40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 613 130. Interlude: Old Brothers and Old Friends

Captain Vitria of the destroyer "Sword" fell into a strange state of uneasiness, and so did her first mate and sailors. Don't get me wrong, this is not because they are about to go to battle.

You know, the Sword has successfully completed ordinary combat missions twenty-four times, and its merits have enabled it to receive a comprehensive upgrade from the Mechanicus not long ago. Its crew members have also been promoted and commended, especially Captain Vitria, who was awarded a "Guardian" medal for a special escort and exploration mission.

Therefore, from all angles, the crew of the Sword should not be nervous-after all, if even the extremely dangerous void naval battle can't make them tremble and stand up straight and pray to the Emperor constantly, then what else can?

Of course there is.

This matter is called: the meeting between the Imperial Regent Sanguinius and the Lord of Macragge, Robert Guilliman.

Correction: This meeting was arranged on the Sword, a two-kilometer-long boat.

Why the hell is this? !

Vitalia roared in her heart, but she actually had a vague guess, which could be attributed to a name, or a specific image - a man in a black robe standing by the porthole not far away, staring at the stars.

Among mortals, he is tall and his shoulders are unusually broad. He should be strong, but his body under the black robe is so thin that his skin color and eye color are two other interesting things.

And it just so happens that Vitalia is now allergic to the word interesting. If a doctor says that there is actually no such allergy in the world, she will definitely draw a gun and point it at the other person's chin to make him admit that it is true.

She took a deep breath, walked behind the man, and asked: "Why?"

Khalil turned around and smiled as if he knew nothing: "What's the matter, Captain Vitalia?"

"Why are you--" The female captain took a deep breath again. "——It's you, right? It must be you."

"I felt strange last time, why Lord Guilliman asked us to escort you to Sosa alone. I thought you were a spy or something like that, but now I think I was probably wrong, you are not a spy, absolutely not."

"And even if you are, you are at least a spy leader. So who are you? I beg you, sir, the Sword is just a small boat, she can't bear this kind of mission. Please have mercy."

Khalil shook his head regretfully and gave the answer: "I'm sorry, Captain Vittoria, I don't know what you are talking about."

The female captain gestured to him angrily, and then left.

In his shadow, the voice of Conrad Curz sounded again.

"The 24th mission was interesting, is that why you wanted to intervene and arrange this meeting place, Khalil? Let the two demigods meet on her ship so that the Sword can get a little mystical blessing and avoid being sunk on the 25th mission?"

"How do you know she will be sunk?" Khalil asked softly.

"I don't know."

"Then why do you say that?"

"Then why did you put the meeting place here?" Curz asked persistently.

Khalil turned back and continued to stare at the scene outside the porthole. Among the stars, a huge fleet was slowly approaching.

After a long time, when a shuttle sailed out from between the fleet, Khalil answered the question.

"Because of her name." He said.

"Name?"

"Yes, the Sword name is the shortest spell, what do you think, Midnight Haunter?"

He got a dissatisfied hiss, not a language, just used as a threat. Khalil smiled and shook his head, and the bridge of the Sword had become noisy and busy.

The first mate cursed in a low voice, urging his men to move faster. The female captain was waving her hands in her command seat, but her face was very pale. The sailors were running around among the thinkers, sweating profusely, holding their uniform caps that had not been worn for a long time.

Khalil stared at all this and left the main bridge apologetically - in the normal way. He didn't even slow down his steps, but no one noticed his departure.

He went down all the way, and after passing through the third deck, he saw the captain of the Ultramarines First Company, the Unconquered Sun, Sol Invictus, with a livid face.

The Sun Captain's expression at this time could no longer be simply described as "ugly", but he was still an Ultramarines after all, and could perfectly control his anger.

Until he saw Khalil.

"My Lord!"

Khalil stopped and tried to turn around, but failed. Conrad Curze began to chuckle.

"My Lord! My Lord!"

"."

"My Lord!" The Unconquered Sun roared and walked up to him, bowed stiffly, and began to complain.

"I beg you! Please persuade the Primarch before Lord Sanguinius arrives. This is too rude. How could he arrange such an important meeting on a destroyer? And--"

He raised his arm and lowered his voice under the gaze of the ten Ever-Victorious Army: "-There is not even a guard of honor!"

"If I can, I will help you, Captain Invictus. However, as far as the current situation is concerned, whether I go to persuade Robert or not, the result will not change. A shuttle is about to dock with the Sword, which means that the Regent is probably here, so."

Khalil concealed his true thoughts without leaving a trace, put on a helpless face, patted the forearm of the Sun Captain, who looked like golden paper, and then left this deck and continued down.

There, according to Robert Guilliman's request, he was alone in the No. 2 hangar of the Sword waiting for his brother. Under the blazing white light, the Lord of Macragge, wearing ceremonial armor, sighed deeply.

"You are no longer always covering up your footsteps like before, Khalil." He turned around and said so.

"Or maybe it's just because I want you to be aware of my arrival."

"Really?"

"Who knows?" Khalil said with an ambiguous smile that he rarely used in the past.

Guilliman looked at him with a little surprise, but said nothing, just lowered his head and began to arrange his ceremonial armor. The various medals hanging on his right chest made a series of noises due to his movements, and the ceremonial sword at his waist did the same.

He frowned, suddenly reached out and grabbed the cloak behind him, gently exerted force, pulled off the precious blue and gold cloth, and began to fold it.

There was an obvious irritation on that face, and the reason was probably very simple: he didn't like ceremonial armor, especially the cloak, which was the part he hated the most.

Khalil counted silently for a few seconds, and he really waited for Guilliman's complaint.

"I don't understand, I really don't understand why those excellent fashion designers would use cloaks or capes when designing ceremonial armor"

"Maybe it's for beauty." Khalil said. His tone was very cautious, just like a palace butler. Guilliman looked up and suddenly stuffed the folded cloak in his hand into his arms.

The two looked at each other and smiled at the joke tacitly.

Ten minutes later, the latest sealed door on the outer layer of the second hangar slowly cracked from the middle. Through the thick bulletproof glass, in the scattered steam, a gorgeous shuttle with gold and red gracefully slid into the hangar.

Half a minute later, the inner door slowly lowered.

Robert Guilliman strode forward.

Before this meeting officially began, he probably wanted to strictly abide by the etiquette and rules and regulations. The rule-abiding part of him was strictly reminding him not to lose his manners in front of the Regent of the Empire.

However, the person who appeared in this hangar was not the Regent Sanguinius.

He did not bring anyone with him, not a single person, and the famous Holy Blood Guard was nowhere to be seen. He did not wear ceremonial armor like Robert Guilliman, but only a white robe, without any decoration on his body.

Therefore, Guilliman knew that Sanguinius did not come as the regent.

He walked towards his brother, then ran towards him, and finally hugged him.

"It's good to see you, Sanguinius."

"Me too, Robert."

Guilliman let go of Sanguinius, and at this moment, his face was filled with a simple and pure power, which was very contagious. This expression should not appear on him, at least not in the past, but time will change everything, Khalil thought so.

He stood there, staring at this precious scene calmly, watching the two primarchs joking with each other like ordinary brothers, commenting on whether the other had aged, and then smiling at each other.

There must be few such relaxing moments between them. Even if time goes back to the Great Crusade, war is still the main theme of that era. They cannot remove their responsibilities, so naturally they cannot simply get along.

Khalil suddenly remembered a newspaper he had read. On the front page, it published a recorder's account of a meeting of the Primarchs.

The recorder used very detailed language to carefully describe the nobility and perfection of the Primarchs at the banquet, describing them as statues made of marble and gold, and spent some space at the end to introduce the things at the banquet.

However, from beginning to end, he never wrote about the Primarchs eating or drinking. Perhaps he didn't pay attention to such trivial matters, or perhaps he subconsciously thought they didn't need it.

He regarded them as gods and saviors.

And what is the truth?

Khalil lowered his head and tapped the ground lightly with his heels, or more precisely, his shadow. Then, a voice that only he could hear began to whisper.

"No"

"What no?" Khalil asked.

"Don't even think about it."

"I haven't said anything yet, Conrad."

"I know what you want to say, just let me go out and meet them, meet them - no, I don't want to do this."

"But why?"

The King of the Night threw a vicious laugh from his throat: "Because I don't want to see the golden birdman! I will really go blind, I am a Nostramo!"

Khalil laughed silently, but didn't say anything else, not because he didn't want to, but because another voice could do it for him.

The voice said: "Conrad, give yourself some time to rest."

With a flash of golden light, the tall and pale ghost appeared in the hangar, bringing with it a burst of moonlight. He looked very reluctant, but still walked towards Sanguinius under his dull gaze.

——

"How are you recovering?" Khalil asked.

There was no one around him. There were many winding corridors in the Sword. Most of the time, there was no one here. Rumors of hauntings aboard every ship are common and repeated.

Considering the smoky, dark environment and the hollow echoes coming from the walls, this was only natural.

Since ancient times, sailors have generally been superstitious. And his current performance, if people see it, will probably make the word "superstitious" become a reality.

Just imagine, a man as pale as a ghost, sitting in a dark corner, with equally dark eyes, having a serious conversation with a statue.

However, if the image carved on the statue was not that of the emperor, the effect of this matter would probably be better.

"I can't answer you with words like 'very good', my friend, but it's not bad. The power of hope is far stronger than I thought. It may not be as good as other powers in terms of killing, but it is... very special."

Khalil smiled and nodded: "Then that's enough. A power that is good at creation is always much better than destruction. From this point of view, you are much stronger than me."

"What's the meaning of this statement?"

Khalil raised his hands and shook his fist at the statue solemnly: "Did you see it? These hands can't farm or do carpentry. They can only hold knives, swords and fists."

"I'm too lazy to argue with you about this."

"Why? Is it because we always remain unresolved on this matter and can't tell the winner?"

"Because Malcador is not here." The statue trembled calmly and replied. "I'm missing a helper."

Khalil resisted the urge to laugh, slowly exhaled a breath of cold air, and his expression became serious little by little.

"So, what's your plan?" he asked.

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Oh, I only know that you think the name Sharp Sword is good and told me in advance - other than that, I don't know anything. I'm not just talking about your plan, but also other things. I have many things to think about. To know."

The statue trembled again: "You just want to know if the world has become a better place. And I want to say that we are working hard. We still need to work hard."

Khalil leaned back and squinted his eyes against the cold wall.

"It should be so." He said lowly.