40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 826 Extra: Round Table Movie Viewing (Part 9) (Vote for the sequel!)

Faced with Conrad Coates's question, the narrator merely summoned a mirror.

The person in the mirror looked disheveled and angry. His overgrown hair had fallen loose, almost obscuring half his face, and his eyes were incredibly gloomy. If that were all, it wouldn't have been so bad; it wouldn't have detracted from his appearance, a product of genetic programming. Unfortunately, he had an animalistic habit: he was currently baring his teeth, his canines stuck against his lower lip, trembling incessantly.
“You’d better calm down,” the narrator said in an unusually calm tone.

The Nostradamus stared at the mirror, remained silent for a long time, and then suddenly revealed a bright smile.

He tilted his head back, brushed his hair behind his back, and then smiled silently as he returned to his seat, as if nothing had happened.

“Very good,” the narrator said. “Your mental illness shouldn’t be so severe that you’ve forgotten what I said not long ago, right? None of this story has anything to do with you. I know how agonizing it is to see others get what you’ve always dreamed of, but you really lack self-control.”

Roger Dorn frowned and suddenly spoke up in defense of Coates: "You can't expect him to remain calm after seeing all that."

"Then perhaps he shouldn't have seen these things."

The narrator successfully provoked the anger of some people with a casual remark, the sense of entitlement in which they had never experienced before, and it seemed to understand this perfectly, quickly turning the conversation around to them.

"You are the same, you arrogant princes who are very sensitive to power and politics. I hope you cherish this opportunity. Many people with the same names and faces as you never received this kind of help until they died. Let me put it more bluntly, not everyone is as ungrateful as you are."

Leon Aljonson narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly.

"Your accusations are completely unreasonable."

"Just like your anger."

"You are not me, how could you possibly know my feelings?"

"I don't want to be a teenager who spent the first twelve years of his life wandering in the forest, only to learn to speak when he met humans in his thirteenth year, and who is now just seventeen years old, full of anger and confusion, and who even feels like he is still in Caliban when he wakes up every day. That would be a fatal blow to me."

Zhuang Sen remained silent for less than half a second before immediately retaliating.

"Yes, after all, you're not even human. You're just a product manufactured by that so-called White Tower Corporation. Your job is simply to tell us—the arrogant teenagers you look down on—nothing more, machine. I'm curious, after the story is over, will you be recycled and destroyed, or reset?"

The narrator chuckled, surprisingly not angry: "Very well, we're even—how about a temporary truce, great prince?"

"I agree, cheap machines."

"Actually, I'm quite expensive."

As the narrator spoke, he finally couldn't help but burst into laughter—a peculiar laugh usually reserved for someone who had 'made a fortune,' intended to convey the message: I'm in a very good mood right now, so I won't be angry. None of the people present could verify this, so they could only keep their questions to themselves.

“Mr. Narrator, your duties also include answering our questions, right?” Saint Gilles spoke up at the right moment, bringing the argument to a complete end.

"Yes—what do you want to ask?"

“I want to know more about that dream,” the angel said softly. “It makes me very uneasy.”

Horus immediately looked at him, but Saint Gilles simply stared intently at the blue light in the center of the round table, saying nothing, waiting for an answer.

“That dream? Good, finally someone has asked about the key point.” The narrator rarely praised it. “It was one of the countless illusions that Conrad Coates of that world experienced when his precognitive talent was activated. His talent was very strong and he preferred to experience things firsthand, so he could see many details, but he also suffered a lot of pressure because of it, which could only be cleared away with proper guidance.”

Everyone turned to look at Conrad Coates.

"He's a classic example of someone driven mad," the narrator added slowly.

Koz laughed again, and since he was no longer disheveled, his smile even had a touch of sunshine if you ignored his eerie black eyes.

"Is he crazy or not?" Ruth whispered—though everyone could hear him.

"Then, what did that prophetic dream foretell?" The angel did not stop the Fenris man any further, but pressed on with the question.

“Betrayal,” the narrator answered calmly.

The room suddenly fell silent, and most people realized just how strange the tone of those words sounded for this so-called machine that had never undergone any cosmetic surgery.
They began to think that only two people did not: Saint Gilles and Conrad Coz, but their reactions were not consistent.

The angel clenched his fists, sighed deeply, and then lowered his head, his face disappearing into the shadows.

As for that mad Nostrama man? He laughed silently, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"I knew it." His hair fell loose again, and his eyes shone like agate, filled with a morbid excitement. "I knew it!"

“What do you know?” Peturabo snapped impatiently. “You’ve been acting like you’re hysterical the whole time!”

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry, sir, I'm so sorry to have disturbed your peace—"

As he spoke, Koz immediately stood up and gave an exaggerated bow.

However, when he raised his head and smiled, his mouth was full of blood. It was even flowing out and sliding down his chin.

Peturabo turned his head away in disgust, his face turning ashen.

“A madman,” he said.

"Thank you." Koz nodded obediently to him, then sat back in his chair and swallowed the blood in his mouth.

Horus rubbed his temples wearily, then glanced at Saint Gilles, who remained silent beside him. He then stood up and cleared his throat.

“Brothers,” he began, his voice heavy. “This isn’t the first time it’s revealed something about betrayal to us.”

Everyone understood what he was implying—not long ago, this so-called machine bathed in blue light had used mind-reading to reveal Conrad Coates's thoughts, and the matter of 'demigods wreaking havoc on the galaxy' was indeed terrifying.

However, considering the brother's consistent style and mental state, who can guarantee that what he saw wasn't some kind of nightmare?
At least, when they saw those words, none of the Primarchs thought they would become the ones who wreak havoc on the galaxy.

But things are different now.

Horus turned his gaze to the center of the round table, where the shimmering blue light reflected into his pupils, highlighting his courage and determination.

"Could you please reveal everything to us, sir? I think we're all tired of riddles." In this sentence, he removed the prefix "narrator," as if to simplify, but that was not the case.

"Are you sure?" the voice from the blue light asked with a half-smile. "After you saw those things?"

“I’m sure,” Horus said, then looked around—no one objected—before adding, “We’re all sure.”

“Very good,” the narrator said. “However, according to Article 19,472 of the transaction agreement, it is my responsibility to check the surroundings before this begins to ensure your personal safety. So, please remain quiet from now on.”

The light in the center of the round table suddenly scattered and disappeared, plunging the stone chamber into complete darkness.

Every Primarch possesses night vision, a fundamental ability for their extraordinary physiques. Yet, the darkness enveloping them at this moment is entirely different from the natural darkness they are familiar with.
They not only could no longer see through it as easily as before, but they even felt breathless, as if something was choking them with something that didn't feel like an arm.

Conrad Coates hugged himself tightly, bracing himself for the familiar torment.

He understood that they were no longer on Terra. Now, they were on a sunless sea, a vast ocean devoid of any kindness.

On his first day in Terra, he was taken to Macado, where the old man personally taught him about the warp, every word of which was precious and every point extremely important.

Nevertheless, they still could not dispel his talent. It still flared up frequently, plunging him into nightmares and subjecting him to epilepsy and immense pain, making him personally experience every ounce of terror within them.
He felt that this time would be no exception.

“Wrong, you little madman,” the narrator said.

Several roars followed his voice and then faded away.

The blue light returned rapidly, illuminating everything that was originally inside the stone chamber, as well as the faces of the Primarchs, whose expressions were not peaceful.

Clearly, each of them saw or heard something, more or less.

Conrad Coates took it all in, and finally, he quietly asked, "What are you?"

The narrator did not answer the question—it had finished the so-called inspection, so what was to be presented next was the truth.

Many stories, visible only to themselves, emerged one after another from the void.

Leon Aljonson suddenly finds himself in the midst of an internal conflict, with both sides clad in the armor of the Dark Angels. He also sees a more mature version of himself wielding a blade, hacking down the recruits of the First Legion.

Fugrim saw Feralus Manus and Chagatai fighting side by side, and the enemy's face was strangely familiar, making him want to scream.

Perturabo found himself in a dark ruin in the blink of an eye. Not far away, a man in iron armor was fighting a horde of demons, protecting a tall corpse. Loka Aurelion's face was faintly visible in the deeper darkness.

Chagatai saw his legion's armored warriors clashing with the Shadow Moon Wolves, but many of them were helping the Sixteenth Legion kill their own brothers.

Lehmann Russ saw Prospero burning and Magnus, who had lost his eyesight, gradually turning into nothingness while roaring.

Roger Dorn saw a more weathered but also more determined man walking alone in the boundless desert, under a starless night sky, with the smell of blood lingering around his nose.

Conrad Coates watched as Khalil Lohals, wearing a shattered crown, calmly removed her mask.

Saint Gilles saw a demon, heavily wounded and about to die, and himself, equally dying, facing it.

Feralus Manus saw himself smashing Forgrim's head with his warhammer.

Angron saw many of his acquaintances—the gladiators who had been enslaved like him—being killed one by one by Horus, who was inexplicably clad in black armor, their bodies as ethereal as specks of light.

Robert Guilliman saw a familiar planet and its destroyed state.

Mortarian saw Karas Typhon's swollen, distorted face.

Magnus saw himself standing in a huge conference hall, speaking eloquently to everyone, introducing something.

Horus Lupecal saw once again the man who had been unfortunate enough to become a puppet, and it was devouring the emperor's flesh and blood.

Loka Aurelion saw a Word Bearer named Erebas.

Vulcan smelled an extremely strong stench, a smell he could hardly describe, but that was no longer his biggest concern. He just wanted to know why he kept killing Mortarian, who was inexplicably immortal.

Kolus Corax saw him standing side by side with Conrad Coz, the two sharing some kind of food in a world soaked in blood.

Alpharis saw what he most wanted to see, smiled contentedly, and was the first to leave the illusion.

He stood up and saw that his other nineteen brothers were still engrossed in their own world, their eyes closed, as if they were dreaming.

He stretched, sauntered to the door with his hands behind his back, and opened the door.

A person who looked exactly like him walked into the stone chamber and sat in his seat.

The two smiled at each other, one in the sunlight, the other in the shadows.

"Are you going to find your father?" the person who came later asked.

“Yes,” Alpharis said. “I want to ask him for something from us, something that can be used to comfort these poor children later, because of our excellent work.”

"That's not our job; our work hasn't even started yet," the newcomer shook his head and corrected.

“But there, it’s over,” Alpharis said softly. “I see an empire full of hope, rising again from the flames of war, bringing a new and bright future to humanity.”

"Shh, you're saying too much," the person who came later said disapprovingly, curling their lip.

“And you always say too little. Learn from me, Omega, so that they don’t find out.”

“They won’t, brother,” the newcomer said calmly, then closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

The door is closed.

(End of this chapter)