40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 672 54. Interlude: A Prophecy

M40, Nostramo, Surface, Fifth Temple.

The priest and avenger Margant stretched out his right hand, took out a handful of candies from a small jar on the dark round table in front of him, and turned to distribute them to some children.

In the dim hall, only this place was lit with a faint candlelight. The miserable cold color made everyone's shadow look very sneaky, not to mention the uniform black robe. If an ordinary imperial official came here, he would probably immediately order his guards to prepare for battle against the cult.

Of course, this is a prerequisite.

Well, many prerequisites.

"After eating the candy, brush your teeth, wash up, and then go to bed, understand? No prayer tonight." Margant said to the group of children.

His voice was rough, like two grenades with the fuse pulled out in someone's hand. The friction sound was extremely harsh and contained explosive power, but the group of children were not afraid of him. On the contrary, one of their leaders even began to ask questions.

"Why don't you pray, Father?" asked a taller girl.

She didn't wear the hood of her robe like most children. There were many terrible scars on her abnormally white skin. The most conspicuous one ran through her entire neck. It was hard to imagine how she survived such a serious injury.

"Because I won't pray tonight." Margant nodded to her. "That's it. Don't bargain anymore, otherwise you won't be able to eat candy tomorrow, Kalani."

The girl hummed honestly, as if she had noticed something from the attitude of the priest. She didn't try to stay in the hall for a while like in the past. Instead, she ate the candy very simply and left with the team.

Their departure seemed to take away the last bit of life here. Margant's face gradually returned to calm in the reflection of the candlelight - of course, it can also be called lifeless.

Ordinary people would immediately feel something is wrong when they see him like this. Some people describe this feeling as "seeing a ghost when walking at night" or "seeing a coffin when opening the door".

In short, it's not a good thing, and Margante has long been used to it.

Strictly speaking, he really has little to do with the living.

"You are too indulgent to her, Margante." A voice suddenly sounded in the darkness, very low. "The girl is very smart, but your training of her is erasing this intelligence. How about handing her over to someone who really knows how to use this intelligence?"

"I refuse, Captain Shadrius."

"Why?"

Margante turned around and shook his head at the darkness; "I promised her mother that I would not let Kalani follow her old path. What's more, every orphan has the right to choose their future life path."

"Want to bet?" asked the man called Captain Shadrius.

Margante raised his hand and waved it vigorously, giving the answer: "No, I don't joke about children's lives."

The captain was silent for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, his voice had become slightly unhappy: "You make me sound like a scumbag, Margante. But I still don't agree with your idea."

"Which point?"

"Every point."

A tall shadow slowly walked out of the darkness. He was fully armed, with two power daggers inserted on his waist, one on the left and one on the right. Apart from this, no more weapons could be seen.

The emblem on his shoulder armor consisted of two intersecting blades, forming an X shape, with a black base and silver edges. This means that he is from the Second Company of the Night Blades, the company with the highest casualty rate in the entire Night Blades.

Margante looked at him and remained patient: "I would like to hear more about it."

"Now?" Shadrius raised his right eyebrow and showed a mockery without disguising it. "I'm afraid now is not a good time to discuss the future of the orphan, my good priest, let's focus on the business."

Margant sighed slightly, but didn't say anything else, just turned and left, and his footsteps began to echo in this ancient stone building.

He has worked with Shadrius Anfred for more than a century. The second captain, who has lived the longest so far, has never concealed that he has some degree of opinion on Margant since the first day they met, and even if Yago Sevitarion personally came forward, he has never let go of these opinions.

Therefore, Margant no longer expects to be able to convince the second captain on these matters. Of course, their disagreement is limited to this matter.

Soon, they arrived at their destination, the place where the "business" mentioned by Shadrius was taking place. After passing through a quiet corridor and two brick and stone arches, you can see this gray and white quiet room.

It has no door, and it can even be said that a whole wall is missing. This is of course intentional. Dense Nostramo characters filled every inch of the space in an extremely regular manner. Four monks stood in the middle of the room with their heads bowed in meditation, their hands folded in their sleeves, waiting for Malgonte's arrival without saying a word.

"I still think you need to reform, priest." The second captain spoke slowly but not seriously behind him.

"This old trick full of mystery and cult atmosphere really needs to be changed. He will come back sooner or later. Do you think he will be happy to see his hometown become like this?"

Margante reached up and pulled up his hood, answering him slowly: "Before he saw these things, the first thing he would notice was the steel dome of Nostramo and its true nature now - so it is not me who should be more troubled by this, but our beloved Chapter Master."

The Second Captain stopped talking, just grumbling impatiently. Margante stopped and immediately stepped into the room.

His right foot had just touched the brick floor when the gray and white words suddenly began to move, and the speed was fast enough to drive people crazy.

The monks scattered, quietly raised their hands, crossed them and closed them on their chests, and put their index fingers close to their necks, making a cut. Blood immediately dripped down along the fingers, slowly moving from the four corners of the room to the center where Margante was at the moment.

The howling wind came from nowhere, and Shadrius narrowed his eyes, and the dark eyes unique to the Nostramo people began to be stained with a little blood.

There is something interesting-the first captain of the Night Blade in the regiment era, Kasati Nuang, was once called "Blood Eyes" by his enemies with hatred, fear and respect. After his death, the Second Company began to use this as the company name.

His extreme fighting style has been continued by the Second Company bit by bit to this day, and this is the main reason for the high casualty rate of the Second Company.

The howling wind, Malgont slowly closed his eyes.

This is not the first time he has done this, but he can never stay calm-although his teacher and the classics mentioned that the caster should stay calm, he couldn't do it anyway. His teacher once told him with regret and sadness before his death: Your talent surpasses all of us, child, I'm sorry.

Normally, ordinary teachers should not feel sad or even apologize for their students' excellence, but the situation between them is different.

Margante began to hear shouts in his ears, not far away, and even close at hand. He tried his best to calm down and told himself not to listen or look, but he still couldn't help but hear them clearly.

Lamentations, screams, and the last sigh before death. A child crying in the ruins of his own home, a man watching his wife and daughter being skinned and pulled out of their muscles but unable to do anything about it, and a mother screaming as she held her stiff baby in her arms on the cold street.

He is the avenger, so these things will come to him, but he is not here for them. The blood of the pious, driven by the words of the gods around him, began to wrap his spiritual essence and took him to the deepest part of the never-ending chaos wave.

This process is extremely dangerous. Countless people or aliens in the galaxy have been lost in it throughout the ages, but Margante has no such worries.

He counted down to five seconds, then opened his eyes and saw a heavy shadow. Countless demons were shrouded in it, some had become corpses, and some were still fighting. Apart from the dead, the living ones were attacking each other.

They can be roughly divided into two factions, half of which are dominated by dark blue, and the other half are covered with ominous black and red.

Of course, this is only the most superficial difference. Margante even had to force himself to forget the details - these things do not belong to the human world. He has not yet completed his duties, and he cannot unload the burden on his shoulders and become a relatively carefree revenger, so he must forget these things.

However, at the top of this shadow, there is an exception.

Margante raised his head and looked at him. The man also lowered his head as if he had noticed something, and accurately found him in the flying flesh and blood and the blasphemous witchcraft storm. Then, he raised his right hand and slightly hooked his fingers, and Margante was blown to the top of this shadow by a gust of wind.

The avenger immediately bowed his head and saluted. He raised his hands and crossed them in front of his chest. Two sharp blades appeared in his hands without knowing when. He held the knife in his right hand, turned his wrist slightly, and pointed the tip of the knife at the air in front of him. He held the knife in his left hand, with the blade close to his neck.

"You are not someone who likes to see me very much, Malgonte." The master of the shadow smiled and tilted his head, looking at him carefully, ignoring the etiquette. "So, I guess you probably have to come?"

"Your Highness."

The master of the shadow curled his lips and gestured to him: "Don't call me that, you fundamentalist diehards are the most annoying in this regard. Just say what you have to say, my apostle - and then go back to take care of the children as soon as possible, they are still growing up."

"A dispute broke out in the Hall of Prophecy today. The Great Prophet could not judge who was right and who was wrong, so he reported the specific matters to me."

"And you can't make a judgment?"

The Lord of Shadows chuckled with amusement, raised his hand, and took off the crown on his head. The noble treasure that seemed to be condensed from the moonlight made Margant look over uncontrollably. It was not the first time he met him, but it was the first time he saw him really wearing the crown properly on his head. Although he took it off now, he still carried it with him.

"What is it?" Konrad Curze, the Lord of the Eighth Legion and the ruler of Nostramo, asked with a little curiosity.

Margant took a deep breath instinctively and began to tell the story.

The matter was not complicated in fact. It was just that two prophets belonging to the Temple of Prophecy had a disagreement on the result of the prediction of one thing, but its nature was quite serious, because the two prophets claimed that they dreamed of Terra in their sleep last night.

The Hall of Prophecy is full of psychics with powerful prophetic talents, who can often see some secrets about the future or the past. They should have been strictly guarded, and even those with more controllable abilities would be subjected to torture-like training, but Nightblade has a different view on this.

According to the Book of Prophecy left by Konrad Curze, they set up the Hall of Prophecy, which is actually a rather loose organization. Apart from basic education, there are almost no restrictions, research or coercion on the prophets.

It is said that Terra was very dissatisfied with this, but in view of the success rate of prophecy, they even sent people from the Psionic Academy to discuss cooperation.

When Malgont learned about this, he felt incredible for a while.

You know, most of the institutions on Terra have always been very dissatisfied with most of the institutions established in the era of the warband on Nostramo. The Hall of Prophecy may be the only organization that they have agreed to its legality throughout the empire with their noses pinched, and even every 25 years, they will ask a group of prophets to channel the information they provide

And give money, a lot of money.

Malgant didn't know what role their respected war captain played here. He only knew that Yago Sevitarion was always smiling every time he talked about this matter, and any words that came out of the Hall of Prophecy should be treated with caution.

It's not that he believed everything, but if he said he wanted to ignore it, he might as well find a rock and hit his head against it.

After all, this is all about Terra - and it's still intact Terra.

Terra that hasn't experienced the day of Terra's shattering.

Konrad Koz stood quietly in place and listened to him finish the whole story. The expression of the Lord of the Eighth Legion himself did not change during this process. If there were no two armies of demons fighting each other under their feet, Malgant would even ask someone or go into battle himself to draw this scene.

However, the screams that kept lingering in his ears reminded him.

The Wrongdoer looked at him cautiously, wanting an answer. And Koz did not let him down, and didn't even let him wait too long, and spoke directly.

"Go back now and tell them not to make any related prophecies for at least the next five years, and turn to meditation. Tell Yago Sevitarion to contact Terra through official channels immediately and activate all the emergency plans for the first timeline in the Inquisition."

Conrad Koz paused for a moment and sighed angrily. Malgont noticed his anger at the moment, and his expression gradually became cautious-but before he had time to ask anything, Koz told all his complaints.

"Listen, Malgont, you should be a man for as long as you can, understand? Look at me, you obviously brought such important information, but I can't deliver it to Terra in person."

The Lord of the Night put on the crown with a smile, snorted and left, muttering something like "gold is too dazzling".

Malgon's privilege pretended that he didn't hear it, he closed his eyes, the wind stopped, and the wailing in his ears finally stopped.

"What's going on?" Shadrius Anfred asked nervously.

Margant opened his eyes, looked at him, and said, "The Chapter Master will probably scold us."

The Second Captain let out a long sigh and shrugged: "Let him do what he wants. I've never been scolded in a meeting. Let's go, my good priest, we're going to ruin Yago Sevitarion's good mood."