40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 546 64. Interlude: The freedom of the smallest equal portion (additional update 2/5)

Lethargic, drifting, difficulty breathing.

Cato Sicarius knew that he was receiving treatment. His injuries must have been very bad, not least the fact that his left hand was bitten off by the monster. It was a miracle that the previous serious injuries and secondary internal bleeding caused by falling from a height did not kill him.

But he felt no pain, in fact, he felt nothing. There is no real feeling, no touch, just a very quiet sense of tranquility.

Sicarius sometimes almost felt like he was dead, but he didn't believe that this was the end of him - if this was really the end of life, then why didn't the Emperor come to take him away?

The ancient scriptures said that only death is the end of duty, but he thought there was something wrong with this statement. Death does not end their duties, it is only a way station at best.

The emperor must have another arrangement for these dead souls. If they just rest in peace like this, Cato Sicarius will never agree.

There was an extremely strong desire in his heart, not for life or the pursuit of honor. Even he himself could not tell what this desire consisted of.

But one thing is clear - Cato Sicarius awoke from his slumber because of this.

The pungent smell of disinfectant suddenly rushed into his nasal cavity, followed by a strange rusty feeling. His tongue and mouth seemed to have turned into rusty metal, and he could feel the extremely strong rusty smell with every breath. .

The gentle light falling into his pupils actually stimulated his eyes to shed tears. He tried to blink, but his eyelids didn't care much about his thoughts. They were now as heavy as the adamantine doors of the arsenal, and they couldn't be closed at all.

Sicarius lay on the hospital bed with his eyes wide open. It took him a while to notice the unmistakable pain in his left hand, the numbness in the back of his head, and the disharmony in many parts of his body.

He tried to prop himself up on his elbows to observe his current situation, but discovered another thing again - he couldn't hear the sound.

There was no sound.

Sicarius blinked hard again and swallowed a mouthful of saliva that smelled of rust. I don’t know what happened, but as my throat rolled up and down, those speculations about deafness disappeared with the influx of sound.

"He will probably continue to be unconscious for another four hours or so." Someone said seriously. "With all due respect, Primarch, it's a miracle he's alive."

"There are no miracles in this world, only hard work and bravery, unless you want to preach to me like our priests that the emperor can send any miracle anytime, anywhere."

"He did come down, my lord." The speaker replied meaningfully. "And right in front of me."

Cato Sicarius heard his primarch - his true primarch - chuckle slightly, then say thanks, and sent the apothecary who was treating him out to do his thing.

The young Scout knew immediately that he was about to be alone in the same room with the Primarch, and an emotion surged through his two hearts, forcing them to begin beating rapidly.

Sicarius struggled to organize his thoughts and thought: Will he notice my awakening?

A hand gently pressed on his left wrist.

"Cato Sicarius." Robert Guilliman sighed. "You know what? Just about everyone who's responsible for your health or has any knowledge of medicine tells me that it's a miracle that you're alive."

He knew I was awake.

Sicarius opened his mouth, trying to say something, or at least get a look at his primarch. However, due to his injuries and the restraints that fixed his body, it was now difficult for him to even turn his head.

When the attempt that lasted for more than ten seconds ended, the best response Sikarius could give was just a dull nasal sound.

He was speechless, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pronounce even a single syllable.

"I read the post-war report that Idaos gave me. He highlighted your name in the report, Cato Sicarius."

"Judging from those descriptions, you are fearless and very good at seizing opportunities in battle. These fleeting little things can actually be firmly grasped in your hands, and you haven't even completed the armor training. ceremony"

"In general, you can be called an ultramarine, a descendant of Thalasa. But I didn't come to you for this. In fact, I have some questions to ask you."

Sicarius began to urge his vocal cords anxiously, but Guilliman was different. He just patiently withdrew his hand and stood aside. Sicarius was aware of his presence, and even if he could not see, he could feel the calm and gentle gaze of the Primarch.

Both of these made him try to recover with redoubled efforts, but it was not until several minutes later that Sicarius successfully made a sound. What surprised him was that his voice didn't sound hoarse.

"I understand, Primarch," he said dryly. "You can ask me anything."

"Don't be so nervous. These questions don't involve any secrets. Has that thing ever talked to you?"

"Conversed."

"What did it say?"

Sicarius was silent for a few seconds, then reluctantly and angrily repeated what the monster said to him.

He had a good memory, but he really hoped that his concussion would allow this memory to flow out of his brain along with the brain matter. However, Robert Guilliman seemed quite calm after hearing those words.

He was not angry. The anger of the original body was usually shocking, but it was different now. Sicarius did not feel the slightest sign of anger from the giant standing beside his bed.

All he could feel was peace.

It's like a data board with a set output band, which can only give data between a certain value and a certain value.

Sicarius was ashamed of his wild thoughts and wondered how he could use such a blasphemous metaphor to describe his Primarch. What he didn't know was that Robert Guilliman knew all about it.

Just outside the corridor, his chief thinker Razlion and his extremely talented apprentice Varo Digris are psychically spying on Sicarius's thoughts and feeding these words and thoughts back to him in real time.

He is a boy who knows how to enjoy hardship. Guilliman smiled quietly.

"Primarch?"

"Um?"

"I think"

"Speak, Sicarius, and I give you permission."

Guilliman moved to the head of the bed so that Sicarius, whose head was tightly wrapped in gauze, could see his face.

He has always been aware of the inspiring effect he can have on people as a symbol. Ten thousand years ago, Robert Guilliman had already learned how to take advantage of this convenience, and he was even more proficient now.

Unsurprisingly, he blurted out something in just a few seconds.

"I think that thing knows who I am." Sicarius said slightly confused.

Yes, it knows. Guilliman thought.

How could it not know? It ate the brains of Isos and Dehimir, and they knew you

"I understand," said Guilliman. "Get some rest and recover from your injuries quickly, Sicarius. Your duty calls, and so does your power armor."

After he said this, he saw the man still lying on the hospital bed suddenly widened his eyes with satisfaction. The original body showed a faint smile, turned around and left.

Eight hours later, after a lecture, he found Khalil Lohars reading in his office.

After ten thousand years of ups and downs, Macragge's Glory has gone through many vicissitudes, but it also carries many memories. These things are named books by people - or the information placed in the data pad. In short, they are actually a storage medium.

A lot of news about the current status of the Five Hundred Worlds and even the current status of the empire are waiting quietly in it, hoping that one day it will come and be held in someone's hand and read carefully.

There is no specific image of the person they are waiting for; in fact, if the words had self-awareness, the image could be extended to anyone.

Khalil Lohars is naturally one of them.

With a quick glance, Guilliman analyzed what he was currently reading from the scattered piles of books and data tablets.

"Inquisition?"

"Inquisition."

Guilliman sighed as he returned to his chair.

"Agents, informants and spies all over the galaxy, as well as powerful inquisitors. To be honest, Khalil, have you ever thought that this nameless organization you established will develop into what it is today in ten thousand years? ?”

"I had expected it." Khalil said without looking up. “According to what Machado and I envisioned for it at the time, it was absolutely natural for this organization to develop into what it is today.”

"The only thing I'm glad about is that these people who hold the power of life and death also have a sharp sword hanging over their heads."

"Like you?" Guilliman asked in a warm, mocking tone. He had probably never spoken to anyone in this tone before, and seemed quite unfamiliar.

Khalil smiled, raised his head, and nodded to Guilliman.

"Yes, just like me."

The Lord of Macragge was speechless for a moment, and it took several seconds before he spoke again.

".In short, they maintain good relations with most Chapters. As far as I know, many Chapters are happy to work for the Inquisition, and they are never stingy with their rewards. I heard that they have also established a special team to travel from different places. A special force formed by fighting brothers within the war group, specifically targeting aliens."

"I haven't seen this part yet," Khalil said. "You are ruining my reading experience, you know that? My Lord Robert Guilliman."

Guilliman frowned and looked at him suspiciously. After a while, he slowly raised his hands in an ancient surrender ceremony.

"You've changed," he said slowly. “And it’s changed a lot.”

"You would have been like me when you were just a human being and not Robert Guilliman."

"What? Do you think you are an ordinary person?"

Khalil shook his head and said calmly: "No, this is just an analogy. Compared with my former form of existence and my current flesh and blood body, the gap between them is like the difference between you and an ordinary person. So big."

Robert Guilliman was unwilling to continue this topic, but an unprecedented feeling suddenly arose in his heart.

That feeling once happened between him and Marius Gage, Ionid Hill, and also happened between him and Konrad Curze, Corus Corax, Angron between isoprimaries.

He had forgotten this feeling for a moment, and had not even thought of what to call it until now. Then he began to think about this, the conversation he had just had with Khalil in this study, and came to a conclusion.

Small talk.

Small talk between friends.

Robert Guilliman smiled brightly.

"So, have you become stronger or weaker?" He said in a deliberately rough voice, giving the simplest analogy.

"Are you studying Leman Russ?" Kalil asked.

"Yes, like?"

"Not really. If it was Ruth, he would have asked me gruffly if it felt good to be a human being. And I would have told him that I was fine, just like him hanging out with his pack. ”

Khalil smiled and shook his head. He sat on the specially found chair, holding a book in his hand, like a gentle scholar. If other people were brought to see him, this would probably be their first impression.

Today, no one on Macragge's Flare knows who he is except Robert Guilliman. Looking at the entire galaxy, this ratio can still be used.

He is a person who does not exist in this era or even this world.

But precisely because of this, Khalil Lohars, for the first time in his life, gained a certain degree of freedom.

"That's just the way it is to be a man, Robert," he said, smiling.

"You see, there are some things in this world that no matter how powerful the force is, they cannot destroy or change them. Some people live in an ignorant and cruel environment and do not know what it should be called, or even know that this kind of thing really existence, but they will still instinctively pursue it. For others, this thing is food, clothing, and no oppression.”

"What, then, is it to you?" Guilliman asked curiously.

Khalil didn't answer, just stretched out his hand and knocked on the table. The lights then dimmed, except for the lamp on Robert Guilliman's desk that remained bright. There were two of them, providing ample light for illuminating documents.

Now, they illuminated the person of Khalil Lohars, extending his shadow backwards, casting his shadow on the floor, bookcases, and walls.

His shadow began to dance, and then a voice spoke. The smile was full of smiles, with a touch of the gentle mockery that Robert Guilliman had been so familiar with.

"Long time no see, brother."

Robert Guilliman rose from his chair and strode towards his brother.

Khalil leaned back, rested comfortably on the back of his chair, lowered his head and continued reading.