40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 701 83. Interlude: Triumphal Ceremony (2)

Iago Severtarion studied the face of the man before him with an unearthly calm.

Undoubtedly, the first feature that should be noticed is his skin color.

Even a slave who was imprisoned in a dungeon and never saw the light of day for his entire life could not have this kind of pale color. He was as pale as the ashes after the fire burned out, even slightly better than the dead.

Then there are those eyes. In Savita's memory, they are always covered with a dark veil, like two foggy black mirrors. When you look over, you can only see your own reflection.

But this is just his gaze without any emotion. If he has any thoughts in his heart, the mirror will immediately turn into a pair of sharp knives that cut out his heart. You had to endure this terrible ordeal every second you stood in front of him.

You will be driven by instinct, develop fear, and then have the urge to run away or kneel down to beg for mercy, unless you have a clear conscience.

Sevatar closed her eyes.

Joyful music continued to flow from both sides of the box, and the triumphal ceremony in the center of the square has reached a new stage. Soon, the battleships and shuttles will fall, and the noise will be a million times louder than it is now.

"Yago?"

The man called him a rare title. In this day and age, almost no one calls him that. He was called Lord, Hero, Chapter Master, and even those who called him by his first name "Sevita" became rare.

They all know his story, the ten thousand years of perseverance and the endless legend. They called him with respect, looked up to him, and condensed their respect into careful and complicated etiquette.

It was as if he was another kind of creature, a monster that could not be looked at directly, otherwise he would suffer bloodshed.

"Yago? Are you okay?"

Sevatar almost smiled - the corners of his mouth twitched, and the horrible scar twisted with it. But he didn't laugh after all, so he had no choice but to remain silent.

"No," he said. "I'm allergic to 'good' lately, instructor."

The man blinked, as if thinking about how to answer this sentence, and Sevita decided to solve this problem for him.

He continued: "However, you call me Yago, which is not bad. Have I told you that I actually hate being called that? I even had a fight with Shen over this."

".So, Sevatar?"

here we go again. Savita narrowed her eyes and finally smiled in a real sense, and she smiled very cunningly, as if her plan had succeeded.

"With the exception of you, instructor," he said slowly. "You are the only one who calls me that these days, Khalil Lohars of the Eighth Legion, and I'm grateful for that."

Savita stood up, took off the helmet that was buckled on his armor belt, and threw it on the sofa casually. Its surface is mostly mottled, and the right eyepiece has a deep depression carved into it, as if it had been severely damaged.

The man reached out and picked it up, looking at it carefully, and Sevatar heard his free left hand making a slow sound, like dull thunder.

"I'm fine," Savita said, moving her shoulders. "I chopped that thing into pieces."

"You're always like this." The man said reproachfully. "Why not adopt a more cautious approach?"

"Because my teacher was like this, my original body was like this, and my instructors were like this. I had the chance to change it, but it was a pity that all the people who could persuade me at the time were dead, and I am too old now. Too stubborn."

The man seemed to sigh, then fell silent. When he spoke again, his voice had become softer than ever. Savita was surprised by this, but still decided to do what she wanted to do.

The man said softly: "You did this in the past because you wanted to die——"

Savita turned her head, stared into his eyes, and interrupted unceremoniously: "——It still is."

The man looked at him intently for a while, his eyes piercing, but there was no trace of disappointment or any other emotion that Sevata wanted to see. In fact, all he saw was guilt and regret.

Sevita suddenly spoke sharply: "You should be fair and just, instructor. I have violated combat disciplines more than once and have always thrown myself into the demonic tide to seek death. Aren't you going to punish me for this?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, you fucking can't," Sevatar responded with a sneer.

The salute was fired, coincidentally drowning out his laughter. A thousand military drums began to sound at the same time, and the fireworks that had been prepared streaked across the sky like meteors, exploding next to the huge battleships and countless gunboats that were gradually landing.

The firelight overflowed, illuminating the ruggedness and scars of the metal, proving in another form the brutality of the battle and the glory they achieved.

The air was originally trembling, but now it gradually turned into explosions, as if millions of bombs were launched at the same time and hit the target immediately.

The mechanical structures located on the walls on both sides of the box began to operate, displaying the small flags that had been prepared one by one. They are only replicas, not stained with the smell of blood and smoke, but they are still well made.

Ultramarines, Blood Angels, and Midnight Blades start with three founding regiments, followed by sub-groups, auxiliary armies, and special forces.

The ceiling of the box unfolded in time, the strong wind poured in, the flags fluttered, and the continuous broadcast sound from the speakers on both sides stopped instantly. Each magnificent note of the triumphal movement was truly transmitted with the gust of wind, the drumbeats matched the heartbeat, and the tune changed. Breathe, passionate and majestic, and gradually advance

Straight to the climax.

A sharp golden figure descended from the sky, with wings on its back.

The line he drew was as light as a feather. The dazzling explosion could not illuminate his face, but it made the golden armor even brighter. At this moment, he looked almost like a small sun, carrying all the glory, blessings and hopes.

Sevatar muttered and looked away, walked to the control panel of the box, punched the side, and closed the ceiling that had been opened. He rubbed his eyes and turned around, just in time to see the man doing the same thing.

"Too dazzling." Noticing his eyes, the man explained, frowning slightly.

"Yes, it's too dazzling." Sevatar smiled and agreed. "I always think that our genetic defects are really interesting, and the coincidence is not good - there are so many worlds in the galaxy, how come Conrad Curze just happened to end up in Nostramo? Moreover, his legion just happens to be prefixed with midnight"

"Coincidence or a carefully woven conspiracy - now that things have come to this, what do you want to say, Yago?"

Caryl Rohals finally left the sofa, his back straight as a knife.

The Inquisitor's coat is really suitable for him. If someone is bold and capable enough to take pictures of the Inquisitors one by one and put them in newspapers for the common people to comment on one by one, then his face may be elected as the synonym of the Inquisitor.

Pale, ruthless, inhuman, extremely indifferent. He completely fits the imagination of the position of Inquisitor for those who don't know.

And Sevatar looked straight into his eyes, but saw pleading in them.

The First Reserve sighed very frustrated, walked to his side, and threw himself into the sofa. His weight caused the carefully crafted comfort to sink into a huge hole in an instant. If it weren't for the extraordinary toughness of the supporting material, it would probably have broken by now.

"Yago?"

"Don't scream, old man." Sevatar said uninterested. "Watch the triumphal ceremony. You won't be so idle later."

His words came true.

--

At night, the city of Fortress No. 300 was still brightly lit.

Every household had lights on, and the streets were full of excited people. The priests of the state religion were distributing candies and pure milk along the streets. They were not ordinary inferior synthetic products, but delicacies that only nobles could enjoy.

In order to celebrate this event in their hometown, all the nobles in Fortress No. 300 spent a lot of money. A huge amount of supplies came along the trade route half a month ago and filled the warehouses of their respective families.

In the past, someone might have taken action to make some money, but this time it was different. The nobles jointly elected an executive committee, which cooperated with the Ministry of Justice and patrolled day and night. Anyone who dared to steal, destroy or do other things that were not conducive to the triumphal ceremony would be immediately charged with treason and executed on the spot.

6◇9◇Book◇Bar

Such a severe punishment brought many benefits that people would not dare to think about on weekdays. The candy in the hands of the priests was just one of them. There were also good things such as Grax steak, canned fruit, winter clothes, free medical care, and even more good things such as handing out money on the street with a wave of their hands

It can be foreseen that the people in the 300th Fortress will not be able to sleep well for at least a whole month.

Perturabo easily came to this conclusion, as well as some chain reactions, such as the temporary chaos caused by the shutdown, or the gray behavior that may lead to inflation, such as the black market opened after the triumphal ceremony.

He thought about these things, with his right hand on the side of his face, his expression focused and serious, as if he really intended to take over and send a team of Iron Warriors to deal with these things.

Of course, this is not the truth.

He raised his eyes calmly and looked at each person sitting at the long table in front of him one by one.

The first person who came into view was Sanguinius, who was still wearing ceremonial armor. No matter how noble and perfect he looked, Perturabo could still see at a glance that the archangel was enduring discomfort.

His upright sitting posture and the twitching of his eyes from time to time were the most obvious evidence, and the Lord of Steel could even guess the reason - not because he was injured or because he didn't like the occasion, but simply because the design of the ceremonial armor was not that good for Sanguinius.

Everyone knows that the archangel has a pair of white wings. This world-famous treasure is now folded behind him, and although the luxurious golden armor he wears has considered this, it is not very comprehensive.

The hole reserved for the wings and the position of the shoulder armor just form a sharp angle. Without having to experience it personally, Perturabo can also know how much discomfort this design has brought to his brother.

But his thoughts suddenly deviated for a moment at this moment. The sequelae left by years of war made him see like lightning something that Sanguinius would never say.

His wings were probably injured in the war and are now recovering. Otherwise, how could the archangel who had endured ten thousand years of suffering as the regent be forced to twitch his eyes by such a small pain?

If I want to fight him, I can start from here. The Lord of Steel thought calmly, and then quickly annihilated this thought in his heart with the most extreme violence, and the external manifestation was a sudden fist clenching and a suddenly gloomy face.

He could not tolerate these sudden dark thoughts, but he had no way to solve them for the time being.

He has been alienated by war. Ten thousand years of uninterrupted defensive warfare, positional warfare, and tug-of-war. This flesh and blood grinding mill has wiped out what little humanity he has left. But steel is still steel, and he can still bear the weight, but ——

"——Abo?" A woman called him worriedly.

Perturabo looked over expressionlessly, his body giving the maximum amount of tolerance one step ahead of his reason, allowing him to be approached without even noticing.

He lowered his head, and for some reason, there was anger in his heart. The woman who called him knew nothing about it, or acted like she knew nothing about it.

She held his left hand that was clenched on the table with concern, just like the games they played when they were children. She wanted to try to open his fingers, but she could only touch a frightening wave through the leather gloves. Cold arc.

The woman was stunned, and a few traces of haze flashed across her thin face, but they quickly disappeared without a trace. She raised her hand to pull up the long gray hair around her ears, and before she knew it, her face was only calm.

"It turns out those legends are true," she said. "I thought."

"Legend? What legend?"

The last tyrant of Olympia, his eldest sister smiled slightly and replied: "I heard many stories about you on the way back, Abbo."

"I won't ask who it is, but what did he tell you?" Perturabo asked nonchalantly. At the same time, he glanced briefly and saw Sanguinius staring towards here.

The latter immediately raised his glass, turned around with a smile on his face, and went to drink with Rogal Dorn and Robert Guilliman.

Stubborn is aware of this, but still accepts it. The Lord of the Ultramarines had no idea. His heart was so filled with joy that his brothers were reunited that there was no room for anything else at the moment.

"Why do you have such a tone, Abo? I didn't say anything wrong."

The Lord of Steel hummed indifferently, turned his head and looked into her eyes intently: "Go on, I'm listening."

Kalifon sighed and began to tell the so-called story she had heard.

She opened her mouth and told her first story. The protagonist is a general who and his army are in dire straits.

They had no way to retreat, no reinforcements, but a steady stream of enemies, showing no signs of diminishing. Fortunately, they have a large and very strong fortress. It can even be said that the world where this war took place is a huge fortress.

They fought with the enemy in it, with blood flowing in the oars and heads rolling, and they delayed the defeat for eleven days at the cost of their lives when they ran out of ammunition and food.

But they were defeated after all. The general was captured and watched as the enemy threw the corpses of his army into a huge furnace, made them into iron chains and pillars, tied him to them, and forced him to open his eyes to watch what happened next. thing.

What's up? Tragedy, tragedy, misfortune - the general saw his remnants of soldiers being tortured one after another, killed one after another, the corpses were twisted into shapes, and they were even eaten in groups after death.

At this moment, an evil person among the enemies came forward and laughed at him, calling him a liar, and then told the general's past failures in a tone like an old acquaintance.

It kept talking about how the general had disregarded human life in the past, being stupid and unaware of it. He also said that he has not improved at all after ten thousand years and still likes to send people to die. It also said that we gave you the opportunity, but you didn’t want it.

Callifon closed her eyes - she could say no more, but her listener remained impassive.

"Go on," Perturabo said calmly. "This is just the beginning."