40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 672 54. Interlude: A Prophecy
M40, Nostramo, surface, Fifth Temple.

The pastor and justice, Malgont, stretched out his right hand, took out a handful of candies from a small jar on the dark round table in front of him, and turned around to distribute them to some children.

In the dim hall, only this place was lit with a faint candlelight. The miserable cold color made everyone's shadow look very sneaky, not to mention the uniform black robes. If an ordinary imperial official came here, he would probably immediately order his guards to prepare for battle against the cult.
Of course, this is subject to certain conditions.

Well, a lot of premises.

"After eating the candy, brush your teeth, wash up, and then go to bed, understand? No prayer tonight." Margant said to the group of children.

His voice was rough, like two grenades with the fuses pulled out of them. The friction sound was extremely harsh and contained explosive power, but the group of children were not afraid of him. On the contrary, one of their leaders even started asking questions.

"Why don't you pray, Father?" asked a taller girl.

Unlike most children, she did not wear the hood of her robe. Her abnormally white skin was covered with many horrific scars. The most conspicuous one went through her entire neck. It was hard to imagine how she survived such a serious injury.

"Because there is no prayer tonight." Margaunt nodded to her. "That's it, stop bargaining, or you won't have any candy tomorrow, Kalani."

The girl hummed obediently, as if she had noticed something from the priest's attitude. She did not try to stay in the hall for a while longer as she did in the past. Instead, she ate the candy very quickly and left with the team.

Their departure seemed to have taken away the last bit of life here, and Margant's face gradually became calm in the light of the candlelight - of course, it could also be called lifeless.

When ordinary people see him like this, they will immediately feel that something is wrong. According to some people, this feeling is like "seeing a ghost when walking on the road at night" or "opening the door and seeing a coffin".
In short, they were not good words, but Margant was used to it.

Strictly speaking, he really has little to do with living people.

"You've been too indulgent with her, Malgaunt." A voice suddenly sounded in the darkness, very low. "The girl is very smart, but your training of her is erasing this intelligence. How about handing her over to someone who really knows how to use this intelligence?"

"I refuse, Captain Shadrius."

"Why?"

Margant turned around and shook his head at the darkness. "I promised her mother that I would not let Kalani follow her old path. Besides, every orphan has the right to choose their future life path."

"Want to make a bet?" asked the man called Captain Shadrius.

Margaunt raised his hand and waved it vigorously, giving the answer: "No, I don't joke about children's lives."

The captain was silent for a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice had become slightly unhappy: "You make me sound like a scumbag, Malgonte. But I still don't agree with your idea."

"Which point?"

“Every bit.”

A tall shadow slowly walked out of the darkness. He was fully armed, with two power daggers inserted on his waist, one on the left and one on the right. Apart from that, no other weapons could be seen.

The emblem on his shoulder armor consisted of two interlaced blades, forming an X, with a black base and silver edges. This meant that he was from the Nightblades' Second Company, the company with the highest casualty rate in the entire Nightblades.

Malgont looked at him and remained patient: "I'd like to hear more about it."

"Now?" Shadrius raised his right eyebrow, revealing a mocking expression. "I'm afraid now is not a good time to discuss the orphan's future, my good pastor. Let's focus on business."

Malgant sighed imperceptibly but said nothing more. He just turned and left, and his footsteps began to echo in the ancient stone building.

He had worked with Shadrius Anfred for more than a century. The longest-lived Second Captain had never concealed his disapproval of Malgant from the first day they met, and he had never let it go, even when Yago Sevitarion himself came forward.

Therefore, Margant no longer expected to convince the second captain on these matters. Of course, the disagreement between them was limited to this matter.

Soon, they arrived at their destination, where the "business" mentioned by Shadrius was going on. After passing through a quiet corridor and two brick arches, they could see this gray and white quiet room.

It has no door, and even a whole wall is missing. This is of course intentional. The dense Nostramo characters are very neatly packed into every inch of it. Four monks stand in the middle of the room with their heads bowed in meditation, their hands folded in their sleeves, waiting for Malgonte's arrival without saying a word.

"I still think you need reform, Chaplain." The second captain spoke slowly but not seriously behind him.

"This old trick of mystery and cult atmosphere really needs to change. He will come back sooner or later. Do you think he will be happy to see his hometown become like this?"

Malgaunt reached up and pulled up his hood, answering him slowly: "Before he sees these things, the first thing he will notice is the steel dome of Nostramo and its true nature now - so it is not me who should be more troubled by this, but our beloved Chapter Master."

The second captain stopped talking, only grumbling impatiently. Margant decided to quit while he was ahead and immediately stepped into the room.

His right foot had just touched the brick floor when the gray and white words suddenly began to move at a speed fast enough to drive a person crazy.

The monks scattered, raised their hands quietly, crossed them and clasped them on their chests, put their index fingers close to their necks, and cut a hole. Blood immediately dripped down along the fingers, slowly moving from the four corners of the room to the center where Malgonte was at the moment.

A strong wind began to howl from nowhere, and Shadrius narrowed his eyes, and the dark eyes unique to the Nostramo people began to be stained with a little blood.
There is something interesting - the first captain of the Night Blade in the Chapter Era, Kasati Nuong, was called "Blood Eyes" by his enemies with hatred, fear and respect. After his death, the Second Company began to use this as the company name.

His extreme fighting style has been continued bit by bit by the Second Company to this day, and this is the main reason for the high casualty rate of the Second Company.

The wind howled, and Malgant slowly closed his eyes.

This was not the first time he had done this, but he could never keep calm - although his teacher and the scriptures mentioned that it was best for the caster to stay calm, he could not do it anyway. Before his death, his teacher told him with regret and sadness: Your talent surpasses all of us, child, I am sorry.

Normally, a normal teacher shouldn't feel sad or even apologize for his student's excellence, but the situation between them is different.
Margaunt began to hear shouting, not far away, even close at hand. He tried his best to calm down and told himself not to listen or look, but he still couldn't help but hear it clearly.

Lamentations, screams, and the last sigh before death. A child crying in the ruins of his own home, a man watching his wife and daughter being skinned and tortured but unable to do anything with great hatred, a mother screaming in her arms holding a stiff baby in the cold street.
He was the avenger, so these things came to him, but he was not here for them. The blood of the devout, driven by the words of God around him, began to wrap his spiritual essence and took him to the deepest part of the endless wave of chaos.

This process is extremely dangerous. Countless people and aliens have been lost in the galaxy throughout history, but Malgont has no such worries.

He counted down to five seconds, then opened his eyes and saw a heavy shadow. Countless demons were shrouded in it, some had become corpses, and some were still fighting. Apart from the dead, the living ones were attacking each other.

They can be roughly divided into two groups, one half is dominated by dark blue, and the other half is filled with ominous black and red.

Of course, this was only the most superficial difference. Margont even had to force himself to forget the details - these things did not belong to the human world. His duties were not yet fulfilled, and he could not put down the burden on his shoulders and become a relatively carefree revenger, so he had to forget these things.

But, at the top of this shadow, there is an exception.

Malgant raised his head and looked at him. The man also lowered his head as if aware of something, and accurately found him in the storm of flying flesh and blood and blasphemous witchcraft. Then, he raised his right hand and slightly hooked his fingers, and Malgant was swept by a gust of wind and blown to the top of the shadow.

The man who sought justice bowed his head immediately. He raised his hands and placed them across his chest. Two sharp blades appeared in his hands. He held the blade in his right hand, slightly turning his wrist, pointing the blade tip at the air in front of him. He held the blade in his left hand, with the blade facing his neck.

"You are not someone who likes to come to see me, Malgaunt." The owner of the shadow smiled and tilted his head, looking at him carefully, ignoring the etiquette. "So, I guess you probably have to come?"

"Your Highness."

The owner of the shadow curled his lips and gestured to him: "Don't call me that. You fundamentalist diehards are the most annoying in this regard. Just tell me what you want to say, my apostle - and then go back to take care of the children as soon as possible. They are still growing."

"A dispute broke out in the Hall of Prophecy today. The Great Prophet was unable to judge who was right and who was wrong, so he reported the details to me."

"And you can't make a judgement?"

The Lord of Shadows chuckled with amusement, raised his hand, and took off the crown on his head. The noble treasure that seemed to be condensed from moonlight made Malgont look over uncontrollably. It was not the first time he met him, but it was the first time he saw him really wearing the crown properly on his head. Although he took it off now, he still kept it with him.

"What's the matter?" Konrad Curze, Lord of the Eighth Legion and ruler of Nostramo, asked with a little curiosity.

Malgont instinctively took a deep breath and began to tell the story.

The matter was not actually complicated. It was just that two prophets belonging to the Temple of Prophecy had a disagreement on the predicted result of an event. However, its nature was quite serious because the two prophets claimed at the same time that they had dreamed of Terra in their sleep last night.

The Hall of Prophecy is full of psychics with powerful prophetic talents, who can often see some secrets about the future or the past. They should be strictly guarded, and even those with more controllable abilities will be subjected to torture-like training, but Night Blade has a different opinion on this.

According to the Book of Prophecy left by Conrad Curze, they established the Temple of Prophecy, which was actually a rather loosely structured organization. Apart from basic education, there were almost no restrictions, research or coercion on the prophets.

It is said that Terra was very dissatisfied with this, but considering the success rate of the prophecy, they even sent people from the Psionic Academy to discuss cooperation.

When Margant learned about this, he was shocked.

You know, most of the institutions on Terra have always been very dissatisfied with most of the institutions on Nostramo that were established during the Chapter era. The Hall of Prophecy may be the only organization that they have agreed to be legitimate throughout the empire. They even ask a group of prophets to channel the information they provide every 25 years.
And give money, a lot of money.

Malgant didn't know what role their respected chapter leader played here. He only knew that Yago Sevitarion always smiled every time he talked about this matter, and any words that came out of the Hall of Prophecy should be treated with caution.

It’s not that he believed everything, but if he was told to ignore it, he might as well find a rock and hit his head against it and die.

After all, this is all about Terra—and Terra is still intact.

Terra that has not yet experienced the day of Terra's shattering.

Konrad Kozan stood there quietly and listened to him finish his story. The expression of the Lord of the Eighth Legion did not change during this process. If there were no two armies of demons fighting each other under their feet, Malgont would even ask someone to paint this scene himself.
But the screams that kept haunting his ears reminded him.

The Justice looked at him cautiously, hoping for an answer, but Curze didn't let him down, and didn't even let him wait too long before speaking directly.

"Go back immediately and tell them not to make any related predictions for at least the next five years and to meditate instead. Also tell Yago Sevitarion to contact Terra through official channels immediately and activate all the emergency plans within the Inquisition regarding the first timeline."

Conrad Curz paused for a moment and sighed in annoyance. Malgont noticed his anger and his expression gradually became cautious - but before he could ask anything, Curz told him all his complaints.

"Listen, Malgant. You should be a man for as long as you can. Do you understand? Look at me. You brought such important information, but I can't deliver it to Terra in person."

The Lord of the Night put on the crown with a half-smile, snorted coldly and left, muttering something like "gold is too dazzling".
Malgon Privilege pretended that he didn't hear it. He closed his eyes, the strong wind stopped, and the wailing in his ears finally stopped.

"What happened?" Shadrius Anfred asked a little nervously.

Malgant opened his eyes, looked at him, and said, "The Chapter Master will probably scold us."

The second captain let out a long sigh and shrugged his shoulders: "Let him do what he wants. I have never been scolded in a meeting. Let's go, my good pastor. We are going to ruin Yago Sevitarion's good mood."

(End of this chapter)