Emperor's Bane

Chapter 111 Closing
"It's been a while since I've seen you, Hector."

"Yeah, Senior Traasin, it's been a long time."

------

Ever since the young [Fang Fang] set foot on this battleship, similar greetings and nostalgic voices have been heard endlessly. After all, everyone in the fleet is deeply impressed by this surprisingly tall new star, and the years-long The war also took away a lot of people.

Hector fought on the front line of the war with Ran Dan for several years, maybe five years, maybe seven years, in short, he seldom rested, and he seldom calculated how long he had fought.

At the beginning, he also tried to mark the course of the war with those comrades who died in battle, but after endless bloody battles, he wisely gave up this idea. For him, the only thing worth Thankfully, his four-man squad remains unscathed to this day, at least without attrition: a miracle indeed.

In Hector's view, this may be the second most proud thing in his life. As for the first thing to be proud of, there is nothing more than a secret buried in his heart that even Teacher Kailong does not know: his The Primarch, his genetic mother, the arbiter of his bloodline.

He has always obeyed her will: to keep this secret, and to improve himself at all costs in this war. He took these short words as his current creed in life, and carried it out selflessly. He didn't know that this mission would When would it end, after all, how could he guess what the Primarch was thinking?
Such thoughts circulated in Hector's mind. He walked in the corridor of the "Knowledge Seeker", he involuntarily puffed up his chest, and kept watching the recording paintings on the walls.

The interior decoration of the warships of the Second Legion is probably different from other legions. They don't turn their void homes into works of art like the Emperor's Children or the Holy Blood Angels, but they do decorate it carefully, but Among the warships of the Second Legion, the most decorations are not oil paintings and statues, but a kind of documentary painting.

These paintings will use the most general expression to record what the warship and its members have experienced: maybe a battle, an adventure, or even a round of debate or other interesting things, like after An interesting planet, meeting a creature with primitive intelligence, or reuniting with a human world struggling in the long night under the banner of the Empire or something.

These paintings are not an official act. Anyone who feels that their experiences are meaningful can hang them, and they can also place a small sign next to them, briefly describing all of them, or put a piece that is enough to Souvenirs to prove this story, of course, the stories of those visitors are also encouraged to be placed on it, and some more active fighters will even find ways to trick out the stories of these guests, after all, mortal experiences are as wonderful as mortals.

Every battleship is like a bonfire in a carriage camp, and every warrior hides the soul of a story.

Someone once commented on the Emperor's Second Legion like this. Although this evaluation cannot represent the entire Second Legion, in some fleets, this is indeed an accurate generalization.

Of course, in other fleets, it may be another scene. After all, the Second Army is now torn apart, and the painting style of each fleet is naturally very different. The Second Fleet where Hector belongs prefers to record With some healthy archaeological activity, the Third Fleet is more interested in the psionic arts, while the Sixth Fleet is more interested in contact with mortals...

It is said that this custom of recording originated from the battlecruiser [Knowledgeer] where Hector is currently serving, and the person who knows this custom best is undoubtedly the oldest soldier on this battleship...

"I'm looking for Tech Sergeant, Traasin."

Hector's request was quickly responded to. He turned left and right in the corridor according to the address provided by the mortal servant, and finally came to a room deep in the battleship. This place was more like a storage room, because it was too It's a bit stuffy near the engine, and people usually don't come here to hang out.

He pushed open the door and walked in. The first thing he saw were all kinds of parts and inspection tools, and then all kinds of equipment waiting for maintenance were neatly arranged on the workbench, next to them There are some small and scattered items, obviously personal items, and on the other side of the room, some worn-out battle armors and even bigger guys can be vaguely seen.

Frankly speaking, this room is actually very spacious, and it is actually more suitable for the name Warehouse, but because there are too many things placed, it looks a bit crowded, but the owner of the room is obviously very comfortable with this, Hector is very Soon, a figure hidden under the robe slowly got up from a pile of old equipment and unknown objects, and walked towards him.

Hector stood still and saluted politely.

"Senior Traasin."

"Ah, Hector, you haven't been here for a while."

This senior was still the same, he didn't wear battle armor, but a simple linen robe. According to Astartes standards, he was a bit skinny and a bit tall, but overall he was still very inconspicuous. One of the group of Astartes that would be rightfully ignored.

But no one will despise him, even the most experienced ancient warriors can't tell when Traasin joined the Legion, but what is certain is that he was one of the first soldiers of the Second Legion to go to Mars for further training. One, and soon got the title of technical sergeant, he liked this position very much, and repeatedly refused to command the squad or be promoted. Until today, this seemingly ordinary technical sergeant has actually He is one of the oldest figures in the entire Second Fleet.

Traasin seldom participated in battles, but he has unique skills in archaeological activities. He can always find those hidden ancient ruins very accurately, and then let the legion return with a full load. Hector even remembers the only time he participated in this kind of regiment The construction activity was led by Traasin. About [-] voluntary soldiers followed the veteran to a wonderful place: there was no breath of life, and it was full of cold machines and sleeping metal skeletons. It seems that before being buried in this mausoleum, the owners of these tombs were already corpses.

That place looked like a small dynasty from countless years ago. Fangs broke in, took a while to clean up those strange metal skeletons, and seized a lot of usable things, but the only pity was , When they rushed into the place that looked like the throne room, they realized that the most precious things had disappeared, but the other treasures were all in good condition.

However, Traasin did not seem to be disappointed by this.

"Repair, or need?"

The technical sergeant led Hector slowly to his workbench, and there was always an inexplicable smile in that dry voice.

"I hope to fix it, Senior Traasin, you may be the only one in the Legion who understands these techniques."

"Ah, I only know one thing, Hector, and I can't promise to fix it."

Hector handed over his weapon to the technical sergeant. At the beginning, he took over the Star God phase sword from Tarasin, and he used this weapon quite smoothly.

"How is this weapon used?"

"It's okay, overall I feel like I'm getting the hang of it, but I always feel like I'm not getting all the power out of it."

"Maybe they're still asleep, but who knows?"

The technical sergeant didn't touch the weapon immediately, but went to the bookshelf to pick and choose, and took out one after another of dilapidated books, turning two pages of one, looking at the other, and returning to In front of the workbench, he was recording something, but even so, he did not stop chatting with Hector.

"How's the situation on the front line? My little Hector, it's been a long time since you guys have sent any new stories back to [The Seeker]. I even feel a little lonely."

Hearing this sentence, Hector suddenly remembered some fragments: It is said that the tradition of the Second Fleet's enthusiasm for collecting stories was first initiated by the ancient warrior Traasin, but that is already an unclear history. Don't know if this is true.

"Plainness often means safety, Senior Traasin, but it is true that Ran Dan has not launched a large-scale offensive for a long time. The mainstream speculation on the front line is that their state system of slavery has been caused by this large-scale bloody war. The main race declined and fell into turmoil, so it cannot continue to support this endless war."

"So, do you think this war will end with our victory?"

"It is true that it is not yet a victory, but we can already see the dawn on the horizon. Senior Trasim, even the most pessimistic frontline officer, just thinks that we may not be able to make the northeastern and northern parts of the galaxy prosperous again. , after all, the traces of destruction brought about by this war are really difficult to remove.”

Traasin smiled, his back turned to the young warrior, busy on his bookshelf.

"I've been through a lot, more than you can imagine, Hector, and my memory tells me that peace in war isn't always a good thing."

He turned his head, with a deep and disturbing smile on his face.

"War is a storm, boy."

"Serenity does not belong to it."

"...you mean?"

"When your various tactical teams were broken up into pieces and were constantly fighting and collecting intelligence on the front line, I was also listening to other information in boredom, some information from the interior of the empire and the center of the galaxy."

"Do you know the No.11 Legion? Their home galaxy has always been considered one of the safest areas in the empire, but in recent days, it is said that there have been some strange alien fleets appearing there."

"Oh, and the No.11 Legion itself. They have invested in this war for too long. It's been so long, it's not normal."

"How long has it been since you received information from the No.11 Corps, kid?"

"us……"

Hector opened his mouth, instinctively wanting to answer this question, but then, he froze in place, opening and closing his mouth, but he was still unable to give a suitable answer.

Yup……

How long had it been since they had heard from the No.11 Legion?

How long has it been since the purest Primarch led his legion into the core area of ​​Randan Empire? How long has he not sent anyone back?
a year?
two years?

Or three years?

Or... longer...

------

Johnson was breathing hard.

He leaned against a broken pillar full of sand, tried his best to adjust his breathing, and recovered his physical strength and energy: Although those wounds were rapidly compounding under the superhuman physique of the Primarch, physical strength and energy The consumption is also real.

He was a little weak, a little tired, and more importantly: he was too embarrassed, so embarrassed that he didn't want anyone to see his current appearance.

Although he didn't care about it in the furious fight just now, when the battle was over, when the duel was won, and when the burning anger and recklessness finally cooled down in the icy air, the lion of Caliban suddenly realized that he What kind of stupid thing are you doing.

……

In a way, that bastard Ruth was right, they were like two idiots.

No, that stupid wolf must be the dumber one, he screwed up everything, Magnus and Lorgar combined are not as stupid as him.

Zhuang Sen lowered his head and looked at the tattered armor on his body: the damage of the armor is not a big deal, but the appearance of sand and dust all over his body really hurt the reserved heart of the King of Knights.

especially……

When the sound of large footsteps appeared next to his ears.

Obviously, a large number of his heirs are coming, and he has to show this tattered appearance in front of his subordinates. Although the dark angels may think it's nothing, but just appearing in front of outsiders in this dirty beggar state It made Johnson himself unacceptable.

This will not work.

He patted the dust hard, only to find that the dirt had spread all over his body, reaching deep into his eyebrows and nails, and even every strand of his golden hair had been entangled with the gray soil, forming a Disgusting locks of hair that look like an old khaki sack

Damn, he can't look like this...

Johnson gritted his teeth, and then, he heard a strange sound.

The Dark Angel's footsteps seemed to be urgently stopped, and then, the argument between the two voices entered his ears, and he immediately recognized that the thicker one was Arachos, and he persisted until he came in immediately, while the colder and more The crisp one is Morgan, who is blocking the Dark Angel's actions with an almost unreasonable attitude: she can't give any reason, but instead rambles around, blocking the Dark Angel's footsteps.

And just as this unreasonable argument was going on, a tiny whirlwind of psionic energy floated all the way to Jonson's feet without anyone noticing. , he struggled to stand up, and then, this psionic energy enveloped him.

Like the spring breeze, or the clear mountain spring water, Zhuang Sen could clearly see the dirt on his armor and face being blown away by psionic energy at an extremely fast speed, just like the autumn mountain wind blowing away the rotten The leaves, they even brushed his golden hair, letting it shine again like the sun peeling off the clouds.

He accepted all this obediently. When the last trace of spiritual energy finally left his body, he even felt that his spirit had improved a lot. At least, he could walk a few steps again.

And at this moment, the short and thick quarrel outside the room came to an end: he could even hear the sound of Arachos drawing his sword. Obviously, the blocking behavior of the silver-haired lady allowed the Dark Angel to easily overcome his little fear of her .

【enough. 】

Jonson spoke, and his order ended all of this easily through the wall, and then he walked out of the room slowly, without letting his son in to see the situation here: Ruth was in the other corner of the room, He didn't look too good, and although it was hard for Johnson to say he had a positive opinion of him, he still didn't intend to embarrass his brother in front of his heirs.

He went out, met his subordinates, and accepted their visit and concern. His eyes seemed to sweep across the silver figure at the side at random: she was standing on the periphery of the team, and she seemed not interested in joining this father-son interaction. Jonson looked at her, then turned his head and glanced at the room behind him seemingly inadvertently.

Afterwards, Morgan nodded and held up a finger. On the tip of her finger was the same psionic breeze as before. With a wave of her hand, this breeze blew into the room to help another person who was still unconscious. the original body.

A trace of satisfaction flashed across Zhuang Sen's heart.

Start now, or rather, from a long time ago.

The communication between him and his blood relatives no longer requires such direct and troublesome things as language. She only needs a look, and she knows what she is thinking.

……

Sometimes.

He even hoped that Morgan would be mortal.

------

When Leman Russ woke up, he had been moved to the great hall by the space wolves who woke up earlier, just before the throne of the tyrant Duran.

The wolf king of Fenris opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to be confused, to wake up and remember what happened, and then he jumped up.

"Where's Jonson? Where the fuck is that bastard? He still owes me a punch."

Before this roar could last even a second, the wolf king was completely submerged by the wolf howl of the mountains and tsunami and a large pile of black, gray and spotted fur. The group of cubs who rushed forward grabbed them down one by one.

"Okay! Okay! You little wolf cubs, tell me, where is my brother? Black blood! You answer!"

The wolf king's personal guard stood up and told him that the dark angel's fleet had just left.

"...fuck it."

Russ wanted to curse again, but the enthusiasm of the wolves overwhelmed him: his heirs were eager to know which primarch won the battle, after all, the one who walked out standing was Jonson, Many dark angels raised their noses to the sky in front of the wolves.

Russ thought about it, did not hide anything, and made it clear. Obviously, Jonson's last [sneak attack] made every Space Wolves feel righteous indignation, so Leman Russ became a wolf as a matter of course. The winner of the crowd, although his mind is full of other things now.

It wasn't until the Wolf King glanced over everyone in front of him again that he suddenly discovered that there was actually a mortal among them: that was the narrator of the Space Wolves Legion, one of the few mortals who were pleasing to the eye of Leman Russ, and he did not participate. The first line of battle, but the shriveled head of Duran Tyrant is now in his hands.

"I salute you, Wolf King."

He stepped forward and saluted.

"Lord Jonson has already told us everything that happened in the fortress. The battle that you two join hands to kill the Duran tyrant will become a legend of the expedition fleet. Even the most picky officials on Holy Terra can't say anything. .”

"..."

Ruth was silent, and it took him a few seconds to figure out the meaning of the sentence.

"You mean...Jonson told you that together we killed Duran's tyrant?"

"This battle will become the best evidence that the Space Wolves can fight well, my lord, those who criticized us must have nothing to say this time!"

"...Ah...Yeah...That would be great...I mean...that..."

Ruth scratched his face, and looked closer at his narrator.

"Did he tell you anything else? Like... a werewolf?"

"...What? My lord?"

"I mean, my brother, did he tell you anything else!"

"Master Zhuang Sen only told us how he killed Tyrant Duran hand in hand with you, and then left with the legion."

"……Oh……"

"...That's it."

Ruth's eyeballs rolled and he wanted to smile happily, but then he felt a sense of shame and chagrin.

In this strange feeling, he looked around loosely, but accidentally found something engraved on the tyrant's throne.

He stepped forward and looked.

Then, I laughed.

"grown ups."

Black Blood came up, and the primarch guard hesitated before confessing to his primarch a defeat, or rather, a complete defeat.

"Huh? Uh... that's it."

To his surprise, for some reason, Leman Russ' mood became better in an instant. After he listened carefully to the fiasco of the wolves, he casually patted his heir on the shoulder, comforting him while Sigh with a joking tone.

"According to what you say, that little guy named Morgan is not bad."

"Not bad...really not bad..."

Leman Russ talked to himself, greeted his cubs, and happily walked away from the room. On the contrary, the narrator was curious and walked towards the tyrant's throne.

He found that on the throne, a few words were engraved, which were words carved with a sword.

He read it out gently.

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[This is not an example. 】

(End of this chapter)