40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 702 84. Interlude: Triumphal Ceremony (Part )
Yes, this is just the beginning.

Kaliphon was still trying to reorganize his thoughts and sentences, but the taste of blood already lingered between Perturabo's lips and teeth.

Part of him was still here, watching his relatives who should have died in silence, but another part of him had returned to that living hell, drowned in a sea of ​​blood, with the chains that bound him deeply embedded in the blood and flesh, almost becoming a new bone.

The demons howled and profaned the bodies of his dead children, while the leader whispered
"We know that no matter how much we torture you, you will never yield." It said, its pupils seemed to be made up of twisted circles of blood vessels. "But what does it matter? Violence will make you bow your head, and victory will slip away from your hands."

"But that's not enough - the victor should take everything."

The breath of sulfur and fire erupted from its throat, and the creature turned and left him briefly, but with an uncontrollable grin. It soon returned, carrying many pieces of broken armor that it had fished out from the sea of ​​blood and corpses.

Their iron-gray surfaces were covered with mottled rust. No matter how glorious they had been in the past, or how carefully they had been maintained and cherished, they had now become nothingness. They should have been the wearer's strongest shield in the face of death, but they failed.

as same as him.

The bloody flames ignited, burning and melting the armor. A bloody claw reached into it and shaped it. Its owner obviously knew exactly what he needed. In a short moment, the fragments of armor gradually turned into a weapon in the bloody flames.
"I'll leave some evidence of your failure," it said with a grin.

The blood flame died, and it came towards him holding the weapon. The weapon itself was straight and sharp, shaped like a sword, but it was red hot, and the tip of the sword was twisted to the extreme.

So, this is not a weapon, but a branding iron.

"Abo?"

The Lord of Steel nodded calmly to show that he was still waiting, but he lowered his right hand and touched his chest. It had been a long time since that failure, but the scar did not seem to have healed.
Sometimes he had the illusion that it was still hot.

But now is not the time to open old wounds.

He looked up at Kaliphon, who was still suppressing her emotions, looking at him worriedly, without eating a single bite of the food on her plate.

"Why don't you continue?" he asked deliberately.

Kalyphon's brows suddenly furrowed in pure rage at these words. Perturabo had no doubt that she would explode in the next moment. But for the first time tonight, his premonition was wrong.

Kalifeng's anger completely disappeared in the next moment. There was no longer any resentment or guilt for her brother's miserable condition in her eyes, and her lips were no longer tightly pursed.

At this moment, she seemed to have suddenly returned to the past, the responsibilities of the tyrant were lifted from her shoulders, and the false reputation of the Primarch's relatives was thrown behind her. She no longer cared about where she was or how she should behave.

At this moment, she was just the daughter of a tyrant in Locus, Olympia, looking at her brother, her only remaining relative in the world.
The crystal tears slid down his face and fell on the white tablecloth. How slight was the sound? But it was not the case for Perturabo. His extraordinary hearing was still effective at this moment, allowing him to fully capture the sound.

He only felt that the sound was like a bomb exploding in his ears, making him dizzy, so that he - the Lord of Steel - had to put down his right hand and grasp the side of the bench to steady himself.

He clenched his teeth tightly to prevent himself from making any sound, but the bomb continued to explode, and more tears continued to slide down the face of the old, stupid and completely out-of-control woman, and a few drops even fell on the back of his left hand.

He should have felt bored, disgusted, or even resentful, but he didn't. Somewhere in his heart, the soft spot that had not yet been filled with the proliferation of tissue after the wound healed, cried out with human nature.

To him, the sound sounded almost like a whimper.

Perturabo spoke as if to himself: "Don't cry."

The noise at the other end of the long table disappeared at this moment, and the three primarchs stopped their actions at the same time in tacit understanding.

Sanguinius raised the corner of his mouth as if he had expected it, and Rogal Dorn nodded slightly as if in agreement. Only the white-haired Robert Guilliman was confused, and the silver wine cup that was supposed to be brought to his lips was frozen in the air. The Fenrisian mead in the cup was swirling endlessly, emitting a pungent aroma.

"What's wrong?" He carefully put down the wine glass in his hand, and then asked very carefully.

"It's nothing, Robert." The archangel smiled and made a gesture to him, which meant 'continue'. "Just keep drinking, don't worry about it."

"But."

"Keep drinking." The angel smiled and took his hand. "Listen to me."

He had already done this, and Guilliman could not say no, so he had to raise his head and drink this cup of precious mead.
However, the original body's taste buds were at least thousands of times more developed than those of ordinary people, and because of this, he tasted extremely rich flavors. Sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty, and dozens of special stimuli that could not be classified by "taste" mixed together, evenly exploded on his tongue, rolled down his throat, and fell into his stomach.

The first half was normal, it was just the scalding heat of the wine, but when it hit the bottom, the heat like magma made Guilliman gasp for air and he even had a desire to eat ice cubes raw.

"Is it delicious?" the archangel asked expectantly. "This is one of the last barrels of wine left by Russ. We have been keeping it."

Guilliman was still hesitant at first, but he immediately smiled after hearing this: "It has a very strong smell, worthy of Russ's craftsmanship - wait, what are you going to do?"

The archangel smiled and raised the wine jug in his hand.

"How about another glass? Aren't you too much for it now, Robert?"

"No, of course not, it's just that I—"

"--Ah, I see." The angel raised his eyebrows and put on a face of sudden enlightenment. "You don't really like mead, do you? Well, that's true, after all, you usually drink wine. It's just a pity for Rus's legacy."

Guilliman took a deep breath, raised his hand to grab the wine jug in Sanguinius's hand, and was about to pour another cup into his own cup. However, Dorn, as if foreseeing the future, stretched out his right hand to stop him, and also took the wine jug from Sanguinius' hand and put it aside.

He glanced at the angel with a warning, then at Guilliman, whose forehead was already covered with sweat, and finally shook his head. The former entered with a smile, as if nothing had happened, while the latter only realized it at this moment.

However, he was not angry, but picked up the wine pot again and drank it all. Half a minute later, he put down the heavy copper pot heavily and shouted loudly: "Cheers to Ruth!" A pair of siblings at the other end of the long table cast their eyes in this direction, one looked coldly at them, and the other had tears in her eyes.
-
Khalil lowered his head and looked at the list in his hand. After confirming that it was correct, he handed it to a mechanical priest.

Although the latter's face has been completely replaced by mechanical mechanisms, the constantly shrinking prosthetic eye still expresses his happiness at the moment in a rather strange way.

Interestingly, although his face was transformed quite thoroughly, his voice still sounded normal: "Thank you, sir."

"It's just a small thing, no need to thank me for anything," said Khalil, shaking his hand.

The priest said nothing more, and after a solemn salute, he boarded a transport plane. The engine roared, the wind blew, and Khalil squinted his eyes, watching it gradually take off and disappear in the sky, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
The 50,000 Crusaders that someone had taken back from a collector have since had an official status in the current empire - the list that he, the Grand Inquisitor, has just signed and sealed has made a brand new law come into effect.

But he actually doubted whether it was necessary to do so. After all, no matter how he thought about it, the Mechanicus could not just leave these 50,000 Skitarii from the past and refuse to accept them.
Khalil could only tentatively interpret this as some political necessity and a good start.

It should be noted that all things are difficult at the beginning. What returned with the combined fleet was not only the good news of the liberation of five hundred worlds, but also some complex tasks that were enough to make many people work overtime for many days without sleep.

For example, the return of the Skitarii, how the 10,000 auxiliary troops would be arranged by the Military Affairs Department, and most importantly, the future affiliation of the 1,000 Astartes.
These problems cannot be underestimated. Although they can be much less difficult if handled by him, various documents, procedures and a large number of meetings are probably inevitable.

Khalil could almost foresee how he would spend the next three days: endless meetings, trips here and there, getting on and off shuttles.
Might as well throw me into the orc pile.

He couldn't help but complain in his mind, but his hands moved quickly and he quickly took out a data tablet from a briefcase he carried with him. After passing the biometric verification, a document popped out. The emblem of the Executive Yuan was shining under the title, which was very conspicuous.

He clicked it open and frowned as he read, not for anything else but because of the rough treatment in the document.

First of all, as for the 10,000 auxiliary troops, without communicating with the Ministry of Military Affairs, the conclusion reached after discussion within the Executive Yuan was to disperse them and send them to the military academies of various units for training. They would then be awarded medals based on their experience, years of service, and military exploits, and then sent to the Zhongsi Academy to serve as military instructors.

On the surface, it seems to be a very thoughtful treatment. A force of 10,000 people sounds large, but in reality, it is just a drop in the bucket in any war of any intensity. It is better to let them continue to shine in this way.
But the problem is that this treatment obviously did not take into account whether they agree, and -

The dataslate flickered again.

Khalil squinted his eyes and clicked on the prompt, and found that the State Council had sent another new document. To summarize the content, it could be regarded as a reversal and denial of the previous document.

This document believes that those veterans should be used as excellent examples for the propaganda department of the Ministry of Military Affairs. It is a waste of talent to let such legendary veterans take care of children in Zhongsi College.
Khalil couldn't help but laugh - it was really bizarre that the highest-level government agency in the empire could actually send him two completely contradictory emails one after the other. This was simply a joke that couldn't be more absurd.

But he thought again, this didn't seem strange, after all, it was still just a discussion stage, and it was normal for them to overturn each other's opinions. If the situation got more intense, they might just pick up a thick stack of documents and use them to attack each other.

Alas. He sighed helplessly. Humans are like this. To put it nicely, it is the collision of intelligent brains, connecting flashes with flashes. To put it bluntly, it is actually just that no one is willing to submit to anyone else.

There has to be someone with the bigger fist, or someone with the most sense. And sometimes, the two are not in conflict.

Forget it, let them argue. Anyway, the execution document given to me in the end will definitely have the seal of the seal holder.
Thinking of this, he actually laughed again, and laughed very happily. This smile had no hidden meaning, and was clearly seen by a golden-armored figure standing beside him.

The tribune La Endymion groaned, his right hand already touching the handle of one of the two swords at his waist.

"But is there anyone to be killed, sir?" he asked.

"If you have nothing to do, why don't you go back and chat with your old friends? Why do you have to stay here with me?"

"My Lord has ordered that a guard must accompany you at all times."

"Constantine sent me an email recently to discuss this matter, and he expressed a strong willingness to recommend himself."

"That's his business," the tribune replied without looking away. "I only know that as soon as I entered the solar system, my lord placed this responsibility on my shoulders."

Khalil looked up at him, his expression becoming somewhat complicated. Finally, his eyes were fixed on the helmet in La's arms, the fluttering red tassel was extremely conspicuous.

He spoke slowly, "I am now an inquisitor, and I will probably act in this capacity in the future. You understand, don't you?"

"It's natural."

"So -" Khalil chose his words carefully. "--Please imagine that you, a Custodian, follow me, an Inquisitor."

"I can sneak."

"It has little to do with whether you are stealthy or not."

"I can pretend, too."

Khalil sighed sincerely, waved his hand, turned around, and walked towards a shuttle parked on the tarmac. La followed quickly, his dark face was calm, seemingly serious, but his words were brisk.

"So, you agree?"

"What if I disagree? Come with me. The next part is the highlight. Since you want to follow me, then please think about how to place the 1,000 veterans, okay?"

"Send it to the front line." La answered without thinking.

"forget it."

Khalil glanced at him, adjusted his wide-brimmed hat, and strode into the shuttle - however, he did not expect that Yago Sevitarion and a group of captains of the younger regiments had been waiting for a long time at this moment.

(End of this chapter)