40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 813, Section 10: Walking with Fire (Part Two)

I feel cold.

I don't know where this feeling came from, but it was really untimely and very strange—I was floating in the air above the largest volcano I had ever seen in my life, where the temperature was beyond logic and reason.
So, logically speaking, I should be sweating profusely, let alone cold, even though I'm wearing a new set of armor issued by the court.

I feel pretty good about it. Unlike those bulky force-feedback power armors, this thing is very agile, but its defensive capabilities are not reduced much.

This is great news for us, since we don't have black armor. Some people have even fantasized about implanting it in themselves so they could wear better armor and gain an advantage in the fight against demons.

Unfortunately, the surgery failed, and he endured the illusion of losing all his skin for twelve years due to sensory disturbances, before actually peeling off his own skin late one night.

Death was probably a good thing for him.

However, even if this armor is excellent, even to the point of being unrealistically good, it cannot help me escape the omnipresent heat attack near the dead volcano.

To be honest, the thing I hate most in my life is heat. When I was a child, I had already learned to take advantage of the opportunity when my father was not on the ship to escape the stuffy wheelhouse and sneak outside.

Although I didn't succeed very often and was frequently beaten black and blue by him, I still really liked the cold weather of the ports where we often docked back then.
You could say I'm the kind of person who would rather live in a freezing, snowy place where your toes could freeze off than enjoy a pleasant life in a beautiful, lush place.

I think this is inextricably linked to my later choice to join the court and, surprisingly, to marry one of the judges.

Some things are destined from the very beginning, even if we have no idea how they will unfold.

Does personality determine destiny? No, personality determines whether you will encounter one or many pitfalls; your mind is what determines whether you will jump into them.

I jumped in without hesitation, and felt great.

The judge who would accompany me for the rest of my life was none other than my superior at work and the lady of the house.
The last one is usually the most common relationship between us. I mean, I not only have to serve her tea and water, but sometimes I also have to keep an eye on this crazy woman to see if she forgets to eat because of work.

I hate this because I often forget about it myself. If I were to remind her, I would have to first detach myself from my work, which would decrease my efficiency.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have OCD, but in our line of work, you really have to value efficiency. In fact, you have to value it extremely much.

time is life.

Therefore, when I was still about ten meters off the ground, I broke the sturdy rope of my parachute and jumped down, landing on the Salamanders' helipad. Then I ran straight to the gate that connected their base to the helipad.

It is locked and can only be unlocked by someone who has undergone prior biometric identification, and only with sufficiently high privileges; there is no other way.

I certainly have neither, but I do work for the court—which most of the time means 'I have my own way'.

So yes, I have an alternative method.

A unique approach.

I drew the plasma gun from my waist and fired three shots at the thick door.

The salamanders' forging craftsmanship is impeccable, but the gun in my hand is no slouch either. It has a beautiful name: the Orc Slayer. Just hearing that simple and unpretentious name tells you what this treasure has been through.
So the door opened, opened in a different way, and there was no one pointing a gun at me, only a wide but empty corridor—if the salamanders hadn't sent a communication while we were still on the tracks, informing us that they were going to mobilize in full force, I would be paranoid by now.

I ran inside, heading straight underground. The salamanders had designed their habitat so well that even someone like me, who knows nothing about art, felt an urge to stop and take a look. But now was not the time; I had other things to do.

Following the internal map they provided, I successfully reached the lowest level of this massive building—not underground, but deep enough that it was no longer so hot. I took off my mask and hung it behind my waist, breathing in the air deeply, and felt a slight sense of calm.

Okay, time to get to work.

What I'm doing is simple, as simple as the name of this vast space I'm in. The sons of the dragons call it the 'Burning Gate,' and although I don't know why they would name such a quiet and rather cool place that, I don't care.

I simply continued following their instructions and ran towards the end of the 'door,' where many blood-stained flags were lined up.

I should have slowed down to pay my respects, but I really don't have the time right now, so I just made do with a quick salute.
This made me feel a little guilty, and it also made me quicken my pace, running towards the flags. Behind them, I saw an iron wall tens of meters high, covered with all sorts of war-related items—broken weapons, half-destroyed armor, vehicle engines, and even a Dreadnought armor with only half its body remaining.
That is my goal.

I approached it and respectfully said, "Elder Dresenus, in the name of the flame, I beg you to awaken from your long slumber."

My words had barely left my lips when a terrifying breathing sound came from above me, a sound that seemed utterly inhuman, filled with agony. But it lasted less than a second before subsiding, followed by the signature electronic synthesized voice of the Fearless.

"Who are you?"

“I am Lental Sable, the attendant of Judge Serrano van Delleef.”

The judge hesitated for a moment. "Where are my brothers?"

"They have all left their post to carry out their missions."

"All hands on deck?"

"Everyone's on the move," I said, head bowed. "The auxiliary forces are included, as are the vast majority of the Fearless Elders. To be precise, all the Fireborn except you have already headed to various parts of Nocturne."

When I said those words, I was already prepared to face the rage head-on.

I could have been less direct, perhaps a little gentler, but time is of the essence. However, to my surprise, Dresenus remained calm.

"And you woke me up at this moment," the person encased in the iron coffin said thoughtfully. "They must have told you what to do?"

"Yes."

“I understand.” Fearless let out a low laugh. “But you must be prepared, for you will be the only outsider to step into the Burning Gate. You are neither a Fireborn nor of the blood of Nocturne, which could very well cause you irreparable harm, do you understand?”

“I understand, that’s why I came here.”

“Courageous indeed—” Dresdenus roared suddenly. “—Then we shall witness your bravery, Rental Sable!” His voice began to echo between steel and stone. I turned to look, only to be nearly knocked to the ground by a gust of wind. It was chillingly cold, and at the same time, the banners began to flutter wildly.

My gaze was drawn to them, but that alone seemed insufficient for the ritual; the things on the iron wall also began to move.

It was as if it had come back to life. The engine roared, the armor clattered, the broken saw blades chugged and chugged, and deadly arcs of electricity once again crackled around the blood-stained power hammer. I even saw the triggers of several guns repeatedly being pulled by themselves, which looked absolutely insane.

But this seemed to be just the beginning, because I suddenly felt an unprecedented heat.

It wasn't born from the surrounding environment, but from within me—more precisely, from my eyes. My eyeballs seemed to suddenly transform into two sparks, born from the hottest furnace in the world. At that moment, even pain gave way to this heat.

I've experienced many metaphysical things before, feelings that can only be described in vague terms and made writing reports excruciating. But this is different. It's traceable, as clear and obvious as a flame burning in the darkness.
Soon, the intense heat traveled down from his eyes and into his heart.

I heard a warning from the armor in my ear, transmitted through a chip implanted in my spine, telling me that if things continued this way, I would surely die. It offered various medical suggestions, which I had to reject one by one.

I knelt down on the ground, and a few seconds later, all I could hear was the whistling wind.

My heart is now burning as hot as the sun.

“Well done,” said Fearless. “But remember, Nocturne is not a gentle mother; for every gain you make, she will make you lose something else.”

I couldn't understand what he was saying, but that didn't stop me from standing up. To be honest, I felt a little strange, but it was a good kind of strange.

Suddenly, a new color appeared before my eyes, a unique, burning color.

It is more vivid and active than any other flame in nature, yet it possesses immense power.

I couldn't help but reach out and touch the closest thing to me.
Then my right hand caught fire.

To be precise, it burst into flames. Although I had no idea what it was, my eyes widened instantly.

The fearlessness on the wall let out a laugh.

"Adapt to it, and control yourself, little brother. The Nocturne Star Flame will give you a powerful advantage in battle, but you'd better not summon it out of curiosity."

Somewhat awkwardly, I flicked my right hand to extinguish the flame, nodded to him, and then turned and left.

What I just did was a ritual involving psychic powers, supernatural phenomena, and akin to a surgical procedure. However, it didn't actually alter my genes. It was time-limited; everyone who gains this ability must return annually to undergo increasingly difficult trials to regain it, or they will lose it.

However, I don't need to do that; I only need it this once.

I followed the map back to the upper levels of the base and found the fire salamanders' treasure trove, which was exactly what I had come for.

Although my mistress and I had upgraded our weapons when we left Terra, the Salamanders insisted that we use the weapons they provided to fight after learning of our mission.
I have no objection to this, of course, but I just want it to be done quickly.

The two enormous, imposing doors of the treasure vault did not stop me; I simply pressed them gently along the glowing patterns on their surfaces, and they opened by themselves.

The world that followed left me speechless; I had never seen so many masterpieces gathered together in my entire life.
But I knew what I needed. I personally preferred using an axe to any other melee weapon, so I took a one-handed axe that fit my size and a dark gold round shield.

My mistress, a master swordswoman, was given an exceptionally ornate, fiery red rapier—I don't know why I chose this particular sword, but the vibrant colors in my new vision told me it was the one.
Just as I took away the axe and shield, their surfaces were also burning with flames, restless and revealing a strong need.

A few minutes later, I returned to the tarmac, where I met my impatient hostess and the legendary hero Constantine Waldo.

His golden armor was unusually simple and ancient, quite different from the imperial guards I had ever seen.

He looked at me with a meaningful gaze, and then even handed me the spear he was holding.

"Sir?" I didn't understand what he was trying to do.

“Look at it,” he said.

I did as she said, handing the sword to Serrano. She frowned, straightened my head, and forced me to look her in the eye.
I saw my own reflection in those eyes, and in my own eyes now—two crimson pupils, like fireballs.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, though her tone was still quite impatient.

"no feelings."

I said dryly, then stiffly pushed her away and walked to the Imperial Guard Marshal who was smiling for some reason. As he instructed, I looked at the divine weapon.

At first I didn’t understand why he wanted me to do this, but in just a few seconds I understood.

Once again, I saw the dancing flames—golden, as golden as the blazing sun.

A voice rang in my ears, and I was completely disoriented.

"What's wrong?" Serrano grasped my hand.

I looked at her, snapped out of my reverie, and smiled, "I don't know either."

Her attitude immediately made a 180-degree turn; she shook off my hand, turned around, and boarded the shuttle.

"Hurry up!" she urged impatiently, her long hair swaying in the wind.

For once, I did not immediately obey her orders, but instead looked at the Imperial Guard Marshal, who was also staring at me.

(End of this chapter)