40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 801 22. Lame Pastor (Part )

The one who holds the words.

Those who hold the truth.

The hermit chewed the name calmly, unmoved. He stood straight, wearing a gray church robe that only clergy would wear, with a rosary and a saint's portrait hanging on his chest, nothing else, so plain that it was surprising.

Through the porthole of the airship, he carefully observed the world in front of them where they were about to land - the towering huge chimneys, the high towers that rose up into the sky like a forest of sharp needles, and the messy and disorderly shanty towns located all around.

At this moment, in his opinion, this place is not much different from the other millions of hive worlds, or even no difference at all. Even if two painters were found, one was sent here and the other was sent elsewhere, the hermit believed that the paintings they presented in the end would look like the same world.

So, why are you here? he thought, and then asked himself.

There is no answer.

The airship landed.

A servitor handed him a cane, and the hermit grabbed it and walked down the open hatch. He had been standing straight before, but now he gave it away when he walked. How obvious was the gait caused by long-term disability? Even if he wanted to cover it up, he couldn't.

But he still walked, and walked very fast, tough and indifferent, like a damaged rock.

He refused the local officials' kindness in leading the way for him, and just asked for a data pad, and then took the elevator from the helipad to the depths of the hive alone.

During this process, the air changes from being odorless after multiple cycles of purification to a mixed smell of corruption and sourness, not much different from poison gas. Living in such an environment for a long time will definitely lead to illness and a short life.
The elevator stopped with a miserable creaking sound, and the steel door slowly slid open. The hermit grabbed his cane and strode out, but stopped after only a few steps.

Unlike the chaotic scene he imagined and was familiar with, this area close to the bottom of the hive city rarely had a certain order.

Children in ragged clothes and gas masks were playing a game similar to catching a ball not far from the corner of the street. Their cheerful shouts came vaguely and hoarsely from behind the respirators. There were no dying people or homeless people on both sides of the road. The pedestrians passing by might be thin, but they were definitely not sick and tired.
"Reverend, Reverend!" a voice came from his right. "God Emperor, why did you come down like this?!"

The anxious expression of the speaker was hidden behind the gas mask, but the sincerity in his voice could not be deceived. The hermit nodded to him and was about to explain when he was stopped by a respirator handed to him by the latter.

He did not hesitate long - by Astartes standards - before reaching out and taking it.

However, the young man who had just performed this selfless act suddenly realized something and he let out a small exclamation.

"Oh, you can't wear it at all!"

"Nothing," said the hermit. "I—"

"—come with me, old man! My God, you are so tall."

The young man turned around, exclaimed in awe, and walked away quickly. The hermit thought for a while, but finally caught up with him.

A few minutes later, they stopped in front of a small shop set within a jumble of metal panels. Its owner was a taciturn woman wearing a gas mask with a polished glass insert.

After the young man's quick narration, she nodded, bent down and took out a wooden box from under the counter, then opened it and picked out the largest one.

"How much?" asked the hermit.

"It's free, Reverend." The young man looked at him blankly. "These are all free."

“All for free?”

"Yes!" The young man's eyes narrowed behind the mask, as if he was smiling. "These are all from the church!"

(I.e.
The hermit said nothing more. He handed the young man back the respirator, picked up the gas mask that was as big as a helmet, and slowly put it on. A fresh herbal fragrance came, completely isolating the influence of the sour smell. He even analyzed some refreshing ingredients from it.

Seeing him put it on, the young man finally breathed a sigh of relief. He bowed his head and saluted, then ran away quickly, as if he didn't know what walking was, leaving behind the hermit who was as tall as a mountain compared to the boss.

He looked in the direction the young man left, memorized his back, then turned around and made the Sky Eagle Salute with his hands in front of his chest.

The woman returned the greeting solemnly.

"I cannot take what belongs to another for nothing," the hermit said to her. "Please let me do something for you."

The woman shook her head in surprise and confusion, waving her hands rapidly, but the hermit had already reached into his arms and pulled out a sachet.

It looked old, but showed no signs of damage. The hermit placed it on the counter, clasped his hands together, and recited a scripture.

The woman initially maintained a rejection attitude, but was attracted by his firm and calm voice, and unconsciously followed him in reciting.

Her voice was very hoarse, beyond the effect of the respirator, probably because she had been injured.
After the hermit finished reciting the scriptures, he raised his hand and pushed the sachet, moving it to a place where the woman could easily reach it.

"May the God-Emperor heal you." He said very seriously, then grabbed his cane, turned around and walked away.

The woman shouted a few times behind him, but it was no use, the hermit had already gone far away. Relying on the guidance of the data board, he began to walk between the sheds and metal plates - the empire has many hives, the scenes on the upper floors may be different, but the lower floors are all the same cheap appearance.

Synthetic materials, metal plates, broken wood and even plastic plates. Any place that can barely build a shelter is the first choice for the poor.

Because of this, the hermit actually had a strange familiarity with this place. He quickly saw through the patterns hidden in the chaos, so he put away the data tablet and started exploring around, almost strolling through it.

Many people would stop to salute or say hello when they met him, mostly young people, followed by children. The hermit also noticed that the children all had a small round badge on their chests, like some kind of identity certificate.

He had some understanding, but this proved nothing for the time being - to be precise, all of this proved nothing.

Lorgar Aurelion did something similar before.

The hermit continued walking, still calm.

He had clearly been waiting for this moment, but when it was about to come, he acted detached as if it had nothing to do with him.

It was not a disguise, nor was it self-deception; after all, he had lived for ten thousand years.

He had a clear understanding of himself. He knew that his identity as Astartes was just a facade. Underneath that, his mind had actually been changed by this long torture.
Those who can survive the trials of time and still preserve their ego and true self are rare. They are the chosen strong ones, and also the luckiest or most unfortunate people.

But what about him? He is just an ordinary person.

He waited.
And now, he stopped in front of a clean door.

By church standards, the door was not high, just over three meters, and was far from being exquisite. The patterns that had once been carefully carved were now blurred, and even the emblem of the state religion was half blunt, in need of renovation.

The hermit stared at the door for a while, took off his gas mask, and finally chose to take a detour and enter through the side door. He gently pushed the small wooden door open, and behind it was a bright world.

Soft, warm lights hung down from the ceiling, illuminating a common statue of the Emperor's Mercy and the pulpit beneath it, as well as a dozen or so half-grown children, and a priest standing among them and telling a story.

The children did not notice the hermit's arrival, but he did, though he did not stop.

".Mathematics is the basis of our understanding of the world." He said, and suddenly shrugged humorously. "But this statement is too literary. I prefer to call mathematics a subject that will not make people deceived - just like when you accompany your parents to the market to buy paisali meat, if you know mathematics, you can see which vendors are playing tricks. Think about it, children, sometimes you always feel that the amount of meat you bring home is not right?"

"My family can't afford meat!" a child suddenly shouted, but there was no inferiority in his voice, but a kind of humor similar to that of the teacher.

The pastor smiled, patted his head, and said, "It will be done soon. Today's class ends here. We will continue next week. Remember to bring paper and pen. If you don't have them, it doesn't matter. I have them here."

The originally quiet church was instantly filled with noise because of his words, like the surface of a lake being hit by a stone.

The most mischievous teenagers began to release the naughty side of their nature, chasing and playing in the church, and discussing whether to go home directly or go out and play for a while first.

The hermit stayed in the darkness, watching all this silently, until the last child reluctantly said goodbye to the teacher, and then he walked out and stood in the light.

The cane hit the ground with a dull, sharp sound.

The priest slowly raised his head and looked at him.

"This is a nice lamp," the hermit said, his tone as stern as an official who came to inspect. "Did you design it yourself?"

"Yes."

"Gas mask - I guess it's one of your achievements?"

"Ah, that's actually a subsidiary cooperation agreement between me and the Shaler Chamber of Commerce. I provide them with the formula of the medicine, and they provide a recyclable water source and gas masks that need to be replaced every three months."

"I suppose there is also the subsidiary work of maintaining order?" the hermit said slowly, with an expressionless look on his old face.

The pastor nodded: "They only take on one-third of the responsibility. The other two-thirds of the patrol work is still carried out by the Ministry of Law."

The hermit snorted coldly: "Officials and businessmen are colluding. And you, a pastor, are also involved. The state religion has clear regulations that no clergyman may engage in any form of cooperation with any official or businessman in the name of the state religion without permission."

"I have asked for instructions."

"The records provided by the Church of the Nuceria system do not contain any evidence of this."

The priest sighed and made the Sky Eagle Salute in front of his chest: "I have asked for His permission."

"How to prove it?" asked the hermit aggressively.

If the children heard his tone and saw his unforgiving appearance, they would probably defend their teacher angrily. They would speak in their childish voices to defend him and refute the hermit at the same time: How could you do this to him? Everyone knows that Pastor Nero is a pious man!

Yes, he was, the hermit thought grimly. But his piety came too late.

Repent? I don't believe in such a thing.

"But you are here anyway," the pastor said suddenly.

The hermit frowned suddenly.

"I'm not reading your mind."

The pastor turned around and walked up to the pulpit. He walked very slowly, only a dozen steps, but he seemed extremely tired.

"I just know you, Hemot," he whispered.

"Really?" asked the hermit coldly.

"Maybe."

The pastor sighed and shook his head, turned around, held the pulpit with both hands, and tried to stand up straight. The warm light reflected by the stained glass made his face blurry, and he seemed to notice this, so he took the initiative to walk out of the light and slowly sat on the low steps.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

The hermit suddenly discovered that his face was no longer the same as before - he should have discovered this earlier, but only now did he truly see it.

The face of Lorgar Aurelion in his memory was not like this, not this face full of scars, mutilation, horror, torture and bullying.
Even the eyes that he thought would never change now looked dull and dusty, without the brightness of the past. The passion, innocence and kindness had completely disappeared.

A blasphemous thought crossed the hermit's mind.

But he had no mercy, not even any love in his heart - only rage, a rage born from a long time ago.

Angel Tay had locked it up under the pretext of responsibility, but the beast had not disappeared. For years it had been gnawing at the prison bars, leaving its mouth bloody and its teeth loose.

"Did you bring them?"

Seeing that he didn't speak, the pastor had to continue. At this point, his pain became obvious and his voice even sounded a little humble.

"I wish you hadn't, Hermot. But I also know that's impossible. I ask you not to let them know I'm here. It's not fair to them."

"Unfair?" the hermit finally spoke. "Do you know that they--"

He stopped talking, took a deep, deep breath of the bitter, circulating cold air in the church, and then slowly shook his head.

"It's meaningless to talk about this now," he said calmly. "I'm here on behalf of the Ecclesiarchy, so let's get down to business."

"what's up?"

"Evaluation." The hermit said without question. "Show me what you have done in the past few years. Come on."

The lame priest nodded, slowly stood up and did as he was told.

(End of this chapter)