40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 502 20. The idols are broken and the dead are resurrected (five, ten thousand)

Iago Savitarion stood up slowly from the chair that belonged to him and braced his hands on the desk.

It perfectly withstood his weight and the pressure exerted on it, and the originally bright and dim lightning patterns on it suddenly bloomed under the pressure.

He wore a piece of finely crafted power armor, the traces of Nostramo's adamantine ore dancing across it. They were supposed to be just another pattern, but now they suddenly changed color.

The blood-like scarlet color spread from the inside of the armor, completely changing the lines, making them look like the armor's exposed blood vessels, or the cruel marks left by a knife or axe.
"What did you say?" he asked.

The man standing opposite him silently took off his helmet.

He had a mutilated face, and the marks left by extensive burns completely destroyed the handsomeness that this face could have had. His left eye has been replaced with a prosthetic eye, and half a metal plate is embedded in his forehead. It is shining silver under the cover of his messy hair, and he looks extremely ferocious.

"Say it again," said Yago Savitarion.

His hands had left the desk, and the lines suddenly disappeared. At this moment, the room was once again plunged into darkness, but Severtalion's dark eyes were shining, a kind of violence that was being restrained by reason with all its strength.

If they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, I'm afraid no one would be able to believe that a human being could possess such a terrifying desire to kill.

"Chapter Master, me"

Ten thousand years have passed like this, regardless of the rigid empire and the legions that were renamed warbands and split up to better defend the empire's territory. Even he himself has undergone great changes.

"Tell Orak Cartax to prepare all the skulls. And, to open VanCleef's burial ground."

"Contact them." He spoke word by word. "I don't care what method you use, Sahil, but I need to contact them within five minutes."

This feeling comes from his bone marrow and cannot be eradicated, prevented, or even slightly alleviated. It is a true gangrene of the bone.

His calmness also dispelled Sahir's uneasiness to a certain extent, allowing this young think tank who was unanimously considered to be extremely talented to also calm down.

The young think tank turned around in frustration and was about to leave. However, Savita spoke at this moment, and there was still only calm in his voice.

This is already a blatant rejection.

Sevatar clenched his fists and exhaled a mouthful of cold air. It was so cold that it did not look like the air exhaled from the lungs of three living superhuman beings, but came from the extremely cold abyss, from the place where all nightmares end.
He turned around, his expression finally changing. The violence and peace disappeared without a trace, leaving only pure and primitive pain.

"News came from the Bloody Jihad that they encountered a materialized subspace storm."

"No need to say more, Sahir, I understand." Saiweita said calmly.

He waved for them to leave. The messenger immediately took steps towards the door, but Sahir licked his lips without giving up.

The think tank named Sahir nodded. He reached out to take the skull, and then said: "With the blessing of the holy number, this matter should not be difficult, Chapter Leader."

Sevatar looked at him gloomily and said nothing, just folded his hands.

This pain will last forever as long as Sevatar lives and the spell that Felzalost cast upon him is not lifted.

Judging by its appearance, the head must have once belonged to an Astartes, and was a renegade one. While he was still alive, his brain would be beating inside his skull, and his eyes would stay well in those dark sockets.
But now, there is no flesh and blood on this skull.

Sahir was stunned for a moment. He quickly understood what was hidden behind these two sentences. In shock, the young think tank hurriedly turned around and left.

He became patient, calm and calm, and even began to unconsciously use the tone of elders and superiors to talk to others.

His determination affected the duration of the pain to a certain extent. After fifteen minutes, Sevatar slowly straightened up.

A huge amount of hot steam turned from sweat slowly rose from the gaps in the armor, obscuring his face, leaving only a pair of cold eyes still glowing cruelly.

The messenger nodded and left the office almost at a running speed. Ten minutes later, accompanied by a think tank, he returned with a skull presented in a dark wooden box.

The bell still rang, but Savita waited patiently.

"I know," Sevatar said.

He said nothing, and he was definitely aware of any movement Sahil made, no matter how small it was.

It has become monotonous, boring, and empty, as if an old ancient clock is doing its work on time.

He seemed to still have something to say, or maybe he just wanted to try again, but Sevita had already turned around and walked to the porthole in the room. Outside the porthole, the dark Milky Way opened its hands to him, revealing its cold and malicious embrace.

The violence in his eyes had completely disappeared - or, perhaps, it was just covered up, waiting for a moment when it could burst out.

He looked at the think tank and handed over the skull in his hand expressionlessly.

Sevatar closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again, and said, "Get me a head."

The think tank was well aware of his terrifying gaze, so he coughed lightly and put his free hand on the skull.

Savita left the desk and grabbed the head in his hand as the think tank hesitated to speak. He looked like he was about to roar at it, but when the words came to his lips, he paused.

This was certainly not the first time he had dealt with it. He had learned to despise pain, and nothing could push him away from the path he had chosen. Even the terrifying feeling that every bone and muscle fiber was being chewed and chopped couldn't stop him.

However, the footsteps of him and the messenger were clearly transmitted to Savita's ears. Even if they had left this corridor long ago, the sound still existed and began to gradually become alienated.

Not only that, someone also used an artistic technique to carve a scarlet claw holding a broken skull on its forehead. The carving looks just like a painting, and the claws even have people repainting them frequently.

Sahir was silent for a moment, thinking about his words, and then carefully expressed his opinion.

The faint brilliance of spiritual energy began to bloom in his eyes. In contrast, two points of dark flames lit up in the empty eye sockets of the skull. Not only that, it even trembled, as if it suddenly had life.

He tried again and again, even if five minutes had passed, he didn't stop. If Sevita hadn't put his hand on his shoulder, he might have kept trying.

This was not an emotion that he—Iago Severtarion—could show, but it was the fact that he was in great pain.

"I have successfully established a connection with the skull, and the skull responded to me, but they did not. There must be something else hidden in that subspace storm, so it hindered their actions."

The messenger who had been forced to bring the sad news captured the scene so clearly that he stood as straight as he could.

Time began to pass, bit by bit, without mercy. Sahir's expression began to become more and more solemn, and he never relaxed at all.

However, these are actually just appearances. The real Iago Severtalion will always exist under this surface. Only at certain times, he will surface and easily replace the peaceful and wise superior. .

Savita exhaled a breath, twisted his neck, returned to his desk, and began to sort out some of the parchment records he had been flipping through.

These are the precious information stored inside the Night Blade. If they are combined, these rolls of paper that can be piled up to about one and a half meters can be summarized into an encyclopedia specifically for Erebus.

Among them, there are even hundreds of thousands of words written eloquently on character analysis alone. It is worth mentioning that most of them were written by Savita.

Perhaps we can get a glimpse of how strong his murderous intention towards Erebas is from this incident.

A few minutes later, Savita left the office, which had been used by three people. The world outside the heavy door is not at least a trace of light as before, but a completely silent darkness.

The sound of whistling wind came howling from the end of the corridor. Sevatar waved his fist to smash the gust of wind with an expressionless expression, and he thought he was saying hello to the Night Horn.

He arrived on foot to the location of the Think Tanks, the headquarters of the Third Night Blade Company, and the whole process did not take long. As he said, the think tanks are already here and ready.

Orak Kataks, the director of the think tank, folded his hands and hung them in front of him. It seemed that he had been waiting for a long time. Clerk Namral stood behind him, along with the remaining four thinkers.

Except for young Sahir, the other three think tanks are all veterans who have served for more than three centuries. Sevatar nodded to them one by one, assessing them in their salutes without leaving any trace.

Within Night Blade, think tanks are not like most veterans who can continue to serve as long as they don't 'die'.

It sounds weird, but they do have a weird 'use by' period. As long as this period of time is exceeded, they will be gone forever.

However, the world is always cruel, and despite being so unfortunate, it has prepared another blow for them - they themselves have no way of knowing when this deadline will come.

Even if the service time of previous think tanks is used for statistical planning, it is simply difficult to measure. It can have huge errors ranging from decades to hundreds of years in different think tanks.
For thousands of years, only Iago Severtarion could unerringly be the bell-ringer who sounded their death knell.

However, it is worth mentioning that due to certain traditions, the Night Blade's 3rd Company does not serve as a battle company like other Chapters who adhere to the Codex Astartes.

Within Night Blade, every company commander of the third company will also serve as the director of the think tank, and the think tank is also located in the third company. Due to their proximity to the water, many recruits within the Third Company were discovered to have psychic talents and became think tanks or backup think tanks.
Then there can be many think tanks.

As long as the seals on them have not been broken.

"The skull is all ready, Chapter Leader." Orak bowed slightly and said.

Behind him was a long five-cornered table that looked like an altar, with torches bound by iron chains swaying on it. Four skulls were placed one after another on the table, with only one corner free.

These skulls are from the Crimson Claws and are thousands of years old. They are the invention of a think tank, which can help the Night Blade and his sub-groups to maintain communication and communicate with each other regardless of distance in the dark galaxy.

However, compared with the communication methods used by aggrieved people, these skulls are much more dangerous. For this reason, they are carefully kept within the heirs of the Princes of the Night and are not circulated.

"Very good." Saiweita approved coldly. "You are always so reliable, Orak. I think your apprentice has informed you of my purpose and what happened in my office, so I won't waste any more words and you can start contacting them."

"All, Chapter Master?"

"All of them," said Sevatar. "I will interrogate the Scarlet Claw, Judgment Blade, Shadow Knight, and Soul Hunter. You can keep trying before I end the interrogation."

"I understand," Orak said.

Under the light of the torch, his face appeared as pale as if it were transparent, and the cyan blood vessels were exposed underneath, like buried treasure.

Due to the long-term use of psychic powers, his eyes have changed from the iconic blackness of the Nostramo people to a rare quenched blue, reflecting the firelight, giving their owner boundless calm.

Savita smiled at him, and then walked towards a dark iron door and entered the depths of the third company's station.

In the dim light, many people immediately noticed his appearance. Although they had repeatedly warned that etiquette was unnecessary, they still bowed or saluted. How much Sevita wished that they would just like him and only adopt the simplest nod of greeting.

Reluctantly, he responded to them one by one, and finally, beneath the company flag of the Third Company, he walked up to two heavily armed Terminator veterans.

They stood at the entrance of a deep cave corridor. Their shoulder armor was inlaid with gold. The emblem of the Night Blade was engraved on the left shoulder. On the right shoulder was the company's emblem, which was a dark, seemingly roaring weapon. The head of the raptor, the dark red light blooms quietly in its eyes.

"He will return," said Sevatar.

"The same goes for him." The two veterans replied in unison, raised their hands, held the chain halberd, performed an eagle salute, and then stepped aside.

Savita stepped closer to the inside of the cave. Strangely enough, the moment he stepped into the cave, all the sounds disappeared, leaving only the sound of his own footsteps, as if he had entered another world.

The ground here is not made of steel, but a material as clear and transparent as glass. It is obviously dim and dark inside when looking from the outside, but now when you enter it, a misty blue light naturally emits.

Sevatar continued to walk into the depths expressionlessly, paying no attention to the wonderful colors refracted by the light. Then another resident of this place showed its dissatisfaction.

"Where are my last jailers, dear Yago? What did you do to them?" it asked.

Its voice is soft and gentle, like an old man who has experienced the world and is rich in wisdom. Savita showed a sneer and sneered at its words.

"They went where they belonged, to slaughter your own kind and undermine your master's power. Carlos."

The creature named Carlos didn't care about his taunts. It just laughed ugly and started its taunting.

"You are still using your brother as a consumable, Yago!"

"You are really a heartless madman. I thought five jailors would be enough to satisfy you. Who knew you were so heartless that you turned all those people with talents into patients who need to endure the same pain as you?"

"Is this some kind of tradition among you? If Fer Zalost knew about it, he would definitely be very pleased!"

Sevatar finally stopped, anger blooming in his eyes, but he still did not reveal it completely. Instead, he pulled out the short knife from his waist and threw it out.

It cut through the air, penetrated deeply into a body, and was finally nailed to the wall. However, the injured body did not shed blood, but instead shed something pale and gravel-like.

Carlos screamed.

"Yes! You want to kill me! So do it quickly!"

Sevatar stared at it coldly, walked closer slowly, raised his hands, and pressed it on its wound. His sharp fingers penetrated deeply into its wings, digging inwards to bring out more gravel.

Carlos struggled like crazy, blue feathers flying in all directions, and the bird eyes all over his body blinked at this moment. However, if you look closely, you will find that most of them are completely decayed.

Not only that, it even lost a head.

"No, never."

Sevatar leaned against its ear and murmured softly.

"Don't even think about it, Carlos. You won't die unless he comes back and kills you himself. And before that, no matter what, you won't die, you will only be tortured."

The great demon Tzeentch, once known as Fateweaver, raised his head in mourning, but the chains that bound him suddenly ignited with black flames. Savita looked up and saw a heart located on the ceiling, sealed by glazed crystals and suspended from an iron hook, beating slowly.

That heart comes from the former First Company Commander Van Cleef.

He briefly appeared in the material world 2,700 years ago, shattering an offensive of a demonic army that surrounded the Night Blade, and captured Fateweaver on the spot. Since then, the demon has been locked inside the Nightfall, enduring endless torture.

The flesh and blood in its body has become that kind of gravel. Whenever it is about to reach 'death', a state that belongs exclusively to the living in the material world, those gravels will return to its body, allowing it to return to its full glory. And welcome a new round of torture.

Not only that, Van Cleef even permanently destroyed one of its heads. Nowadays, Fateweaver can only tell the truth and can only see the future.

As for that heart
Sevatar narrowed his eyes and returned his vision to Carlos.

This great demon, who was much taller than him, had lost all its grace. It relied on conspiracy and the power of magic to survive, but these things had no effect on the night blades - once, someone had set a trap on it. A vow of revenge.

He vows to hunt it at some point until the end of time, until it dies.

This oath has not yet been completed, but it has not been broken. The Night Blades have received the gift of another kind of power and are able to ignore all Carlos's disguises and deceptions, even the simplest psychological inducement. Do anything to them.

What's more, the person standing here at this moment is Yago Savitarion.

Carlos lowered his remaining head in despair and asked, "What do you want to know this time?"

Sevatar smiled, stretched out his hand mockingly, took out the dagger from its wings, wiped the gravel off of it, and then put it back in its sheath.

"You have long known that trying to anger me will not bring any consequences. Your death is destined to be given only by him, so why do you do it every time? What? You switched to another master and began to enjoy the so-called pain. Are you happy?"

"Ask the question!" Carlos screamed again. "You cursed bastard, scum, wretch! Ask me questions and get out!"

Sevita couldn't help but laugh out loud, very unrestrainedly, but also sincerely happy. Don't get me wrong, he's certainly not a sadist, at least not most of the time.

However, if he could see a demon going crazy with his own eyes, why not do it? However, he did not delay doing his own business. After laughing, he immediately asked questions. "Tell me about Erebus."

He put the question simply and directly, and got another scream.

"I've told you a long time ago that I can't see the future related to him! The gods have covered him. Even if it's just a shadow, I can't see it!"

Sevatar shook his head with disdain, and as Carlos gasped in anger, he asked again: "Then, tell me about the Crimson Claw."

Carlos trembled reluctantly, and within a few seconds, he answered Seveta's question very fluently.

"They are encountering an attack planned by the Black Legion and the Word Bearers. With the help of eighteen burning worlds, they summoned a warp storm on the only path of the Crimson Claw, and then carried out a gang-hopping .”

"There are not many people who jump into gangs, and most of them are just recruits. However, their armors have been equipped with bombs in advance. As long as they jump into gangs to meet the enemy, the bombs will be detonated."

"Your brothers are engaged in a bitter battle. They are trying to break out and get rid of the attack. Come as soon as possible to answer your call."

Carlos burst into laughter.

"But they can't do it anymore!" it roared contentedly. "Just like you! Yago Savitarion, the wretch who lives the longest! You are destined to just watch these people die without being able to do anything!"

Savita took a step back and looked at it coldly, saying nothing, not even showing any emotion.

A few seconds later, he asked again: "Can't do it, does it mean that we can't come as early as possible, or that we can't successfully break through?"

Carlos's laughter stopped abruptly, and it struggled painfully. The inability to deceive was causing the demon's instinct to bite back at its soul. In the end, it answered Sevatar's question.

".It means that we can't come as early as possible."

It vomited a mouthful of gravel, then raised its feet in anger and began to step on them, and then roared again: "I've said it all! Now you can get out!"

"Don't worry, we're not done yet."

Sevatar sneered and stepped on its bird's claws, slowly applying force and then grinding it back and forth. The demon immediately screamed, as if he had experienced unbearable pain.

This is due to Orak who is performing the ceremony outside. His talent is indeed very high. With his help, the pain in Carlos's body was amplified, and Sevatar only needed to use very simple methods to start an interrogation.

And Carlos is completely powerless against this. It can neither resist, die, nor even lie. For it to be, that's probably only slightly more terrifying than learning that Khalil Rojalls is coming back.

"What else do you want to know?" Carlos pleaded. "Say it quickly and leave quickly."

"Tell me, what is happening on Litatra now?" asked Savita.

Carlos's body trembled again, and this time, it lasted longer than any other time in Sevita's memory.

He had interrogated Carlos many times, and every time he learned some information that was crucial to the Empire. For example, the arrival of bugs, the assassination of the current Imperial Regent Sanguinius, or the wave of orcs not far from Caliban.
This information was all told to him by Carlos. Therefore, Sevatar can definitely say that if it were not for Carlos, the current empire might be even worse.

Subsequently, after reporting this matter to Markmaster Malcador, the empire's internal perception of this demon quietly completed the change.

From wanting to let it die, it changed to wanting to ensure that it lives at all costs and be imprisoned on the Night Vessel.

It was ironic, but also very humorous, at least Sevita couldn't help laughing every time she thought about it.

He really wanted to tell this joke to some people he once knew. He knew that they would laugh so hard and then pat him on the shoulder and tell him that the next time he said such a thing, they would beat him until he could get up.
Sevatar suppressed his weakness, buried this brief glimpse of humanity back into his heart, and looked at Carlos.

As he expected, the Fateweaver screamed and burned after a violent tremor, and the blue flames that belonged to the Lord of Changes burned blazingly on its body.

Sevatar backed away again, watching its suffering with cold eyes, smiling and folding his hands. Nine minutes later, this punishment had just ended, but Fateweaver seemed more and more desperate.

The burst of fire just now was punishment from Tzeentch, and if even Tzeentch couldn't let him escape from this situation,
It lowered its head without saying a word and remained silent for a long time before speaking: "I can't see anything about Litatra."

"I see." Sevatar grinned and nodded gently at it. "Thank you for your help, Carlos, see you next time."

He turned and left the cave, his heart briefly stopped beating, and the flames flickered above his head. Ten minutes later, he returned to the location of the think tanks, where Orak Kataks was carrying out his work with a frown.

However, when he saw Savita coming back, he immediately stopped calling.

Savitar glanced at the skulls and asked, "How are they?"

Orak shook his head tiredly and said: "Scarlet Claw and Shadow Knight did not answer. The Judgment Blade is approaching, and the Soul Hunter said they still need a little time."

"Very good," said Sevita.

Apart from that, he said nothing, just turned around and left, leaving the think tanks with a cold and very convincing figure.
-
For a long time, Shen has followed a principle he set for himself. He followed it through these long years. There are always some people who have to choose to be the cornerstone and bear everything.

Shen had seen many such people with his own eyes. He knew that he did not have that ability, but he was still willing to give it a try. With this courage that he didn't know he had, he endured everything and survived until today.
Will today be the end?

Shen raised his head from his cell and looked at the ceiling covered with ash. Over such a long period of time, it has been completely changed, turning into a gray and white paved with his own ashes.

Logically speaking, it is impossible for him to see anything else in the outside world through them. However, the Night Soul is no longer the Retribution-class battleship it once was, or in other words, it is more than just a battleship.

It now has another talent that can respond to Shen's request.

In fact, any request.

For example, at this moment, Shen wanted to see the outside world, so the Night Soul responded to his request amidst violent bumps and vibrations, allowing him to see the outside world, a burning planet, and a disintegrating Abyss-class ship. Battleship.

Shen recognized it at first sight. He had seen this ship twice before he entered this place. Each time is unforgettable enough. The powerful firepower of the Abyss class cannot be resisted by ordinary ships, not even the Retribution class battleship.

Unless a great creation like the Emperor's Dream or the Phalanx comes in person, the Abyss-class is almost synonymous with the word invincible in the physical universe.

But those two battleships have not left the solar system for ten thousand years. They must be stationed inside and be constantly on guard against attacks by the demon army and traitors. However, at this moment, such a powerful ship is disintegrating on its own.

Its bow was burning, the deck was shattering, and the crew screamed silently in the universe, dying of lack of oxygen and extreme cold.

Shen cast his gaze on the blasphemous eight-pointed star ship's head, suddenly opened his mouth and uttered a sentence in Nostramo language.

It means explosion.

The corner of the eight-pointed star immediately responded to his request. In the firelight, the bow of the ship exploded, tearing a large hole in the battleship.

The main bridge was even exposed to the vacuum for this reason. Countless Chaos believers began to desperately call for air in the vacuum, but Shen did not feel the slightest pleasure.

He didn't see what he wanted to see, such as some Astartes wearing scarlet armor, or Erebus.

They don't seem to be on this ship. In other words, it was not the culprit that caused the Night Soul to jolt violently and cause damage to the hull. Shen turned his gaze to the other end of the Night Soul, and sure enough he saw another Abyss-class ship on the dark side of Litatra, named Wave of Chaos.

"What a generous move." Shen said softly. "Push out one Abyss-class warship as a bait, and then deploy another one. Two of the three are here, will the last one be absent?"

He couldn't help but laugh, and he actually looked very calm. A few minutes later, the door to his cell was opened again, and Kaiul Sahora walked in with a serious expression.

"We are encountering long-distance sniping, and the void shield has been hit twice. According to Captain Seraphim's inference, the third hit will definitely cause damage to the hull itself. What should we do, sink it?"

"Wait."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Wait for me." Shen Ru replied.

Then, his feet slowly touched the ground. Kaiul's eyes widened and he looked very shocked. However, before he could say anything, Shen waved his hand to signal him not to speak for the time being.

He spoke to Caiul apologetically.

"Something's coming to the ship, Caiul. It's coming for me, and it's been ten thousand years and it still hasn't changed."

"Is that it?" the current Chapter Master of the Shadow Knights asked quickly.

"Yes." Shen nodded lightly. "But I ask you not to participate in this battle. I can detect its aura and what it brings. Its goal is clear and it has already gone to the ceremony venue. If I don't show up, it will kill us. 's sergeant.”

"I will arm myself immediately," Kaiour replied quickly. "We know how to deal with it, hurry up-"

He reached out his hand anxiously and even used the title you for a moment. This is of course not meant to be ironic, but simply because he was anxious and forgot how to face Shen, or perhaps, this was his true attitude towards Shen.

Looking at him, Shen shook his head with emotion.

After all, they are just juniors and brothers, but more importantly, they are still just my juniors. Facing me with this attitude, when will you understand that I will eventually leave?

"——No need." Shen held his outstretched hand. "The time has come."

"But..." Kaiour took a deep breath and tried to argue with reason. "We've evicted it many times, and this time is no exception! You don't really have to do that."

"Why should I leave my prison if it's not necessary?" Shen asked calmly. "I have been here for nearly ten thousand years, watching for their return. Now, I am just a little short of achieving one of my goals. Why should I give up my hope at this moment?"

He sighed softly, let go of Kaiul's hand with a grace that Shen would never have possessed ten thousand years ago, and then raised his arms.

"I'm very sad." Shen said softly. "Can't you see, Caiul?"

Black flames ignited.

At the same time, a violent, excited roar that was forced to endure but could not hide the smile in it was also swept across the entire Night Soul in the power of chaos.

"Shen!" Samus roared with a wild laugh. "I have come to grant you a hero's death!"
-
005.M40, Shattered Terra, Iron Fortress.

Two people were having a conversation in the darkness. One of them had a young voice, but it was full of twilight and depression, as if there was an extremely old soul living in his body.

The other person's voice sounded strange, as if he was talking to someone through something. His voice was not only dull, but even weak. The two people talking here, one is named Machado and the other is named Perturabo.

They looked at each other through a layer of thick glass.

"Are you sure he can come back?" Perturabo asked.

The once majestic Lord of Steel is now floating in a ball of golden nutrient solution. His hands have disappeared from the elbow down, as has his right leg.

There is a deep scar on the right side of his face, which is just about to spread to the left side of his face. There are countless scars on his body. The most obvious one is probably the chest, where there is a large area of ​​burns.

However, it is strange to say that if the burn marks are viewed from a certain angle, they can exactly form two broken eagle wings.

"I hope he can," Machado said.

His current image is very different from before. He is no longer the skinny old man in black robe, but has become a tall and strong young man with silver hair. Wearing a linen robe, he still holds the iconic long eagle staff in his right hand.

A shining golden medal was worn on his chest, which represented the supreme power he was given to one person. Even the Regent Sanguinius could not really give any orders to the one who held the seal.

However, in the eyes of the public, he is just a young man who has wielded great power, another descendant of the Seal Master who uses the name 'Makado'.
Yes, in order to avoid public panic and unnecessary prying eyes from stupid insects pursuing immortality, Malcador made up a lie.

It's not very clever, but it's enough to convince the general public and leave officials, nobles and lords speechless.

Of course, there is nothing to say. Sometimes, there are always people who want to do something.

"You hope?" Perturabo looked at him coldly in the nutrient solution and repeated the word.

He seemed to be very disdainful, and his hair, which had been growing for a while, was hanging and floating, making his gaze seem more intimidating.

If other people were here, they would probably be shocked to the point of fear. However, for Malcador, this level of 'Perturabo' gaze was far less violent than the Lord of Steel's before.

"Yes, I hope," said Malcador. "Hope is the most beautiful thing in the world, especially when the evil god can no longer control the future of mankind. We can cherish hope as much as we can, look to the future, and look forward to tomorrow."

"If you're just here to feed me these cliche old sayings, then you can go back." Perturabo sneered. "Go back to your endless political affairs. Rogal Dorn will feel guilty for this."

"You already seem to have no problem saying his name."

"I have fought with him for ten thousand years, old man." The Lord of Steel raised his chin proudly. "What makes you think I still look down on him?"

Malcador did not answer this sentence, maybe because he did not know how to answer, or maybe it was just because the soul in this young body could no longer face this strange scene normally.

The person holding the seal was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly shook his head and said, "I'm not here to discuss this matter with you. Where is Gavir Loken?"

"He was buried a long time ago," Perturabo said. "Are you so old that you don't even remember this?"

"Of course I remember that he was pierced through the body in the battle with the demon Samus. Shen sent his remains back and then you buried him in the Iron Warriors in the name of the first chapter leader of the Iron Monument. Deep within the fortress, but he is not actually dead.”

Perturabo frowned sharply.

"Are you crazy, or am I hallucinating?" he asked coldly.

"No, I'm just telling a fact. If you look closely at his coffin, you will find that there is a mourning poem carved in Nostramo. He faked his death, and now, to It's time for his resurrection, and Shen needs his help."

Perturabo looked at him silently for a while, and then slowly nodded: "I hope your crazy words are worth my early termination of the treatment process."

In the huge glass jar, the nutrient solution suddenly began to fall. Immediately afterwards, the steel ground slowly opened, and several mechanical arms slowly rose.

The prosthetic limbs designed and jointly manufactured by Ferus Manus and Vulkan were brought up together, and the black nerve cables were connected to the connection holes reserved at the severed limbs.

Perturabo lowered his head and clenched his fists. As he breathed with satisfaction, the ground cracked open again, and the glass cover fell into it, disappearing. The robotic arms handed over a piece of traditional Olympian clothing.

The Lord of Steel put him on calmly, but suddenly asked: "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Macado shook his head and said, "I just don't understand why you are unwilling to accept the rebirth of a broken limb."

"The scar is my honor," Perturabo replied calmly.

He turned around and disappeared into the deep darkness. However, the person holding the seal did not immediately follow up, but stayed where he was, trying hard to twitch the corners of his mouth. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he reluctantly showed a smile while frowning.

He hasn't smiled for a long time, not even a ceremonial smile, but if it were just like this, his body would never be so resistant.
The real reason may be due to the endless work, responsibilities and hope of a future that is always far ahead.

Together they turned him into what he is now, together they reduced his humanity and caused him pain and suffering.
"Malcador," Perturabo called out in the darkness.

The master of the seal held his scepter tightly, hummed, and stepped to follow.

He told no one these things.

But ten thousand years.

(End of this chapter)