40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 466 187. Terra (Forty-five, King of the Night, Battle of Constantine Valdo)

Memory is combined with sounds, smells and images. When a musician hears a piece of music, he will definitely think of the afternoon when he first practiced it, and a painter will probably remember himself when he hears a specious comment. the first commenter.

Whether these things are good or bad, whether people are willing to admit it or not, they have always existed and will always exist until the carrier that holds this memory loses its activity, falls in a pool of blood, or dies.

For Conrad Coates, every time he swung his knife, he remembered one sentence.

"The hand holding the knife must be tight. You must swing the knife quickly, stab it into the heart quickly, cut off the blood vessels, and stab the vital points. The human body will inevitably feel pain when facing the damage caused by the sharp blade."

"Therefore, this is a necessary kindness, not to your enemies, but to yourself. If you don't always maintain the last bit of due mercy, you will become a monster. Don't you understand? It doesn't matter, Conrad , you will understand later."

I do understand now.

The King of Night stormed past with no expression on his face.

The eerie and stinking darkness pulled at his side, coming from the abyss and nightmares, but very familiar to him. Every voice was whispering to him, their words full of respect. Some skinny skeletal hands stretched out from under his feet, holding a crown as bright as the moonlight, trying to put it on him.

Curze kicked it away without even looking at it. Of course, this was not the first time he had done this. The Bone Hands were not frustrated or angry, they just picked it back and waited for his next arrival.

He quickly rushed out of the darkness.

The vast sky changed color in horror at this moment, and the blood color belonging to those who died in vain pierced the dark clouds, appearing quietly as if to celebrate his arrival. The violent air flow blew past, howling like a storm and blowing through every gap in his armor. The scarlet cloak fluttered and danced violently in the wind.

The Night King was in the eye of the storm, but he felt calmer than ever before.

What a grand welcome ceremony. he thinks.

The battlefield at this moment was in chaos, and no one noticed the strange phenomenon here. When both feet are stuck in mud and blood, there won't be much left to look at the sky.

Curze took a few steps forward and reached the edge of the mountain of corpses. He looked around and happened to see a group of cold gray steel and bright yellow rocks, as well as a relatively small number of other 'Imperial Fists'.

They were fighting in the trenches, struggling to support each other. The two were rubbing against each other, and the sparks that burst out had already turned into raging fire, but they had little impact on the current situation.

Their numbers are too small - at least, compared to the rebels, whose numbers are not normal.

Cozz looked at this scene thoughtfully, knowing in his heart that he was walking back again.

And if his memory is correct, then this is already the 423rd time.

Every time he tries to find the wandering god, he will be passively sent to other places by his power, to places that have been completely saturated with the spiral of hatred.

The King of Night understood that this was an urging. The god is urging his favored stranger, a complete stranger, to come and accomplish more vengeance for him—not to come looking for him, because he has no desire or emotion to see him.

The god of vengeance treats everyone equally, is absolutely fair, and is completely ruthless.

Conrad Coates laughed silently—Oh, dear God. Do you know that you are actually a stupid god?

You are stumbling over your power, eager to create more hatred, completely ignoring your real target laughing wildly in the dark. It doesn't even need to hide from you, it only needs a few simple deceptions and specious rituals. Able to deceive, you roam Terra.

Sighing, Coze closed his eyes, and the black snow drifted down and slowly melted on the shoulder armor. He counted silently for five seconds and opened his eyes. At this time, there was no extra emotion left in the dark eyes belonging to the King of Night, only a coldness that belonged exclusively to the killer.

Complete the mission, kill the target, commit murder, that's it.

The blade needs no emotion.

He opened his hands and jumped down from the mountain of corpses. The strong wind blew his black hair across his forehead. His expression was extremely indifferent. A second later, he landed on the ground, and the short knife in his right hand was stained with blood.

It is not the one that has been with him for the longest time. It is just a sophisticated power weapon that was built according to his requirements. It is more than enough for killing.

He rushed towards the group of enemies who were as scarlet as blood, and the blade sliced ​​through them, completely cutting open the flesh wrapped in ceramic steel.

He deliberately slowed down his killing spree, and the traitors soon discovered his presence. Then, these so-called Word Bearers began to shout his name loudly - Lord of Blades, Lord of the Night, Ghost of Nostramo

They worshiped him, not hated him.

Time is enough to change many things, isn't it, Father? Curze scoffed harshly.

+Yes+

Curze narrowed his eyes and let the golden light dissipate from his eyes.

He tilted his head slightly and waved his left hand. Bones shattered, blood spurted out, and the simplest and most direct violence cruelly revealed its claws. A traitor wearing a uniform unlike any of the Auxiliaries today fell to the ground, his eyes and lower half of his face completely torn open by Curze.

As he passed by, the killer looked at him deliberately.

Another best evidence of time confusion, he thought, how many years did this war last?

+This is not a war, Conrad, the war will end. +

God, you sound so pessimistic. Like him, were both my fathers the greatest pessimists in the world?

+I'm actually very optimistic. +

The King of Night suddenly laughed loudly, and the laughter echoed sharply in the enemy formation. A ball of pulsing blue flames came towards him, making a shriller cry. Curze crushed it into pieces without looking back, and then rushed towards the next target.

It was a Word Bearer priest wrapped in human skin, and the initiator who summoned the blue fire. His armor was densely covered with human skin, and was deliberately dyed scarlet by fuel.

Just looking at him, Curze felt like his eyes were burning to the point of pain - please, at least get some serious power armor, right? Is this how you treat possible machine spirits?

The King of Night suddenly stopped walking, stood in the steaming corpse and grinned at him, gracefully raised the blade of his right hand, rotated it in a circle, and changed it to an upright grip.

The Word Bearer's expression quickly began to distort.

He was not wearing a helmet, and his overly pale face was covered with black scriptures. He is indeed Luo Jia's son. If you ignore the sunken cheeks and sickly eyes, he looks at least seventy-nine similar to Luo Jia.

Curze then cut him in half.

In his screams, the Night King dragged his remains and ran towards a flaming tank.

This vehicle, which seemed to come from hell, made a violent noise, like a roar, and a huge plume of smoke erupted from between the orange-lighting tracks. A dozen thick laser beams burst out from its muzzle, but none of them hit.

Curze smiled and stuffed the priest's body between the tracks, and ducked away. A ball of fire caused by the explosion completely overturned this huge thing, and the crew who had long been integrated with the tank let out a dull wail inside, trying to leave from inside.

So, the kind-hearted King of the Night cut open the fleshy armor side panel with a knife and dragged them out one by one.

However, these people did not show any gratitude for his kindness. To show his dissatisfaction, Curze left exquisite Imperial Sky Eagles on their foreheads and comically tied them with a long The eight-pointed star flagpole is strung continuously.

The flag made of baby skin is flying, but the eight-pointed star of chaos on it has been completely destroyed. The wound looked like a vertical blade dripping blood.

Waving this flag, amid the violent screams of the traitors as they were carved into the sky, the Night King charged into the center of the enemy group.

A series of smooth killings were born quietly, without any warning or any vision of its end.

There were only broken limbs and broken arms that kept flying sideways, like a whirlwind of flesh and blood, and this was the best proof that the King of Night was concentrating on his work. He exchanged knives for knives, cut blades with blades, and let one life after another quickly disappear from his hands.

His armor was overflowing with blood, and the lines were outlined by the blood into another cruel look. The gaps were filled with broken meat and bones. His black hair was wet with blood. His cloak was no longer scarlet, and the traitors were sticky. The blood made it much darker.

Logically speaking, such a joyful killing should make him feel happy, and the torture of the traitors should also make him smile. However, the truth is that there is nothing.

No pleasure, no rush, just peace.

Everything was just a facade. He needed to create fear, so he created a cruel flag. He needed to let the traitors know that he was coming, so he was ruthless and cruel.

The blade always knows how to cut flesh, doesn't it?

Ten minutes and forty-four seconds later, they began to flee, running towards the crack opened by the power of chaos.

Coates did not chase, but just let go of his left hand and dropped the flag. He put away the knife and turned the sheath on his waist upside down, and pieces of flesh and blood gushed out. In this way, his sharp blade was sheathed. He took a deep breath and wiped the broken hair from his forehead with both hands.

It's not that hard to do because of the blood. Blood spattered and slid down his forehead, creating winding marks on his pale face. Curze raised his head and looked at the sky. The blood color has disappeared, but the darkness remains, like a cold steel sky.

He smiled silently.

+You may need to keep trying, Conrad. +

Hmm. How many more times do you keep trying? Cozz asked in his heart.

He found a stone and sat down slowly, waiting for his brothers to arrive.

They would have noticed the movement here and realized how much opening he had created for them in this bloody tug of war. Whether it was Perturabo or Rogal Dorn, they would not miss such a good opportunity to break the game.

They will come, they will find him. I cannot find him.

Curze put his hands on his knees and lowered his head. The silent breeze blew by and the burning metal crackled, but his breathing was so quiet that he seemed to be falling into a deep sleep.

+You are very tired, my son, I know, but+

I know I know.

Curze closed his eyes and remained motionless, as if he had died long ago.

I know that this is far from the end, and such pursuits and killings will happen many times.

Every kill I achieved for Him would push me further and further away from Him. I tried my best to kill without emotion, but this was revenge after all.

And I had to do this, and He allowed me to keep trying, to pursue Him, to try to see Him.

but

+But what? +

But I am in pain, father. I'm killing him.

There was no answer, only sighs.

Conrad Coates opened his eyes and saw two expressionless faces.

He suddenly smiled slightly: "Hi, hello, what time is it in the afternoon? Should we have dinner?"

Perturabo stretched out his hand to pull him up, and Rogal Dorn handed him a rag. The Lord of Steel caught it with his left hand and began to gently rub the Night King's face with it. The latter did not struggle, but rolled his eyes slightly helplessly.

The dried and scabbed blood slowly fell from the face, as if it were a plaster statue struck by an artist with a carving hammer. The dark red fragments fell evenly, and the pale face underneath was as quiet as ever, and even still had the energy to perform the most familiar tasks. expression.

"Stop laughing," the Lord of Steel said in a low voice. "I know you're not feeling well."

"It's a matter of duty." Coze shrugged. "It's like you have to fight side by side with Rogge. Doesn't it feel good for you?"

Frix the City Breaker coughed indiscriminately.

"If your throat feels uncomfortable, you can leave first, Frix." Perturabo said without looking back. "Go maintain the trenches and prepare for the next war. It just so happens that I also need some private space to talk to my brothers. Please all leave."

The Iron Warriors turned and left in silence. Rogal Dorn made two hand gestures silently and issued two orders without speaking.

As a result, the 'Imperial Fist' with different coatings and the traditional Imperial Fist followed closely behind, as if they had a tacit understanding of fighting side by side for decades.

"Hey, Rogge--" Coze seized the opportunity and blinked at Stubborn Stone who just turned around. "——What do you think it is like to fight alongside our Abo?"

"Peace of mind." Nushi said. "It's like knowing you're coming to support."

Perturabo tried to turn his head, but somehow couldn't.

Cozz curled his lips and sat back on the stone: "It's meaningless if you talk like this, Rogge. I'm still hoping to hear some complaints about Abo from you."

'Abo' slowly exhaled a breath of cold air and spit out a sentence from between his teeth: ".Can you stop calling me that?"

"Why? Don't you agree? I've been calling you that all the way, dear Abo." Cozi shrugged with a smile. "Or do you just don't want Rogge to hear this nickname?"

"I've heard you," said Donne. "Actually, many years ago, before Callifon became the female tyrant of Lokos, I heard her call Perturabo this way." "It was an accident that time." Steel The Lord said gloomily, without looking at Donne who was standing beside him. "Don't push yourself too far, Rogal Dorn. Also, I hope you don't forget that I won the theoretical competition after the dinner."

"Congratulations on your victory." Nushi nodded towards him and said. "I didn't have time to congratulate you at the time. It shouldn't be too late to make up for it now."

Coates suddenly asked maliciously: "So, why wasn't there in time?"

Perturabo didn't answer, but just raised his hand, lifted him off the stone, grabbed his shoulder armor with his hands, and led him back to the new trench they were digging.

Rogal Dorn quietly twitched the corners of his mouth and did not follow immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and burned the flag before starting to take steps.

They returned to the trench and went around to an underground room. Coates observed for a moment and discovered that the excavators of the room had actually left carved lines that could be turned into windows.

"That's funny." He chuckled. “Architect’s instinct?”

He looked at Perturabo, who told him the answer with a deadpan expression and a very slight tilt of the head.

Curze then turned to Rogal Dorn and asked, "What the hell, Rogal? Is it your instinct as a builder at work, or are you still holding on to hope? We're already in hell, But you still want to leave a window for the room."

"We will win." Rogal Dorn replied flatly. "Then, this temporarily excavated rough basement will be expanded and it will receive complete supporting facilities. The surrounding rubble will be cleared away and the streets will be designed according to normal levels. At that time, these moments I have set aside will The line will make it much easier for workers.”

Coze smiled and nodded to him: "Great idea, but was there still a blue sky on Terra at that time? I'm not pessimistic, brother, but you should probably deepen the lines. Compared with normal glass, what they have What’s needed may be bulletproof windows.”

Dorn was almost amused, and Stone gave his brother's joke his highest praise with a lighter expression. He was wrapped in a scarred armor, and every place was covered with scars or bullet holes, but his emotions seemed unaffected.

Curze turned to look at Perturabo.

The Lord of Steel didn't even look at him, and slowly came to the center of the room, where there was a makeshift table made of multiple empty crates stacked on top of each other. There were several black squares on the edge. He reached out and pressed them one by one, and a map was projected out.

"The space and time of Terra are chaotic, but we have thoroughly figured out the situation on the entire eastern front of the palace."

As he spoke, he raised his hand and pointed somewhere on the map.

"We are here now, measured by our feet, there is no mistake. We have never left here, and the chaotic space has no room to fool us. Relying on here, we built a five-kilometer-long rudimentary defense. Everything from trenches to supporting positions and blocking areas."

He suddenly fell silent, and Rogal Dorn took over.

"But we can only build five kilometers." Nashi said seriously. "This is the limit, not enough manpower, the battle situation is chaotic, and there is a lack of supplies. This is the best we can do - and five kilometers is just a drop in the bucket for the entire eastern front of the palace, so Perturabo and I came up with the idea Another way."

"What can be done?" Conrad Coates asked softly.

He was calm, almost like he knew what he was asking.

"Symbol." Rogal Dorn spat out the word. "The enemy doesn't care about discipline, they don't care about tactics, they don't care whether they live or die or we live or die. They just want to cause chaos and watch people scream in flames. But they still need to find us to do these things."

"They need to find us to kill us and torture us, so we're going to make a small change to the trenches," Perturabo said quietly. "For example, put up a flag every five hundred meters."

Dorn came to the long table, reached out and drew a line on the map, and accurately pointed out ten points.

"Ten flags," he said. "As long as the enemy is not blind, they will be able to discover our presence immediately. Then, their corpses will become more and more numerous."

The Lord of Steel sneered and said many words in one breath, as if he had already intended this and had been depressed for a long time.

"And we will keep these corpses and pile them around the trenches to use as a view and a landmark."

"They're never going to stop and they're just going to keep attacking and keep coming here trying to kill us or traumatize us."

"That's what they want. They want to watch others fall into the embrace of the so-called chaos like them and become wild beasts attracted by bloody bones. And we will use the most primitive human method to tell them why beasts are attracted by Extinction.”

"The more they come and the more frequently they come, the bigger this landmark building will become. It has no design and does not use any building materials. It just needs to stack corpses together."

He placed his hands gently around the crates.

"Isn't that ironic?" Perturabo asked in a different tone than usual. “The first collaboration between two architects resulted in a landmark building with nothing worthy of praise.”

Roger Dorn didn't answer.

Curze shook his head.

"If you really build it, I think it will be the only spectacular building I have ever seen in my life. It will be better than the palace. At least it will not be made of gold." He said. "But, I want to give you a suggestion."

"What advice, Conrad?" Donne asked.

"Engrave every corpse with the Imperial Sky Eagle." The Night King replied with a smile. "Trust me, you'll need it."
-

Constantin Waldo lowered his head and gasped.

Every muscle in his body has been exhausted to a certain limit. The fibers are as tight as a fine steel cable pulling a heavy object, and they will break completely after just one chance.

But this did not prevent him from holding the Spear of the Sun and fighting side by side with Corvus Corax beside him.

"Tell me -" the Lord of Savior asked quietly in between killings. "——Did the team I sent out complete their duties?"

"A worthy death." The Marshal of the Forbidden Army replied in a low voice. "He is the only warrior I have ever seen."

Indeed, this is not a consolation or an exaggeration, but what Constantin Waldo said from the bottom of his heart.

He didn't know how to describe the sacrifice of the Raven Guard. This group of natural assassins resolutely chose to charge in groups at a critical moment, choosing a tactic that was completely contrary to their nature and training. It had only one purpose, which was to give Orr Persson fought for a chance to escape.

They didn't know exactly what his mission was, or why this mortal was so important, even worthy of the Adeptus Custodes' words like 'we can all die, but he can't,' but they agreed. They were willing to do so for the sake of the Emperor and Mankind.

So they died, and their bodies were devoured by the traitors. Waldo was furious at the fact that these stupid and barbaric things had regarded this depravity as an act of glory worth bragging about.

In the past, his spear was wielded only for the Lord of Men. Only now, he was fighting for the dead. He could not detect the difference because he had no time to think.

Therefore, he was not aware of the praise coming from the other end of the link.

But even if he knew, what could he do? After all, the current situation does not allow anyone to think. There is only fighting, only fighting.

Waldor swung his spear, briefly closing the gaping mouths of something. What they call blood splashes out, as black as oil.

The elite of the Raven Guard passed by him, helping him complete the killing, and then disappeared like a passing cloud, disappearing into the shadows in full view of everyone.

Their sharp claws were already stained with blood, but no matter how many they killed, it would not help their current situation. They were surrounded, completely surrounded by hundreds of times more enemies.

And all this stems from Constantine Valdor's eagerness - he is too impatient and wants Orr to complete his mission. He briefly put aside his vigilance against the darkness and stepped into a world where the power of chaos is the source. In the trap prepared by him and Orr Persson.

He was cautious enough, but no matter what happened in the past, as long as he relaxed for a moment, they would find an opportunity.

That's what they are.

Waldo understood that if it were not for the Raven Guard, the mission he had received from his master would have failed long ago, and he would have died, casting an eternal shadow on the glory of the Ten Thousand Husbands.

“No need to think too much.”

Corvus Corax passed over him like a literal shadow, his voice soft. Somewhat similar to his famous brother, yet completely different.

Waldo had met Konrad Curze many times. The King of the Night's soft Nostramo whispers were full of menace and rhythm. Even if he didn't have any hostility, his voice would be affected by it. Instinctively and become dangerous.

The Lord of the Savior Star was different. He spoke very quietly and calmly, as if he would no longer be surprised by anything.

"We must break out!"

Waldo shouted loudly in the direction he left, ignoring the puddle of minced meat left behind. This is Corvus Corax, and every time he appears or leaves, he is bound to take dozens, even hundreds, of lives.

"How to break out?" Corax asked. His voice came from behind Waldo again at this moment.

The Marshal of the Custodes turned around suddenly and stabbed a huge beast through the head with his spear. It spoke human words, and the voice belonging to Corvus Corax was rapidly turning into a broken scream—and it was his voice.

Unconsciously, Waldo imitated Orpeson's tone and yelled a curse: "You bastard!"

He cut it into pieces, at the cost of six new scars. Yao Jin is being destroyed, just like himself. Everyone in this living hell is being tortured, and the first one to bear the brunt is his master, the master of mankind.

Constantin Valdo was furious when he thought about this - the faces he had seen with Orr Persson during their long journey flashed before his eyes, and the face of Terra at the beginning flashed back. .

The palace still stood, and the common people at least had clothes to wear and food to eat. And now, they have nothing.

A violent sorrow broke into his heart, forcing him to let go of his anger, forcing him to fight in a manner he had never fought before.

And at the end of the link, the Emperor is watching all this.

No, maybe it can't be called an end. This link was once a chain in the past. One end was caught in the Emperor's hands, and the other was tied around the neck of Constantine Valdor. But now, its nature is quietly changing.

It is no longer a chain. One day, it will become some kind of strange link with conductive properties. The starting end was still in the Emperor's hand, but this time, it would no longer be around someone's neck, it would be held in the hand of another human.

It will become a bond.

And that's when it all ends.

In his prison, the Lord of Mankind moves forward patiently. He was at the junction of reality and illusion, the Webway was burning stagnantly behind him, and the demons were blocked by the golden flames, unable to advance even an inch.

They know that they will not get any chance to kill here, but they still come, and their purpose is only to consume his strength. To put it more accurately, it is actually to replenish his strength.

Of course, the beings behind the demons would not be so kind. The reason why they did this was just to torture him.

As long as he relaxes for a moment and his humanity relaxes even a little bit, the god who comes from ten thousand years later and is shaped by prayer and faith will surround his personality and turn everything he has worked so hard to maintain into ashes. He will bring him extremely powerful power, but he will also completely destroy all these arrangements.

The Emperor would not let this happen.

All sacrifices must begin with him.

He will endure everything and bear everything until they are victorious.

It was just another torch-waving battle in the dark, and this time, he wasn't even alone. Some people understand him, some support him, and some fight with him in the dark. Countless humans are fighting alongside him on Terra.

So why would he lose this time?

The dark wind and frost passed by, and the eyes of the Lord of Humanity were as bright as star torches.

But ten thousand years.

　This chapter is 8k, updated. After thinking about it carefully, it would be better to finish writing the extra and publish it in one go, just in time to serve as a break after the siege of Terra is over.

　　

　

(End of this chapter)