40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 435 161. Interlude: Reinforcements

"You are really kind, Robert." Conrad Coates said.

"Don't laugh at me, Konrad." The white-haired Robert Guilliman closed his eyes and sighed. "At least not now, you can make fun of me later."

"Why do you have to pick a time?" The King of Night suddenly smiled. “There’s a line between ridicule and sarcasm, and, essentially, there’s a difference.”

"I did make some mean jokes in the past, but I never really let the ridicule and sarcasm turn into something that would make you angry."

"Besides, Robert, if I really wanted to do this to you, I could do it anytime. But right now, I'm not letting this side of my nature come out to cause trouble."

He looked at his brother, his eyes straight and sharp, like two sharp blades. It deeply stung the face of the leader of the Thirteenth Legion, forcing him to open his eyes, showing an expression of helplessness and wanting to laugh.

It was not until this moment that Conrad Coates withdrew his gaze with satisfaction.

".So, what are you doing now?" Guilliman asked meaningfully.

"I'm concerned about you," Conrad Coates replied softly. "I wanted to know if you were okay, Robert."

Guilliman did not answer this, not because he did not want to, but because he could not.

His rock-solid psychological defense seemed to be shaken to a certain extent by these sudden words. Or maybe it’s because of what Conrad Coates said before.

Although the tone was frivolous, and although it seemed more like a joke than true feelings, at this moment, the face of the Lord of the Thirteenth Legion did look soft and sad.

Although it only lasted less than half a second, for the other people present, this half second was enough for them to completely record what they saw.

But they also said nothing.

"Robert?" So the King of Night continued to ask. "How are you?"

Guilliman took a deep breath and his expression returned to calm.

At this moment, his face under the white hair showed a kind of fatigue that was beyond the scope of ordinary people's understanding. The light fell straight down, and the hair that had become broken hair naturally slid down, bringing a wave of exhaustion. Dejection.

"I am very well," Robert Guilliman said slowly.

His tone sounded extremely calm and rational, and it was completely impossible to tell that he had just ordered not long ago to shatter his hometown and turn it into swirling dust in the universe.

His words certainly don't have much credibility, but look at the others around this round table.

Perturabo, Angron, Corus Corax, Vulkan, Konrad Curze. Each of them had experienced one or more nightmares, and as such, they understood that Guilliman's What is hidden beneath those few words.

There was a moment of silence.

"We were led here." Perturabo said coldly, taking the initiative to break the silence. The Lord of Steel seems to have changed little compared to before, whether it is his appearance or the tone of his voice.

"What do you mean by this, brother?" Vulcan asked immediately.

The Fire Dragon Lord didn't really want to know the answer to this question. Some things had answers as early as his last resurrection. The rituals of the Night Blades go far beyond the scope of so-called 'spells'. They appear to be exorcisms, but in fact they take his consciousness on a tour of the subspace.

Vulkan saw a lot and knew a lot, but he remained the same. His questioning at this moment was just to liven up the atmosphere.

"Can't you see, Vulkan?"

Perturabo frowned and in his usual tone did one of the things he would never do in the past - he actually started to explain to his brothers.

"Have two fleets converged in the subspace in the past? Not to mention that we are three. Also, the places where we each chose to jump into Mandeville Point are thousands of miles away from each other."

"Even if everything in the subspace can be explained by the riddle-like word 'God's will', we cannot simply attribute this unprecedented and probably unprecedented event to the so-called coincidence. It must be There is someone guiding us from behind.”

"Father," Guilliman answered. "There will be no one else but him."

Perturabo glanced at him and said, "Your tone sounds like you want to describe him as an omnipotent god."

"That's not what I meant."

"But that's what it sounds like," Perturabo repeated slowly.

His attitude was quite cold, so a certain black-haired giant at the other end of the long table made his voice heard.

Before that, he sat quietly in his seat, his back pressed against the back of the marble chair, his hands on his thighs, his sharp gauntlets and strong leg armor rubbing against each other, making a small and monotonous sound.

Since the beginning of the meeting, this is the first time that he has really made his voice heard. Before that, he was like a non-existent ghost.

"He did not mean it, Perturabo," said Corvus Corax.

"He has his own mouth." The Lord of Steel sneered. "And he clearly doesn't need your help, Raven."

"It doesn't matter what you say."

"Really? That's fine, but Roboute Guilliman is far from being fragile enough to be knocked down by a sentence or two. He is much tougher than the so-called political leader you used to know. So you'd better Don’t speak to me in this tone again. He has not been wronged in any way.”

"You have anger inside of you" Corax nodded quietly. "Therefore, I forgive your temper."

He deliberately emphasized the pronunciation of the word "therefore".

Robert Guilliman sighed, he raised his hands, and the armor began to exert force, so that his fingers carried a force that was enough to crush steel and placed it on both ends of his temples.

He began to knead that important weakness, and immediately stopped Perturabo's next sentence with a loud voice: "I think we'd better get to the point as soon as possible -"

He turned to look at the other person who had never spoken.

"——Angron?" Guilliman coughed. "What do you think about the return and support plans?"

Little by little the son of the mountains from Nuceria raised his head.

His face was still hidden in the shadows, and the lights above the Primarchs did not shine on him. Perhaps he was avoiding it deliberately, but no matter what, Angron still stayed in the darkness.

Of course, this did not prevent his brothers from observing his face at this moment, so their expressions quickly changed.

"I have no objection," Angron said hoarsely. "I don't care about tactical arrangements or anything else. I only have one request. I hope you will allow me and my legion to be the vanguard."

"No way," Perturabo said firmly. "The current situation in the solar system must be extremely bad, and if the prediction provided by Conrad is true-"

He raised his hand and pointed at the King of Night, who stood up grandly and bowed to everyone.

"——Then, Terra may have also fallen into the sea of ​​fire. No offense, Angron, you and your legion are first-class warriors, but if we want to win, we must let my legion take the responsibility. This responsibility.”

"Why?" Angron asked simply and calmly.

"Because it is Rogal Dorn and his sons who are stationed in the solar system." Perturabo replied coldly. "Only my legion and I can tell at a glance where they have laid traps and where they have left back-ups."

"Let's not argue in these too specific places." Vulkan said with a headache. "For now, the situation in the solar system is still unknown, and we should set our sights on a more realistic place."

"For example?" Guilliman asked.

He wouldn't say it outright, but he was really glad Vulkan brought it up.

"For example, what exactly is the dimness and instability of the Star Torch's light?" Corvus Corax said pointedly. "It's about whether we can leave the warp safely."

His words immediately directed the Primarchs' attention in a completely new direction - in recent days, the Navigators had not been very satisfactory at their jobs and had submitted many disturbing documents. Report.

In both reports and dictations, they mentioned one word multiple times.

combustion.

This word seems to have some kind of magic power and is mentioned invariably in many sentences by different people. Some said Terra was burning, some said everything in front of them was burning, and some even shouted indiscriminately on the bridge that the Star Torch was burning. This is of course nonsense, and it goes against common sense. The star torch is 'burning', otherwise where would the light come from?

However, ever since the Emperor built the Star Torch and the Navigator families were given special permission to enjoy privileges within the Imperium, countless Navigators have experienced hallucinations due to the horrific sights in the Warp.

Their mental state is cause for concern, which is certainly not a surprising issue, but this is the first time such a large-scale common 'madness' phenomenon has occurred.

Not to mention that the psykers are helpless about this. Neither the think tank that was once abandoned but has now been rehired, nor the so-called 'expert consultation' from the Night Blade Third Company have been able to solve this problem. draw any useful conclusions.

Under such circumstances, whether one can safely leave the subspace has become a matter of concern. As for whether it is possible to reach Terra along the route, it was ignored intentionally or unintentionally.

"This is indeed a serious question," Robert Guilliman said seriously. "But I think-"

He couldn't finish the sentence or even continue.

His words were interrupted by a supernatural, distorted noise, followed by a violent jolt.

The lights suddenly went out at a certain moment, and the pressure gauge on the wall shattered in an instant. Every readable reading fell into a terrifying rise and fall, as if it was experiencing a muscle spasm.

The keen senses of the original bodies began to be challenged together. In just this moment, tens of millions of different sounds poured into their minds.

These sounds were indistinguishable and should have been just noise, ignored for that terrifying moment. But they were Primarchs after all, and they heard every word clearly, every death cry, war cry, and roar.

The lights slowly turned on.

Perturabo silently wiped away the blood flowing from his nose, strode out of his seat, and rushed to Angron to save him from the terrible trembling.

The son of the mountains closed his eyes tightly, and before he could express his gratitude, he let out a low growl from his throat. He lunged towards the long table, his eyes wide open and his left hand stretched straight out. He grabbed a scepter and forced an old man standing in the middle of the round table to take half a step back.

But the man also took a few steps back due to Angron's huge strength, and two slender arms covered in blue-gold armor caught him firmly.

Conrad Curze greeted softly: "Hello, Malcador."

A huge discussion broke out around the round table.

"For the time being-" the palm-printer sighed. "——Quiet for a moment, heroes. And you, Lord Angron, could you please return my scepter, okay?"

The Lord of War Dogs lowered his head in confusion, waved the scepter with his left hand, then walked over and handed it back to the bearer.

"We are not heroes." Vulcan replied with a wry smile. This sour and self-deprecating smile is now gradually becoming one of his common expressions. "But how did you get here, Malcador?"

"Without Father's will, the one holding the seal will not do anything without permission." Corax said quietly and calmly. "Then, there seems to be a reasonable explanation for those visions and our inexplicable collision in the subspace?"

He looked at Perturabo, and the Iron Lord made an indifferent gesture of surrender, and then looked at Robert Guilliman.

"It seems that your suspicion has come true, Robert." Perturabo said. "I didn't know for a moment whether I should blame you first or be surprised by this first."

Robert Guilliman didn't answer, just sighed.

The seal bearer ignored their words, just took the scepter from Angron, and then slowly floated down the long table.

He had just been pushed back physically by the power of the Lord of War Dogs, but now he was acting like a real ghost. The edge of the black robe is even dancing in a supernatural way, which is quite arousing to people's nerves and ability to accept.

But Kurtz stood beside him with his hands behind his back, tilting his head and looking at him with interest.

"What's the matter, Lord of Blades?" Macado asked without raising his head.

"It seems that we should ask you this question." Coz replied with a smile. "The real Markbearer himself appeared on Macragge's Glory - in the center of our combined fleet. How did you get in, Malcador?"

The palmer looked up at him, and a burst of bright golden light suddenly burst out from his eyes. He didn't say much, didn't need to say much more, and on some level, that was the answer.

Robert Guilliman's expression became more complicated.

"Imperial Truth—ha." Curze nodded at him, smiling again. "You're definitely going to be writing a new book on this after today, man."

"More than that." Corax took over. "At least three."

"I'll bet four," Vulcan said.

"Six books." Perturabo spoke.

"Don't write a single book, Robert, give these people some color." The one-armed Nucerian grinned and tugged on his collar. "They've gone too far, don't you think?"

Roboute Guilliman looked around, scanning each of his brothers with a calm eye, and then he said, "No, I'm going to write ten."

"I'm glad to see you still have a sense of humor in such a situation." The scepter touched the ground twice with his scepter, and then spoke slowly. "It means that even though you have been through hardships, you still haven't lost those precious qualities, which is good."

"Are you here to preach, old man?" Conrad Coates asked.

The palmer looked up at him again, and this time, his silence was longer than before. He and the King of Night looked at each other, and the two began a terrible wrestling in silence.

They held sharp knives in each other's hands, inserted them deeply into each other's hearts, and began to dig out the bloody truth. They will never give up until they get what they want. This terrible confrontation of wills lasted for several minutes before it came to an end.

Conrad Coates took a long breath of cold air, took a few steps back, and sat back in his seat. He lowered his head, bent over, put his hands on his knees, and his scarlet cloak hung down to his ankles.

".He still did it, right?" he asked.

"Which one are you asking?" the palm-printer asked with a strange smile.

The Primarchs looked at each other at this statement, and after a few seconds, one of them laughed heartily. Conrad Coates also straightened up, leaned back in his chair and smiled silently.

"Anyway, I'm just a messenger."

After the laughter ended, the palm-printer rearranged his face, put on a serious expression, and spoke like this.

"I will tell you everything and I will do my duty."

"Your duty?" Perturabo asked with a frown. "Rather than your responsibilities, I want to know-"

"—I will tell you, Perturabo, I will tell you everything." Malcador interrupted him calmly. "But before that, I hope you can always maintain your sense of humor that makes you laugh even in the face of adversity."

"No one on Terra has this quality anymore."

The scepter was raised and lowered again, bursting out with a burst of dazzling golden light.
-

Conrad Coates stepped out of the shadows.

He came to a room, a room on the Night Veil that had been sealed for a period of time. The interior decoration was as usual without any change.

The files and data pads were still placed in the place where they had been placed when the owner of the room left. Three chairs of different sizes were placed in the corner of the room, arranged safely one after another.

A chair that was larger than any of them was placed behind the table. There was a letter directly in front of it, which was pressed under a heavy pen. The envelope was pure white, obviously specially found letter paper.

The lightning patterns on the long fine gold table were flickering on and off, but he was still breathing calmly. Conrad Coates read the letter for a while, but did not choose to open it. He walked to the corner of the room, took out the original-size chair, and placed it across from the table.

Then, from his arms, he took out a skull mask.

He slowly put it on.

"So this is how it feels." The Lord of Blades said. "I kind of understand."

He pulled out the chair, sat down slowly, and began to read the letter. Outside the porthole, the storm in subspace roared endlessly.

　Update completed, this chapter is 5k2, I owe 800, I will pay it back tomorrow.

　　

　

(End of this chapter)