40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 139 1. The Emperor and His Sons ([-])

From a long time ago, Van Cleef understood one thing - killing with your own hands is always a hundred times more difficult than pulling the trigger.

The latter does not require any psychological construction and preparation, it only needs to be abruptly or forcefully pulled the trigger, and a child can also use a gun to kill mercilessly.

Killing someone with your own hands is another matter entirely.

Whether you choose to strangle the victim with your hands, or stab the victim's vitals with a blade, you will inevitably feel the struggle of the dying person, every tremor and every gasp hidden in the other person. plea.

However, this is limited to the first kill.As soon as you start on this path, the feeling of the dead becomes more and more a feeling of nothingness.No mercy, no words, no need to do anything but kill.

That's our job.Van Cleef thought, leaning against the cold wall of the training ground.

We are the killing blades, the final punishment for sinners, the shadows they see before they die, we are—

"—I, Siani from Terra will fight you!"

"."

Van Cleef covered his forehead with a headache and sighed silently.Ciani's voice echoed endlessly in the training ground of the Eighth Army. He was staring at Richtner of the Eighth Company with a provocative face.

"I only spar with those who use swords." Richter replied lightly. "And you obviously don't use a sword, Ciani, your favorite tactic is to jump between your enemies and tear them to pieces with power claws."

"A good move is one that can kill the enemy."

"But if you fight like a beast, no matter how good the trick is, it doesn't mean much."

"Between life and death, do you still care about manners?"

"No, but my swordsmanship is like this. I like to delve into the angle, strength, and even speed of swinging the sword. I need to ensure that each of my swords can cause damage to the enemy. Therefore, I will only practice against the instructor in the future. .”

Ciani sneered: "It's as if you can beat him once."

Richter glanced at him and smiled suddenly: "Actually, I did win once."

".what?"

"I beat the instructor once." Richter said, but he didn't look very proud when he said this.Van Cleef glanced at him, and with just one glance, he vaguely realized the truth of the matter.The company commander nodded secretly.

That's what their instructors would do.

"How is it possible?!" Siani yelled unacceptably. "I thought I was the first to receive this honor!"

"Unfortunately, you came back too late." Richter smiled slightly. "And I have many witnesses who can testify to me."

".never mind."

Siani from Terra sighed, loss flashed on his face, but it didn't last long, and he quickly laughed and patted Richter on the shoulder, like everyone else.

"Well done, Richtner," Ciani said heartily. "We are finally getting closer to the instructor. Although the distance is likely to be shortened by his own step, it is still an improvement."

"Yes." Richter agreed softly and nodded.

Van Cleef saw all this, and felt a subtle change was being born within the Legion and change them all.

In the old days, the Emperor's Inquisitors were ruthless and few-spoken, and not even Cyani was so vibrant.The Nightfall was forever silent and dark, corridors and pipes in disrepair everywhere, and dust encroaching on them wantonly, making the ship almost no different from a graveyard.

And all of this changed dramatically after the return of the original body.

The dust was swept away, the broken pipes were recast, and a different atmosphere began to spread in the dissipating mist. Everyone in the Eighth Legion could sense this change, but not everyone could adapt to it. , however, Van Cleef is sure of one thing.

All welcome its arrival.

He gave a rare smile, turned around, and left the training ground through the newly added second exit.

He returned to the station, changed into his only decent set of clothes, and then went straight to the office of the regiment instructor.

It's on the lower deck, and the door is completely dark, which means it used to be an old warehouse.It was transformed into his office and room at Khalil's request. Although the Eighth Legion had many opinions on this, they had nothing to do with his decision.

When he came to the door, he didn't knock, but went straight in - he was used to some of the habits of their instructors, such as not having to knock.

The interior decoration of the office is actually not simple, with eight company flags hanging on the iron-gray walls, these flags were specially requested by Kalil.Apart from them, there were only three chairs of different sizes and an iron table left in his office.

Chairs, ranging from mortal to primarch-sized, were set against an unassuming corner, comfortable-looking black armchairs with gleaming gold edges.As for the table, it looked much weirder.

It was a heavy iron table completely welded to the ground, with lightning-like patterns shining on its surface.They flickered as if they were breathing, quietly surging under the iron-blue surface, on which the documents were spread out, and a pale giant sat behind them, quietly correcting the documents.

"Instructor."

The door closed, and Van Cleef greeted quietly.

"Ah, Van Cleef. What's the matter?" Khalil raised his head and asked. "Did you come to ask me to go to the training ground? Unfortunately, I'm afraid I will be absent today."

"Not only that, but you will be absent from work today?"

Khalil smiled silently: "Yeah, if you want to know the reason, I can reveal it in advance. How, do you want to know?"

Van Cleef frowned. His serious character made him instinctively not want to make such guesses, but he did want to know the reason.

"I want to know." The captain nodded solemnly. "After all, this is the first time that you can be absent from the training ground."

Khalil turned his head and looked at the porthole of his office—the porthole on the lower deck is made of thick six-layer glass, which does not have the ability to allow the viewer to see the starry sky clearly.However, he doesn't actually need to see the starry sky.

That golden brilliance is too conspicuous.

After a while, he shook his head regretfully: "It seems that I don't need to talk about Van Cleef anymore?"

The first company commander stared out of the window blankly, but did not answer his words.

"Huh Van Cleef?"

"—Ah! Yes. I am!"

"Looks like you know what that is." Khalil smiled. "Then, get ready, Van Cleef."

The pale giant stood up slowly and straightened his collar.It wasn't until this time that Van Cleef realized that their instructor was dressed very formally today.

"After all, this is the Emperor himself," he said softly.
-
Conrad Curz felt nervous for no reason—he shouldn't, after all, this wasn't the first time he'd seen his father.

But he just can't help feeling it.

It spread from the tips of his fingers to his back, making him feel a constant complication.However, his brothers seem to be more nervous than him.At least, Conrad Koz can maintain a superficial calm.

Robert Guilliman was different.

His ceremonial armor is ornate and intricate, with many emblems displayed on the breastplate and shoulder plate, and the honors of the Ultramarines in the past are displayed on this armor, making it look shining.He was not wearing a helmet, and the crown of laurels that appeared between his short blond hair and a resolute, full forehead gave him a palpable divinity.

But in those eyes that belonged to the blue lake like the azure lake, there was no wisdom that belonged to the politicians in the past, only a kind of tension that was extremely rare for the Lord Macragge.

As for Angron.
The Nucerians, like the Lord of the Eighth Legion, lacked the ornate armor of Robert Guilliman, yet they wore the most stately clothing they now possessed.

This contrast made Guilliman look very embarrassed, and his embarrassment caused Curze to chuckle quietly. Angron caught the smile, and he nudged Curze silently with his elbow, facing him. Looking at each other, the two looked at each other and smiled, without saying a word.

"...cough." Half a minute later, Robert Guilliman started their conversation with this awkward cough. "I'm sorry, guys."

"Why do you apologize?" Conrad Koz asked quietly, still remaining calm and not letting his own emotions leak out. "Why did the shining Lord of Macragge apologize to us?"

Guilliman's face flushed quickly, and Angron cast a disapproving look at Curze, but he couldn't hold back his smile.His laughter was so obvious that Guilliman's expression turned into disbelief.However, Angron soon stopped laughing.

"Yeah." He turned his head to the side, and covered up the fact that he had laughed with deep moaning. "Conrad, what you just said, was that a sarcasm?"

"I don't think so," Curz said lightly. "I'm just stating a fact."

"All right!"

Guilliman finally realized what kind of tricks they were playing, and Lord Macragge was not angry, but laughed instead. There was helplessness and rare sincerity in this smile.

The tense atmosphere was thus diluted.

Guilliman spread his hands and shook his head: "But, to be honest, this armor is not comfortable. There is no power system in it. I have to move it by myself and maintain my posture."

"It's so gorgeous, what more do you want?" Curz asked.

"I asked it to look like a real piece of armor." Guilliman sighed. "It was a 'surprise' for me by the artisans of Macragge and my Chapter Masters in conjunction. Frankly speaking, I wasn't really happy when I received it. But I couldn't help but Take it, because it will make them sad."

"Don't you think it's bad?" Angron asked.

"No, it's fine, it's just not to my liking," Guilliman said. "I think I'll make some of my own changes to it later, like adding servos."

"You still understand this?" Curz raised his eyebrows.

"There are many books in Macragge, of all kinds, and I read them whenever I have spare time. Books are memories that don't die, and it's always good for us to read the memories of others. "

"When you said that, you sounded like a guy with some terrible fetish." Angron commented unceremoniously. "However, reading does relax me."

Guilliman nodded, looking quickly over the nails on his forehead - he made up his mind that he was going to bring something up to their father during this meeting.

Guilliman believed his request was absolutely legitimate and reasonable. How could a father prefer to see his son suffer?
but
"This meeting is too abrupt." Robert Guilliman said. "The astropath on the Glory of Macragge received no orders before his arrival, and after he arrived, he only informed us through the ship's communication that there was no need for a military parade."

"Is that weird?" Conrad Coates asked.

Guilliman nodded, his thinking continued: "It's a little strange, he would ask for these things in the past. I heard from Leon and Horus that he would review every unit of their legion with satisfaction."

"Maybe it's because they like it." Angron said calmly, the expressions of the Nucerians were very intriguing at the moment. "And he's just doing what he likes."

"...This is a direction I haven't thought about." Guilliman nodded slightly blankly. "But it seems reasonable. Conrad, what about you? What do you think?"

I?
The Lord of the Eighth Legion smiled silently: "I don't have a special opinion of him. He is the emperor, my father, and the ruler of the empire. But I actually don't know what kind of person he is."

"But haven't you seen him?" Guilliman asked in surprise.

"I have, but that doesn't mean I know him better than you." Conrad Koz replied quietly. "Hopefully this time it will be different."

He shook his head and said nothing more.The three Primarchs waited quietly on the boarding deck of the Glory of Macragge. The Emperor did not seem to want this meeting on his ship, and the Glory of Macragge became the only one. choose.

The current banquet hall of the Resolute is still dilapidated, not to mention the Nightfall, only the banquet hall of the Glory of Macragge can take on this important task.

However, although the Emperor did not call for a parade, the Eighth Legion and the Warhounds each sent a thousand-man squadron aboard the flagship of the Ultramarines, seeking to display themselves for the Emperor at his whim.

These warriors were no doubt proud, but all waited with anticipation and nervousness, just like their Primarch.

——If it is hard to calculate, maybe only one person will not be nervous.

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(End of this chapter)