40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 593 111. Interlude: The Old Ones (I)

"It wasn't until the Battle of Macragge officially began that I realized we weren't at war." Kefa Morag said.

As he spoke, noises echoed under the deck, caused by the roar of the engines, a steady din. The distance and the well-designed soundproofing measures could not reduce it too much, but the soldiers in the hangar didn't care at this time.

Their long military careers had long made them accustomed to this kind of noise. The sound they felt in the Storm Eagle was much stronger than the reactor engine of Macragge's Glory - at least they were not in the engine room, and this was enough.

A long cable hung from the ceiling, passing through the main control panel on the second floor. The power maintenance tools were arranged on the wall next to the main control panel, all of which smelled of lubricating oil, and were obviously well maintained.

There were no shuttles or gunships parked inside the hangar, and even the mobility scooters used by technicians and workers were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were a thousand Astartes wearing different painted armor.

It is worth mentioning that no one's armor looked intact.

"Take the war we are familiar with as an example. We have codes and rules. We wear the most advanced power armor, hold deadly weapons, and go to another place where we have never been to kill in groups. Therefore, we must have honor in our hearts."

"Apart from the orders of the Emperor and the Primarch, it is almost the only thing that can bind us. Some people still have consciences. I would not say that I have this trait, but I do have a sense of honor. However, those things... those bastards who were once Word Bearers, they don't have it."

"In Macragge, I saw them slaughtering civilians on the burning streets, hollowing out their organs, and then nailing people to their own doors or walls, and even laughing at them. I also saw them releasing dogs-"

The Death Guard paused, as if recalling, the wrinkles on the rough face were increasing due to emotional fluctuations.

"——A kind of dog-like demon, let them eat people. There are disemboweled corpses everywhere, and people screaming everywhere. From this point of view, they have not only violated our principles, but also abandoned the most basic principles of being human."

"Morality?" Someone guessed.

"No." Kefa Morag denied with disgust. "Morality is the restraint that humans impose on themselves. They don't have this thing. They are no longer worthy of being called human beings."

"I agree."

A salamander took over his words. This person was sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding a power hammer that he had asked from someone, and was knocking on the edge of his left shoulder armor.

His hands were very steady, and each knock was accurate and fast, which was pleasing to the eye. His words were the same, simple, direct, and hit the point.

"They will use people's blood to paint eight-pointed stars on the walls and streets. Those things will flicker, light up, and then twist. If there are corpses piled around, they will suck the corpses in, like a black hole."

"Then, some monsters that we have never seen before will jump out of the center of the black hole. I knew at the time that they were doing sacrifices. Sacrificing the blood of their own people as bait, attracting the monsters in nightmares to come out for their use."

He was silent for a few seconds, shook his head, ended his speech, and completed his work. He stood up, walked behind an Iron Warrior, took the maintenance tools handed by his brothers, and began to check the operation of his power armor for him.

The warriors made way for him, silently and quickly. Their actions and reactions seemed to be still on the battlefield, not the hangar of Macragge's Glory

Moreover, in this battlefield, the war has not left, and now it is just a small gap before another battle. They must seize this little time and use everything they have to help each other.

"In general," Warsmith Narik Dragool continued the fire lizard's words, and looked at an inconspicuous mortal in the crowd.

"We know so much about Chaos. We know that it is a pure evil that sacrifices or feeds on human flesh and blood. But beyond that, we know very little."

"I understand." The mortal said. "After all, for you, the war has never ended. As for the passage of ten thousand years, it is probably difficult to feel anything real in the stasis field."

"Then-" Warsmith spoke again. "- What happened in these ten thousand years? Can you please explain it to us?"

Khalil began to find words.

Perhaps because there were a thousand people staring at him, this became a little difficult. Many opening remarks passed through his throat one by one, and then were rejected, falling into the abyss, and no sound was heard.

His silence was really deafening in the eyes of these people, and they couldn't help but start to think that this was actually a rejection.

This made sense. It was an open secret that the Eighth Legion had an instructor. However, other information is very little. They don't know much about him, so it's reasonable to make such speculations.

Some say he is as tall as the original body, and some say he is just a lucky ordinary person. He became this so-called instructor just because of luck, and maybe he even enjoyed a life-extending surgery.

In the mouths of these people, this instructor is the most direct proof that Conrad Curze, as a judge, is partial and perverts the law.

Narik disagreed with this statement, and he didn't understand where these people got the courage to play this kind of party-building trick on a Primarch. As for the former statement, that Khalil Rohars was as tall as the Primarch.

The Warsmith would say that this was not the case, and the instructors of the Eighth Legion were actually taller than most Primarchs.

Narik Dregul recalled the scene at that time, and his left hand instinctively clenched for a moment.

He looked at the man who was thinking, and felt sincerely puzzled by the latter's appearance at the moment. If his memory was correct, then Khalil Rohars was a giant with a height of 4.2 meters.

He didn't know whether that appearance was transformed or born like this. In any case, he was a giant, completely different from the ordinary-sized mortal now. However, Narik's intuition told him that they were indeed the same person.

From the eyebrows to the expression, and the temperament that no one could imitate

The Warsmith unconsciously rubbed his palm with his fingers, and the slight friction of steel slightly relieved his anxiety.

It was not until several minutes later that the person he asked answered the question slowly.

"This is a difficult thing to explain clearly, but the alien named Trazyn probably told you about the specific matters on the way here?"

"Yes." A battle brother from the Salamanders said.

His MK4 fine power armor and the complete version of the ash cloak revealed his identity - he was a member of the Flame Breaker Force specially established by Vulkan, and he was absolutely meritorious. The dragon head relief on the side of the helmet was the best evidence.

This is also a significant feature of the Legion period. All the ancient power armors inherited have a certain degree of honor decoration, some are exaggerated, some are low-key, and all kinds of styles are available.

Their original wearers all chose to use armor to express their merits and personality, which was basically invisible in the war group period.

The mortality rate of recruits is too high, and they basically don't live to have such power. A few qualified people will be rewarded and get a set of fine power armor from their predecessors.

Few people would refuse such an honor, and coupled with the difficult supply chain and other issues, this tradition inevitably fell into withering and decay.

Khalil looked at him, and the latter immediately understood: "Tubak, sir. Sergeant, and assaulter."

He patted his power hammer and the "Flame Breaker" flamethrower made by the Primarch at his feet, and squeezed a dry smile on his dark face.

He obviously didn't do this often, so this expression looked even close to a threat. But he didn't realize it at all and continued to tell the story.

"The alien said that the empire is in a critical situation now, the Star Torch is getting worse, and darkness is covering everything. I don't believe this bullshit it said, and I hope you can tell us the truth."

His brothers looked at this scene worriedly, and some people had already tried to explain. Khalil raised his hand helplessly to stop their kindness and took over the conversation himself.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Tubak, but the alien is right. This is the state of the Empire now. Only the outermost part of the five hundred worlds we live in can barely see the light of the Astronomican, and cannot benefit from it."

"Robert Guilliman and the Ultramarines have been holding out here for 10,000 years, keeping out an extremely dangerous and numerous alien-"

"-A large number?" Someone couldn't help but interrupt. "More than the greenskins, sir?"

Khalil looked at the Iron Warrior, and Narik Dragoul, who was standing behind him, also looked over. His expression became a little subtle, but the man's face remained normal.

"It's hard to say." Khalil told him. "If you have to come up with an answer, then I think that alien-the Zerg-is better."

"Why?" the man asked persistently.

"Because once they appear, they are a huge threat that is difficult to count, without exception. The orcs may need time to increase their numbers, but the Zerg do not. Their biofactories can produce countless insects within a day."

"However, if the numbers are the same, I don't think the orcs will lose unless there is a void sea battle. Their physiological structure characteristics can help them gain the upper hand in the tug-of-war with the Zerg."

"In addition, the gestalt consciousness of the Zerg itself will passively help the orcs win. They fight wars only to plunder biomass. If that consciousness determines that the biomass obtained by continuing this war cannot be compared with what they get, then they will retreat without hesitation."

The Iron Warrior pondered for a moment and nodded: "Manek Kalchi, instructor, from the 103rd Company of the Iron Warriors."

"It's an honor to answer your questions, brother Manek." Khalil smiled at him, and there was gratitude in his smile.

Just in the conversation with this battle brother just now, he found a new communication mode that allowed him to avoid sorting out his words.

"Who else has questions?" Khalil looked around and asked.

The tribune standing beside him with his sword in hand shook his head imperceptibly, looking somewhat helpless. This was not quite the same scene he had expected, but judging from the result, his goal had been achieved.

"I have it," said one of the Death Guards. He seemed to be imitating the original body. He also wore a respirator. There were a few scattered metal cans hanging on the armor belt on his waist. The surface was mottled, and the observation window on the side could be seen. I saw some herbs inside that had dried up for a long time.

He spoke very hoarsely, not because of the respirator, but probably because his vocal cords had been injured. The soldiers tacitly made room for him so that he could come up to Khalil and tell his questions.

"Sir, I want to know the current situation of our legion." He lowered his head and looked directly at Khalil with his gray eyes. His gesture seemed like a question, but Khalil knew that it was simply a request or even a plea.

He suppressed the urge to sigh and spoke slowly: "Unfortunately, I can't tell you the exact answer because the legion has been split up."

"Split it?" he asked, his tone sounding as if it was ancient. Discussions arose among the crowd, many of whom seemed unaware of the Codex Astartes.

This is something worth speculating on, as it means that many of those who were taken by Trazin were brought into the Museum of the Codex Astartes before it was introduced throughout the Imperium.

Khalil wrote down this incident, silently preparing to settle the scores later, and then continued to answer questions.

"Yes, split. After the rebellion, with the joint promotion of the Primarchs and the Patrons, the Codex Astartes was promulgated. The Legion was split into Chapters one after another to maintain the Empire. territory.”

"The brilliance of the Star Torch is weakening little by little every year, and the threat of Chaos is increasing day by day. The huge scale of the legion can no longer be maintained, and it is not conducive to future operations."

"So, our Death Guard no longer exists?" the man asked again.

This time, his voice was visibly trembling.

The discussion around him stopped abruptly.

"Existence," Khalil said. "Of course the Death Guard exists. Regarding this issue-"

He paused for a few seconds, looked around, and suddenly smiled.

"—Okay." He shrugged. "You all seem to want to know more about the war group, and I obviously can't explain these things by myself."

"Fortunately, Robert Guilliman, who has always had foresight, has installed a database on Macragge's Glory. I think the Lord of Macragge won't have any objections if we just look up the information."

"Please take us there," Kefa Morag said firmly.