40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 829 Extra: Round Table Movie Viewing - Kurtz Branch

Nostramo.

A land of stench and chaos, rife with slaughter and littered with corpses.

Luxuriously dressed nobles indulged in their palaces, their minds clouded by the effects of forbidden drugs, unleashing a series of ridiculous schemes. These schemes, carried by the steam from the circulation system, fell into the lower lair, where gangs fought over them in a frenzy. In the perpetually dark streets, the blood of countless innocent people splattered on the ground, mercilessly becoming a testament to their suffering.

Conrad Coates, who was crouching like a wild beast atop a gargoyle, slowly raised his head.

The already oversized black robe weighed heavily on his body due to the rain, and the protruding spine on his back and the unusual sharpness of his shoulders made people wonder if he was as thin as a skeleton—and indeed he was. Just one look at his face was enough to tell that this person was definitely emaciated.

His dark eyes were fixed intently on the night sky below the nest, which was cut into layers. He seemed to be gazing at the sky, but he was actually observing the eerie towers that only nobles could live in.

A few seconds later, as the sour-smelling rain slid down his wet black hair to his chin, he suddenly laughed.

His skin, clinging to his bones, suddenly tightened as if it were being tanned, and bluish-gray veins quietly appeared around his eyes. He laughed with excitement but morbid ecstasy, biting his tongue again to lick the blood, before leaping off the gargoyle and landing on the ground.

"Home, my sweet home."

He hummed a song he had learned from Terra, splashed happily through puddles, and ran wildly through the alley.

The filthy environment he knew all too well, and the fresh corpses being devoured by rats, were provoking the fragile, sensitive nerves of the body's owner, stirring up an urge to eat—in fact, he was starving to the point of madness.

"I have to kill something."

He muttered to himself, then leaped into the air, his hands clasped together, and thrust into the wall of a building.

Debris flew as he began to climb, his movements nimble and light, completely unlike that of a human. At that moment, the thick, sky-like dark clouds issued a warning—a thunderous boom followed by a flash of lightning. He paused thoughtfully, turned to observe, and used his newfound height to gaze into the distance.

Soon, he found what he wanted to see.

"Oh." He smiled again. "Very good."

Conrad Coates released his grip, letting himself fall naturally.

Like a shadow, he silently landed on the ground and began sprinting in a certain direction again. Just two minutes later, he arrived at the scene.
In this strange yet familiar hometown, in countless midnight hours that are no different from 'daytime', a brutal massacre is unfolding before his eyes.

The main character is a pale, thin man and a group of crazy gangsters.

To be honest, Koz couldn't remember how many people like them he had killed, as well as their leaders and their leaders' leaders.

He had realized long ago that writing down numbers might not be a good idea for what he was doing—or perhaps he simply forgot he was supposed to do it.

Isn't that perfectly reasonable? A madman will naturally forget some things.

He leaned back, nonchalantly resting against a thick wall, and stood by and watched.

He didn't bother to observe the faces of those damned people or analyze their identities. If this were his hunt, he would have done so, even conducting investigations beforehand. But at this moment, the massacre unfolding before his eyes belonged to someone else.

And that person doesn't even actually exist, so naturally, all of this is as it is.

No, that's not right.

Koz swallowed another mouthful of blood, then corrected himself.

He exists, but he doesn't exist in my Nostrama.

Similarly, this event also truly happened in another world, just another ordinary night in that man's life.

Murder, murder, murder.

Koz began humming a song again.

Half a minute later, he saw, unsurprisingly, that the man had ended it all.

He stood soaking wet in the rain, his body trembling. The adrenaline rush from the high-speed movement and killing made it hard for him to stop the strange shivering. He was furious about it; his face, which had remained calm throughout the killing, was now contorted with rage.

Koz could tell at a glance what was causing his anger.

The man was terrified; he feared he might become addicted to killing. He had considered killing merely a tool, which was why he had done it without restraint. But now, he discovered that it could also bring a terrifying thrill, enough to make one's mouth water.

The Nostramo man instinctively licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, which was covered in rotten flesh, then stretched out his right hand, used his sharp nails to cut off the piece of flesh, and swallowed it whole.

More blood gushed from his mouth, carrying a unique aroma unique to the Primarch, far surpassing any food he had ever tasted in this world.
But all he wants to do right now is vomit.

Killing is indeed thrilling, he thought. That kind of pleasure.
what.

He sighed, straightened up, and walked towards the man.

The latter was completely unaware of the arrival of such a tall, thin monster, and silently gathered up the scattered corpses, throwing them all into a building with its door open.

The neon sign, half-damaged by gunfire, stubbornly flickered, casting an eerie light on the man's face. Beneath the undulating surface, his eyes remained lifeless.

"Quickly, and with good technique," Koz commented seriously. "You really should join the Corpse Guild."

He followed closely behind the man, hands behind his back, bending over to observe his every move. It wasn't unintentional; it could even be described as brazen, as if he felt he had fully grasped the illusion created by the narrative machine, that only he was real here, and therefore there was no need for further confusion.
The man quickly finished what he was doing. He stood at the door, glanced inside, then closed the door and left without a word.

Walking in the rain is not a good idea, especially when you're in Nostrama, but the men don't seem to care.

He walked slowly, his gait revealing the intense fatigue of intense exercise. Koz examined his hands with great professionalism, and sure enough, his fingers were still trembling.

He frowned, but quickly smiled again, a smile that seemed very sarcastic.

Still feeling unwell? That's interesting, so you've had moments like that too.

Several tens of minutes later, he followed him to the vicinity of a building.

This building likely belongs to a highly efficient factory; the entire structure possesses a refined elegance that seems out of place in Xiachao's atmosphere. Heavily armed security personnel, clad in thick bulletproof armor, patrolled its perimeter.

Koz glanced down and saw the man smiling, a smile that served both mockery and smugness, its curve utterly malevolent.

The Nostramo man was stunned, almost thinking he was looking in a mirror—he was quickly annoyed by the thought, but the man had already nimbly climbed to the top of the low buildings, and then with a few leaps, reached the top of the tallest one.

These buildings probably once belonged to a gang. Through the windows, which looked like the mouths of dead men, Coz saw that some of their belongings were left unattended inside.

He immediately guessed that these people had probably been killed by the security guards.
After all, no nobleman would tolerate a group of lowly gangsters living across from his factory's office building.

You should have blown them up. Coz grinned, used his hands to push off, and lightly jumped to catch up with the man.

The latter sat cross-legged, and two knives slid out from his sleeve.

He grasped them and began sharpening the knives on the rough rooftop. The fine, delicate sound was so faint in the rain that no one noticed it.

Koz took a few more steps, squatted down to the side, stared at them listlessly, and then shook his head.

“You might as well find two stones,” he complained.

This is completely unreasonable, because those two knives are undoubtedly deadly weapons, made of excellent materials, and forged with impeccable skill. Even the handles are made of composite materials for practical purposes—but Coz is not belittling them for these reasons.

He said that simply because of the emblem on their blades.

He didn't recognize it, but he could tell at a glance that it belonged to a noble family; otherwise, why would it bear the family crest?

The man knew nothing of his opinion; he stood up after sharpening the knife.

At that moment, the sky seemed to collapse, and a torrential downpour began. The patrol team members nearby quickened their pace and ran into the building to take shelter from the rain, their movements perfectly synchronized. The man, however, simply raised his hand and brushed the black hair that had been hanging in front of his eyes upward.

He leaped down and sped across the deserted street, his steps eerily unsettling, as if he were a ghost, swiftly floating by. Rainwater accumulated on the street, submerging the grime that had once been blood, and reflecting off his face with the white light from the building rooftops.

On that pale, blurry face, only the eyes were clearly visible, radiating murderous intent.

Conrad Coates followed him closely and together they began climbing the exterior of the building.

He used his fingers, while the man used the two knives. Similar-colored robes fluttered in the cold wind, and blinding white light pierced down with the rain, like countless sharp needles.

What are you going to do? Koz thought with great interest.

The question was answered eleven minutes later—a soaking wet man stood on the expensive carpet, reeking of a beggar and completely out of place in the unusually spacious and exquisitely decorated room.

The man closed the window behind him, and suddenly two blue lights appeared in his eyes. A warm feeling rose quietly, drying his clothes and restoring the messy carpet to normal.

He walked calmly forward and sat down in the darkness on a chair that looked extremely comfortable.

Then he waited.

Koz stood on the other side of the chair, tilting his head to examine him with great interest.

His Primarch-level hearing allowed him to easily hear footsteps coming from the corridor. It sounded like only one person was walking, and they were moving very slowly. A few minutes later, the door to the room was pushed open, and a young woman walked in impatiently.

She slammed the door shut, then silently went to the wine cabinet that covered half a wall. She pulled out two obviously expensive bottles, roughly smashed the slender necks with a glass, and then drank them down in one gulp.
She swallowed the glass shards along with the wine, and only let out a sigh a few seconds later.

The man stood up as slowly as possible without making a sound, but his next actions were quite another matter.

With just two strides, he swiftly reached the woman's side. Before she could even react, a knife was plunged into her lung from behind.

Conrad Coates knew what was going to happen next.

The instant the knife pierces, the sensation of a burning iron skewer digging into the muscles can cause victims to attempt to unleash the most horrific screams of their lives.

This pain is unavoidable, and screaming cannot distract it; therefore, screaming is futile.

Then, because the lungs are punctured, air will enter the chest cavity, as will blood.
The intense feeling of suffocation will cause the victim to lose control and cough desperately, but they will only cough up pink foam, and then death will be imminent.

Koz was pleased to hear the woman's scream.

She struggled desperately, knocking everything off the table near the liquor cabinet, but that was her last bit of strength. The blade was still deeply embedded in her back, the damage irreversible.

Soon, she collapsed to the ground, coughing uncontrollably, her face turning deathly pale.

The man stood beside her the whole time, motionless, until she was truly on the verge of death, at which point he spoke, his tone devoid of any emotion.

“No one hired me to kill you. I know what you want to ask, and I know you don’t believe the answer, but it’s true. Those who have the ability to train an assassin and use money or power to get the guards to let me in wouldn’t hire me to kill you. And those who really want you dead can’t afford me.”

"Thanks to you, they are all now lying in the shantytowns waiting to die, sick and destitute. After working hard for your factories for more than a decade, their final fate is to be thrown out—to be honest, I really want to know why."

The man leaned down, and blue light shone in his eyes again.

He reached out and grabbed the woman's neck, his fingers pressing down hard, intensifying her suffocating experience like iron clamps.

It was so cruel, yet her eyes widened, as if she had been pulled back from the brink of death, finally fully waking up, her fear becoming increasingly real.

“Why? What’s wrong with letting them work themselves to death in the factory?” the man asked very seriously, then slightly loosened his grip. “Isn’t this more advantageous for you? Why would you do this to a group of skilled, unyielding, and obedient people?”

The woman, panting, slowly opened her mouth, but her answer was irrelevant. Her old-fashioned threats and attempts to bribe her made the Nostramo man beside her roll his eyes impatiently.

The man remained unmoved.

"Why?" he asked again in a soft voice. "They clearly only have a few years, or even a few months, left to live, why do they have to do this?"

Blue light intensified again.

The woman opened her mouth in agony, revealing complete honesty amidst the ever-increasing blood and foam.

"I just think it would be fun to do this. And I need some new people in; young flesh and blood are always easier to torture and easier to eat."

Conrad Coates narrowed his eyes.

"Oh." He gave a dry smile. "Although I'm used to it, but..."

He slowly and stiffly twisted his neck.

The man's reaction was completely different from his. In the darkness, he laughed tremblingly, a laugh that no one could quite understand, and it didn't look scary at all.

Actually, it was quite calm.

The man clenched his fingers tightly.

The woman broke down. She knew she was about to die, and she couldn't accept this ending; it wasn't the future she had envisioned for herself. A strong will to live drove her to keep hitting the hand or digging with her nails. Her legs, which had already gone limp, began to kick wildly, and she struggled haphazardly.

Conrad Coates waited quietly until she breathed her last in pain and despair.

The man released his grip, took a few steps back, and couldn't stop smiling. He then raised his hand to cover his face, and his shoulders suddenly began to tremble.

A few seconds later, suppressed laughter faintly came from under his palm.

His laughter grew louder and louder until, in the end, the monotonous, dry, and terrifying sound was almost like a bell amplified dozens of times, echoing endlessly above the corpses and blood.

Strangely, even with all this noise, no one came to investigate, and there were no footsteps heard in the corridor outside the door.

Koz sighed, a rare occurrence for him.

“Why bother?” he said, sounding like he was complaining, but he was no longer using High Gothic.

No one answered him, and the man continued to laugh.

“Stop laughing,” the Midnight Ghost muttered his name ominously in Nostrama. “Karel Lohals.”

He didn't know what the consequences would be, otherwise he wouldn't have done it, at least not in this relatively lucid moment—but he didn't know.

The laughter suddenly stopped, but he continued to chatter on.

"Nostrama is such a place. You've lived here for so many years, don't you understand it enough? Perhaps some precious hearts can sprout a few rays of light on this rotten ground, but they cannot survive here. They will surely stop beating and eventually rot along with everything else. There is no soil here to accommodate kindness, nor does it support normal order and viewpoints. The only way to save it is—"

"—Change it," another voice said. "That's what you're thinking, isn't it, to change it?"

The midnight ghost stared stiffly at the speaker.

The latter had somehow ended up sitting on the edge of the large bed in the center of the room, with his hands on his knees, gazing out the window with a half-smile on his face.

“You?” Conrad Coates strained to straighten his tongue so that the switched High Gothic would sound clearer. “What is it?”

"In my world, Nostrama has become a taboo."

The person answered quietly, their eyes wet from the rain outside the window, like two cracked glass beads, from which a bright, nostalgic feeling constantly overflowed.

“Few people use it anymore, not even the Nostramo. Only a small fraction of them are allowed to learn their ancestral language; the rest only use High Gothic for everyday conversation.”

Koz's mind went blank for a moment, and he instinctively followed up with another question.

"why?"

The man turned his head.

“Because of me,” he said calmly. “In those metaphysical worlds, some things are always extremely important, such as the place where a god first understands his true nature. And if this is also the place where he was truly resurrected and abandoned his human form, then it will acquire a special status in the warp.”

"To put it more bluntly, Nostramo has become my largest and most complete altar in the material world. Everything in it will change because of me, even a language."

".god?"

The man nodded.

“Yes, God, though I loathe calling myself that, I should be honest, after all, it was you who summoned me. You used Nostramo.” The god said patiently. “And then you uttered my name, and so I came. But this place is quite interesting; it doesn’t actually exist, does it?”

As he spoke, he looked around curiously.

Conrad Coates finally snapped out of his shock. He tried to calm himself down, deliberately flashing a malicious smile, and spoke in a cold voice.

"Yes, this is just an illusion—and I summoned you because I want your power. Hey, what god are you?"

The god smiled.

“Fear, hatred, revenge—that’s how it used to be,” he said gently. “But that’s not the point. Let’s talk about how you actually intend to save Nostramare.”

"It doesn't deserve to be saved?" Koz's lips twisted in disgust. "It only deserves to be burned to ashes!"

"Really? You really did that?"

Koz frowned and answered reluctantly.

“No, I’ve already purged all the criminals. Those who survive can now live in a relatively stable world…” He suddenly realized something. “Why am I telling you all this?”

"I don't know either." The god spread his hands and shook his head sincerely. "Perhaps it's because you're actually quite talkative?"

Koz almost laughed out of anger: "What nonsense are you talking about?!"

"I'm just describing a fact that I've witnessed. After all, you're even willing to go on and on about your views on your homeland to someone in a fantasy world."

Koz raised his voice angrily: "That's mockery, can't you tell? Is your intelligence really that low?!"

“Really? But they don’t quite sound like it,” the god said with a smile. “They sound more like you trying to comfort this self-inflicted suffering.”

Conrad Coates took a deep breath, remained silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, he had become much more serious.

“You say you are God,” he said softly. “Was it from the beginning?”

"It was from the very beginning."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because at that time I did not realize what I really was. In the most common interpretation of gods, they are usually described as omnipotent. Although this is just imagination, most beings with such great power can do things that are simply impossible from a rational and logical point of view."

Koz paused for a moment, then asked, "So, you believe you are human, and therefore you have truly become human?"

“No.” The god shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The reason I was able to do this is because someone else once called upon me.”

Koz laughed, but then habitually lifted his lips to reveal his sharp canines.

"Oh, let me think, is it that trembling child hiding in the mine?" he asked maliciously.

“You know quite a lot, but no, it’s not him,” the god said. “It’s a child named Khalil Lohals.”

Outside the window, raindrops fell in dense bursts, like bullets raining down from the sky. The countless cheap signboards inside the building, along with the ray lights placed atop the factory building to proclaim their special status, gave them a very distinctive appearance.

How long will it take for a single raindrop to shatter into pieces? How many people will it fall upon, gasping for breath in pain? No one knows, only the night rain is eternal.

"Isn't that your name?"

"It didn't belong to me at first. It belonged to a descendant of a noble family, a child whose entire family was sacrificed in political struggles. But though he was young, he wasn't innocent; he too had done many evil deeds and stained his hands with innocent blood." The god paused. "However, sometimes, hatred is enough to overcome everything."

As soon as he finished speaking, the world around them began to crumble. The stubborn blue light that refused to leave, though unwilling, was the best evidence of this, but it was powerless to do anything but obey the will of the person in the center of the room, reconstructing the scene.

Soon, an even heavier downpour began, and a boy knelt in the rain, roaring hoarsely.

He was surrounded by darkness, all alone; his loved ones were dead, dead before his very eyes.
For ordinary Nostrama nobles, this was nothing unusual; who doesn't kill two brothers or sisters on their way to power? The irony was that the Lohals family hadn't been nobles long enough, at least not long enough to have fallen into the deepest abyss like everyone else.

Families whose profession is executioner possess emotions that are more intense, or at least more normal, than those of adults who pride themselves on elegance. Therefore, the child at this moment only desires revenge—not for himself, but for his family.

Just then, he was gripping two sharp blades. Two, no more, no less, straight and sharp, engraved with the family crest.

Sometimes, coincidence is the key to getting everything done.

The deity calmly observed all of this, then gently raised his right hand, changing the scene once again.

Conrad Coates let out a soft hiss of dissatisfaction, but received no reply and could only watch helplessly as things changed.
The pitch-black snow silently replaced the downpour, and flashes of fire streaked across the sky before falling to the ground a few seconds later, allowing a new sun to slowly rise. Koz cursed and covered his eyes, his body swaying violently from the trembling ground.

A loud bang rang out above his head, and the Primarch's keen hearing became a liability at that moment, as the intense tinnitus made him unable to hear any other sound.

Left with no other choice, he had to keep his sore eyes open and look around.

He saw war.

But how should this war be described?
Kurtz racked his brains for a long time, but finally had to admit one thing—he couldn't describe what he had seen; some instinct deep within his brain even refused to record these things.
But how can he forget?
Hundreds of fighter jets streaked overhead, unleashing human fire upon the surging demonic tide on the distant horizon; two Mechanicus Supreme Relics he had never witnessed before clashed in the distance, their forms still as massive as mountains; the sky was shrouded in black snow, yet countless surging, back-and-forth flames tore it to shreds, while the relentless roar of artillery, tanks, and armored vehicles relentlessly lashed out at the crumbling earth. Hundreds of millions of battle groups clashed together, mortals and Astartes alike, their identities now indistinguishable, merely one of countless fuels in this vast crucible of war.

Koz suddenly trembled, stumbled and fell, instinctively closing his eyes—that familiar indifference returned, leading him to see, in his hallucination, the furnace that only existed in his imagination.
However, before he could see more clearly, a cold hand patted his shoulder, waking him up.

"Don't look," said the god. "It's not the right time yet."

Koz stared at him for a while, then suddenly stood up and avoided the cold touch.

Amidst the roar of artillery fire, he asked, "Where am I?"

"Tyra."

Terra?

"Holy Terra. The largest, the most orthodox, the most well-known, and the place where you and your brothers are now, the homeworld of humanity."

Koz was genuinely stunned for a second, but only for a second. He laughed without any surprise, a laugh full of coldness.

"Who is it?" he asked softly.

There are no traitors.

"No? Then all of this—"

As if a pause button had been pressed, before he could finish speaking, everything around him suddenly stopped, then changed again, and he returned to the eternal night star.

The deity slowly finished speaking the words he hadn't finished.

"—You want to ask who caused all this, don't you? The answer will probably disappoint you. There is no single so-called culprit to blame or judge in this war that has engulfed the Empire and even the entire galaxy. It was an inevitable outcome. When the Emperor finally decided to step forward to end humanity's chaotic era and lead them towards a bright future, this matter was naturally placed on the table by certain things. You know what they are, don't you?"

Koz wanted to say no, but for some reason, he didn't want to lie to this person, so he gritted his teeth and nodded.

“I’ve only seen it from afar a few times, like looking at flowers through a fog,” he said gruffly.

"That's enough, and it's for the best. Getting back to the point, I understand that you want to find out who is behind all of this and prevent similar things from happening in your world. But it has already been prevented. From the moment you were all found, this future will cease to exist."

Koz looked at him suspiciously.

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said slowly. “I don’t believe those things will really let us do everything.”

“Your father didn’t believe it either, so he found someone to help him.” The deity smiled slightly. “That’s the main reason why you and I can stand here and talk.”

"A helper? That narrator?"

“Narrative.” The deity showed a rare hint of surprise, then shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t use that word to describe a being capable of such a thing. He probably just picked a name randomly to cover up his identity, to make it easier for you to understand.”

"So we should thank him for this?" Koz couldn't help but laugh, his voice soft. "Shouldn't we kneel down and thank this mysterious being from who-knows-where for his blessing? Like worshipping a god?"

He deliberately emphasized the word 'gods' when he mentioned it, and even raised his head slightly in a defiant manner at the end.

The true gods, however, remained completely unmoved by this.

“If he could single-handedly save everyone in your world from misfortune, then what’s wrong with kneeling in worship?” He also lowered his voice. “However, I think your father can’t afford that price. What we have now is the limit of what he can bear.”

"Really? What did he sacrifice?" Koz asked, feigning curiosity.

"I do not know."

"Judging from your tone, I thought you knew a lot about the emperor."

“I don’t know the Emperor,” the god said. “I only know a friend. Besides, you don’t need to test me with sarcasm anymore. If I really had ulterior motives, it wouldn’t work. What you should be doing now is thinking, just like you said earlier—you don’t believe those things will allow humanity to step into a bright future.”

He paused, looked at Conrad Coates, and asked, "That's true. Do you know why?"

The latter rolled his eyes and drawled out his words, sounding as impatient as he always did when answering questions in Oranjes's class.

"How would I know?"

“Because they are parasites,” the god said abruptly. “Without humans, the most numerous and largest race in the galaxy, who are also extremely adapted to warp forces, their pleasures, food, and even power would be diminished, and they themselves would change. Ultimately, they are just a collection of concepts, and they will be devoured by the repercussions of events that occur in the material world.”

"Are you giving me a lesson?" Conrad Coates belatedly realized something and asked incredulously.

The deity nodded: "Yes, and we must hurry."

“No, no.” The Nostramor struggled to suppress the anger that had welled up inside him, clutching his forehead as he spoke slowly, his words fragmented and illogical. “You have to understand, I didn’t summon you on purpose, I didn’t want to either. I want to know these things, but not at a time like this. Do you understand? I want to know other things.”

He lowered his head and stared intently into those eyes.

But as he did this, a corner of his heart chuckled in a low voice: By what right do you make such a request of me? You are utterly shameless.
But the god simply smiled gently.

“I understand, you want to know about what’s happening in my world, about me, Conrad Coates, the Eighth Legion, and Nostramamo’s fate, right?”

"More or less," Koz replied somewhat awkwardly.

"But there's no point in doing that."

"How could there not be? I can learn from this experience!"

"Experience can only be called experience when it is applied in similar situations; otherwise, it is merely empty talk and cannot be trusted. You have your own world and your own future; this is a completely new path. The outcome you choose to take is solely your decision. I don't want our choices to affect you or anyone else."

Koz was silent for a moment, almost convinced, but still argued unwillingly, "How could there be anyone else? It's just us here."

"No, there is only you here; I do not exist," the deity calmly corrected. "Moreover, when you see another version of yourself making decisions, experiencing wars, and making friends, you will inevitably project yourself into those situations. So, in the future, when you encounter similar circumstances, or even the same people, can you say you will definitely not be affected?"

Koz lowered his head and refused to speak.

“Please answer me,” the god said.

".meeting."

"Thank you. Then we've reached an agreement. Let's make the most of the last bit of time—"

Koz jerked his head up: "--What last bit of time?"

"I can't stay here for too long."

"Why? This is just an illusion!"

The god did not answer; he simply smiled. A few seconds later, the Nostradamus closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

“Okay.” He managed to say, but then spoke faster and faster, his speech becoming astonishingly rapid while maintaining clear articulation.

"What do you want to ask? My modifications to Nostramore? I didn't burn it to ashes, okay? Like I said, I cleaned out all the criminals, then made a deal with the Cult of Mechanics. They spent three months modifying all the hive cities, tweaking the internal circulation system, dispersing the gas, and doing some infrastructure—hospitals, schools, housing, and so on. Then I left, came to Terra, met a few immature people, two or three reliable individuals, some autistic people, and two lunatics like me."

He shrugged indifferently.

"That's all. Is there anything else you want to know?"

The god smiled and shook his head.

His figure began to gradually dissipate. Koz was stunned, but he didn't say or do anything. He remained standing there, trying to stay calm.

“Hey,” he suddenly said.

"Please tell me."

Can I ask you a question too?

"of course."

"Why are you doing this?"

"what do you mean?"

“Why did you do that to him?” the Nostramo asked. “I mean, wouldn’t it have been easier if you had just manipulated him and turned him into a weapon? A weapon could have achieved the same thing. You just wanted to change the Nostramo, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but given his talent, he will soon realize the truth, and that will cause him great pain, even despair,” Khalil Lohals said. “I don’t want to see that happen. There have been enough people suffering because of Nostrama, and there doesn’t have to be another one.”

The Nostradamus stared at him intently until he completely vanished.

A hissing "thank you" slowly rang out.
-
Conrad Coates opened his eyes, and a soft golden light immediately enveloped him.

To be fair, the light wasn't blinding, but it still infuriated him. He wasn't a true Nostramamor, but the Primarch's ability to adapt to his environment was exceptional. His eyes, like theirs, had the same weakness, only much higher tolerance.
Therefore, when he stood up cursing and rubbing his eyes, he did not notice the people standing beside him, all of whom were staring at him strangely and without saying a word.

A moment later, he heard those breathing sounds, and his raised hand froze.

“Conrad,” a gentle voice called to him.

The Nostramoman sighed deeply.

"What?" he asked Saint Gilles listlessly. "It's strange that you'd speak to me in such a tone."

The archangel smiled, slowly approached, straightened his robe, and said in a gentle voice, "I've only come to congratulate you on resolving a knot in your heart."

Koz frowned, but then he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye—he slowly looked up and saw the many light screens disappear one by one, leaving only the one that reflected the scenery of Nostramore.

He stared at it for a dozen seconds before nodding thoughtfully.

He looked down at Saint Gilles.

"You all saw it?"

"Yes, brother."

"Really? I suppose I'm not the only one with this honor?"

"Of course not. But you are the only one who hasn't seen what other people have gone through."

Koz's eyes twitched slowly. The annoying laughter of the Fenris barbarian rang out not far away, along with the silent bald man who always liked to chime in and make small gestures. The laughter of the two mingled together and echoed in the crowd.

Saint Gilles glanced back at them, and his laughter stopped instantly.

He turned around, took Koz's hands, and whispered as softly as possible, "But what you've experienced is completely different from what we've all gone through. Nobody else has had that kind of experience—"

"Oh, thank you, but you'd better shut up!" Coz snapped. "You're a terrible comforter, Saint Gilles!"

Another bald man in the crowd let out a dissatisfied shout.

“Shut up too!” Koz yelled at him. “I don’t know what you saw, but I can tell from your still-swollen eyes that you’ve seen a lot—”

He suddenly coughed twice, and then, in a high-pitched voice, called out the word "father" with deep emotion, imitating someone perfectly.

"—Father, oh father!" Koz cried out in an aria-like tone. "I am your best son, Horus Lupecal!"

From the crowd, Peturabo scoffed disdainfully, "I told you we should just leave him alone. Who knows what this madman might do?"

"It's better than you running to Makado's office after class trying to peek at Dorn's psionic shaping assignment!" Koz grinned at him.

Peturabo's eyes widened in anger: "I never did that!"

"Really? I saw it all clearly! You even picked up his homework and spun it around several times, and then you even laughed. I really don't understand what you were laughing at."

Upon hearing this, all the Primarchs turned their gazes to Peturabo's face, which was a mixture of pale, red, and green hues.

The Olympian knew he couldn't win, and in a fit of rage, he roared and charged at Koz. The latter immediately leaped free from Sanguis's grasp and sprinted away, laughing loudly as he went.

“He actually managed to fool him,” Lehmann Russ muttered. “I was hoping to say a few words to embarrass this bastard for a while.”

“I think you’ve already done it,” Alpharis said with a smirk. “He even went so far as to lie, which I think he really hates.”

"What lie?" Ruth looked at him, puzzled.

“After that sculpting class, I was the only one sneaking a peek at your work in Macado’s office,” Alpharis said slowly. “Petrulabo didn’t even come, and neither did Conrad Coz.”

Dorn frowned and joined the conversation: "Why were you peeking at my homework?"

“Because I didn’t do it,” Alpharis said matter-of-factly. “So I just picked up what was already there, took some things from each of your works and used them as my own—otherwise, how do you think I surpassed Magnus and got first place in that course?”

Magnus looked at him, shaking his head and sighing.

"You don't cheat like this every time you're in class, do you?" Ruth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but I do often observe the little things you all do in private,” Alpharis shrugged. “For example, Chagatai, he’s always drinking alone in his dorm room, and I can smell a very fragrant aroma of alcohol every night when I pass by his room.”

Ruth slowly turned her head to look at the Eastern face. The latter squinted and coughed softly.

“Tonight, a shipment of mare’s milk wine I ordered from Chogoris will arrive,” Chagatai said casually. “Anyone interested in attending?”

“I’ll do it!” Ruth roared. “But you have to drink my Fenris mead!”

"Is it absolutely necessary to drink it?"

"Yes!"

"Alright. But you have to promise that after tonight you won't keep bothering me for mare's milk wine every day."

"I don't even know if your wine can compare to the finest brew of our Fenris people!" Rus laughed in exasperation. "You dare say such things when you're drinking behind closed doors!"

Chagatai sighed.

“Actually, Ruth, I just closed this door to you because I know you can’t stop drinking once you start—Alpharis and Corax often drink with me.”

The savior, whose name was suddenly called, jumped and instinctively took a few steps away, trying to avoid Leman Russ, who might suddenly attack. But the Fenrisian just glanced at him and then grinned.

"I don't have time to deal with them right now, but you have to promise me a few things."

Rus approached Chagatai with ill intent, reached out his hand, put his arm around the Chogoris man's shoulder, and pulled him aside.

"What's so good about wine?" Mortarian suddenly asked in a gloomy and authoritative tone.

This unexpected remark, which suited his temperament but was inconsistent with his usual style, attracted a great deal of attention.

Vulcan tried his best to remain silent, but he failed. The tallest of the Primarchs spoke cautiously.

"Uh, bro, are you imitating that? I mean, are you talking like another version of yourself?"

“I think so,” Dorn said.

“I think so too.” Forgrim nodded in agreement, then patted Feralus Manus on the back.

Iron Hand reluctantly took a step back, indicating that he didn't want to get involved. Therefore, Alpharex became the third person to express agreement.

Despite this situation, Mortarian paid no attention to it, even seeming somewhat indifferent. His gloomy face under the hood even showed a rare hint of human life.
"Why hasn't Luo Jia returned yet?" Angrang suddenly asked. "Didn't he say he had something to do and had to leave? I feel like a while has passed."

“He might not be coming back today.” Horus Lupecal’s eyes were still slightly red and swollen, but his face was full of murderous intent as he said this.

"Where did he go?" a voice came from afar; it was Conrad Coz, who was still evading Peturabo's capture.

Saint Gilles stared speechlessly and amusedly at the dark figure that was dodging and weaving in the golden light, and raised his voice to shout, "Don't you want to stop talking?"

“No!” Peturabo roared. “I’m going to break this little liar’s legs!”

Koz burst into laughter.

Beyond the golden light, a pair of eyes silently watched all of this.

"How was it?" someone asked him casually. "I told you shock education would definitely work, didn't I?"

"Very effective. But..."

"But what? Hey, you're not trying to renege on your debt, are you?" The man's tone suddenly became wary. "You'd better not try that on me, understand?"

“No, of course not, I just want to pay in installments,” the Emperor said calmly. “Could you come back a thousand years from now?”

"That's possible, but if we do that, the price will have to go up a bit more."

"It doesn't matter."

"you sure?"

“Confirmed,” the Emperor said. “A thousand years is more than enough for me to finish everything. Going to your White Tower then will be like a vacation for me.”

"You've really got a good plan. But, as someone who's been there, I have to tell you, this job isn't as simple as you think. You'll encounter at least a hundred perverts trying to harass you every day."

“I’ve been used to this for a long time,” the Emperor said.

"Fine," the man sneered. "Then I'll come back to collect the debt a thousand years from now. Good luck."

"Thank you for your kind words," the emperor said.

He turned his gaze back to the golden light, observing again and again the most common interactions between the brothers. These interactions shouldn't have occurred to these Primarchs, each with their own flaws; the pride in the demigods wouldn't allow them to joke and play like this, but at this moment, none of that mattered.

Except for one thing.

The emperor opened his eyes and looked at his imperial guard commander.

"Did Luo Jia find him?"

The commander of the Imperial Guards nodded.

“Very good.” The Emperor smiled slightly. “Have him finish his business quickly and then come back tonight. I want to host a family dinner. You must attend, Constantine, but you must be seated.”

"Yes, my lord."

(End of this chapter)