Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

A pungent stench filled the interior of the factory, the smell of the demons' etheric flesh being burned. The nuns patrolled the hallways vigilantly in groups of three. Under Steve's leadership, they fought off waves of demons. Then just wait for support to arrive.

Loken walked weakly, refusing the nuns' support and offers to rest him a little longer. He needed to know the identity of the man—with that being said, he could only walk at a slower pace for the Astartes right now. The injury that that thing left him was so terrifying that the poison almost killed him.

Five minutes later, he came to one of the factory's exits, stomping on the cheap, creaky metal floors. The man was standing there, and Loken could only see half of his resolute profile.

"Oh, here you are."

Noticing his arrival, the man turned his head and smiled. He stretched out his left hand, and Loken looked at him in confusion: "...Sir?"

"It's called a handshake. You just need to stretch out your right hand. In my day, this is the most common etiquette." The man explained with a nostalgic smile, and Loken did as he was told. At the same time, he also captured a key message in the man's words.

my time. He kept these four words firmly in his heart, feeling as if he had grasped something.

After the simple ceremony, the man introduced himself to him: "My name is Steve Rogers, soldier, how about you?"

"Gavill Loken. Your lord, you—"

Steve interrupted what he was about to say: "—don't worry about it too much, soldier. We're all just doing our jobs, doing our jobs, and don't need to know too much. What do you think?"

Looking at his blue eyes, Loken nodded. This is very good, the other party doesn't want to tell him which legion he belongs to, which saves him from telling his legion...the former legion.

"So, soldier, what is your mission?" Steve asked.

"Support the battle nuns while keeping the power plant from being overrun by demons."

Steve nodded thoughtfully. I don't know if it was his own illusion, but Loken felt that for a moment, his eyes turned pure golden.

"So," Steve said softly. "Who gave you the task?"

"...a nun."

Loken didn't know whether the other party would believe his words, but he could only choose to be honest, and there was no other way. In wartime, the identities of allies who come to support are usually identified as identification codes, but this adult did not do so. He didn't know the reason, but he just answered right.

"She borrowed the body of a dying apprentice combat nun to convey her mission to me...but I'm pretty sure it was a living saint."

Steve stared at him, a golden light flashing again in his eyes. This time, Loken saw clearly. He also heard Steve's whisper: "So...it's his strength."

Loken remained silent, he didn't think it was something he should be involved in, and he didn't think he should ask. Steve didn't mean to explain it to him, he just glanced at Loken's empty left arm, and suddenly a strange smile appeared on his face. Loken felt that he saw nostalgia in it.

"Does the wound still hurt?" Steve asked.

"A little, but not in the way. I can fight at any time, my lord."

"The battles can be put aside for a while, they won't come back in a short time.

"Steve said very firmly. "But your arm problem needs to be solved immediately, you can't go to the battlefield in this state. Tell me, is the left hand your dominant hand? "

"I can wield a sword in both hands, my lord."

"Then, be patient for a while."

The voice fell, and Steve raised his right hand. The golden brilliance actually emerged from Loken's body, and the beautiful and shocking brilliance was as fascinating as the fragments of starlight. Loken stared at them tightly, his whole body tense, he didn't know what was going on, and he even let his breathing down, obviously he had realized something.

The brilliance gathered in Steve's hands and condensed into an arm little by little. The temperature of the starlight rose suddenly after this, almost becoming the sun. The heat wave hit his face, and Loken actually began to feel a burst of heart palpitations.

In this trance, he heard Steve's voice: "I know how frustrating a warrior can be when he faces an enemy he can't hit and hurt. Like the demon you face. Many times , mortals just lack a means of directly inflicting harm on them."

He let go of his hand, and the illusory but solid golden arm began to tremble and rose into the air. The next second, Loken's body seemed to be violently hit by a beast. He bent down suddenly and stared at his left arm with wide eyes. There was severe pain, and sweat poured out immediately, rolled down his face, and evaporated before landing in the heat.

Astartes are extremely resistant to pain, but that doesn't mean they can't feel pain. Loken let out a suppressed howl from his throat, he couldn't help himself, and fell to his knees. The original idea of ​​trying to maintain his demeanor in front of this lord failed, and Gein's new left arm was burning his soul without interruption.

Loken didn't know if it was his hallucination - he felt a fire burning inside him, scorching his bones and internal organs. The hallucination was so real that he even heard crackling sounds and smelled the special smell of burning flesh.

It didn't take long before he calmed down. Breathing heavily, the pain subsided, replaced by incomparable firmness. He stared at his left hand, which was burning with flames.

"Now, you have the power to hurt them, soldier."

Steve smiled and reached out a hand to pull Loken off the ground.

-------------------------------------

"His Royal Highness, we have a witness report from the Bridge of the Martyrs, who witnessed the appearance of a living saint."

"Living saint?"

Guilliman looked up from the sand table, freeing his mind from the constant war games. He frowned, and the Primarch's face turned haggard: "Are you sure about the identity of the other party?"

"According to the eyewitness report, He borrowed the body of a trainee battle nun with wings on his back. St. Celestine fits this description. But she usually does not choose to borrow the bodies of nuns."

Not quite like her, but can't totally deny it either...

Guilliman squinted and thought to himself that he had dealt with the living saint. Saint Celestine was present when he was resurrected. As for where she is now, even Guilliman has no way of knowing. After all, the living saint obeys only one person, and that person obviously has his own plans for everything.

Guilliman stood up and began to pace around his study. Hundreds of different conjectures began to boil in his mind, making the primarch's complexion even worse again.

The war game is too laborious, and he has to take into account the mobilization of troops throughout Terra and the placement of civilians. He even had to deal with the bureaucrats who were arguing with each other at this time. The corrupt and huge bureaucracy of the empire finally showed its shortcomings at this time, but Guilliman had no idea of ​​reform.

At least not now.

He sighed and began to worry about why he couldn't directly ask the man who made all the plans behind the scenes - his father, the Lord of Humanity.

"You just won't make it clear, do you?" Guilliman murmured, apparently startling the War Department official with whom he had been communicating. The other party, like him, hadn't slept for a few days. Hearing this sentence, he was terrified and jumped up on the screen.

"His Royal Highness, why did you say this?!" the official asked, trembling.

"...No, I'm not talking to you. You're doing a great job, the Dosiris. Go and give yourself some rest, you look like a scarecrow who's going to be blown away by the wind. fell to the ground."

Guilliman looked at his face, and the officer sat sallowly in his chair, even his shoulders slackened. There are tubes and tubes of potions on hand, and it is all these things that he can persevere. You know, these days, all of Guilliman's orders are issued through him, and the intensity can be imagined.

"No, Your Highness, I can still hold on."

He clearly wanted to hold on, but Guilliman sternly refused him: "Look at yourself! Doing your best for the Empire doesn't mean wasting your life on pointless persistence! It's an order, go and rest, From the Dosiris family, let another person connect with me, understand?"

"Okay, Your Highness."

The officer stood up and left, and within a few minutes, a young man rushed over to take his place in the chair. He was wearing a neat military uniform, which Guilliman could have foreseen would become messy before long.

"Your Highness! Salute to you, I am—"

"—don't tell me who you are, I know who you are. The youngest son of the Marciss, isn't he?"

The young man was clearly stunned, and he nodded after a while: "Yes, yes, Your Highness."

Guilliman glanced down at the countdown beside the sand table. There were forty-six hours and fifty-seven minutes before the promised support arrived. He didn't know how long they could hold on, but just now, he received a report. The Ultramarines suffered heavy casualties, especially the 2nd Company, and Cato Sicarius was even unconscious.

At the time, the 1st Company had just concluded their mission to support the Imperial Fist Astartes. Marius chose to reunite with Sicarius, and then entered the hive again. Not long after they reunited they ran into a goddamn Khorne Warlord in a head-on battle... that kind of stuff usually used to fight titans.

His heirs had triumphed and made him proud. But it also made him feel uncontrollable sadness. Sitting in this small study, he wanted to join the ground battle more than once, but he had to reject himself again and again because of the constraints imposed by his duties.

"Come on..." Guilliman sighed.