40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 714 7. Certificate of Honor (I)

Back to the past, back to one hundred and fifty years ago, back to the night when Lonatistel had just joined the Third Legion.
At that time, he was just a child of about ten years old, separated from his parents, and taken to the sky in a bumpy ride. He was placed in a separate room, which had almost everything except a companion.

That night, he was alone and couldn't sleep all night. The emotion that emerged in his mind was not longing, but fear - what if I don't meet the requirements? What if they don't want me?
At that time, the boy did not understand what it meant to be taken away alone by Saul Tarvitz. He was full of worries and only fell asleep barely until dawn. As soon as he fell asleep, he had a nightmare.

He dreamed that he was falling from a height of 10,000 meters, the strong wind was tearing his face, he wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
Then he went back a hundred years, to the moment when he first followed the Primarch into battle.

That planet, three star systems east of Chemos, is a world whose name has been erased, but it was once a thriving world before everything about it became taboo and dust.

Like all planets colonized by the Empire, it produced food for the first few centuries, including meat, fish, and plant life.

Then the soil lost its activity due to over-exploitation, so it transformed into a mineral world, and all its valuable mineral resources were exhausted in the following centuries. Eventually, it became a classic hive world.

The governor's family that rules here still has a conscience. Their ancestors did not use all the wealth they had inherited from generations for enjoyment. Instead, at the moment when it was about to transform into a hive city, they took out a large part of the money to build connections and hold cocktail parties.

As such, it became a hub of trade for several nearby star systems, with countless important deals being struck in its luxurious penthouse suites, benefiting its inhabitants.

In any case, they had a guarantee of survival - until the last leader of the family went mad.

The Third Legion rushed over upon hearing the news.

kill.

Lonatistel and his team, with swords in hand, faced the civilians.

He had been through hundreds of battles, had gone through patrols of all sizes, and had accumulated sufficient experience for half a century. He would not have any mercy when facing the enemy. But at that time, he hesitated, but the reason was not hesitation, but fear.

He saw a mother laughing as she threw her baby to death, a father biting his daughter's throat with his teeth, and a group of soldiers roaring as they ran past him, firing all the bullets in their rifles and smashing the spine of an unarmed old man with the butt of their rifles.
Everyone seemed to be crazy, and the reason for their madness was not because of evil spirits, the hatred in their eyes was real.

The fire burned the sky, and countless twisted shadows howled in the ruins. The instigator chopped off his hand that threw the Molotov cocktail with tears in his eyes, and then used his fingers to dig into his eye sockets. He fell to the ground, whimpering meaningless words, and then turned to shouting.

He shouted, screamed in agony, saying everything he hated and how he himself had murdered those innocent people, then he kowtowed until he smashed his head on the edge of the ruins.

The tower collapsed, and endless debris fell from the sky, crushing the factory and causing explosions. The plane full of passengers crashed into the residential area with flames, and the captain's hysterical announcement of obscene words to everyone came from the communication channel.
The firelight at that moment illuminated Lonatistel's helmet, and the face beneath it was pale and sweaty.

Fear - that was the only emotion he felt at the moment - because he realized that he wanted to be part of it, at least a part of him was looking forward to it.

Then back to the present, back to the moment when he witnessed the Inquisitor's transformation into this thing.

Lonathistel clenched his fists in fear and remained standing where he was.

"You can pray to the Emperor. I can see your desire." The creature whispered to him, its voice calm, and it sounded like it was giving sincere advice. "If it works for you, then pray and try, Captain."

It stepped past him, and the sea of ​​blood boiled and burned, and the corpses in it screamed and roared, rushing towards Lonathistel. The sea of ​​blood drowned him, and the skeletons of the dead held him down. Millions of bone hands grabbed his hands and feet, and countless voices swept over him.
What? What are you talking about?
The sound gradually became clearer, like the sound of wind in the distance finally reaching his ears. He was almost able to hear it clearly - if that hand had not suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into the sea of ​​blood.

The creature leaned over and whispered a cold warning into his ear, but there was a kind of patience in it that shouldn't have existed at all.

"I apologize for my negligence. I'm not used to it yet. But don't listen to it. Let's go to your legion's honor room. Your problem will be better explained there."

What are you? Lonatistel wanted to ask this question, but he couldn't. He also wanted to resist, to sound the alarm to inform others, anyone, at least to know what was happening here.

But he could do nothing. The intense chill froze everything he was thinking and thinking, completely locking up his strength. His body was mechanical and stiff, and he walked blindly behind the creature, completely ignoring the turmoil in his heart.
And so they entered the Room of Honour—or, rather, the Relics Hall.

As soon as you step into this place, the first thing that catches your eye is a solemn black road made of stone and metal. Flags are hung on both sides of the road, some are broken and bloodstained, while others are as bright as new, without any smoke of gunpowder.

Many secondary power armors stood quietly underneath it, and looking at it, none of them could be called intact. Various traces of cruel battles remained on them, and their wearers had long since died, but these armors still stood here majestically, like sentinels or skeletons pecked by vultures.

The moment he saw them, Lonatistel's originally muddled mind regained its fighting spirit. He gritted his teeth, trying to inspire himself with the spirit of his predecessors, and the oath he made to never humiliate the glory of the Emperor's children came to his mind.
In his heart, he roared continuously, trying to get rid of the control of the thing in front of him - he could sense that this process was slowly taking place. He didn't know if this was an illusion, but he had to give it a try.

However, it was not known from which second that the originally pure white light suddenly changed, and the world in front of Lonatistel changed color instantly from that moment on.

The smell of gunpowder quietly emanated from the relics displayed on both sides of the road, bringing with it the sum of blood and death. The slightly warm breeze that had been maintained by the indoor ventilation system disappeared, replaced by hundreds of different noisy sounds: footsteps, the sound of bullets being loaded, and the sound of helmets being put on.
So complicated, yet so orderly, Lonatistel's blood began to boil, and he understood what it was.

Some people are preparing for a war. They are fully armed and are now lining up.

How many of them were there? Hundreds? Thousands? The battle flags fluttered, and the gauntlets rubbed against the flagpoles. The breathing was heavy as thunder, mixed with the ancient and distant Chemos dialect and the ancient language of Terra. There was laughter, scolding, and urging, and finally, someone drew his sword.

Lonatistel raised his head, breathing heavily. His optic nerves, which had been pushed to the limit by his own blood pressure, still faithfully transmitted the images they captured to his brain nerves and brain cells. Little by little, he finally saw clearly what was in front of him.

A soldier blocked the creature's path.

His face was covered with scars, his white hair was tied back, and his jaw was replaced by a brass bionic joint. His armor was tattered and ridiculous, and even the eagle on his chest was worn out by a huge bullet hole. He held a sword in his hand, and a steel chain was tightly wrapped around its tail and his right arm armor.

Lorna Thistle had never seen him, at least not in person.

He had only read about his deeds in books and seen his intact handsome face in the portraits handed down. He did not recognize the man in front of him, but when he really stood in front of him, he recognized him at a glance.

"Captain Lucius of the Thirteenth Company of the Emperor's Children salutes you, Caril Rohars." The man bowed his proud head deeply. "We are at your service at any time."

A wave of sound erupted from both ends of the road, it was a huge sound of steel colliding. Lonatistel looked up and wanted to observe the surroundings, but his eyes reached a certain limit under the constant pressure. Blood gushed out, and severe pain came, and the things in front of him became completely blurred. He could only barely see the combination of purple and gold.
Like waves, they swayed and rocked, turned into erupting flames, and then shouted in unison.

"Son of the Emperor, slay his father's enemies!"

This is the battle cry of the Legion era, Lonathistel thought.

In the deep chill, the fear faded away. He fell to the ground helplessly, sweating all over, as if he had just experienced a war. All the thoughts in his mind gradually faded away, and a sense of calmness that should not have existed took its place, allowing him to regain his sanity bit by bit.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes again, his vision barely restored, and the judge was back, still wearing his coat and leather boots, with his wide-brimmed hat on his head, his eyes dark and his face pale.

Lonatistel looked up at him and asked, "Who are you?"

"Ten thousand years ago, I was a member of the Eighth Legion. They called me the instructor."

"Ten thousand years ago?"

"Yes." The man nodded at him. "I have represented the Eighth Legion on many occasions, and I met your Primarch at that time. There was a little friction between us, Tarvitz."

Lonathistel turned his head sharply, but a pair of hands pulled him up from the ground without question.

"Captain?" the Second Captain screamed.

The dusty Saul Tarvitz patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't say anything, Lonathistel. Take a deep breath and calm down. What you just experienced was not an illusion. There are indeed many dead souls sleeping here. These things should have been revealed to you after you served for another century, but since someone has already got there first-"

He gave a rare smile, and the Inquisitor murmured an apology.

"——I'm very sorry to disrupt your original plans."

"I don't have any hope that any plan will be carried out perfectly, instructor. But I am indeed curious, what prompted you to bring Lonatistel here and even summon the ghosts of the 13th Company?"

Saul Tarvitz raised his hand, took off his hood, and dusted off his body before asking.

"This question needs to be answered in two parts. First, the souls here were not awakened by me, but by Captain Lonatistel. His willpower briefly broke through the barriers of reality, allowing them to wake up briefly. I think you came here for this reason?"

"Yes." The Chapter Master of the Emperor's Children shook his head. "I was originally inspecting a reserve but I received the alarm. Fortunately, there is a transmission device not far from me, otherwise Lonatistel would have heard the follow-up of the friction by now."

“That friction has been resolved.”

"To you, it is indeed just a small friction. But to our gene father, it is a warning bell placed in his heart, reminding him not to repeat the same mistakes. So, I think that Lorna Thistle may not be able to maintain his current rationality when hearing those things. Is that right, Lor?"

Tarvitz turned his head and affectionately called the second captain by his childhood nickname, causing his originally dumbfounded expression to suddenly freeze.

"War, Chapter Captain?!"

Tarvitz waved his hand, suddenly stood up straight, and his expression became serious. He turned to the other person present and asked again: "So, why did you explain all this to Lonatistel?"

The Inquisitor spread his hands openly. "Because he asked. It's as simple as that, Tarvitz."

"It fits your style very well. I am not surprised." Tarvitz responded solemnly, looking at 'Lore' again. "Now, stand at attention, Lonatistel."

The Second Captain tapped his heels unconsciously, straightened himself, and watched his Chapter Master walk slowly forward until he reached the side of the Inquisitor.

"This is Caril Rohars, from the Planet of Eternal Night. He raised and trained the respected Primarch of the Eighth Legion, Konrad Curze, and later served as the Chief Instructor of the Eighth Legion. During the Great Crusade, he made outstanding contributions and even had a private room on the Emperor's Vision."

Lonatistel's eyes widened and his breathing stopped.

Khalil was silent for a while, then he said quietly, "I say, Tarvitz, you don't have to retaliate against me like this, right?"

The Chapter Master of the Emperor's Children looked straight at Lonatistel - to be precise, he looked at the end of the avenue behind the Second Captain. At the entrance of the Hall of Honor, a group of fully armed Emperor's Children were looking at this place with surprise.

Obviously, they heard it all.

Saul Tarvitz lowered his head and looked at the pale man carefully for a moment. Suddenly he smiled and spoke in a low voice.

"You look more human now than before."

After saying this, he took two steps back and pressed the side of his belt. The transmitted blue light instantly engulfed him, leaving Khalil and the other princes staring at each other in silence.

Finally, it was Lonathistle who strode forward. He grabbed Khalil's hands and looked into his eyes. The fear, sweat and shock that had been there before all disappeared, leaving only a strange enthusiasm.

"The Emperor's Dream?!" he said loudly, shaking his hands up and down. "Please tell me about it!"

Khalil felt a sharp pain in his head, and a subtle sound came from the bottom of his heart, which was a completely undisguised mockery.

(End of this chapter)