40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 825 Extra: Round Table Movie Viewing (Part 8)
This time, the narrator didn't say anything more. In the blink of an eye, blue light enveloped everything.

Magnus stared intently at everything, afraid of missing even the slightest detail.

His completely absorbed performance drew murmurs of mockery from the Fenris. He gestured to Alpharis, who nodded in understanding and chuckled along.
However, among the Primarchs, only these two acted with such carefree joy; the others, though not experiencing this feeling of being gradually swallowed by light for the first time, still could not get used to it.

Moreover, for those who are always sensitive, this can even be called torture; though it lasts only a moment, it is enough to leave an unforgettable impression.

The blue light faded, the round table vanished, and the stone chairs followed. One by one, the Primarchs rose to their feet, these young demigods standing in neat rows, and the world was now only darkness—a soft, tranquil darkness that signified sleep.
Judging from the decor, this should be a bedroom, and it doesn't belong to ordinary people.

Indeed, just one glance at the black-haired giant lying fully clothed on the bed was enough to tell whose bedroom this was.

"His sleeping posture is not bad," Ruth smacked her lips and commented.

Someone tapped him on the back, not hard, but in a clever spot, just enough to shut him up before he could finish his sentence—the slightly annoyed Fenris turned around and saw his brother from Baal staring at him expressionlessly.

That barely sliver of anger, that desire for revenge, vanished instantly, replaced by a deliberate, slightly ingratiating smile.

“Okay, I won’t say anything more.” With a smile, Lehman Russ simply raised his hands. “I’ll remain silent from now on.”

“You’d better do that,” Saint Gilles said, speaking very slowly.

This brief exchange didn't attract much attention, and even the other protagonist in the conversation didn't seem to care about it at the moment.

He remained silent in the darkness for a while, then walked to the bedside—the child who had cried while holding the corpse on Nostramo had now grown into a different person, noble and handsome, with a calm expression on his face.

Conrad Coates studied him for a while before letting out a soft chuckle.

Nobody knew what he was laughing about.

Magnus's voice rang out untimely but immediately afterward.

"This must be a psionic spell."

He muttered something mysterious, and once he attracted some attention, he returned to normal.

"Haven't you noticed? This bedroom, though large, could never possibly fit all of us. We're standing here, and we take up about the same amount of space as a chair! It's simply—"

He waved his arms excitedly.

Ruth looked at Saint Gilles with pleading eyes, and the latter sighed and granted permission.

The next moment, the Fenris squeezed next to his curious brother, stood on tiptoe and hooked his arm around Magnus's shoulder, who was much taller than him, and then whispered something in a threatening tone.

Finally, the bedroom fell silent again.

Conrad Coates was completely unconcerned about what they were doing; he was still observing the face, as if trying to imagine, through those marks of maturity that distinguished him from the man, what this man and that foolish Nostrama had gone through after the previous part of the story ended.
But this was just the surface. Beneath all of this, what truly occupied his mind was that skeleton.

He waited, wondering when that moment would arrive, when a sudden wave of drowsiness interrupted his thoughts. At first, it wasn't obvious; he didn't even realize what the feeling was until he heard the sound of heavy objects falling behind him.

Koz turned around swiftly and warily, his back arched and arms outstretched, assuming the most suitable posture for launching a surprise attack.
But what he saw was not an enemy, but Primarchs lying on the ground one after another, his brothers—all of them had fallen into a sudden slumber.

The last person still awake was Roger Dorn, who lay on top of Mortarian, Perturabo, and Vulcan, his eyelids repeatedly opening and closing.

He was incredibly tired, unable to even stop his limbs from losing strength, yet he still looked at Koz.

"you--"

He only had time to utter that one word before he fell asleep.

Coz immediately bit down hard on the tip of his tongue and then rolled it around.

In the brief moment of clarity brought on by the pain, he managed to maintain his standing posture, but he also had to raise his hand to hold onto the bed beside him—unexpectedly, he could actually feel something in his palm, rather than the complete illusion he had experienced during his previous immersive experience.
He frowned, pulled his hand back as if electrocuted, and his expression shifted between the person on the bed and the dagger hanging beneath his robes.

Although his observation just now could be described as casual, Conrad Coates' innate, almost terrifying, keen senses still made him realize that this person was no longer the child who would be at a loss upon seeing his protector's death, but a superior who was used to being in a high position.
Nobles? Rulers? Or something else entirely?
His protectors are still carrying out other rescues, such as Angron, but what about the protected ones?

His thoughts were in turmoil, but his drowsiness was growing stronger, even though Coz had bitten his tongue so hard it was no use.

He shook his head, then pulled out a well-hidden dagger from under his robe and slashed his own ribs. The blood soaked his black robe, slightly dispelling the great enemy that was tormenting his mind and eyelids, and also giving him a bit of strength.

Using that little bit of strength, he quickly walked to his brothers' side, and looking at the Primarchs lying together unconscious, a cold look suddenly appeared on his face.

“You are completely unsuspecting. You are like meat on a chopping board.”

The unheard mockery vanished in an instant, and he forced himself to walk to the other side of the bed and slowly sat down.

He didn't want to lie on the ground, or on top of those people. Even back when he lived in the sewers and stinking ditches, he never had the habit of sleeping with corpses as his pillow.
Now, what difference is there between these noblest demigods of the empire and corpses?
Besides, this is my bedroom. He smiled maliciously, lay down as if it were his right, and even kicked the other person who was sleeping soundly.

Although this kick, like the previous one, missed its mark, it was still enough.

He clutched his wound, staring once more at that ambiguous face. Blood flowed across his palm, bringing warmth. Drowsiness washed over him, forcing him to slowly close his eyes.

But the bed was too soft; he didn't like it.

"You damned nobleman," he thought. "Don't let me find out—"

Clutching the dagger and the blood, Conrad Coates' thoughts were completely interrupted, and he officially drifted off to sleep.
-
"Boom——!"

Thunder rumbled across the sky, but the sky was filled only with snow, pitch-black snow. It covered everything, encompassing all things. The ground shook, lava spewed from the ground in an apocalyptic scene, and of course, nightmarish creatures appeared within it.

Conrad Coates saw many twisted monsters leaping out of the void. They were familiar to him; they were old friends he had seen many times in the visions brought on by prophecies, but never so clearly.

When it came to these things, his hallucinations almost always gave him only a partial view, like seeing the whole leopard through a tube, unlike now, where it felt like he was actually there.
"Conrad," someone called to him.

He turned around and saw many familiar faces—his brothers were all standing there.

“We’ve been waiting for you for quite a while,” Chagatai said nonchalantly. “You’ve even outlasted Dorn.”

The Nostramo man gave a fake smile, intending to retaliate, but the world before him suddenly brightened for a moment. In the blink of an eye, snow, lava, and monsters were torn to pieces in the light, as if he had been thrown into a rapidly spinning vortex, with many flying fragments roaring past, making his eardrums ache.

Then, the skeleton appeared.

He stared wide-eyed, trying to see the details and verify his guess, but he couldn't do so because the blizzard returned, and the two images flickered alternately, spinning in front of him like the crazy indicator light of a broken machine.
Koz trembled.

He knew this was the result of his cursed, unstable so-called 'blessing'. However, this frequency was something he had never experienced before, nor had he ever imagined.

Is his pain even worse than mine?!
This anger came so quickly that it shattered the habit of sarcasm that one used to protect oneself.

He was filled with resentment, but the scene before him, regardless of his feelings, presented a completely new picture to him—he saw Khalil Lohals wielding a sword engulfed in golden flames, wielding it in the darkness, constantly battling four things.

A golden shadow was also wrapped around his back.

Koz immediately wanted to know who it was.

However, this was ultimately not his talent; he could clearly sense that the scene was not over yet, but...
He woke up.

Almost simultaneously, they sat up with the other person on the bed, and then looked in a certain direction together.

There lay a skeleton, covered in ashes, unusually tall, emitting wisps of smoke and radiating a terrifying temperature.

The bed shook for a moment, and the person moved with terrifyingly gentle steps onto the cold floor, walked to the skeleton, and slowly knelt down.

Because they were facing away from each other, Koz couldn't see his face, but he didn't want to see it either, lest he discover some expressions that would make him uncomfortable.

He held his breath and observed the man's movements, watching how he used his hands to identify bone structure and how he forced himself to remain calm.

From beginning to end, the man remained silent, making no sound except for his long, drawn-out breathing, until he gently reached out and picked up the skeleton.

The moment the still-hot ash touched the skin, it produced a loud hissing sound. Koz sneered, eagerly anticipating seeing the man pull his hand back in pain.
This hope, of course, was dashed.

However, as compensation, he heard a sentence in Nostrama.

"Father."

His smile froze on his face. Koz rolled off the bed, giving the group of sensible fools who had chosen to remain silent a threatening look.

He didn't know why their faces all looked so stiff, but he didn't care, as long as they didn't bother him.
He rushed to the man and saw some tears.

That's good, that's exactly what he wanted—Coates grinned—yes, cry, you just look a bit more mature than me, you're still just a kid.
No, wait.

He frowned sharply, crouched down, and observed closely before realizing that the tears were merely a facade. It was simply a primal bodily reaction to extreme grief; behind the tears, the face remained calm.

Damn it, how can you be so calm? That idiot Lockhals is dead!
Frustrated, Koz pressed the tip of his tongue against his sharp left canine tooth and ground it slowly. Blood trickled out, which he swallowed clean along with his saliva.

silence.

A moment later, the man did something that Koz hadn't expected—he actually grasped the skeleton's hand and began to whisper for help.

"Help."

Upon hearing these words, upon hearing this collapse of reason, Conrad Coates thought he would be happy, would be delighted. However, when this scene actually unfolded, his first reaction was extreme anger.

He suddenly roared, and the voice didn't sound like his own at all.

"Who are you asking for help from?!" The Nostramo man stood up furiously and roared at the man who could not possibly hear him.

The Primarchs looked at each other, unable to comprehend his anger. Only Coz ​​himself knew that hidden within that rage was fear, and a certain jealousy he was unwilling to acknowledge.

Two completely different ideas began to echo in his mind.

A voice asked: How dare you?! How dare you squander his hard work like this?

But another voice, very faintly, expressed envy.

He forcefully silenced the second voice, then gripped the dagger tightly.

Looking at that face, he could no longer control his bloodlust; he only regretted not having stabbed the man to death earlier.

And his fears came true at that very moment.

A sound, a soft sound like the scraping of a feather, rang out somewhere in the room.

"Do you want to save him?"

Holding the knife, Conrad Coates looked around, trying to find the person who had spoken. He wandered around the room, appearing and disappearing like a shadow, his face pale and lips trembling, resembling a crazed ghost. Naturally, his search ended in failure.

So he rushed up to the man again, glaring at him, his teeth clenched, his muscles tense as if about to snap.

Do not respond. Do not respond.
Forgetting his anger and everything else, for the first time in his life, he began to pray with an intense longing, even though he had no idea who he should pray to.

However, in the next moment, the blue light that had not appeared for a while suddenly reappeared, and the round table, stone chairs, and the so-called narrator returned once again.

The Primarchs were used to this, and Magnus was even somewhat grateful that it had called a halt at this time.

He suddenly realized that the voice was exactly the same as that of a friendly being he had met when he entered the warp in a meditative state on Prospero.
That unique sound of feathers scraping against each other could not be imitated. He didn't know where this conclusion came from, but he believed it wholeheartedly.

Conrad Coates took a deep breath.

"And then?" he asked very calmly.

(End of this chapter)