40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 466 187. Terra (Forty-five, King of the Night, Constantine Waldo's Battle)

Memory is combined with sound, smell and image. When a musician hears a piece of music, he will remember the afternoon when he first practiced it. When a painter hears a seemingly plausible evaluation, he will most likely remember his first commentator.

Whether these things are good or bad, whether people are willing to admit it or not, it has always existed and will always exist until the carrier that preserves this memory loses its activity, falls in a pool of blood or dies.

For Conrad Coze, every time he swings his knife, he will remember a sentence.

"The hand holding the knife must be tight. You must swing the knife quickly, stab it into the heart quickly, cut off the blood vessels, and stab the vital points. The human body will inevitably feel pain when facing the damage caused by the sharp blade." "Therefore, this is a necessary mercy, not to the enemy, but to yourself. If you don't always maintain the last bit of mercy you should have, you will become a monster. Don't you understand? It doesn't matter, Conrad, you will understand later." I do understand now. The Night King rushed past with an expressionless face. The gloomy and smelly darkness pulled him by his side, coming from the abyss, from nightmares, but very familiar to him. Every voice was whispering to him, full of respect in the words. Some skinny bone hands spread out from under his feet, holding a crown as bright as moonlight, trying to put it on him. Koz kicked it away without even looking at it. This was certainly not the first time he did this, and the bone hands were not frustrated or angry, but just picked it up and waited for his next arrival. He rushed out of the darkness quickly.

The vast sky changed color at this moment, and the blood color unique to the dead pierced through the dark clouds, appearing quietly as if celebrating his arrival. The violent airflow blew past, howling like a storm through every gap in his armor, and the scarlet cloak fluttered and danced wildly in the wind.

The King of the Night was in the eye of the storm, but he felt unprecedented calmness.

What a grand welcome ceremony. He thought.

The battlefield was in chaos at this moment, and no one noticed the strange phenomenon here. When both feet were tripped by mud and blood, there would not be many people who had the energy to observe the sky.

Koz took a few steps forward and came to the edge of the mountain of corpses. He looked around and happened to see a group of cold gray steel and bright yellow stubborn stones, as well as a relatively small number of other "Imperial Fists".

They were fighting in the trenches, struggling to support each other, and the sparks that rubbed against each other had already turned into a raging fire, but the impact on the current situation was not great.

Their numbers were too few—at least, compared to the rebels, whose numbers were abnormal.

Koz looked at the scene thoughtfully, knowing that he had come back again.

And if his memory was correct, this was the 423rd time.

Every time he tried to find the wandering god, he would be passively sent to other places by his power, to places that were completely soaked in the spiral of hatred.

The Night King understood that this was a kind of urging. The god was urging his completely unfamiliar favored ones to complete more revenge for him—rather than come to find him, because he had no desire or emotion to see him at all.

The God of Vengeance treated everyone equally, absolutely fair, and completely ruthless.

Conrad Curz smiled silently—Oh, dear god. May I ask if you know that you are actually a stupid god?

You are tripped by power, eager to create more hatred, completely ignoring the laughter of your real target in the dark. It doesn't even need to hide from you. It only needs a few simple tricks and specious rituals to deceive you to wander around Terra.

Sighing, Koz closed his eyes, and the black snow drifted down and slowly melted on the shoulder armor. He counted to five seconds silently and opened his eyes. At this time, there was no more extra emotion in the dark eyes of the Night King, only a coldness that belonged to the killer.

Complete the task, kill the target, and commit murder, that's all.

The blade does not need emotion.

He opened his hands and jumped down from the pile of corpses. The wind blew his black hair and swept across his forehead. His expression was extremely indifferent. A second later, he landed, and the short knife in his right hand was already stained with blood.

It was not the one that had been with him the longest, but a precision-grade power weapon made according to his requirements, which was completely enough for killing.

He rushed towards the blood-red enemies, the blade slashed through, completely cutting the flesh wrapped in ceramic steel.

He deliberately slowed down the speed of killing, and the traitors soon discovered his presence. Then, these so-called Word Bearers began to shout his name loudly - the Lord of Blades, the King of the Night, the Ghost of Nostramo

They worshiped him, not hated him.

Time is enough to change many things, isn't it, father? Curze sneered.

+Yes+

Curze narrowed his eyes and let the golden light dissipate from his eyes.

He tilted his head slightly and swung his left hand. Bones shattered, blood spurted, and the simplest and most direct violence cruelly revealed its claws. A traitor wearing a uniform unlike any auxiliary army today fell to the ground, his eyes and the lower half of his face were completely torn open by Curze.

As he passed by, the killer looked at him deliberately.

Another best evidence of time confusion, he thought, how many years did this war last?

+This is not a war, Conrad, the war will end. +

God, you sound so pessimistic. Like him, were both my fathers the greatest pessimists in the world?

+I'm actually very optimistic. +

The King of Night suddenly laughed loudly, and the laughter echoed sharply in the enemy formation. A ball of pulsing blue flames came towards him, making a shriller cry. Curze crushed it into pieces without looking back, and then rushed towards the next target.

It was a Word Bearer priest wrapped in human skin, and the initiator who summoned the blue fire. His armor was densely covered with human skin, and was deliberately dyed scarlet by fuel.

Just looking at him, Curze felt like his eyes were burning to the point of pain - please, at least get some serious power armor, right? Is this how you treat possible machine spirits?

The King of Night suddenly stopped walking, stood in the steaming corpse and grinned at him, gracefully raised the blade of his right hand, rotated it in a circle, and changed it to an upright grip.

The Word Bearer's expression quickly began to distort.

He was not wearing a helmet, and his overly pale face was covered with black scriptures. He is indeed Luo Jia's son. If you ignore the sunken cheeks and sickly eyes, he looks at least seventy-nine similar to Luo Jia.

Curze then cut him in half.

In his screams, the Night King dragged his remains and ran towards a flaming tank.

This vehicle, which seemed to come from hell, made a violent noise, like a roar, and a huge plume of smoke erupted from between the orange-lighting tracks. A dozen thick laser beams burst out from its muzzle, but none of them hit.

Curze smiled and stuffed the priest's body between the tracks, and ducked away. A ball of fire caused by the explosion completely overturned this huge thing, and the crew who had long been integrated with the tank let out a dull wail inside, trying to leave from inside.

So, the kind-hearted King of the Night cut open the fleshy armor side panel with a knife and dragged them out one by one.

However, these people did not show any gratitude for his kindness. To show his dissatisfaction, Curze left exquisite Imperial Sky Eagles on their foreheads and comically tied them with a long The eight-pointed star flagpole is strung continuously.

The flag made of baby skin is flying, but the eight-pointed star of chaos on it has been completely destroyed. The wound looked like a vertical blade dripping blood.

Waving this flag, amid the violent screams of the traitors as they were carved into the sky, the Night King charged into the center of the enemy group.

A series of smooth killings were born quietly, without any warning or any vision of its end.

There were only broken limbs and broken arms that kept flying sideways, like a whirlwind of flesh and blood, and this was the best proof that the King of Night was concentrating on his work. He exchanged knives for knives, cut blades with blades, and let one life after another quickly disappear from his hands.

His armor was overflowing with blood, and the lines were outlined by the blood into another cruel look. The gaps were filled with broken meat and bones. His black hair was wet with blood. His cloak was no longer scarlet, and the traitors were sticky. The blood made it much darker.

Logically speaking, such a joyful killing should make him feel happy, and the torture of the traitors should also make him smile. However, the truth is that there is nothing.

No pleasure, no rush, just peace.

Everything was just a facade. He needed to create fear, so he created a cruel flag. He needed to let the traitors know that he was coming, so he was ruthless and cruel.

The blade always knows how to cut flesh, doesn't it?

Ten minutes and forty-four seconds later, they began to flee, running towards the crack opened by the power of chaos.

Coates did not chase, but just let go of his left hand and dropped the flag. He put away the knife and turned the sheath on his waist upside down, and pieces of flesh and blood gushed out. In this way, his sharp blade was sheathed. He took a deep breath and wiped the broken hair from his forehead with both hands.

It's not that hard to do because of the blood. Blood spattered and slid down his forehead, creating winding marks on his pale face. Curze raised his head and looked at the sky. The blood color has disappeared, but the darkness remains, like a cold steel sky.

He smiled silently.

+You may need to keep trying, Conrad. +

Hmm. How many more times do you keep trying? Cozz asked in his heart.

He found a stone and sat down slowly, waiting for his brothers to arrive.

They would have noticed the movement here and realized how much opening he had created for them in this bloody tug of war. Whether it was Perturabo or Rogal Dorn, they would not miss such a good opportunity to break the game.

They will come, they will find him. I cannot find him.

Curze put his hands on his knees and lowered his head. The silent breeze blew by and the burning metal crackled, but his breathing was so quiet that he seemed to be falling into a deep sleep.

+You are very tired, my son, I know, but+

I know I know.

Curze closed his eyes and remained motionless, as if he had died long ago.

I know that this is far from the end, and such pursuits and killings will happen many times.

Every kill I achieved for Him would push me further and further away from Him. I tried my best to kill without emotion, but this was revenge after all.

And I had to do this, and He allowed me to keep trying, to pursue Him, to try to see Him.

But

+But what? +

But I am in pain, father. I'm killing him.

There was no answer, only sighs.

Conrad Coates opened his eyes and saw two expressionless faces.

He suddenly smiled slightly: "Hi, hello, what time is it in the afternoon? Should we have dinner?"

Perturabo reached out and pulled him up. Rogal Dorn handed him a rag. The Lord of Steel caught it with his left hand and began to gently rub the Night King's face with it. The latter did not struggle, but rolled his eyes slightly helplessly.

The dried and scabbed blood slowly fell from the face, as if it were a plaster statue struck by an artist with a carving hammer. The dark red fragments fell evenly, and the pale face underneath was as quiet as ever, and even still had the energy to perform the most familiar tasks. expression.

"Stop laughing," the Lord of Steel said in a low voice. "I know you're not feeling well."

"It's a matter of duty." Coze shrugged. "It's like you have to fight side by side with Rogge. Doesn't it feel good for you?"

Frix the City Breaker coughed indiscriminately.

"If your throat feels uncomfortable, you can leave first, Frix." Perturabo said without looking back. "Go maintain the trenches and prepare for the next war. It just so happens that I also need some private space to talk to my brothers. Please all leave."

The Iron Warriors turned and left in silence. Rogal Dorn made two hand gestures silently and issued two orders without speaking.

As a result, the 'Imperial Fist' with different paint schemes and the traditional Imperial Fist followed closely behind, as if they had a tacit understanding of fighting side by side for decades.

"Hey, Rogge--" Coze seized the opportunity and blinked at Stubborn Stone who just turned around. "——What do you think it is like to fight alongside our Abo?"

"Peace of mind." Nushi said. "It's like knowing you're coming to support."

Perturabo tried to turn his head, but somehow couldn't.

Cozz curled his lips and sat back on the stone: "It's meaningless if you talk like this, Rogge. I'm still hoping to hear some complaints about Abo from you."

'Abo' slowly exhaled a breath of cold air and spit out a sentence from between his teeth: "...Can you stop calling me that?"

"Why? Don't you agree? I've been calling you that all the way, dear Abo." Cozi shrugged playfully. "Or do you just don't want Rogge to hear this nickname?"

"I've heard you," said Donne. "In fact, many years ago, before she became the tyrant of Lokos, I heard Callifon call Perturabo this way."

"It was an accident that time." The Lord of Steel said gloomily, without looking at Dorn who was standing beside him. "Don't push yourself too far, Rogal Dorn. Also, I hope you don't forget that I won the theoretical competition after the dinner."

"Congratulations on your victory." Nushi nodded towards him and said. "I didn't have time to congratulate you at the time. It shouldn't be too late to make up for it now."

Coates suddenly asked maliciously: "So, why wasn't there in time?"

Perturabo did not answer, but raised his hand, lifted him off the stone, grabbed his shoulder armor with his hands, and led him back to the new trench they were digging.

Rogal Dorn quietly twitched the corners of his mouth and did not follow immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and burned the flag before starting to take steps.

They returned to the trench and went around to an underground room. Coates observed for a moment and discovered that the excavators of the room had actually left carved lines that could be turned into windows.

"That's funny." He chuckled. “Architect’s instinct?”

He looked at Perturabo, who told him the answer with a deadpan expression and a very slight tilt of his head.

Curze then turned to Rogal Dorn and asked, "What the hell, Rogal? Is it your instinct as a builder at work, or are you still holding on to hope? We're already in hell, But you still want to leave a window for the room."

"We will win." Rogal Dorn replied flatly. "Then, this temporarily excavated rough basement will be expanded and it will receive complete supporting facilities. The surrounding rubble will be cleared away and the streets will be designed according to normal levels. At that time, these moments I have set aside will The line will make it much easier for workers.”

Coze smiled and nodded to him: "Great idea, but was there still a blue sky on Terra at that time? I'm not pessimistic, brother, but you should probably deepen the lines. Compared with normal glass, what they have What’s needed may be bulletproof windows.”

Dorn was almost amused, and Stone gave his brother's joke his highest praise with a lighter expression. He was wrapped in a scarred armor, and every place was covered with scars or bullet holes, but his emotions seemed unaffected.

Curze turned to look at Perturabo.

The Lord of Steel didn't even look at him, and slowly came to the center of the room, where there was a makeshift table made of multiple empty crates stacked on top of each other. There were several black squares on the edge. He reached out and pressed them one by one, and a map was projected out.

"The space and time of Terra are both chaotic, but we have thoroughly understood the situation of the entire eastern front of the palace." As he spoke, he raised his hand and pointed to a certain place on the map. "We are here now, measured by our feet, there is no room for us to be fooled. We have never left here, and the chaotic space has no room to fool us. Relying on this, we have built a five-kilometer-long simple fortification. From trenches to supporting positions and enemy blocking areas, everything is available." He suddenly fell silent, and Rogal Dorn took over his words. "But we can only build five kilometers." The stone said seriously. "This is the limit, there are not enough people, the battle situation is chaotic, and there is a lack of supplies. This is the best we can do-and five kilometers is just a drop in the bucket for the entire eastern front of the palace, so Perturabo and I came up with another way." "What way?" Konrad Curze asked softly. He was very calm, almost as if he knew the answer. "Symbol." Rogal Dorn spit out the word. "The enemy doesn't care about discipline, tactics, their life or death or ours. They just want to make everything chaotic and watch people screaming in flames. But they still need to find us to do these things."

"They need to find us to kill us and torture us, so we plan to make a small change to the trenches." Perturabo said calmly. "For example, put up a flag every 500 meters."

Dorn came to the long table, stretched out his hand to draw a line on the map, and pointed out ten points accurately.

"Ten flags." He said. "As long as the enemy is not blind, they can find our existence at the first time. Then, their bodies will increase."

The Lord of Steel sneered and said a lot of words in one breath, as if he had this intention long ago and had been depressed for a long time.

"And we will leave these bodies and pile them around the trenches to serve as a Jingguan and a landmark."

"They will never stop, they will just keep attacking, keep coming here to try to kill us or traumatize us."

"That's what they want, to see others throw themselves into the arms of the so-called chaos like them, and become a beast attracted by bloody bones. And we will use the most primitive method of mankind to tell them why the beasts are extinct."

"The more they come, the more frequently they come, the bigger this landmark building will be. It has no design and no building materials, just pile up the bodies together."

He gently placed his hands around the crates.

"Isn't it ironic?" Perturabo asked in a tone different from usual. "The first collaboration between two architects, the landmark building built has nothing to praise."

Rogal Dorn did not answer.

Coz shook his head.

"If you really build it, I think it will be the most spectacular building I have ever seen in my life, better than the palace, at least it is not gold." He said so. "But I want to give you a suggestion."

"What suggestion, Conrad?" Dorn asked.

"Engrave the Imperial Sky Eagle on every corpse." The Night King smiled and replied. "Believe me, you will need it."

--

Constantine Valdor lowered his head and panted.

His muscles Every muscle in his body was exhausted to a certain limit, and the fibers were as tight as fine steel cables pulling heavy objects, waiting for a chance to break completely.

But this did not prevent him from holding the Spear of the Sun God and fighting side by side with Korvus Corax beside him.

"Tell me--" The Lord of the Savior Star asked quietly in the interval between killings. "--Did the team I sent out fulfill their duties?"

"They died for their own good." The Marshal of the Guards replied in a low voice. "They are the only warriors I have ever seen in my life."

Indeed, this is not consolation, nor is it exaggeration, but Constantine Valdor's heartfelt words.

He didn't know how to describe the sacrifice of the Raven Guard, a group of natural assassins who resolutely chose to charge in groups at the critical moment, choosing a tactic that was completely contrary to their nature and training, with only one purpose, that is, to give Or Persson a chance to escape.

They didn't know what his mission was, nor did they understand why this mortal was so important that the Grand Admiral of the Guards said, "We can all die, but he can't." But they agreed. For the Emperor and humanity, they were willing to do this.

So they died, and their bodies were eaten by the traitors. Those stupid and barbaric things regarded this depraved and shameless act as an honor worth boasting about, which made Valdor furious.

In the past, his spear was wielded only for the Lord of Mankind. Only now, he fought for the dead. He didn't notice the difference between the two, because he didn't have time to think.

Therefore, he didn't notice the praise from the other end of the link at all.

But even if he knew, what could he do? The current situation did not allow anyone to think after all. There was only fighting, only fighting.

Valdor swung his spear, causing some of the gaping mouths to briefly close. Their so-called blood splattered out, black as oil.

The elite of the Raven Guard passed by him, helping him complete the killing, and then disappeared like a passing cloud, retreating into the shadows in full view of everyone.

Their sharp claws were already stained with blood, but no matter how many they killed, it would not help their current situation. They were surrounded, completely surrounded by hundreds of times more enemies.

And all this stems from Constantine Valdor's eagerness - he is too impatient and wants Orr to complete his mission. He briefly put aside his vigilance against the darkness and stepped into a world where the power of chaos is the source. In the trap prepared by him and Orr Persson.

He was cautious enough, but no matter what happened in the past, as long as he relaxed for a moment, they would find an opportunity.

That's what they are.

Waldo understood that if it were not for the Raven Guard, the mission he had received from his master would have failed long ago, and he would have died, casting an eternal shadow on the glory of the Ten Thousand Husbands.

“No need to think too much.”

Corvus Corax passed over him like a literal shadow, his voice soft. Somewhat similar to his famous brother, yet completely different.

Waldo had met Konrad Curze many times. The King of the Night's soft Nostramo whispers were full of menace and rhythm. Even if he didn't have any hostility, his voice would be affected by it. Instinctively and become dangerous.

The Lord of the Savior Star was different. He spoke very quietly and calmly, as if he would no longer be surprised by anything.

"We must break out!"

Waldo shouted loudly in the direction he left, ignoring the puddle of minced meat left behind. This is Corvus Corax, and every time he appears or leaves, he is bound to take away dozens, or even hundreds, of lives.

"How to break out?" Corax asked. His voice came from behind Waldo again at this moment.

The Admiral of the Custodes suddenly turned around and stabbed a huge beast through the head with his spear. It spoke human words, and the voice belonging to Corvus Corax was rapidly turning into a broken scream—and it was his voice.

Unconsciously, Waldo imitated Orpeson's tone and yelled a curse: "You bastard!"

He cut it into pieces, at the cost of six new scars. Yao Jin is being destroyed, just like himself. Everyone in this living hell is being tortured, and the first one to bear the brunt is his master, the master of mankind.

Constantin Valdo was furious when he thought about this - the faces he had seen with Orr Persson during their long journey flashed before his eyes, and the face of Terra at the beginning flashed back. .

The palace still stood, and the common people at least had clothes to wear and food to eat. And now, they have nothing.

A violent sorrow broke into his heart, forcing him to let go of his anger, forcing him to fight in a manner he had never fought before.

And at the end of the link, the Emperor is watching all this.

No, maybe it can't be called an end. This link was once a chain in the past. One end was caught in the Emperor's hands, and the other was tied around the neck of Constantine Valdor. But now, its nature is quietly changing.

It is no longer a chain. One day, it will become some kind of strange link with conductive properties. The starting end was still in the Emperor's hand, but this time, it would no longer be around someone's neck, it would be held in the hand of another human.

It will become a bond.

And that's when it all ends.

In his prison, the Lord of Mankind moves forward patiently. He was at the junction of reality and illusion, the Webway was burning stagnantly behind him, and the demons were blocked by the golden flames, unable to advance even an inch.

They know that they will not get any chance to kill here, but they still come, and their purpose is only to consume his strength. To put it more accurately, it is actually to replenish his strength.

Of course, the beings behind the demons would not be so kind. The reason why they did this was just to torture him.

As long as he relaxes for a moment and his humanity relaxes even a little bit, the god who comes from ten thousand years later and is shaped by prayer and faith will surround his personality and turn everything he has worked so hard to maintain into ashes. He will bring him extremely powerful power, but he will also completely destroy all these arrangements.

The Emperor would not let this happen.

All sacrifices must begin with him.

He will endure everything and bear everything until they are victorious.

It was just another torch-waving battle in the dark, and this time, he wasn't even alone. Some people understand him, some support him, and some fight with him in the dark. Countless humans are fighting alongside him on Terra.

So why would he lose this time?

The dark wind and frost passed by, and the eyes of the Lord of Humanity were as bright as star torches.

But ten thousand years.

This chapter is 8k, updated. After thinking about it carefully, it would be better to finish writing the extra and publish it in one go, just in time to serve as a break after the siege of Terra is over.