40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 522 40. Record of the Chapter Era (1, Letter from Konrad Curze)

There is something interesting to say, but Sevatar hardly mentions it - well, in fact, if the word 'almost' is to be used as a more complete expression, then it can be expanded to ten thousand years.

After such a long time, he had completely forgotten about this incident, but now he had to bring it up again.

in a very cruel way

Accompanied by the sound of mechanical operation, five automated medical arms cut open his flesh and blood and took out the bionic components buried inside one by one.

He looked at Khalil Lohars expressionlessly through the tempered glass, burying all the pain and discomfort appropriately. Things like bone, steel, nerves and blood vessels were taken out from his open chest by medical arms.

The internal organs were beating, and the smell of blood filled the entire medical room, making it look like a slaughterhouse.

"Yes, I will be injured." Yago Savitarion shrugged and spoke. "Sadly, most recruits don't think that way."

"What about the people who already really know you?" Khalil asked.

Sevatar showed a sneer and ignored the question in his own unique way.

His face was twitching, and the medical arms did not inject any anesthesia. They cut open his flesh and bones forcefully, taking out all the machines that contained the designer's ingenuity, and even piled them up on a tray nearby.

Khalil glanced at it and estimated its length and width, but he remained silent and turned his gaze back to Sevatar.

For the Astartes, most scars are kept as a mark of honor, but Sevatar's seems to be a bit more extreme.

His main torso was covered with numerous large and small wounds, with barely an inch of good flesh, as if little monsters were gnawing at his flesh, greedily occupying all the places.

Obviously, this is not normal.

Sevatar has actually lived for ten thousand years, and his basic abilities as an Astartes have not weakened. His genetically modified metabolism is enough to allow him to completely fade these scars within ten thousand years, and they will never remain the same. Terrible.

Khalil frowned, forcefully pulled out the rationality from his mind that was still full of evil thoughts and blood, and began to think. It did not disappoint him, and he quickly came to a logical conclusion.

"Is it because of the mask?" he asked in a low voice.

"Maybe. Think tanks have looked for reasons, but they haven't been able to find any problems. Several medical officers from the Medical Research Society named after Medical Officer Jairzinho Guzman also came to me specifically, thinking The answer is also no problem if I know if my genes have mutated."

"So, it probably has to be the reason for that mask."

Savita lowered his head with a half-smile, reached out and grabbed a mechanical arm, and dragged it deep into his abdominal cavity so that it could find a reinforced component stuck between the ribs.

The pain forced his muscles to twitch continuously, and also made the smile on his face extremely cruel. His bloody breath hit the glass of the single medical room, projecting a fog.

Khalil raised his head, looked him in the eyes, and shook his head slowly.

"How is it, doctor? Can I still be saved?" Savita asked tremblingly.

"I'm not a doctor, Yago. You don't have to play the patient. You don't have any disease, and there's nothing wrong with your body - at least, right now."

"It was like this in the past." Saiveta said with a smile. "But what about my brain? I mean, my heart? If I still have one."

He took a step forward, got close to the glass, and printed his bloody face on it, leaving a bloody face. His breath continued to fog the glass, and his blood washed it away.

"Am I crazy?" the only remaining member of the Eighth Legion asked his instructor expectantly.

"No." His instructor replied with a stone face. "You are of sound mind and are never suspected of being crazy."

Sevatar laughed loudly at this and raised his hand, pointing to the right.

"Everything you need to know is in the office, instructor. Please go and take a look first. I want to get familiar with my resurrected body, so as not to look like a brainless zombie at the banquet in the evening."

Khalil nodded at him.

"I understand that you want to seek some advice from me, but I can't give you much help, Yago. After tonight, you will be lost in your own dreams."

Sevatar said nothing, just took a deep breath, and the radiance of psychic energy escaped from every pore of him, almost turning him into a living torch.

He grunted, and the reinforced glass dimmed, and layers of armor plates lowered from behind, covering everything. Khalil stopped and listened, hearing the sound of cutting, the cracking of bones, and a muffled howl.

How similar. he thought, then turned and left.

He didn't need to think about it to know which room Sevatar was referring to in the office. Even so, the Night Horn still blew the cold wind and pointed the way for him.

Its engines roared in steel and adamantine, rising at a reading that would have puzzled sailors. Khalil hoped that they would not dig too far into the truth. The truth of anything related to Chaos would often drive people crazy.

Yes, he will not deny that the Night Veil has long been completely tainted by the power of Chaos.

The only difference is that it.

He stopped as a surging darkness roared from the end of the corridor and enveloped him. Five seconds later, it quietly dispersed, revealing a door he was very familiar with.

Alright alright.

Khalil smiled bitterly, feeling a little troubled by the current personality of a Glory Queen battleship.

At this moment, the door suddenly slid open, and the scene behind it inevitably made him feel a little dazed.

The eight flags inside are still where they should be. Although they have been worn out of shape, the emblems of the major companies during the legion period are still clearly visible - but not in the form of flags, but in the form of flags. It was carved into the steel with a knife.

He was silent for a moment, straightened the collar of his black robe, and then stepped in.

Of the three chairs placed in the corner, only one human-sized one remained in place, while the other two found their own corners next to the long adamantine table.

Countless files and data pads filled the long table, and more filing cabinets were piled behind the table.

They cannot be the total amount of paperwork that Seveta has processed over the past ten thousand years. There must be a place similar to a warehouse somewhere in the corner of the Nightshade, but the things piled in these filing cabinets must be his. considered the most important.

So, while he was doing his paperwork for the past ten thousand years, he had to think about something else besides them. That is, whether this matter is important enough that it should be put in a filing cabinet so that someone can see it when someone returns one day in the future.

Khalil walked towards them.

There were fifteen rows of filing cabinets, with fifteen compartments in each row. It was a bit big for him, but overall it was still within acceptable limits.

Khalil stretched out his hand and put it on the handle of the first drawer of the first filing cabinet. The coldness penetrated along the bandage and reached the top of his fingers, causing another wave of gentle pain.

In pain, he pulled out the drawer. Surprisingly, there were no files or data pads crammed inside.

Khalil stood on tiptoes and groped inside with his hands, and his fingertips touched two very important things. Rectangular, with the softness and thinness of paper

He took them out.

There is no doubt that these are two letters, both enclosed in envelopes.

One is a handwritten letter he once wrote to Conrad Coates. The other one was not. He was silent for a moment, put the letter he had written back, and pushed it back into the drawer.

Now, all he has left is a letter. It was black with a dull luster, and a line of pale gold squiggles stayed in the center of the envelope.

"To my son, and to my father."

He opened the letter and the white paper fell into his hands, almost covering his face. After he completely unfolded the letter, it directly covered his entire upper body.

The paper is soft, not rough, and there are no other marks on the surface other than creases. After ten thousand years, this letter cannot remain unscathed. Obviously, it has probably been in a stagnant position for the past time.

Khalil took a deep breath, threw all these irrelevant thoughts out of his mind, walked to the porthole, and started reading the letter under the gaze of the dim stars.

"Never expect me or him to return, Yago Severtarion."

"Yes, I am going to start with these words that destroy your mind. I know you will take the lead in looking forward to our return, but I want to tell you that in the worst scenario, neither of these things will happen. "

"And the galaxy we live in is the worst kind of place, even worse than Nostramo. So, I want you to abandon all luck and hope, and I want you to regard us as As a dead person."

"Of course, I know you wouldn't do this."

"You are stubborn, Cy, just like me. But there is something different between you and me. My stubbornness stems from the duties designed for me by the Emperor, that is, my nature and instinct."

"I am a paranoid judge. To me, the world may not be black and white, but some things must be evil, and some people must die. You are different. You have inherited my paranoia, but you also Added a little bit of my own.”

"You are the best person to continue leading them after we leave. It's not that I'm disappointed in your brothers. Quite the opposite. I couldn't be more pleased with them, just like I am with you."

"The reason why I chose you to be this unfortunate person is just because you are the only one who can bear this misfortune."

"So, try to accept this, just as I accepted the responsibilities the Emperor gave me."

"Okay, let's get down to business. Here are some suggestions I'd like to give you from a personal perspective."

"About your psychic talents: One day, the spells that sealed them will be completely unlocked, just like being bombarded by the Extermination Order. No more dust will be left. You must be fully prepared to face that one day."

"At the end of that day, the world before you will be very different. The perspective you are familiar with will completely disappear, replaced by an illusion unique to superhumans. Yes, you will become more than an Astartes. Something superhuman.”

"It will definitely take you a long time to adapt. Don't think that you can learn how to control that new body in a very short period of time. You can't do it. Even Khalil Lohars can do it." Nothing like this.”

"On governing the Legion: Well, maybe I shouldn't use the word Legion anymore."

"As I write this letter, I am still on my way back to Terra. The idea of ​​Robert Guilliman has not even been born, but I can already see the word Chapter coming."

"I always see a lot of things that I don't really want to see, but the Chapter seems to be good. In the future, you will be scattered throughout the galaxy, and an Astartes army of the size of the Legion will not be able to maintain it. ”

"You must disperse your forces and act as a group of firefighters fighting fires everywhere, instead of the soldiers who were once united in one place. This is a helpless move, but it can also be regarded as following the trend of the times."

"One person cannot resist the changes in the world, unless you are like my two fathers. However, even they can only give us a glimmer of light. So, you have to try to accept this, It’s better to start now.”

"I want to write something else, Cy, but I don't seem to have anything left to say to you."

"Correction: There are still some."

"I regard you as my pride, Yago Severtarion. You are the continuation of my life in the mortal world."

"Although every father views their son this way, you need to understand that I am not so proud of you because of your future achievements. As early as the day you became the first reserve, I already understood that you Belong to the Eighth Legion and be my son. I am proud of each and every one of you.”

Khalil couldn't help but smile.

He raised his head and looked in the direction of Savita. At this moment, his vision penetrated the thick steel, the steam-filled pipes and the rumbling large machinery, and accurately arrived at the medical room.

Five Librarians were standing beside Yago Severtarion, and the room was filled with psychic light.

He lowered his head and turned the pages.

"It's your turn, Father."

"What message should I leave you? At first, I wanted to write something that would move you. But I thought you might have gone crazy by then, and you would become a savage who didn't know how to read, so this is Let it be settled."

"Then, I want to leave you a cold joke that's enough to make you laugh, but what if you become a savage who can't read? Who should tell you this joke? I'm afraid not even Sevatar can Only I can tell it."

"Moreover, I can't see the future clearly. I don't know what will happen in the future. This may be a good thing. If I see something too dark, maybe I will change my current thoughts."

"Well, that's it, there's no point in talking, especially to you. You can probably guess what I want to say, so I won't bother myself here. I'm leaving, father."

"My brothers are calling me, they need my wisdom - ha! It's funny, they don't know yet, I'm a madman."

"Anyway, thank you, Khalil Lohars."

Khalil put away the letter and shook his head. There was a glimmer of moonlight in the depths of his eyes.

He smiled slightly and walked to his desk.