40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 111 14. Red Sand ([-])

The blade swung down, the limbs were severed by Sen Han's sharpness, the skin, muscles, bones - the pain sensation was transmitted by the nerves, however, the moment before they screamed and rushed into the brain of the injured with a crazy posture, the blood flowed from the The section of the wound exploded.

Scarlet hues gushed from the veins, creating a blooming flower in the air.

Then, there was a scream.

Khalil lowered his head pensively, staring at the person who fell in the snow, and dropped the long sword in his hand that was turned from ice and snow. It fell into the snow and quickly returned to its original state. look like.

As for the man who is trying to crawl away from him.
He chuckled and shook his head, looking away from the man.

The snow-capped mountains in Nuceria are really beautiful.Sighing in this way, he raised his head and observed the mountain standing in the snow.

It is looming, charming and dangerous.This view is undoubtedly rare, and only a few brave people have dared to go so far into the snow fields of Nuceria.Even the tribes that live here are just living on the edge of the snowfield.

According to their legends, there are monsters deep in the snow field.

Have it?

Khalil didn't have an answer, but he hoped that the monster would come out of the deep snow field himself, which would save him some trouble.

He stepped forward and put his foot on the back of the man who was trying to move away from him.He exerted a little force, the muffled sound was fleeting, and the scream sounded again.

"Then, the third question." Khalil said calmly, he was still looking at the snow-capped mountains, as if talking to himself comfortably. "Where did you learn the psionic spell to control the Butcher's Nails?"

Silence, still only silence.The person being questioned screamed dully, but he just didn't speak, as if he had been deprived of his language ability.Khalil could have done it, but he didn't.

"Ah, a hard bone."

With a deep smile, Khalil slowly squatted down.He took a handful of snow and gently sprinkled it on the man's wound, causing more pain.But he still chose to remain silent, but buried his face deeply in the snow, letting the blood and pain fill the air.

Khalil shook his head regretfully.

Excessive torture doesn't make much sense in this kind of torture. Pain can make most people succumb. However, for some people, pain will only make their resistance more intense.

"I didn't want to do this at first, but you all have tampered with your brain and memory after all." Khalil said softly. "This kind of spell is really amazing, it's as delicate as a trigger bomb."

He laughed, stretched out his hand, and grabbed the man's head, with a flash of coldness in his eyes.

"However, you ignore the soul."

In the blizzard, amidst the violent screams, he said in a low voice.

At [-]:[-] in the morning, Khalil concluded his investigation.The results were not satisfactory.
-
"The Emperor?" Angron asked.

He was sitting at a long table with Robert Guilliman at the moment, eating a hearty breakfast.In the past, Robert Guilliman actually didn't have too many requirements for food on weekdays.

He likes to eat steak or some sweet fruits, and he often chews slowly, savoring every taste of the food carefully with his sensory system hundreds of times richer than ordinary people.

But this takes a lot of time.

So, in other words, during the week, Robert Guilliman ate only simple canned food.

Because of this incident, the chefs in charge of his catering had jointly complained to Tarasa Euton many times, on the grounds that Lord Macragge forced them to neglect their duties.

Thinking of this, Guilliman couldn't help showing a smile.

He took two plates of steaks that had just been served for less than 3 minutes, and placed them in front of Angron: "This is Grax steak, brother, try it—and, yes, the Emperor."

Angron frowned, a little doubt flashed in his light blue eyes: "Doesn't he have his own name?"

"Maybe there is, but we don't know."

"But you say, you are his son, don't even you know?"

"No, I don't know. But you are also his son, Angron, and there is nothing wrong with that."

Guilliman sighed regretfully, before trying to persuade his new brother.

"I know that you have already made up your mind about the candidate for your father, but there is a blood relationship between us and him. When you see him, you will understand, just like I saw you and you saw me."

"When I saw you, I thought you were a nobleman." Angron smiled and made a joke, and the harsh tone that belonged to a gladiator returned to him. "And a very large nobleman."

"But I was wearing armor and there was even blood on it."

"Do you think the nobles of Nuceria don't kill people?"

Guilliman was silent, for a moment he didn't know how to respond to this sentence.Fortunately, Angron didn't embarrass him for too long, and the gladiator laughed loudly: "No need, brother, I know you are different from them."

Robert Guilliman should have thanked the remark, but he didn't.

He looked at Angron and asked gently.

"How do you know that I am different from them? As you say, I am indeed a great nobleman, and I am proud of this status. The empire is beyond your imagination, Angron. The Emperor is its ruler, and we are his sons, which means that we also enjoy supreme power within the Empire. In this sense, you are also a nobleman."

Gladiator narrowed his eyes slowly, staring at Robert Guilliman, without saying a word for 2 minutes.His silence was appalling and heavy, but somehow Guilliman did not feel that his brother would attack him.

Angron shook his head and stood up slowly.He unbuttoned his white hospital gown, revealing his scarred body.He pointed to his waist, where there was a long scarlet rope knotted with scars.

"This is the rope of triumph," he said. "Before the fight, open a wound with a knife. If you win, let it heal itself. If you lose, put some dirt in it and make it black."

Guilliman stared at the horrible scar, raised his head, and said, "And yours are all red."

"It means I haven't lost even once." Angron replied dully.

"But it's not an honor, brother, it's proof that I lost my dignity. I accept the rope because it's a gladiator's tradition. In that environment, you have to do everything you can to make yourself To maintain our dignity, we must allow ourselves to remember who we really are, or we will really become slaves. You say I am a nobleman, will nobles do this?"

"I don't know," Guilliman said.

"You know it well." Angron stared at him and said softly.

The sequelae of the Butcher's Nails came back again at this moment, and they still replaced part of his spinal nerves and cerebral cortex.Now Angron could think, laugh, and argue with his brother, but every time he did, it hurt.

His face twitched, aching from thinking.The machine itself has lost its activity, but it is relying on some kind of curse-like inertia to punish the host for its disrespect.

The gladiator's response to this was a calm snort, he smiled, and spoke firmly with pain.

"I apologize if I offended you, brother."

"In my world, nobility is an insulting word, representing slave owners and their atrocities. But in your world, I guess it should be a word of honor. I beg your pardon, Robert. I'm an ignorant gladiator who didn't even know what the word surface meant half an hour ago."

Guilliman sighed resignedly, trying to hide the matter—his displeasure—but Angron was clearly unwilling to do so.

He has a straightforward and resolute temperament. Gladiators survive in an environment where they may die tomorrow, so naturally they will not use a roundabout way of speaking.

And this kind of directness also hit Guilliman deeply.

"I do not know how to answer you, Angron," said Lord Macragge.

"Usually, I'm a person who is good at using words to achieve my goals, but you left me speechless. Well, I was really upset before, but after that, what I said was not Totally motivated by unhappiness."

Angron raised his eyebrows, sat down, and buttoned his clothes by the way: "What do you mean?"

"The part of you that is noble," Guilliman said gravely.

"You are a Primarch, you are one of the Emperor's sons - which means that you have a certain responsibility born on your shoulders. Like me, I am the Legion Master of the Ultramarines Legion and Markkula Ruler of the grid. And you and your legions are on their way."

"Me? Legion?"

Angron laughed, as if he took Guilliman's words as a joke, but when he said these words, he kept looking into Robert Guilliman's eyes.

"Yes, your legion." Guilliman nodded slowly and earnestly, not avoiding Angron's heavy gaze.

"They are your warriors and will obey your orders. They are also your sons, for your blood flows in their bodies. They have been preparing for this since we were not separated from the Emperor. .”

"As I said, Angron, the galaxy is vast, so humanity needs to be united, and as a Primarch... we will use every means to make this happen, and that is one of our responsibilities."

Angron didn't answer, his expression gradually turned into a complex one, and for a moment Guilliman feared that he would be angry - but he didn't.

He just frowned deeply.

"I need to know more about this," said the gladiator calmly, before snapping a whole plate of Grax steak with his teeth.

　and also

　　
　
(End of this chapter)