piss me off, and you succeeded, but what did you gain, Rogal Dorn?

"Victory," Dorn said, turning his head slowly.

He saw burning trenches and corpses, seemingly countless corpses.

They were everywhere, one body piled on top of another, each in a different state of death. All the killings that have ever occurred in human history can be found here in a perfect specimen.

Dorn indifferently sheathed the dagger and began to observe the corpses. After a few seconds, he concluded that they were Astartes, and Astartes he had not seen.

Each one has a strange paint job, and each one has a strange logo. So, what about their faces?

Dorn nodded in understanding.

He saw his reflection.

They died for you. Xuehong said. You let them die, and let them die meaninglessly. Your legion spreads across the galaxy, and every twenty-five years, your legion sends a summons to them, telling them to return to Terra and die.

They have something to protect, they have a home, and you make them leave everything behind. Continue to irritate me, Rogal Dorn. Because next time you succeed, I will bring you the souls of those who died because of it, and you can listen to their curses.

Donne remained silent.

After a few seconds, he asked: "So, was this order given? How did the person who gave it know about it?"

Xuehong didn't answer. He suddenly realized something and roared like crazy. Something was laughing at him. Things with Him, feathery.

Dorn let out a heavy breath.

He walked towards the corpse closest to him, knelt down on one knee, then straightened the corpse's head, took off the helmet, and stared at the face. After a while, he started looking at the helmet.

At this time, a tiny stain inside the eyepiece caught his attention. Dorn hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he wanted to desecrate the deceased's weapon, but he still reached in to feel it, and pulled a small metal object.

He pulled it out and saw a twisted sheet of metal.

Don slowly unfolded it, and then he saw names, countless names.

Rogal Dorn smiled.

"I said you were going to lose," he told Xuehong. "You will definitely fail."

It’s too late, I won’t write the remaining two chapters and go to sleep ()