40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 789 10. The Limit of Hatred (I, 8K, I haven’t played for the past two days because of tendonitis)

Sevatar was the first to get off the hovercraft. Even without armor, his current weight caused the machine to suddenly increase its distance from the ground.

This made him a little unhappy, and also made Iskandar Khayon, who was following closely behind him, rub his wrist.

With this strange little gesture, he concealed his emotions - but how could this escape the perception of the First Son of the Night?
However, although he was fully aware of the matter, Sevatar did not act in his usual style. He did not even say anything, as if he did not notice Khayon's ridicule at all. He just turned sideways and performed the Sky Eagle salute to a team of war dogs coming not far away.

They immediately stopped to return the salute, but when they got closer they performed a warrior salute: a simple fist bump against chest, the collision of steel, and a few restrained and stern young faces showing a solemn aura under the night sky, but the subtle details were filled with uncontrollable excitement.

Obviously, Khayon's spy and guide Lula Sarin had already reported Sevatar's appearance, and most of them used official words, such as "visit" or something.
"It's an honor to meet you, Yago Sevitarion." said a non-commissioned officer in the War Dog Squad.

There was a peculiar metallic clanking sound when he spoke, which was due to his jaw - an entire bionic organ with a metallic luster just sat there quietly, with a soft gelatinous material cleverly replacing the lower lip, and the teeth made of solid alloy, completely replacing the blood and bones of the past.

"Honored? I think it's a shock." Sevatar stared down at him. "I am somewhat self-aware. In most cases, my presence is not good news, especially when it's sudden and uninvited."

He suddenly smiled, raised his hand and patted the war dog's shoulder armor, and asked: "Be honest, young man, what was the first thing you thought of when you heard about my visit?"

The sergeant hesitated for less than a second before answering the question quickly.

"us--"

"——I'm asking about your reaction now."

".I feel in danger." The sergeant said truthfully, frowning. "I don't think you would appear on Nuceria without a reason."

"Oh." Sevatar nodded slowly. "So are you ready for battle?"

"what?"

"Are you ready for battle?" Sevatar repeated. "Did you immediately put on your power armor, pick up the power axe you now carry on your back and the plasma pistol you have on your waist? Have you, young man?"

".have."

"And have you ever thought about why I appeared in your hometown and the place you swore to defend?"

"Have."

"I want to hear a definite answer."

The sergeant raised his head and looked at him deeply. Sevatar did not avoid the look and continued to smile.

After more than ten seconds of silence, the young non-commissioned officer answered his question in a decisive tone.

"I'm sorry I can't answer that."

He said stiffly, then took a step back, avoiding Sevatar, and pointed at a tall building not far away.

With the emblems of the Sky Eagle and the Ministry of Justice on top of it, it should have been solid and spotless at all times. But at this moment, it was on fire from the inside out, with black smoke lingering around, blocking out the starlight. The fire was so severe that it made people doubt whether there was any fire-fighting agency in the city of Balasto.

"Our think tank director, Lord Esper Baragash, is waiting for you there." The sergeant bowed slightly. "The vehicle is ready."

As he said, a heavy blue and white hovercraft dropped from the sky and landed next to Sevatar and Khayon.

Qianzi walked up impatiently, not even bothering to say a few words to the war dogs.

Sevatar smiled and took a step forward, caught up with the young sergeant and patted him on the shoulder again, then spoke something to him in the Nukerian dialect before getting into the car, leaving the latter with a look of astonishment on his face and his confused team members behind.

The anti-gravity engine started immediately, taking them to the headquarters of the Ministry of Justice in the city of Balasto in just three minutes.

There were a lot of people gathered here. Elite soldiers drawn from the various gladiator troops stationed in the city were guarding all the entrances and exits of the building with live ammunition.

It is worth mentioning that the number of war dogs is not large, only about twenty in total, and they are all standing on the wide square directly below the building.

They stood there silently, weapons in hand, the blazing flames reflected in their eyepieces, clearly expressing an attitude.

Half a minute later, the hovercraft landed again and landed next to a temporary checkpoint 120 meters away from the building.

A simple trench had been temporarily dug here by the battlefield mecha servants, and a siege cannon was placed behind it, with its black muzzle pointing directly at the 30-meter-high heavy gate of the Ministry of Justice building. With just one command, the cannon would open fire immediately.

Interestingly, apart from the servitors, there were only two people standing next to the siege cannon, and one of them looked like a civilian.
Khayon couldn't help but feel a little confused, but Sevatar didn't give him time to ask questions. As soon as the car door opened, he jumped down and strode into the trench, as if he was going to participate in a war.

"Long time no see, Esper." He greeted the think tank director in a slightly serious tone, and followed up with a question. "I saw that you have been promoted. Where is your teacher?"

".Buried in Dreadnought."

Sevatar nodded unmoved, as if he didn't care about the answer to the question and was just asking casually.

Then he turned to the mortal who was wearing a coat with his collar turned up and his hands stuffed into his pockets, as if he felt cold.

"I have brought Iskander Khayon here—" Sevatar bowed slightly in front of the Thousand Sons whose eyes suddenly widened. "—When do you plan to meet him?"

Prospero above!
Ka Yang took a step forward subconsciously. He wanted to say something. This was natural, wasn't it? He should have said something. He had even made hundreds of plans on the way here!

They should have helped Khayon to speak eloquently at this moment, to leave a good impression on him. However, for some reason, they all stayed quietly in the depths of his mind, lying lazily on the seabed like a sunken ship, unwilling to move.

So Qianzi had no choice but to open his mouth with a dry mouth and utter a few meaningless monosyllables.

His behavior was so strange that Esper couldn't help but frown and even began to search his memory - he subconsciously thought that this ancient Red Devil descendant was spitting a curse just now.
He could only think of this relatively reasonable explanation. Otherwise, how could he understand Iskandar Khayon's behavior at this time?
What? Had the wizard who could so thoroughly outwit him in a verbal duel suddenly become an idiot?

The answer was no, Iskandar Khayon had not lost his intelligence, so after a brief moment of daze he quickly followed Sevatar and saluted.

Half a second later, they heard a sigh.

"Yago Sevitarion." A quiet voice spoke calmly. "Stay here and wait for me to come back."

"And you, son of Magnus. Please remember one thing: whatever the great hero of the Empire told you on his way here, it was not true. To put it bluntly, he deceived you to satisfy some weird and evil interest of his own."

"Please allow me to excuse myself for a moment. The atmosphere in Balasto City is already tense enough tonight, and the sound of this cannon should not add to it. Since those people are unwilling to open the gates and surrender, I will go there by myself."

After saying this, he disappeared from the spot. Silence fell again, but it did not last long. Just as Sevatar slowly stood up, Khayon pounced on him.

Qianzi's face flushed as he pushed him into the trench, and then he punched him, using brutal moves between three punches and two kicks. Esper couldn't tell what kind of fighting technique he used, but the most urgent task was not this, but to quickly separate them.

He raised his right hand carefully, intending to cast a spell, but just as his spell was about to start, Khayon stopped him with a low roar. The roar was extremely majestic, and just a short syllable completely dissipated the spiritual energy that Esper had just gathered, like a king's order.

Yago Servitarion laughed.

"You are not a good student, Esper! Didn't old Grisak tell you to be careful of the Thousand Sons? Especially when casting spells!"

He shouted this while blocking Khayon's fist.

This performance of still having enough strength made the Thousand Son even more angry, so he simply stood up and left Sevatar, jumped out of the trench, clasped his hands together and then opened them, and a heavy staff suddenly fell into his hands.

It was wrapped in some kind of ancient cloth, and there was nothing magical about it. Khayon swung it cleanly, pointing its tip at Sevatar, who was still lying in the trench and laughing, and roared angrily.

"Rise and fight me! In the name of Magnus, I will—"

"--What are you going to do?" Sevatar spread his hands, lying in the mud, staring at him curiously. "Are you going to beat me into a cripple here? Or just kill me?"

The corner of Qianzi's eye twitched heavily, he took a deep breath in anger, then retracted his staff and spoke with undiminished anger.

"I never dreamed you could do such a thing, Yago Sevitarion!"

"It was just a joke."

"Are you kidding? You made me lose face in front of him!"

Hearing this, the smile on Sevatar's face disappeared and he finally stood up.

He brushed the dirt off his black robe, quickly left the trench, walked in front of Khayon, and exposed his neck to him without any defense.

This was an extremely dangerous distance. Esper on the side had no doubt that as long as Khayon intended to attack, Sevatar would be seriously injured immediately even if he didn't die.

The war dog stared at the Thousand Son's face with full concentration, his right hand already holding the grenade launcher at his waist. As long as Khayon intended to attack, he would immediately draw his gun and fire.
What about counterspells? At this distance, unless he has deployed a shield, he will definitely be hit by the explosive bullet.

Moreover, judging from their performance just now, Khayon did not prepare any shield spells for himself.

But the two did not give him a chance to shoot, neither of them, not even the Thousand Son who was still furious, nor the First Son of the Night who took the initiative to walk into his attack range.

The former dropped his staff, while the latter slowly shook his head. His voice grew deeper as he moved closer to Khayon.

At this time, Esper discovered that he could no longer hear what they were saying.

"Calm down now? Let's be honest. Do you remember what happened on Zoya? Hmm? Do you need me to help you recall the confrontation between the two legions that lasted for more than half a month?"

"You retreated suddenly without a word, leaving us under the guns of the Zoya people. No matter how we called on the communication channel, you chose silence. Iskandar Kayan, even though you were just a junior officer at that time, you should understand how bad this was."

"We found you in that remote corner after we finished our work. An entire Thousand Sons army, huddled under a ridiculously tall tower. Nine people were sent up every day to search through boxes, read knowledge, and burn books according to the tower's restrictions. The Tower of Illumination, right? Ha, I still remember its name, that damn name."

Sevatar chuckled, satisfied to see Khayon's anger fade.

Qianzi seemed to be evoked by that name some unbearable memories, disgust, hatred and fear emerged together, making his face extremely distorted, no longer handsome at all. If I had to describe it, he now doesn't even look like a human.
"It's blue." Sevatar continued. "The Zoya people built it with a natural blue rock that is extremely rare in their world. Add to that the name, what a strong hint it is. It's a pity that we knew nothing about it at the time."

Ka Yang's face turned pale and his body began to tremble unconsciously.

"However, I am not bringing up this old incident to blame you. After all, my Primarch has already said all the curses on my behalf, and your Primarch has heard them clearly on your behalf."

"We have known each other for so long that it seems almost like a lifetime ago. But it is still deeply engraved in my mind, and I believe it is also in yours. After all, it is a precious memory of the Great Crusade, and we can't forget it."

"Therefore, I don't believe that you don't know who Caryl Rohals is, and I don't believe that you don't know how we treat those groundless rumors. However, you seem to have forgotten these things. It doesn't matter. I can reiterate them on behalf of my dead brothers."

"Listen carefully." Sevatar raised his hand and pressed the Thousand Son's shoulder.

At this moment, there were all kinds of emotions in his sinister eyes, the most obvious of which could probably, tentatively, or perhaps be barely described as a sense of disappointment.

"The Eighth Legion has only one instructor. He is not a god, a madman, or the embodiment of something great that needs to be worshipped or admired. He is truly beside us, walking with us, bleeding, hurting, dying, and living again and again, just like all of us."

"The most important thing is - if he had a choice, he never wanted to be that bullshit god. Just like if he had a choice, your father would not commit suicide."

"I can tolerate those born after the Heresy worshipping him, but not you. You and I are both living dead who have survived ten thousand years ago. You know all the secrets, all the truths, not to mention that you are a Thousand Son. So how can you worship him as a god like them, Iskandar Khayon?"

The sound of glass breaking came from not far away along with the night wind and reached the ears of the two people.

As if they had found a common opportunity, they all looked over at the same time and saw dozens of corpses falling from a height of hundreds of meters.

They fell in front of the magnificent gate of the Ministry of Justice and shattered into pieces. Blood and flesh splattered in the air, sticking to the door and wandering freely among the gold and silver carvings.

Not long after, the mortal came back, his expression no longer tense, but relaxed.

"I have finished my work." He said to Esper Baragash with some joy. "The next step is to send someone to keep an eye on the garrison of the 22nd Regiment of the Fire of Vorthax."

"However, we need to leave for a while, Esper Think Tank. The information about this cult is in my briefcase. You can see it when you go back and open it. If you want, you can refer to it appropriately."

"Go? No, sir, where are you going?" War Dog asked in surprise and anxiety, feeling a little overwhelmed by his series of combined punches.

"We have to do something very, very, very important." The mortal told him very seriously. "If possible, I will tell you everything in detail."

"But I can't do that because I don't have permission. It's too confidential for me to reveal to you. But I also ask you to relax, because this thing won't last long. Whether it succeeds or not, we will be back soon."

The Librarian opened his mouth, and he seemed to have a lot to say, but he was a war dog after all, and a certain spirit of the Nuceria people still flowed in his blood.

This spirit drove him to nod decisively, then shut his mouth, and after bowing one by one, he left the place, rushed to the building of the Ministry of Justice, and began to do the aftermath work.

It is foreseeable that his coming days will be very busy.

The mortal watched him concentrate on his work, and only after a while did he turn his gaze back to the remaining two people.

At this time, his tone was no longer so gentle, but became very harsh - especially when he spoke to Sevatar.

"What have you done again, Yago?"

"I think you can guess it." Yago said meekly. "And I don't believe you can't guess it."

"Are you playing charades with me?" The mortal walked up to him, looked up at him and asked.

"No," Yago said, and looked away.

"look at me."

"."

"Look at me, Jago Sevitarion, and tell me, what have you done?"

The Firstborn of the Night rolled his eyes unwillingly, muttered, lowered his head, and began to recount the joke he had played.

Iskandar Khayon watched all this from the side, feeling mixed emotions.

He had never thought that Sevatar would have such a side to him, and he actually showed this side to him without any hesitation.
Ka Yang understood that, in the final analysis, this was not an inquiry between superiors and subordinates, but an elder disciplining a junior who, in his eyes, was still immature. The junior knew this very well, but accepted it willingly.

The realization was like a lifetime ago - the primarch was dead, the legion was scattered, and the few remaining men were
He, Azek Ahriman, Fusis Taka, Menez Kalliston, Revell Avida.
How many times had similar things happened to him before, before the curse took hold?

Times have changed, and he is now wandering alone. If it weren't for this mission, he probably wouldn't have met anyone else. Are his brothers the same as him?
His only remaining brothers.

Not the new son of Prospero who would come, but these vivid faces in his memory, these men who, like him, had taken on terrible sins and lived to atone for them.

It took Iskandar Khayon a lot of effort to free himself from the sadness forged by long memories and lives.

He sighed, waved his staff, and then walked up to the average-sized mortal very seriously and introduced himself.

"I am Iskandar Khayon, instructor of the Fifteenth Legion."

Sevatar snorted at his address, but did not stop him. Khayon glanced at him and suddenly smiled a smile that was not in line with his usual habit.

"I have probably guessed what you are going to do by bringing our great imperial hero here."

The mortals laughed, while the great hero of the empire stood aside with a gloomy face and remained silent.

"I am Caryl Rohals of the Eighth Legion—" he said. "—In that case, I'd like to ask you to show us the way."
-
Deep in a cave, a jailer slowly opened his eyes.

He was still bleeding, and it had been about three hours since the last fight, and his wounds still hadn't healed.

He stood up, trying to be as gentle as possible.

He didn't want to wake another creature in the darkness, and the trouble of fighting it was secondary. He just didn't want to cause it unnecessary pain.
He wondered, how could there be such a pathetic form of life in this world?
If he wakes up, he will be tortured by the flames of hatred all the time. Not only will his mind be shattered, but every inch of his body and every blood vessel will experience extreme pain. Only by falling into a deep sleep can he get a moment of peace.

However, peace is always short-lived, because this creature will not die. No matter how serious the harm it suffers, it will not die unless its hatred and resentment are resolved.

From this point of view, perhaps the painful torture it suffers in the flesh and blood is the world itself resisting its terrible life.

The jailer pursed his lips and walked to another part of the cave.

He had been here for so long that his sense of time had become blurred by the endless fighting. Fortunately, he had been a slave in the past, and when he was imprisoned in another deep pit similar to this one, he would count his heartbeats and carve marks on the stone wall with his fingers.

Over time, he perfected this skill. He could tell how much time had passed just by feeling it, accurate to the second, without even having to calculate.

This skill forged through suffering has not been abandoned until today. If you don't believe it, please look at the stone wall in front of him, which is covered with dense carvings.

Every day at midnight, he would come here and carve a new mark with his finger. And if you look at the entire wall, it is not difficult to come up with an answer.

He has been here for ten years.
does it worth?
He started planning a whole century in advance, abandoned his army and people without any reason, and came alone to this desolate Gobi Desert to wait and wait.
Until one day, a star of disaster tore the sky apart and fell silently to the ground, and then he fought with this star of disaster. One battle after another, never ending, and he was seriously injured countless times and on the verge of death.

The jailer raised his hand and touched his chest, feeling a wetness.

He nonchalantly tore off the clothes that had become rags hanging on his body, picked up a new one from the ground beside him and put it on, then grabbed a piece of dried meat and stuffed it into his mouth. In this way, he completed the necessary eating and changing of clothes every day - although it didn't make much sense, he still insisted on doing it.

Yes, it was another old custom from the slave days, but it did not originate with him, but with an old man whose name the world has long forgotten.
Now, almost no one knows that it was the old man who taught the jailer everything he knew in the intervals between bloody battles.

From learning to read and write to the appearance of the desert and the mountains, he taught him everything he had learned before he lost his freedom. These things were very common and indeed not a high level of education, but they were everything the old man had.

For this reason, the jailer is willing to follow it all the time.

He sat cross-legged, calmed his mind, and entered a state of meditation.

This practice is quite popular among the War Dogs and has been so since the Legion period. At first, it may have been to emulate the Primarch, but later, a group of old warriors who recognized its benefits took the initiative to promote this habit to the new recruits.

It not only allows them to get rid of the complex shocks brought by killing more quickly, but also adjusts their body and mind, allowing them to return to normal training more quickly to prepare for the next war. Other legions certainly have this tradition and habit, but it's probably not as effective as the War Dogs, where everyone actively learns to meditate.

The jailer was thinking about this matter actively in his peaceful spiritual world, and couldn't help but think of the days when he first returned to the legion. During that time, he had a full understanding of the suppressed belligerence and aggression of the war dogs.
At that time, he had leapt from a slave to one of the most honorable people in the starry sky, and he even had a powerful army under his command that obeyed his orders unconditionally.

Such a huge contrast would have driven anyone crazy. But he didn't. Instead, he remained rational and led the army away from the fork in the road. Thinking about it now, it was really a miracle.

He smiled, remembering a few faces. Just the thought of them made him happy.

Although their owners were not here now and he didn't know where they were, he had a firm hope - he always felt that when everything was settled, they would meet again.

Those who have died will reappear, and those who are still alive will also go to an unknown place, and there they will do what each of them likes best.
Yes, the favorite, not the best.

Presumably by that time, humans will no longer need these tools, and they should withdraw from the stage of history, leaving the vast and peaceful new world to the people of the new era.

He imagined this day eagerly, the moment when he would meet the familiar people in his memory again, and imagine them sitting down and talking to each other like an ordinary family.
However, at this moment, he heard a hoarse growl in his ears.

The jailer opened his eyes and realized that his short break was over - no matter how much he wished, the real world would not change in the slightest because of his imagination.

He stood up and walked towards the place where the roar came from, and then fought. Words could no longer accurately describe what he had experienced and what he had done. The sound of sharp weapons entering flesh and crazy roars continued to echo in the cave.
Before anyone knew it, the ground was once again stained with blood, turning pure scarlet.

After a while, the jailer tiredly let go of his hand, threw down an axe with disgust, leaned his back against the rough rock wall, and slowly sat down.

The clothes he had just changed were torn again, and blood covered his body like armor. He kept taking deep breaths, trying to regain his composure, but always failed.

As a last resort, he had to struggle to stand up and walk towards his meditation place little by little, holding on to the rock wall.

After a few minutes, the bleeding in his thighs and abdomen, where he was most seriously injured, stopped, and he could feel the tingling and numbness from the movement of his muscles.

This was a good sign, so he breathed a sigh of relief, lowered his head and began to examine himself, and unsurprisingly came to a conclusion: he was covered in bruises.

Bite marks on the left forearm, five claw marks on the abdomen, a laceration starting from the right shoulder and extending to the chest, and the broken bones underneath.
If he had worn armor, the situation might not have been so serious, but unfortunately his armor had broken down four years after the battle began. Its remains were now piled in a corner of the meditation place, quietly waiting to be seen again one day in the future.

The jailer felt ashamed of it, but this was the best treatment he could offer it at the moment.

Once again, he sat cross-legged, with his only remaining left hand resting on his knee, palm up. After a few seconds, his breathing finally became deep and slow, and his heartbeat also slowed down a little bit. He thought that today would pass like this, until he heard a faint call.

The jailer suddenly opened his eyes, jumped up, turned around and ran towards the top of the cave. He had already run as fast as he could while trying to keep his steps light. The first rays of sunlight at dawn hit his face and pierced his eyes. He didn't feel any pain at first, until the familiar yet strange figure came into view, and a sharp pain finally broke out.

He stopped.

"Hello, Angron," Caril Rohals said to him. "It's been a long time."

(End of this chapter)