40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 845, Section 16: Nevermore (Part 9)

"Could you look after him for a while?"

Sellers didn't speak, but simply pulled a knife from the back of the extremely heavy belt.

This knife is not long, but it is very wide and thick. There are serrations on the spine for dragging and cutting. The overall design is simple, with only a symbol related to the state religion lightly engraved on about two-fifths of the blade.

She first held it, then loosened her fingers slightly, and then squatted down, placing this deadly weapon against the neck of the unconscious giant.

After doing all this, she raised her head and looked at the Grand Inquisitor with a very serious look in her eyes, as if to say: "Just say the word and I will kill him immediately."

Khalil wanted to laugh, but ultimately didn't.

He nodded approvingly to the nun, gestured to stand up, then turned around and, holding his wide-brimmed hat stained with the blood of the snake's head upside down, wandered around the first level of the Raven Tower.

His demeanor didn't resemble that of a taciturn, fierce judge who would kill an entire family at the slightest provocation; rather, he looked like an idle spoiled brat.

Coincidentally, his face, so pale it could be exaggeratedly described as translucent, perfectly fits this derogatory term.

These days, few people know that this morbid skin color is related to an imperial frontier region called Nostramamo.

However, for the technical sergeants who were observing the interior of the hall through sensors and cameras, this was a million times more troublesome than the average spoiled brat.

Seconds later, a drone emerged from the darkness and arrived in front of Khalil.

"Sir," a voice came from its built-in speaker. "You..."

Khalil waved his hand, indicating that he didn't need to say anything more, then turned around and walked to another corner of the hall.

There were many poems hanging there, and he looked at them with great interest. These poems, which spanned a wide period of time and were written by different authors, occasionally even reading a line or two aloud.

The drone followed him shakily throughout, the red light indicating the sensor array was working flashing on and off, but it remained completely silent. Only after Khalil had finished reading the entire poem did it eagerly bring up what it hadn't finished saying earlier.

"My lord, please bring that person up with you. The Raven Tower has the most advanced and sophisticated large-scale medical equipment on the 122nd floor."

“I’d love to go see him, but he doesn’t need any of that stuff.” Khalil shrugged at the drone, his bangs bobbing slightly. “After all, he’s a Primarch; normal medical equipment is completely useless to him.”

“At least that will make him more comfortable,” the technical sergeant tried to argue.

"Is he worthy?"

Khalil chuckled in response, his dark eyes lending the smile a touch of dread, a quality further amplified by the dim lighting inside the Raven Tower.
The Raven Guard, who was operating the drone, was speechless for a moment—subconsciously he felt that this traitor was unworthy, but he had not made this suggestion out of concern for the health of the Hydra leader.

“I think I won’t go up,” Kalil continued. “As for the medical room on the 122nd floor, it can be reserved for Kolus Corax. I’m quite interested to see how far the Empire has progressed in medical equipment over the years.”

At this point, he sighed softly, then abruptly changed the subject and began complaining about the drone.

“A few years ago, I sent an application to the headquarters of the Jairzinho Guzman Medical Association to visit, but they rejected it and attached a letter to the reply. The letter said that my arrival would greatly reduce their efficiency, so please wait a while until they are ready. I have been waiting like this ever since. No one has written to me since.”

The drone shook for a while.

"Are you still there?" Khalil asked, staring at the fading red light. "Is anyone still listening to me?"

A full half minute later, a voice finally answered his question.

“Yes, I’m here, instructor,” the synthesized voice said. “You’re much more talkative than before.”

Khalil raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised: "Nikona Sharokin?"

“Yes,” the man who replaced the technical sergeant said from inside his iron coffin. “It’s an honor that you remember me.”

Khalil put his hands behind his back suspiciously: "This isn't the time to talk about this. How did you get woken up? Who authorized you? Corax? He's clearly not back yet."

“It’s me,” Conrad Coates said.

Facing the sharp gaze of the Eighth Legion instructor, he strolled out of the darkness, still holding his cloak in his hand to prevent it from dragging on the ground or fluttering around.

"Why did you wake him up? What gives you the authority to command him?" Khalil asked.

On the other end of the drone, the main characters in the conversation wisely chose to remain calm for the time being. Conrad Coates, on the other hand, visibly sighed.

"Are you going to start repeating to me again the legion code I wrote myself, 'Do not overstep your authority to command friendly forces'? Please, Instructor, the final version of the code has 7,944 pages, and I wrote every single word of it by hand. Do you think I don't know that?"

The instructor looked at him unmoved and asked again, "Did Corax give you command?"

“Given it—” the Night King said in a drawn-out tone to express his slight dissatisfaction.

The instructor nodded: "Then I have nothing more to say. I apologize to you, Conrad. And you, Sharokin, I hope you will forgive me."

“I really don’t see what there is to apologize for, but I accept it, Instructor,” Sharokin said in that cold, synthesized electronic voice. “It would be extremely difficult to find something I’m still somewhat familiar with ten thousand years from now. Even if you suddenly pulled Iago Sevitarion out of nowhere right now, I would applaud enthusiastically.”

“He,” Khalil chuckled. “I’m afraid he won’t be able to come.”

Koz smiled and continued, "Our dear Iago should still be stuck in the military headquarters in Terra, wrangling with the entire bureaucracy."

"This isn't like the kind of thing I know he would do," the harbinger crow said, carefully choosing his words.

"He had no choice."

As he spoke, Coz turned and winked at Khalil.

"After all, the Ministry of Military Affairs has a clear rule: if possible, each battle commander should periodically report to Terra headquarters every century. He hasn't done so for almost four hundred years, and the paperwork is piling up. He originally intended to keep this matter quiet and leave it to your excellent instructor, but alas, he made a mistake."

“I would like to hear the details,” said Sharokin.

The good instructor finally sighed and, meeting the Night King's smile, took the initiative to continue the conversation.

"He thought I would take on everything myself as before, but I've learned one thing over the years—when it comes to paperwork, if you don't ask, it doesn't exist, and if you don't exist, you don't have to do it. So now it's his turn to tie his own hands. Even if everything goes smoothly, he won't be able to leave Terra until next year's Ascension Day at the earliest."

After a moment of silence, Sharokin miraculously expressed sympathy and lingering fear in a synthesized electronic voice.

"I hope he is safe. Fortunately, I used to go to work on time back then."

"Oh? Are you good at these things?" Koz asked casually.

Sharokin pondered for a moment, then answered methodically.

"I wouldn't call it being good at it, just that I can do it and am willing to, that's all. After all, it's about securing more supplies and equipment for the chapter, and unlike the Nightblades, we don't need large-scale group battles, so there are naturally fewer reports to write and fewer battle reports to review. Overall, I don't dislike these paperwork tasks, but that's about it." "Very good, very good—then, after things settle down, you and the instructor will head to Terra together, how about that?"

The drone shook for a while before replying, "Sir, the current commander of the 19th Army Corps, Soren Volker, has not yet stepped down."

“No, but once he regains his senses, it will take him a long time to accept what he has done,” Koz said softly. “And in that situation, how can he possibly have the mind to deal with the open and covert political attacks?”

"You should know that Terra's bureaucracy is full of ruthless people. They're not even afraid of being condemned to eternal damnation after death, let alone sharing the benefits that should rightfully belong to you with other chapters—after all, you didn't arrive on time, and others desperately need these things."

It took Sharokin less than a second to understand the Night King's implication from those words, and he replied immediately.

"I understand. I will set off for Terra with the instructor."

"That's good." Koz smiled modestly. "Also, remember to request an additional fifteen large transport ships from the Ministry of Military Affairs, otherwise there won't be enough space to carry all that new equipment."

"New equipment?"

Koz's smile became completely unrestrained.

"Yes, new equipment. You've been sleeping too long, you harbinger of doom. The empire is now vastly different from when you last slept."

Sharokin remained silent for a long time, then chuckled.

“That’s wonderful,” he said sincerely.

"Don't be so quick to celebrate," Koz said, his tone regaining its characteristic sarcasm. "Don't you want to ask when your Primarch will be back?"

"He'll come back once he's finished dealing with things."

"When will he be able to finish dealing with it?"

Sharokin replied neither humbly nor arrogantly, "I don't know, perhaps you could offer some advice?"

Koz gave a curt, unhurried snort: "My opinion is—"

He turned around and looked at the gaunt man standing in the lobby on the first floor of the Raven Tower, covered in blood.

"—Ask him yourself."

Kolus Corax didn't say much. He first glanced at the Omega lying in the corner, then slowly walked to the drone, slightly bent his knees, and aimed at its sensor array. Only after confirming that his face was completely within its perception range did he speak.

“Sharokin,” he said hoarsely.

"I am here, Primarch."

Do we still have think tanks alive?

“Yes,” said the harbinger crow. “Three in total.”

"Prioritize medical resources to treat them, and bring them to see me once they regain consciousness. There are still some people trapped in the raptor's nest, and they will need a targeted and powerful ritual to return."

As he spoke, he looked at the instructors and Primarch of the Eighth Legion, pausing slightly in his voice.

"I will take the lead on this matter."

"I'll exhaust you," the Night King said maliciously, his voice barely audible.

The Lord of the Crows' still blood-stained face twitched slightly, mainly in the lower half—it was a very faint, very shallow smile.

A genuine smile.

“I won’t get tired,” Corax said. “The hardest times are over.”

Koz shook his head with a cold smile and remained silent, but deliberately patted the instructor on the back.

Nevertheless, the mortal, who appeared shorter than him, remained motionless, slowly picking up his wide-brimmed hat, putting it on, and straightening it.

The instructors of the Eighth Legion have temporarily disappeared; the one standing in place now is the only Grand Inquisitor of the Tribunal.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, in a businesslike tone.

"According to the regulations, everything I see will be recorded in the report. At the same time, I will need to interview the survivors, from recruits to combat brothers to veterans, as well as company commanders, and finally, Chapter Commander Soren Volker and you, Primarch Kolus Corax."

"Once this report is completed, I will personally take it back to Terra. A processed copy will be submitted to the Ministry of Military Affairs for review and stamping, while a complete copy will be submitted to the State Church. Once the Tribunal, the Ministry of Military Affairs, and the State Church have all stamped and confirmed it, the death of the Demon Raptor will be confirmed, the Rebellion of the Salvation Star will officially end, and this matter will be permanently concluded."

"At that time, the Imperial government will announce the return of the Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion, Kolus Corax, to all citizens in various forms."

After saying this, he quickly took off his wide-brimmed hat and reverted to the tone of an instructor from the Eighth Army Corps.

"However, before that, I strongly suggest that the Nineteenth Legion make preparations from top to bottom—all kinds of preparations. What you will be facing next are various forces that have come upon hearing the news. Among them, the easiest to deal with are the profit-driven merchants and ronin, so they can be dealt with first."

"And what's the hardest one to solve?" the harbinger crow asked.

The instructor smiled and said, "Primarchs, many Primarchs."

“You’re going to get completely drunk,” Coates said, staring at his brother. “This time, no one’s going to fend for you; even Robert Guilliman will be pouring drinks for you.”

Kolac was silent for a moment, then suddenly raised his hand and carefully placed it on the side of his worn and tattered breastplate. The Primarch gently lifted the heavy metal, revealing his bare, scarred chest. In the center, a small silver pouch, suspended from his neck by a thin rope, swayed gently.

He tore it off, opened it, looked inside, and smiled sheepishly.

"I'll find a new one," the Star Child asked, pursing his lips. "Is that alright?"

"You want to bribe me to drink for you?"

"Yes."

"Don't even think about it!"

Coz roared angrily, then reached for his waist, pulled out a brand new storage bag, and threw it at Corax.

The latter froze, slowly lowering his head, his black hair obscuring his face, blurring all his emotions.
He opened the bag of dried eel meat, and two crystal tears slid down his face.

(End of this chapter)