40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 631 14. The Past of Sovet (End, The Truth That Stung People, 9k)

I knew who he was the first time I saw him. It wasn't an intuition, it was simply because I had seen him so many times.

However, the Corporal Hayid in my memory was a middle-aged man with a terrified look, lying on a dirty and bloody battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of his companions. The sky he saw was blood red, the promethium flames were burning the entire jungle, and the rising smoke would soon turn into poisonous fog.

He gripped his gun tightly, his hands were bulging with veins and his fingers were white.

This is my deepest memory of him, because his hands were shaking, but he was always ready to shoot and fight. From then on, I knew that he was braver than me.

And now he stood in front of me, with a gray beard and messy hair. His face was full of the frost left by a hard life, and the wrinkles born from excessive aging had covered and submerged the scars left by his military service, making those scars of honor difficult to recognize.

He wanted to stand up straight, but his shaking legs made it difficult for him to do so. There was an expression on his face that I was unfamiliar with - mixed with aggrieved anger.

That emotion almost broke me, because I realized that something was wrong. A detail? A procedure? Someone's careless mistake?

I could shoot without blinking at a group of civilians who were driven towards me and timidly waving farm tools to scare them away, but I couldn't look Corporal Hayid in the face at this moment.

I squeezed Serrano's hand, her bones creaking softly. She squeezed back, and I glanced sideways at her, noticing that her jaw was trembling from the tension.

Haid walked towards us. He was unwilling to sit down. The glaring light shining on his head irritated him to blink continuously. So the Primarch waved his hand in a more determined manner, and the light dimmed at this moment.

His tall figure disappeared in the darkness, and I could only see a vague, huge outline that made it difficult for me to breathe. The owner of this outline reached out and gently patted the old corporal's shoulder.

"Sit down, Haid. You must do everything you can to hold on until the end of this trial."

"Yes, sir," the old corporal replied hoarsely.

He called the lion "sir", which was undoubtedly an overstep. But I believe that nothing that happened in this room was groundless.
Something about twelve years of working for the Inquisition began to play with my mind, and I realized that the old corporal himself would not have offered to call the Lion "sir". Therefore, this could only have been the Primarch's own request.

This is a kind of implicit protection.

I looked at the old corporal, at those eyes filled with fatigue. At that moment, I thought of many things. I had a lot of questions to ask him, but I refused to do so.

The only person who can speak for us is my hostess, and I have no right to cross that line. Moreover, I have realized where these problems come from.

You see, twenty years ago, Sovet was the embodiment of hell. He was not the only one trapped in that sea of ​​fire.

I, and Cyrano van der Leve, are among them.

Human life span is short, so our memory function is not very good. We can only remember a small number of particularly important things, and among these things, there will always be something that will have a profound impact on us.

I have seen good people driven crazy, I have seen death row inmates crying and confessing on the execution ground but refusing to be redeemed, and now, I am watching a person who is buried in our mistakes and remains silent.

These things made something in my heart scream, urging me to ask him questions, urging me to correct my mistakes.

Did I tell you I hate this job?

"What is it?" asked the old corporal.

He put the question straight to the point, and I knew what he meant, but I was not sure whether my hostess would reveal the truth.

Twelve years have passed. She has not even told me a single word of these things. The only people in this world who know the truth are probably her and the Seal Master, the latter of whom is the secret itself, and my mistress
She maintained confidentiality very well.

She values ​​her work above all else.

“It depends on how you define it.”

However, after a period of silence, I heard her answer.

Very good, Cyrano van der Leve, a good start.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Never before had I been so grateful for her simple and straightforward character, even though she was sometimes too straightforward and preferred to solve problems in a violent - I mean the simplest - way.

"Go on," the old corporal continued, his face looking almost numb.

The anger had disappeared, and I could still see some of it deep inside him, but it was not very clear. I tried to see through his eyes, but failed completely.

There was nothing in Haid's eyes, and I thought it was probably because he was afraid of getting an answer.

How many times had he thought about this question in the past twenty years? Did he suddenly wake up in his bed like me, surrounded by cold sweat and fear, and then shut his mouth to stop screaming?
I slowed my breathing and waited for the answer with him.

"In theory, I have no right to reveal the truth behind the Sowet incident to anyone, but..."

My hostess took a deep breath, suddenly lowered her tone, and asked a question that completely baffled me.

"He's here, isn't he?"

The silhouette in the darkness nodded calmly.

Who? Who are they talking about?

"I knew it." Serrano muttered to himself. "That pendant - I knew it was like this, I could sense it, if it was like this."

She took another deep breath, and her dagger-like shoulders dropped suddenly. The strength that had been supporting this dry and thin body was pulled out by her own hands.

My mistress was still sitting there, but I knew she was gone—at least the part of her that I knew, the part that was the Inquisitor, was gone.

All that was left at this moment was a poor woman who had been tortured to the limit by some supernatural force.

For the first time, she took the initiative to hold my hand.

I was flattered, but also gnashed my teeth – why didn’t you do this sooner?
"Demon." Serrano whispered the word. "Anyone who sees it for the first time will simply and directly categorize it as one of the demons. It fits our definition of a demon perfectly."

"First, it is a supernatural entity that violates logic, reason, and every law of physics. It should not appear in the material world. Secondly, the power that supports its activities in the human world comes from the warp. Finally, it carries some strong emotions and is driven by those emotions."

She paused for a few seconds, as if she was deliberately giving us some time to digest what she said. But the truth was not so. She paused only because she was thinking, and the three people in the room did not need time to relax.

Corporal Hayid just hopes to know the truth as soon as possible. No matter what the truth is, twenty years is enough to make anyone paranoid.

I already knew these definitions, and working for the Inquisition gave me ample opportunity to learn things I shouldn't have known.

As for the Lion, I think he has killed every demon I have ever seen in the Demon Manual.

"But it's not a demon."

My mistress uttered a long, sad, desolate sigh, as if to ask—How could it not be a demon? How could it not be?
But that's the truth, it's not a demon.

I felt a brief moment of joy that my guess had finally been confirmed, but it was only a brief moment. Soon, I fell into the same doubt as her.

How could it not be?

"Demons feed on the soul. The emotions they crave are essentially appendages of the soul."

"The Warp is a mirror, and what churns within it is our own reflection. So, if we set aside our extreme emotions, daemons are nothing less than reflections of ourselves."

"They do what we would do, and their vile and blasphemous pursuits can always be found in the mortal world as examples of the exact opposite and a million times better. In other words, we are constantly at war with ourselves, Corporal."

"This is the reason why people have such an instinctive fear when they see a demon. We are so afraid of our own worst selves that we don't even want to look at it. But it is not our reflection, it does not crave souls, it does not pursue any kind of madness, it is just..."

My mistress paused and fell into sobs. I looked anxiously at the corporal and the lion, hoping they would give her some time to calm down.

Honestly, seeing Cyrano van der Leff cry was probably more of a shock to me than knowing the lion was there.
I never in my life thought she would cry.

Even in my weakest, most unrealistic fantasies, the ones where I died a hero, I didn't think she would cry for me. I thought at most she would close my eyes or take my badge and then go on a killing spree.

And now she is crying.

This made me start thinking more deeply about what she had just said. She couldn't finish her words, the most important part was stuck in her throat, but the parts she said were already thought-provoking enough.

I thought back to the demons I had seen, the fear I felt, the goose bumps on my arms, the hair standing on end.
I realized that she was right, at least in part, that our fear of those demons was not entirely physiological. Even the most well-trained and elite soldiers would be seized by fear the moment they saw them, even if only for a moment.

But not the Astartes.

They can attack any foe instantly. They have undergone surgery to avoid many of the physical and psychological deficiencies of being human, which gives them advantages. One of these, I believe, is immunity to most fears.

I don't believe they are truly fearless, but they are certainly not afraid of demons. I am excited by the possibilities behind this idea - why aren't they afraid?
Because of the Emperor, it must be so. The Emperor has reached out to us, as he always has.

My thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"What is it?" someone asked.

Wait, who's asking that question? There are only four people in this room, who's talking?

With this question in mind, I looked around, but the darkness seemed to become very thick, and the dim light fell from above our heads. I could only see the face of Corporal Hayid and the outline of the lion, and beyond that, I could not see anything clearly.

Then I felt difficulty breathing because the air was becoming thinner. It was painful and cold, and it was hard to describe the specific feeling.

I scanned the darkness again, my muscles instinctively tensed. This time, I put all my energy into observing, but still found nothing.

Could it be that the hearing was caused by hallucination? Was some old injury of mine flaring up? Was I really still sane? These questions made me anxious until a hand suddenly rested on my shoulder.

"Please continue, Inquisitor Delleif," a voice said behind me, softly, almost whispering.

I was so overcome by fear that I wanted to scream - I swear to you, I almost screamed it out, along with the past twelve years.

However, the hand that held me tightly held me at this moment. It did not give up on me, and neither did she. She firmly brought me back from the abyss of fear, and then I heard her voice.

It was as articulate as ever, but with a reverence that I had never heard before.

"As you command, my lord"

Which sir? I instinctively wanted to ask this question - instinct, damn it, it always controls the body to react one step ahead of us sometimes, right?

This was what happened to me at that moment. My instinct made me turn my head away before I could fully regain my sanity.

In the darkness, I saw a pale man. He was dressed like a commoner, and the price of his coat would not even exceed eighty common coins, but he was unusually pale.

No, perhaps it should not be called pale. It is a completely inhuman paleness. Even the Sons of the Void cannot have such an abnormal skin color as his.

I should have gotten more useful information, but I stopped here. I was stunned. His eyes were the only answer.

his eyes
"Don't look, Mr. Sable," the man said to me suddenly, his voice still soft.

He frowned, as if he was annoyed about something. But I didn't detect any emotion in his tone that should make me alert, he was still calm.

He knew who I was, and why? Had he read the information? I turned away stiffly, trying to put these questions behind me, and did not look at him again as he said.
But those eyes still flashed before my eyes.

I heard him sigh: "Okay, then please stay calm."

What to keep——

Countless torn images suddenly swarmed in, regardless of whether I wanted to or not, they rushed into my mind, and just like that, I was forced to see many things that I could not understand at all.
I'll tell you one of them. Have you ever seen a legion fighting? No, I'm not talking about the legion of the guards, but a legion from a longer time ago.

How long ago? Ten thousand years ago.

The 30th Millennium.

The glorious Great Crusade, the bright age of courage. In that era, Legion was used eighty percent of the time to refer to only one thing: the Legiones Astartes.

Now you know what I'm talking about, and this is just the most mundane of the stuff.

My brain was almost crushed by them, and in a trance, I almost heard the brain cells that helped me think were screaming. They kept telling me to stop reading or they would die.

I wanted to answer that I couldn't, but I couldn't even answer them. When I came to my senses, I was already in a place that I was very familiar with.

I knelt in the mud and muttered to myself. The fire was raging, burning the sky, and there were dead bodies all around me.

A hand pulled me up.

I turned my head. Do you know who I saw?
"Renthal."

The silver-haired young man who pulled me up said my name and patted my shoulder, as if I were his friend. He was leaning on a long staff, and the famous Eagle Fire was still burning, sincere gold, gold that brought light.
My nose was sore and I shed tears for seeing this miracle of the Emperor again. The last time I saw him, this long staff stood before my eyes, and the eagle flapping its wings was still shining.

The seal bearer gently stroked my back and said, "Don't cry, child. The suffering you must endure as my chosen one has ended."

What do you mean? I looked at him in shock and fear.

"Do you remember the last time we met?" he asked me, and I nodded quickly - of course I remembered, how could I forget?

However, if I were to describe this matter in detail, it might be too complicated, so I will try to express it in simple terms.

The Sigillite had seen me once before I had been trained, lined up with the other armed guards in a hall of the Inquisition, and chosen by Cyrano van der Leff.

Remember that Sigillite permission I mentioned?
Yes, as you might imagine, I was actually serving as her armed escort as a spy on Cyrano van der Leff.

The entire selection was carefully designed. I don’t know how many men and women worked behind the scenes to achieve this result. In short, they succeeded without a doubt.

They picked me out from among the suitable candidates in the solar system and handed my information to the Sigillite's desk.

The Sigillite agreed to the plan, so my information was passed on again and arrived at the desk of Cyrano van der Leff along with other people's names.

She liked me at first sight. I guess the article must have described my strengths and weaknesses in great detail, so she would definitely choose me.
What Inquisitor could turn down an Inquisitorial-trained armed guard with bestial strength, instincts, combat proficiency, and Inquisitorial training? No, especially since I was ranked among the best in the class.

I'm not bragging.
Anyway, back to the topic, why did the seal master do this? I think you have guessed the answer, because of the thing sealed in Cyrano van der Leff's body.

I didn't know what it was, that's for sure, I just knew that I had to help my mistress in some way.

But it is important, isn't it? Otherwise, the Sigillite and his spies wouldn't have to make such a big fuss, nor would they have to summon me in secret.
On the night before the selection day, I was taken by the mute guards through a secret passage into a cave under the Tribunal.

There, I was immersed in a pool of frigid water. The Sigillite appeared just as I was about to freeze to death and gave me a new mission.

My life changed forever from that day forward, and I never thought about becoming a bounty hunter again.

"I remember, my Lord," I told the Sigillite loudly, puffing out my chest. "I have never forgotten."

"The mission I gave you back then left you without a good night's sleep for twelve years. I want to apologize for that."

The Master of the Seal looked down at me. He was very tall, and behind his young face was the wisdom and fatigue of all the Masters of the Seal over the past 100 centuries. His eyes were so deep that I couldn't even see my own reflection in them.

His words made me panic, and I immediately wanted to refute him, but the Seal Master did not give me the chance and continued to tell the story.

"You lived in a nightmare for twelve years. You shared the fear with Cyrano van der Lef and brought her out of the nightmare time and time again. That's why she was able to hold on until today."

"You have performed your mission brilliantly, Renthal, and therefore you must be rewarded. First, I will clear your confusion."

He raised his staff and waved it to point to the distance. I followed his guidance and saw the being with countless wailing faces again. But this time, it had not yet taken shape and was guarded by the corpses of countless Doomsday Guardians.
I shouldn't have been able to see every detail at this distance, but I did.

And this is just the beginning.

"Have you studied probability, Renthal?" the Sigillite asked me.

“I haven’t studied it systematically, but I know what it is.”

"That's enough." The seal bearer nodded to me, not very strongly, but enough to reassure me. "What we are going to discuss next is that it was born out of probability. From this point of view, you can call it an accident."

An accident? I was stunned. I had not expected to hear such an explanation, but the Master of the Seal continued, his voice reaching deep into my heart.

"There is only one word in the world that can perfectly describe its essence. It is an accident, Renthal, that's all. But why is it so special?"

The Master of the Seal raised his staff again, and in an instant the world changed. The corpses, mud, and blood all disappeared, and the blood-red sky that had been bothering me was gone, replaced by stars, endless, distorted stars that looked like living creatures from hell.

They couldn't see me, but I was still shaking with fear.

"This is the warp." The Sigillite whispered indifferently. "However, I will not mention the lowly names of those evil gods. Since the birth of mankind, they have been coveting our souls."

“When primitive people huddled together for warmth in dark caves, waiting for the dawn in fear, they were watching from the sidelines.”

“When colonists carrying muskets and hunting knives crossed the sea and arrived in the New World, and lit campfires at night to tan buffalo hides, they were there. Even at the end of the world, they are still there.”

“They have been, are, and will be forever, but you should not think that they are really gods.”

Of course I don't think so, they are false gods——

"--No, you are still wrong. They are not even that. They are as lowly as parasites." The Master of the Seal said this in a tone I never thought he would use.

He sounded cold and hateful. It was a deep hatred, and I
I don’t know what happened, maybe it was because I was standing next to him, but in any case, I briefly experienced what was hidden behind this emotion.

I didn't think about it, this conclusion just popped into my mind, and it told me that the reason why the Sigillites harbor such hatred is not just because they are evil.

Part of his hatred was personal.

I was horrified.

"Your feeling is not wrong." The Sigillite said to me calmly. "I was taken away by them. They made me witness my compatriots turn into dust, beasts and monsters. Therefore, I hate them and I hope they all die."

"Sir?" I called him with a blank mind.

"What is it, Renthal?"

I couldn't speak, I tried but I just couldn't.

The Sigillite looked at me and continued, "They have never loosened their grip on human souls. Every minute, every second, humans are dying, regardless of whether they are loyal to the Empire or not. Where do you think their souls go?"

"Return to the Emperor's throne," I said.

I guess my tone must have been very numb, otherwise the Sigillite wouldn't have suddenly smiled.

He shook his head and said, "No, only a few people can. As for the majority of others--"

He raised his scepter again and pointed to the stars that seemed to have cancer. He didn't say the answer, but I already knew it.
At that moment, I was desperate.

So this is the truth? Even if we fight to the death, we will not be able to serve the Emperor or rest in peace after death? The evil gods watch, the demons wait hungry, and sooner or later, countless people will fall into their sharp teeth and suffer.
These thoughts overwhelmed me to the point where I could hardly breathe and even wanted to kneel down, but I didn't.

Remember what I said? Humans can only rely on themselves.

In a grotesque and cruel way, my heretical ideas were proven to be correct. The Emperor may be powerful, but he is not powerful enough to protect every human soul. He has done his limit, so where is our limit?

I have to prove to him that I haven't reached my limit yet and that I still have the strength to persevere.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down - I was talking nonsense. In fact, I didn't know where I was now. Fortunately, the seal holder was still by my side.

"Every dead person from ancient times to the present, all their souls, have been divided up by those parasites." He said to me softly. "They have been keeping a close eye on us, without a moment's relaxation. However, from a probability perspective, we still have a chance of survival."

“No matter how powerful they are, no matter how greedy they are, they will always be distracted for a moment. It won’t be long, and it may not be a moment in the real world, but this moment must exist.”

"It is true that mathematics cannot be applied to them, but in the material world, in those places that have not been eroded by the warp, mathematics is the only truth."

"You calculate where the shell is going to go, and there it will go, unless it's intercepted. And I'm telling you, Renthal, we calculated where that shell was going to go, and it's been twenty years since it exploded."

I stared at him, waiting for the next words. Was my mind still blank? I didn't know. I just looked at him and waited for the final verdict. Just like Corporal Hayid twenty years ago, he huddled in his position waiting for the shells to explode and the bombing to end.

"The creature sealed within Cyrano van der Leff has not been touched by any god. It is a manifestation of the pure human soul in the material world, without any god behind it."

"The Doomsday Guardians were unwilling to die like this. They wanted to continue fighting. They created it. From this point of view, it can represent the indomitable spirit of mankind."

The bombing came and went, and I was dizzy.

"It is humanity's resistance," the Sigillite said quietly. "One day, it will become our sword."

I gasped, then knelt down, the world spinning, and the things that were familiar to me slowly returned. The Seal Bearer was still standing in front of me, staring at me, but I always felt that he was not actually looking at me.

I turned around and saw the pale man. He was smiling.

Was he standing behind me the whole time? I'm afraid so, but that doesn't matter.

I think I know who he is.

"That's great," he said.
-
"How long have you been planning this?" Khalil asked.

There was no sun in the sky, but the light was still dazzling. The earth was dry, but not cracked. Although it was covered with dust, it did not look decadent. The far end of the horizon was flat, without any ups and downs.

The plain has dried up, but something is still moving underground, thriving.

“I cannot tell you,” Malcador said.

They stood side by side, sheltered from the heat, beneath a tree that might be called the center of the wilderness, but what kind of tree was it? Even the most learned botanist would have difficulty defining it.

All we know is that its trunk is made of some kind of pure glass. It was once piled up from false gravel, then burned by fire, and finally became this shape.

"Why?" Khalil asked in surprise. "Am I not at a high enough level?"

Malcador glanced at him, raised the staff in his hand heavily, and brought it down heavily, making it make a dull sound.

"No, you are more than qualified, but I simply don't want to tell you this idle and nosy person."

"Come on, old friend. I'm really curious about this."

Malcador snorted coldly at this: "Why don't you be curious about who created Haid's situation over the years, and who was secretly behind your journey, guiding you to Banjo-1."

Khalil reluctantly suppressed his smile and asked softly, "Is it you?"

"It is I," Malcador said, his face expressionless. "I am the only one capable of doing this, and you are not wary of me."

Khalil sighed and said carefully, "So, you used him as bait?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Khalil asked sincerely.

"Because I have to be sure," Malcador said. "You can't know all this, and you have to be here."

He turned his head and stared at the distant horizon, but there was nothing there.

"I don't understand," Khalil whispered.

Malcador turned and looked at him. He looked at him for a long time before he spoke slowly.

"Of course you don't understand. You've missed a lot, Khalil. For example, you don't know how many people have died over the past ten thousand years for this project, and you don't know how many people we have burned to death just to come up with the calculations."

"Tzeentch scratched his head and tried to find the truth behind the curtain. No matter how many times he checked, he got different results. He couldn't see what we were doing, and for that I want to thank you. You made him extremely weak."

He paused, looked at Khalil, then raised his hand, thrust the long staff in his hand deeply into the ground, and then opened his hands.

"If you are going to judge me, do it now." The Master of the Seal said ruthlessly. "I once wanted to be like you, standing up to any minor injustice, but in the end I became someone else."

"I indulged in sacrifice, led people to die, and turned them into numbers filling up paper. I'm sorry to see you again ten thousand years later. I've let you down to this extent."

"I'm not disappointed," Khalil said. "I'm just sad, for you, for him, for Hayid, for everyone."

He approached Malcador, shook his hand, and then embraced him, as if he were an old friend. The Sigillite's face, as hard as stone, finally showed a little movement, and his lips trembled.

On the distant horizon, a third man slowly appeared. He walked slowly, but every step was steady. His face was dark and strong, and he wore a conical hat on his head.

He walked to the tree, met them, talked with them. They did not leave until it was almost dark. The light had faded, and only the tree remained standing. In the darkness, under the terrifying night sky, countless faint lights flickered quietly inside it.

When will the next day come?
(End of this chapter)