40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 742: Forbidden Book

Erato Harkon felt that he was about to have a heart attack - or had already had one. He had to hold his chest and slowly sit down on the ground. Things in front of him gradually blurred, and there was a sharp buzzing sound in his ears, like a buzzing electric current.
It was not until several minutes later that the terrible symptoms barely disappeared. He raised his hands and grabbed the side of the bookcase next to him, struggling to get himself up, causing countless dust to float. In the hazy light of the overhead lamp, they were so conspicuous.

Old Harken pushed his glasses up unconsciously and looked around.

He hadn't been here for more than thirty years. After his wife, son and daughter all died, he sealed up this place - along with their things.

People have different attitudes towards death and leaving. Some people will stubbornly leave the deceased's belongings where they are and not allow them to be moved at all, but for old Harken, he would rather let those things that represent warmth and beauty rot in the basement than to see them even once again.

But today is different.

Today, he had to come down, and he had even prepared for it yesterday. He went to Ms. Tracy's tailor shop four blocks away and bought a new set of clothes that fit his current body.

Black coat, white shirt, brown trousers. He wore a similar outfit when he got married, but he was too fat to wear the original clothes. Fortunately, the leather shoes at that time were suitable for him, except that they were a little big, there was no problem.

The new clothes cost him forty imperial coins, which was not a small amount of money, but old Halken didn't care at all - he had a second-hand bookstore, and although it had been entrusted to someone else a long time ago and didn't make much money, how much money could he spend by himself?
The next morning, he got up early, ironed his shirt, straightened his cuffs, and polished his leather shoes. Only after he was sure that everything was ready did he bring a ladder and open his basement.

To his surprise, the gushing air was not smelly. Although it did have a scent of dust and decay, there was no peculiar smell.

He climbed down carefully, thinking that nothing unexpected would happen, but he missed his last step and fell down in a mess. Then, he felt tinnitus and wheezing, which he mistakenly thought was a heart attack.

You're a useless old fellow who can't even set up a ladder.

He laughed at himself in his heart and walked slowly inside.

The basement was not big, but it was filled with a lot of things: an old wardrobe with half of its door broken, a single bed with collapsed legs, a dressing mirror full of cracks, and many large boxes.

They were stuffed so full and tied so tightly that someone who didn't know might have thought there were some monsters locked up in these boxes - but to old Harken, that was pretty much the case.

He deliberately did not look at them, but just followed his memory and walked to the deepest part.

He found it without much difficulty, a white box with a large A.H. carved into the top and a funny smiley face drawn in yellow crayon.

Old Harken sullenly pulled out a folding knife from his inner pocket and cut the rope that bound the box. The rope broke with a slight sound, then fell limply and broke into two pieces, stirring up more dust.

He ignored them and even resisted the urge to cough. He gently brushed the dust off the top of the box with his right hand, then squatted down with difficulty and began to scroll the six number grids on the old-fashioned combination lock.

769121, six numbers, he remembered them clearly. The combination lock popped open automatically with a snap, the old mechanical structure was still reliable after more than years, but his hands seemed to be filled with lead, and stopped at the edges of the box, motionless.

Take a deep breath, Old Harken told himself. You can do this.

indeed so.

The box was pushed open, and the unique smell of old books hit him in the face. It was an indescribable force that instantly knocked him to the ground, as if someone had punched him hard in the face. He felt sore, swollen, and extremely painful.

It was not until a long time later that he finally got up with difficulty and began to look for the book he wanted.

If he remembered correctly, the book was black with metal corners, which was obviously unusual for a storybook, but, regardless of its appearance, Anne really liked it.

The old man suddenly stopped searching, and looking at the old book stuck deep in the wooden box in front of him, he couldn't help but sigh.

A few minutes later, he returned to his study with the book, and someone was already waiting there. He was a tall and extremely strong man with short hair close to his scalp, and the sleeves of his leather coat were bulging from his arms.

".I think this is the book you are looking for, the last volume of Belros's Fairy Tales, right?"

Old Harken asked, handing the book to the man, not caring about the dust all over himself, and just pushing up his glasses.

The latter took it, but did not open it to read. Instead, he touched the cover of the old book with his fingers, so gently that it even made people doubt whether he had any feelings for the book.
Two seconds later, the man nodded, and a not-very-friendly smile appeared on his expressionless face.

"Thank you, Mr. Erato Harkonn," he said, sitting down in his chair. "This is exactly the book I was looking for - how much would you like for it?"

The old man took off his glasses and returned to his desk tiredly. He said nothing, and his bones creaked as he sat down, as if he had just fought a long war. He took off his coat, wiped his glasses with the sleeve of his shirt, lowered his head, and spoke hoarsely.

"I don't want money."

Hearing this, the man narrowed his eyes as if by reflex: "Really? Then what do you want?"

"I just want to know why you want this book, Mr. Sable." The old man said with his head down, and the fingers of his left hand holding his glasses had turned white.

With a look of surprise that was not sure if it was fake, the man called Sable shook his head in astonishment: "Didn't I already tell you? I'm a collector, specializing in collecting all kinds of books—"

"—I don't think you're a collector, Mr. Sable. Your hands are full of calluses."

The old man put down his glasses, his lips trembled, showing obvious fear, but still insisted on continuing to speak.

"Besides, this book doesn't even have a name. Someone just wrote "Written by Bellross" on the first page. I was just making up a story."

Sable raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. The book lay unharmed between his hands, and his expression gradually became calm. After a long time, he spoke again, but his tone was completely different from before.

"Is this book important to you?" he asked.

"It's my daughter's legacy," said the old man.

Sable was silent for a moment, raised his hand and placed the book on the desk, then stood up and stretched out his right hand: "Let me introduce myself again, my name is Rental Sable."

The old man stretched out his hand and shook his. The roughness of the other's palm further confirmed his guess.

Returning to his chair, Sable spoke again.

"According to the investigation, your family members all died in the fire that started at the Minerd factory and spread to most of the city thirty-five years ago. You survived because you had to take care of the bookstore at that time."

"During these thirty-five years, you showed a certain degree of escapism due to excessive grief. You no longer worked in the bookstore, but handed it over to a friend of yours for a certain price."

"Every year you receive a turnover that accounts for about 40 percent of the bookstore's total annual revenue. So I have to say that your friend is a good man, Mr. Harken."

The old man opened his mouth, then closed it again, and his eyes, hidden by his white hair and wrinkles, suddenly burst into anger. He said nothing, but the sable didn't need to hear it.

"Angry? I apologize, but this is a necessary part of my job. In fact, it is because of my research that I took this approach to meet with you and propose a deal. Now, I want to update it and put it in a way that you can understand more clearly."

He leaned forward, crossed his fingers, rested them on his knees, and looked across the desk at the old man. His posture was like a wild bear waiting to catch its prey, and his strength was indeed worthy of the metaphor of a bear.

"Your friend Mr. Kearney is old, and his son is still in the military. I think he will not take on the responsibility of looking after the bookstore for his father after he retires. Both of you are too old, and no one knows you or can use you. You don't have time to find a qualified successor to pass on this old bookstore that has existed since your grandfather's generation."

"According to Werlein's laws, any store that has been closed for more than two years will be taken over by the public. If you agree to sell this book to me, I will give you a sum of money that is enough for you to buy out the future ownership of this store from the government and allow it to continue to operate normally for at least the next two hundred years."

"Not only that, it can even allow you and your old friend to spend a pretty good time in the last days of your life. How about this deal, Mr. Harken?"

The old man licked his lips, put on his glasses weakly and nervously, and unconsciously grasped the armrest of the chair with his right hand. He was indeed old, but not so old that he couldn't think. Every word said by this guy named Sable who suddenly appeared half a month ago was true, and every word hit his sore spot. How could he not know Kearney's silent dedication over the years?

He actually had a self-destructive mentality when he handed the bookstore to him, but that stubborn guy took over this job that he was completely unfamiliar with without saying a word, and worked for him for a full thirty-five years, even settling every bill for him clearly.

Apart from the portion he was supposed to take, he didn't touch a cent of the rest of the money. Moreover, the compensation he received was not much at all - there weren't many people who liked reading these days, and even fewer people would go to bookstores specifically to buy books.

Kearney could have given his family a better life if he hadn't been stuck with the bookstore.
But that book—

Anne's face suddenly appeared in front of him. She was so beautiful and always smiled when she saw him. She loved reading and often asked him to find some new books for her to read.

She didn't like the dull books in the bookstore, she preferred some lively books with happy endings. And the old book that was quietly lying on his desk was once her favorite one.

However, recalling it now, Halken found that he had never really read it. At first, it was just because of busy work, but later.
He gripped the armrest tightly.

"You can take your time to think about it, Mr. Harken."

Sable sat up straight and spoke slowly. Through his tone and body language, he conveyed a very simple and clear intention: I must get this book.

The old man loosened his hand weakly, slumped back, and spoke weakly like a sick man: "Yes, I can sell it to you, but I want to read it before that."

Sable suddenly looked over at him coldly, a look that Harken had never seen in anyone in his life.

It pierced his heart so deeply that his breathing stopped and even his thoughts stopped instantly. What followed was a deep, shattering fear that broke his sanity into large pieces.

The old man shrank back into his chair in fear, his face turning pale.

But Sable didn't do anything else. He just stood up and said, "Your request is legitimate, but I cannot agree to it—wait, what?"

He suddenly frowned. Harken looked at him with fear and confusion, and the sable's face was twisted into a look that shouldn't be there.

When he was threatening people, he looked like a bear, but now he looked like a wolf with his teeth bared. However, there was no coldness in his eyes.

On the contrary, the old man only saw a kind of helplessness that he was very familiar with. This discovery made him immediately doubt whether he had gone crazy. How could he see such emotion in the eyes of such a person?
However, half a minute later, a lady walked into the study and made him realize that he might not be crazy.

The lady was very thin, and was wearing a black robe, which was of exquisite style and fine texture, but it looked a little strange on her. The most fundamental reason was her abnormal thinness. Although she was wearing a robe, her shoulders seemed to hold it up like two daggers. She had a pair of brown eyes, and her gaze was deep and sharp, as if she was holding a sharp knife.

Sable walked up to her and sighed, looking very helpless.

"You're not following the rules."

Without even looking at him, the lady replied, "I don't need you to remind me of the rules - and the knights have already agreed to it."

Hearing this, Sable's expression became even more serious: "What? How could they agree to such a thing?"

The lady finally looked at him, but said nothing. She just strode to the front of the desk and showed him a badge.

"I am Cyrano van der Leff, an Inquisitor from the Inquisition, and that big, stupid guy is my retainer. We are here for the book, Erato Harkon."

The old man looked at her, then at the badge and the sable, and was silent for a long time, but could not utter a word.

"You want to read this book, don't you?" the lady asked calmly, reaching out to pick it up. "Normally, this kind of thing is not allowed. But you have read it, although not carefully, but you must have flipped through it."

"me"

"No need to lie, Erato Harkonn."

She lifted the book, turned it over, then spread it out and placed it in front of the old man.

"I'll give you an afternoon," she said softly. "Read it, just like your daughter did."

My daughter? What happened to my daughter? Harken wanted to ask this question, but she didn't give him the chance. Instead, she turned around and walked out of the study, even reaching out to pull away the sable who was much taller and stronger than her.

And now, Harken was the only one left in the study.

He looked at the upside-down book in front of him in silence. After a sneaky intuition had been beating in his heart for a long time, he raised his hand and turned over the blank title page, or the last page, and saw the real first page of the book.

And those upside-down words were twisting on the pages like living things, turning into a brand new story in a form that he could not understand at all. He stared at this scene with wide eyes, forgetting to breathe, and the first line of the story had already rushed into his eyes.

[My name is Bellos von Sharp, and I am the recorder of the Eighth Legion. For a long time, I have been walking with the night.]
-
"This is totally against the rules!"

Pacing back and forth anxiously, Rentar Sable showed his anger very clearly: "How could you let a commoner read that book? How could the Shadow Knights agree to such a thing?"

"They just agreed, Sable."

With narrowed eyes, Cyrano van der Leff took out a cigarette from the sleeve of her robe and held it between her lips. Sable came over with an angry look on his face and took out a match to help her light it.

The smoke lingered, and the female judge's expression suddenly became somewhat intriguing. Sable stared at her with his head down, as if waiting for an explanation.

"Well, don't look at me like that. Listen, my servant. The biggest reason why the knights agreed to this is actually the old man himself."

"First, he doesn't have many days left to live. Second, there was something else behind the fire thirty-five years ago. It was not a simple accident, but someone deliberately set it. Third, Erato Harkon's daughter is very smart. She discovered the secrets hidden in the book a long time ago. She read those stories over and over again."

"In the fire, she followed some of the plots in the book and awakened a power that she shouldn't have awakened."

Sable's pupils shrank, and he suppressed his anger and continued to speak: "No wonder the information I found in the local government of Weilain with my authority was mostly deleted. Why didn't you tell me about this when I was negotiating the deal with him? Do you really want to see me make a fool of myself?"

Cyrano van der Leff took off the cigarette with a special aroma and casually put it out with his fingers.

"Yes."

Hearing this, the anger on Black Sable's face strangely subsided a little, but he still couldn't help but refute: "But even so, this is still against the rules."

"But the law was not violated. Moreover, the fire did not spread to the entire city because of the girl's bravery. The knights told me that she gained power at the cost of her soul, killed the culprit, and avenged her mother, brother, and those innocent people."

She took a few steps forward, came to the edge of the balcony in the old man's house, stared at the night sky of the Shadow Knight's home planet, and shook her head slowly.

"Let him read it." Cyrano van der Leff said as if he was talking to himself. "He doesn't have many days left to live anyway, so at least he can go to the cemetery after his death and meet his relatives. There's no harm in that, right?"

Turning her head, she suddenly smiled. Renthal Sable looked away uncontrollably, and expressed his awkward agreement in a muffled voice.

"If you are questioned by the higher-ups, I will no longer help you write reports."

"You can try it," said Cyrano van der Leff with a wry smile.

(End of this chapter)