40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 697 79. Interlude: Furniture Maker, Toy Maker and Kumiss

Khalil didn’t use the teleportation beacon often in the past, but the reason was not that he didn’t want to, but that he didn’t need it in most cases, and there were some subtle teleportation accidents that always happened to him.

Therefore, he was actually unfamiliar with what was happening now, but at least one thing was certain - the teleportation technology in the fortieth millennium had made great progress. At least there would no longer be a strong smell of rust between his lips and teeth, and his fingers would not switch between transparency and solidity.

In fact, it was more like something that happened in an instant, the blue light came on, the blue light went out, and he was taken to another fortress in the solar system.

The pale light here was not dazzling, but it would never make people feel peaceful or comfortable. The ground was not decorated with any beautiful things, just pure steel.

They were not even polished originally, but became smooth with time and people coming and going. Energy transmission cables and curved heat dissipation exhaust pipes quietly stay in blind spots of vision or dark places where lights cannot reach in a practical and orderly manner.

Only those who observe this place carefully can notice this carefully handled pragmatism, which is not art, but far better than it. The designer does not seem to expect to win praise from any careful observers for this, because he did not give any other rewards.

And another thing-there are no windows here.

Khalil smiled, smiled at this familiar style, and also smiled at what was about to happen next. He turned around and saw another piece of steel between steel and steel.

His smile disappeared.

"Long time no see." Perturabo nodded at him, his chin slightly raised, expressionless. "You came quickly."

He was wearing a black robe, simple in style, but heavy in texture. Both hands have been replaced with metal prostheses from the elbows down, and many different emblems and names form a complex pattern, which is naturally integrated into one, filling the surface in the form of relief.

His right leg suffered the same fate, silver from the knee down, artificial muscle bundles trying to imitate the original muscle lines, but in the end it was a dog. A scar from the eye socket down the entire right face, ending before the upper lip.

The murderer only lacked a little luck to split his entire face in two.

"Maybe it's not fast enough." Khalil resisted the urge to sigh and answered in a solemn tone.

"It's enough." Perturabo said indifferently. "It's enough that you come back. Follow me."

He turned and walked steadily to the other end of the hall here without any other conversation. Khalil followed silently, and the joy he had felt not long ago was completely dispelled.

Just two minutes later, the Lord of Steel led him to push open a heavy brown wooden door, and the world behind the door was completely different from what he had seen before. The well-maintained wooden floor under the crystal dome reflected the beating of the flames in the fireplace, creating a calming light.

The dome is carved from a single piece of crystal. No matter who the sculptor is, he or she must have extraordinary patience, skills, and the most important thing - vision.

Ordinary artists can only carve dragons and phoenixes, but this crystal is different. The new form it has acquired is a whole star map, which includes the entire galaxy. Each planet is in line with their position and appearance in the real world.

The crystal ball suspended by invisible thin wires can even be moved manually. There is no doubt that this is a treasure that is extremely suitable for scholars, generals and ambitious people.

This makes it the most eye-catching thing in the room, but Khalil's focus is not on it, but on two rows of wide bookshelves, a workbench piled with many unfinished works, and a messy and huge bed.

Khalil turned his head and asked half-jokingly, "Didn't you say you wanted to meet me in your private reception room? This place doesn't seem like it."

"When I designed this fortress, I didn't consider that I needed a private reception room. It would be too much of a fuss to temporarily vacate a room, or do you think this place is not qualified?"

"How dare I be so ungrateful."

Perturabo seemed to be amused by this answer - he sneered happily and immediately pointed to one of the three armchairs by the fireplace.

They are also made of wood, with a stable and solid brown color, and the overall lines look very comfortable. One of them is of mortal size, with its back facing the fireplace, and a medium-sized woven basket leaning against its feet, with wine waiting quietly in different glass bottles.

Khalil walked over, took off the heavy inquisitor's coat, untied his belt, and put them on the back of the chair, then sat down slowly, and then asked immediately.

"I guess these chairs are not your work?"

The Lord of Steel, who was slumped majestically in the back of the chair, cast a look that was not angry, but definitely not gentle.

"Rogge?" Khalil continued to guess.

"Yes, that's him." Steel sneered. "A well-known furniture craftsman."

"What's that title? Well, if he is a furniture craftsman, then what about you?"

Khalil raised his hand and pointed to the workbench not far away. Since he entered the room, he noticed the small objects on it.

"What kind of craftsman are you? A toymaker?"

Perturabo's smile turned expressionless, but he was not angry, but turned to thinking. He raised his right hand, supported his chin, and his fingers subconsciously rubbed the wound on his face. Obviously, this has become a habit for him when thinking.

"You can say that." The Lord of Steel said thoughtfully. "I did design a lot of toys for children and teenagers, and Zhongsi Academy used them as rewards for those with excellent grades in the year-end assessment."

Khalil raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"What does your look mean? Don't you believe it?"

"No, no," Khalil chose his words and answered him slowly, even a little cautiously. "I'm just curious about what the toys you designed will look like."

Perturabo nodded expressionlessly, stood up and left his seat, walked to the workbench and took away three things. A black cube, a hilt, and the most eye-catching thing - a small armored vehicle that was much larger than the original body's palm, extremely exquisite.

He sat down, placed them on his knees, picked up the dark cube, and began to explain.

"These are all experimental works, and they have not yet been officially named. Take a look at this first. My think tanks helped me design it. When psychics hold it, they will get different digital instructions. They need to input their own psychic energy, control the output, and then they can correspond to the correct number."

He handed over the cube.

"Try it."

Khalil reached out to take it, and felt a gentle tremor at the moment of holding it, and then a monotonous voice sounded in his heart.

"Please enter one."

Well, one may be a bit difficult.

Khalil concentrated on separating a small amount of psychic energy and injected it into the cube. The dark top of it suddenly shook like liquid, and then floated, forming an ancient number, one, a simple one.

"It can be up to fifteen." Steel reminded.

Khalil heard the implication of his words, so he did as he was told. It didn't take him much time to go from one to fifteen, just half a minute. As the number fifteen floated up from the top of the cube, a stronger vibration began to spread.

The cube began to disintegrate.

The darkness faded, and the glittering gold and silver appeared. Its shape changed, as if an invisible sculptor was working quickly with hammer and nails.

When the darkness faded completely, the cube disappeared, leaving only a small bust of the Emperor, lying in Khalil's hand. It had closed eyes, a crown instead of laurel, and a calm expression that gave people confidence.

"It's amazing," Khalil exclaimed.

"It's not worth mentioning," Perturabo said. "But the furniture maker criticized this work. He thought it lacked the reward part, the part that makes people happy."

"I don't understand what else he wants. Although the psykers in the Faithful Academy are still young, they must be devout believers. Nothing would satisfy them more than a statue of the Emperor that belongs to them."

"It doesn't matter. Let him do what he wants. Anyway, he has some unfinished designs. I can criticize them later. Now, the second one."

He raised, or rather, pinched the hilt with two fingers, but the display seemed to end here. The wooden door was pushed open, and Rogal Dorn, the Primarch of the Seventh Legion, strode into the room.

He still had white hair, and his steps were firm and unusual, like a boulder jumping from a cliff into the valley. He wore gloves, long boots, and a Praetor uniform that was different in details from ten thousand years ago. The place where the emblem should have been worn on his chest was blank.

As soon as he entered the door, he quickly walked to his seat.

The other two looked at him silently.

Reading the error-free version! 6=9+Book_bar first releases this novel.

Dorn didn't seem to want to speak first, and even though he was sitting in a chair with soft lines, he still sat upright.

His back was straight, and his shoulders didn't drop at all. It looked almost like a broad sword, straight through his uniform, carrying all the weight under it.

The owner of the sword stared at Khalil seriously, his eyes were like the miracle carved by a stone sculptor with his life's energy, deep enough to compare to the darkness of the stars. After a long while, he slowly nodded.

The sword fell immediately, and the muscles supporting his back relaxed. He leaned back, and his posture became relaxed. His right hand naturally dropped, and he reached out from the wine basket at his feet and took out a bottle of wine, then pulled out the cork directly, raised his head and drank a big sip.

"I have a cup here." Perturabo said coldly.

Dorn ignored this and continued to drink, or rather, he drank the precious white wine like water.

He didn't care how much manpower and resources it took to get here, nor did he consider what expectations the craftsman who brewed it had for it. He just drank, just drank, like a person who had been thirsty for four days in the desert without a drop of water, his throat rolling, not stopping for a moment, until the last drop of wine was swallowed into his stomach.

Khalil, who was sitting next to him, clearly saw the scar on his neck exposed by his head tilted up.

".I'm so thirsty." Dorn put down the bottle and spoke in a low voice, his voice seemed not to be affected by the wound.

"If you are thirsty, go drink water instead of wasting my collection here. You are just wasting heaven's gift."

Perturabo expressed his opinion impatiently, but reached into the basket at his feet and took out another bottle of wine and handed it to his brother.

It doesn't have a luxurious bottle design like the bottle of white wine that Donne drank before. It's just a dark glass bottle with a hand-drawn sticker on it. Someone wrote four big words on it in cursive script: Heavy blow into a dream.

Dorn took it, looked at the bottle, and then shook his head: "You should stop letting your Chapter Masters taste these dangerous private brews and name them."

"Dangerous? I'm not sure whether it's the bottle of wine that's dangerous, or your act of remembering my Chapter Master's handwriting that's more dangerous, Rogal Dorn. After all, this wine is only half mead mixed with it."

Khalil listened to their conversation, lowered his head silently, and found a bottle of kumiss from the wine basket at his feet.

In the empire, it is called drinkable gold, and its price is so high that countless rogue traders have been flocking to Chogoris over the past ten thousand years.

Nowadays, the rogue traders who think they have status will even go out of their way to invite one or two Chogorians on their ships to become winemakers full-time.

The kumiss obtained in this way can no longer be called a commodity, but a table treasure provided only to distinguished guests.

Khalil shook the bottle and held it close to his ear. This glass bottle is definitely specially designed. The sound of the wine shaking in it and slapping against the wall of the glass is like a breeze blowing across the grassland, making people feel comfortable as soon as they hear it.

But before he could drink, he was interrupted.

"Cup, cup!" said Perturabo. "Forget it, are you thirsty too, Khalil Lohars? This is kumiss brewed by Jaghatai himself!"

"."

"I agree, this should indeed be drunk from a cup." Don said, his voice suddenly becoming hoarse. "But it's okay to drink it directly. Chogoris people don't pay so much attention when drinking."

Perturabo turned to him, with a smile that predicted victory: "You seem not to know much about the customs of our brothers' hometown."

"Yeah?"

Donne shook his head and had no intention of arguing with him. He just reached out and picked up a human-sized wine glass from the round table on the side, and then stretched out his other hand to take away the kumiss in Khalil's hand.

The cork was pulled out, and the fragrant aroma immediately poured out of the bottle. The fragrance was so mellow that Khalil, who had a dull sense of smell at the moment, couldn't even taste more at the first time. He only smelled a strong milky fragrance.

It wasn't until Don poured the wine into the goblet that the aroma of the wine escaped. It mixed with the previous aroma, forming a wonderful taste that made your fingers tremble and your lips and tongue wet.

"Try it." Donn said, handing over the wine glass.

Khalil reached out and took it, but sighed: "Have you not rested for a long time?"

"Why do you say that?" Donne asked.

"intuition."

"For him and me, rest is the greatest luxury in the world." The Lord of Steel said this, his expression still calm. "So say no more and drink up, Khalil Lohars - we only have these few hours."

Khalil stopped talking, just raised his head and drank the first sip of kumiss in his life. It is mellow in the mouth, with a milky aroma, and then immediately turns into a burst of blazing heat, completely wrapping every taste bud.

He raised his glass again.

"Here's to you," he said.