40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 585 103. Dark Expedition (Twenty-seven)

When there is no war, Naros is usually a quiet city.

Unlike other places, people here do not drink during the day, nor do they release their nature on the streets at will. For the Naros people, not caring about the feelings of others is considered shameful and immoral.

Moreover, they like quietness very much. It is not a sin. Everyone needs quietness. Sheher understands this, after all, he is no exception.

Therefore, when he threw the shock grenade half a minute ago, he felt a little guilty. As for now, this guilt has completely disappeared, leaving only a pure and cold anger.

The dazzling light and thunder-like muffled sound caused by the grenade did not affect Sheher. His perception was still extremely clear, even clear to a certain extent.

He did not need to use his eyes to know what kind of monster was hidden in the collapsed courtyard wall and the scattered smoke and dust, so he did not suppress his anger anymore, but just let it begin to release.

The air boiled in the next second, and the pink demon fire roared out of the still diffused smoke and attacked Sheher.

He stood there, without moving, but a sudden flash of light flashed. The flames fell to the ground with a wail, and began to twist under his feet, and the color gradually turned to dark blue.

If they were not stopped, they would soon become four new demons. Sheher knew this clearly, but he still acted indifferent, just raising his right hand slowly and quickly.

A sword appeared in his hand.

It was not a power sword in the secular sense. In fact, in the eyes of most people, it would not even be called a weapon.

Even within the Inquisition, this weapon had been voted many times to be thrown back into the warp.

Sheher participated in fifteen such meetings and successfully persuaded other participants through five of them, so he could hold this sword now.

Its handle was a terrible shape formed by two sharp and pale bones twisted and entangled with each other, and the end was particularly sharp.

The sword hilt was pitch black, with a scarlet gem flickering in it, gleaming like an eye. The blade was extremely hideous, and the irregular, abrupt serrations turned it into a masterpiece capable of creating large areas of blood.

The dim inscriptions on it that had existed for some time were the most eye-catching. The light looked extremely dim, but the moment it lit up, it froze the air.

Then, as the four blue flames disappeared, Sheher smelled a foul smell of blood.

He smiled, and strode into the smoke that was transforming into some kind of mist with his sword in hand.

The screams of the Naros people and the footsteps of the soldiers who were rushing in completely disappeared at this moment, and the world around them suddenly became a little scary, but Sheher could hear a wet sound and the continuous scraping of feathers.

He lowered his head and saw a winding light silver blood trail, in which maggots from the warp kept twisting.

Very good. The Blade of Judgment thought.

He clenched the cursed sword and strode towards the place where the blood was spreading.

All this was not unfamiliar to him. He had witnessed such an "exorcism" process dozens of times when he was just an ordinary fighting brother.

When he was promoted little by little and began to lead these rituals, he was already familiar with this matter to a certain extent.

Find - limit - track - hunt - purify. Five steps, year after year, day after day, chaos invasion and demons again and again.

Sheher sometimes asked himself why the world belonging to humans could be so riddled with holes, attracting these supernatural monsters everywhere.

Later, he figured it out, it was not that their world was riddled with holes, but that these things were pervasive.

They could see the smallest loopholes, and then enter through them, gnawing at the foundations of castles or fortresses, causing them to collapse.

They left the warp just to do this, just like humans are born to suffer.

A dense whistle suddenly sounded, and a gust of wind suddenly surged in the fog. The wind was so strong that it could temporarily comfort Sheher's pace.

He stopped where he was, and the long sword in his right hand went deep into the ground, turning it into a solid fulcrum. At the same time, the whistle began to become more and more manic.

Tens of millions of scarlet eyes appeared in the wind without any signs. Their eyes were lifeless, and their wings were constantly flapping, rolling up more airflow to maintain this terrible wind.

"Come on." Sheher said softly.

His words were like a key, or a harbinger of some misfortune. Before the words fell, the millions of black birds rushed towards him in the swirling wind.

The first one hit his left shoulder armor, and this was the last clear perception he had of the attack.

The howling beasts rushed towards him one after another, using themselves as weapons to continuously hit his armor. At first it was just scratches, then it turned into dents, and finally pits.

This ancient MK2 is disintegrating little by little in this supernatural mass suicide of birds. However, as a person in the center of the storm, Sheher remains calm.

He knew this would happen early on. If someone wanted to kill him, he would definitely resist, not to mention that he was going to kill a demon belonging to Tzeentch.

This storm is just a small episode in the "hunting" process, nothing more.

Sheher drew out the sword little by little and began to awaken it. It accepted, but did not simply let Sheher go.

A terrible force began to surge in the soul of the Supreme Grand Master. It penetrated everywhere, from this corner to that corner, it found every tiny loophole, and then laughed wildly and buried it with some kind of flame.

Under the gradually tattered helmet, Sheher's face became more and more hideous.

The veins on his neck bulged, as if he was wrestling with someone, or undergoing surgery without anesthesia, enduring extreme pain.

One ten-millionth of a second later, he pulled out the sword.

Two ten-millionths of a second later, accompanied by a dull bell sound that came from nowhere, the storm suddenly stopped.

Three thousandths of a second later, Sheher Cold Soul rushed into the storm and began to execute the last step of the "hunt".

He was cold, efficient, precise, and without any personal feelings. He found the fleeing monster four thousandths of a second later and beheaded it with a sword five thousandths of a second later.

However, in the eyes of others, his behavior was probably extremely reckless.

First, he did not call for support, but chose to face the demon alone.

Second, after the demon realized that it was exposed and decided to escape, he chased it into the mist it released.

Although he killed it, he was really lucky. If the demon had been more cautious, Sheher Cold Soul might have died.

Is that really the case?

Of course not.

The truth is that from the beginning, Sheher knew what the demon was going to do. He knew it would run, he knew it would release some kind of confusing spell.

To be honest, Sheher was too familiar with these things, and this battle was just a routine for him.

Due to its special nature, the Blade of Judgment needs to travel back and forth between multiple worlds and cooperate with the Inquisition. They are almost the first line of defense for these worlds when facing chaos.

If he was dealing with a demon of Khorne, he probably wouldn't have stepped into its spell so stupidly, but the enemy was Tzeentch.

And Tzeentch's birds usually think too much and do too much. Therefore, they are quite easy to deal with, just go straight to the dragon.

Conspiracies need time to take effect, no matter how fast they are, they are not faster than the sharp blade of judgment.

——The battle ended quietly, but for another person far outside the city of Naros, his battle was not as quick as Sheher's.

If Sevatar were to say it himself, he would probably make a sarcastic joke in a slightly annoyed tone, but he would not do so.

First, there is no time, and second, it will only make the angry beast fall into a deeper rage

He stepped back, dodged a straight punch, and then dodged to the left, making the swing punch that followed disappear into nothingness, easy and natural, like eating and drinking water.

Sevatar squinted his eyes and stared at the young face, and he had an urge to sigh in his heart: Who would have thought that he would have such an advantage in the battle with ‘Robert Guilliman’?

Even if he had been promoted, he should not have fought a Primarch like this while still wearing this human skin. This is simply unimaginable.

Sevatar couldn't help thinking, throughout the ages, I am probably the second person to do this after Caril Rohars.

In the interval of dodging, he looked up at his opponent and silently added: Of course, unless he is really a Primarch.

"Why did you do this?!" The young giant roared at him, his voice like thunder. "What crime have they committed? They did nothing wrong!"

"Hmm," Sevatar nodded perfunctorily. "Maybe."

Indeed, maybe. He thought.

As it should be, his words had the opposite effect. The giant became even angrier. In fact, judging from his distorted face, he was probably about to go crazy.

"Are all the so-called Astartes scum like you? No regrets for killing innocent people? Why are you so high and mighty?!"

"When did I think I was high and mighty?"

Sevatar finally frowned, raised his hands, grabbed his fists, began to wrestle with the giant, and seriously refuted him.

"I don't deny the first half of your sentence. After all, although the Astartes are the Emperor's angels of death in the definition of the state religion, this is just a religious influence imposed later."

"When the Emperor first designed us, he must have envisioned a killing machine that was cheap, deadly and ruthless enough, so you are right to describe us like this. But you'd better take back the second half of your sentence. I don't kill innocent people."

The giant sneered: "Who knows?"

Sevatar narrowed his eyes, said nothing, but suddenly exerted force with his feet, and threw the giant to the ground before he realized it.

He wanted to kick him in the throat, but he stopped this instinctive impulse and began to retreat.

His opponent stood up again soon, and did not suffer any other pain except a certain degree of self-esteem.

Sevatar looked at the red face, and finally looked at Hector Calgio on the side for help - he really couldn't stand it.

He couldn't continue to fight with a man with the face of a young version of Robert Guilliman. He respected the Lord of Macragge and absolutely didn't want to disrespect him in any form.

But he obviously asked the wrong person for help.

Calgio noticed his look, and then he quickly drew his gun.

Oh, damn.

Sevatar stopped silently and let the punch of 'Robert Guilliman' hit his side of the face without even resisting.

The power contained in this angry blow was so great that it even knocked Sevatar out.

He fell into a fire not far away, and the charred body of the orc was knocked around by him. In the sound of the burning flames, Sevatar held his breath and began to listen to the conversation not far away.

He really didn't want to continue to be beaten, it was meaningless. Moreover, he could feel that Sheher Cold Soul had already dealt with the matter. So why not watch the show now?

"Stop." Calgio warned coldly.

Barehanded 'Robert Guilliman' panted and slowly turned around, his face still angry.

"What?"

"Stop, or I will shoot." Calgio said.

His warning seemed to have achieved some results. At least, the ‘Robert Guilliman’ did not move for a few seconds. He just stared at the grenade launcher in Calgio’s hand thoughtfully, and it took a long time before he responded to his words.

"If you want to do this, make sure you aim at my head."

The Son of Calth took a deep breath and did not speak.

"But if you don't intend to do this, I beg you to listen to me, Astarte." ‘Robert Guilliman’ spoke slowly in a pleading tone.

"I beg you to go back to that city with me. You don't look like the same kind of person as your disgusting companion. I don't see any arrogance in you."

"Shut up!" Calgio shouted. "You don't know who you are judging! Yago Sevitarion is an imperial hero! You are like this-"

He stopped talking, and the hand holding the gun suddenly trembled a few times, and a burst of anger surged on his face.

"Imperial hero?" The young giant frowned immediately. "If an empire needs someone like him as a hero, how bad would the country be?"

The empire hero lying among the corpses suddenly laughed with great joy.