40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 846, Section 17: Nevermore (Part 10)

Raven Tower—a needle-shaped, towering structure, the absolute core of the savior, reaching into the clouds yet buried deep in the earth.

It stands there imposingly and coldly, its appearance unchanged for many years. The battle scars left by Colius Corax when he liberated the oppressed workers remain untouched, projecting a terrifying absurdity.
Many critics argued that this was unwise, since there were other ways to remember history. This view was quite prevalent at the time, until all the architects and engineers of the Salvation Building Guild issued a public statement.

The structure of the Raven Tower is completely different from anything commonly imagined; therefore, it is foolish for anyone to attempt to view and evaluate it through worldly lenses.

This statement brought the discussion to a less-than-elegant end, with critics reacting in various ways, but for the general public, the topic of the Raven Tower, which they care about most, has once again returned to the problem that has troubled countless people for countless years.

In other words, what does the inside of the Raven Tower actually look like?
Someone once interviewed a sergeant who, facing the live camera, said very nervously that he couldn't explain it either, and then turned and walked away. Others chose to take a different approach by interviewing auxiliary troops; the questions were always the same, but the answers were varied and often inexplicable.
Over time, people stopped asking about it and instead speculated, guessed, imagined, slandered, or even smeared it.

They didn't know that the Raven Guards and auxiliary troops weren't unwilling to speak, but rather unable to, or unable to, explain the situation inside the Raven Tower, which had become extremely complex.

Over the past ten thousand years, the crow guards have come and gone, but the mortal servants who served them have remained generation after generation.

They welcomed new recruits, saw off veterans, collected the remains and returned them to the Raven Tower, and then welcomed new recruits and saw off veterans again. While the Raven Guards were busy with other things, it was they who selflessly maintained the Raven Tower and dutifully supported the Raven Guards.

However, at the same time, many empty floors truly became their homes, and thus, one intricate little society after another was born: tribes, clans, associations. They had conflicts and were once as close as family, but never had any major conflicts.

Based on the above points, it could even be said that they are more like the masters of the Raven Tower than the Raven Guards.

This is a consensus among chapter leaders throughout history, but in the Legion era, in the time of Kolus Corax, the situation within Raven Tower was not so simple.

Therefore, when Sharokin retrieved a series of documents related to the current status of the Chapter, Raven Tower, and the Salvation and handed them to the Lord of the Ravens, he was actually quite nervous.

However, after Corax slowly finished reading all the documents, he made no comment.

He sat behind an iron table placed on a high platform. A faint light shone above him, dimly illuminating his pale face and the things hanging behind him—weapons, skulls, armor, shields, even enemy flags and the walls of their fortress.
And this is only the part that has been illuminated; many more souvenirs, casually hung and piled up, await in the darkness, undulating like mountains with rugged lines.

That's why it has another name – Crow's Nest.

However, in its official name, this is the Hall of Celebrations, a large gathering place from the Legion era. Back then, it was used for banquets and to house the Ravenguard's victory tokens. Of course, it hasn't been used for many years since the Warband era began.

If it weren't for the Primarch's request, it would probably still be closed today. Interestingly, despite this, there isn't a single speck of dust here.

"Primarch?"

After a brief silence, Sharokin decided to take the initiative. Logically speaking, he had waited so long, a little longer wouldn't have made a difference, and besides, time meant nothing to a living dead like him—but he wasn't speaking up for himself, he was speaking up for others, those who were mostly still unconscious.

They were covered in wounds, and their hands were stained with the blood of their brothers.
From a rational and detached perspective, Sharokin believed that if they could see the Primarch with their own eyes or even just hear a word or two from him the moment they woke up, their mortality rate would be greatly reduced.

As if startled awake, Corax looked up from behind the scratched iron table and glanced at his eldest son.

He couldn't see Sharokin's face; to do this, he would have to open that cold, artificially sculpted iron mask. He had no reason, nor was he willing, to do so, so he shifted his gaze to the purely decorative eyepiece and slowly spoke.

"I know what you're trying to say, are the Sharokin think tanks awake yet?"

"not yet."

The Lord of the Crows sighed.

He had taken off his power armor, but this long-lost freedom did not make him feel relieved; instead, it made him feel lost and disoriented.

This brand-new, comfortable, crisp uniform made of synthetic materials felt like a prison, confining him to his seat. He sat ramrod straight, even his breathing became cautious, as if afraid that his body, accustomed to battle and wandering, might inadvertently ruin the new clothes with some unconscious movement.
Sharokin noticed this, but he said nothing. He simply calmly continued the conversation and offered further explanation.

"The pharmacists have done everything they can. Now, there's nothing we can do but wait."

“Then let’s wait. The raptor is dead, and there’s no longer any threat in its nest,” Corax said. “We have plenty of time to catch up, so let’s talk about you, Sharokin—I remember you didn’t come in this Dreadnought right now.”

"Indeed not."

Kolac carefully examined his son, his expression gradually becoming somewhat complicated, and Sharokin did not hide anything.

"This is a hybrid Dreadnought mech. It has no prototype, or rather, it is the only prototype. It was designed by four sages and secretly developed on Mars. They originally wanted to call it the 'Sharokin Type,' but I felt it was unnecessary because it could not be mass-produced. Therefore, giving it a name is meaningless."

Koraks's gaze gradually moved downwards: "It has a complete hand structure."

In response, Sharokin raised his two arms, which were completely contrary to the stereotypical image of fearlessness, and moved them. His left hand—or rather, his left claw—opened and closed, sparks flying, while his right hand smoothly clenched into a fist, making a cracking sound, like the dull thud of bones when a normal person clenches their fist.

“In order to continue wielding the sword, I made some trade-offs,” Sharokin said, lowering his arm. “The same goes for the legs; the sages’ initial ideas were completely different from this system with its bionic joints.”

Koraks understood his implication and asked, "Who made them change their minds?"

"You might not believe it, but it was Lord Peturabo."

The Lord of the Crows seemed to be smiling: "How did he convince them?"

“I was still asleep at the time, but it is said that the whole thing did not last long.”

“That speed is already very much in his style,” Corax said. “So, what tactical advantage does this precious and unique prototype bring you?” Sharokin didn't answer, but simply vanished before the Primarch's eyes. Such a massive, imposing machine disappeared so suddenly, without even a sound. When he reappeared, he was near the iron platform where Corax was standing, kneeling on the ground with an agile, almost fearless, demeanor.

The Lord of the Crows leaned forward slightly, reached out with regret, and gently stroked the cold steel.

"You've suffered. You all have."

"We were born for this purpose."

“No, no!” Corax suddenly retorted to his son with an unprecedented volume, his pale face filled with sorrow. “No one is born to suffer, no one should be!”

Fearless raised his head, allowing his sensor array to capture his father's face.

“Perhaps so, but we have severed our lives as ordinary people with our own hands,” Nikolai Sharokin said calmly. “After that, we were reborn as protectors, liberators, and pure killing machines, standing between the unarmed and the things that threaten their lives.”

“To do this, we must wallow in blood and mud. Every Ravenguard knows this. So, Primarch, please don’t say things like that again. I understand your pain, but we don’t need it.”

"Then what do you need?" Corax asked, trembling.

He shouldn't be so emotional; he's behaving unlike himself at this moment—whether according to rumors or in other people's memories.
The former refers to legends about 'heroes,' and people neither want to nor dare to see the tears of heroes. The latter, however, has been embellished multiple times and transformed into idols that can be worshipped, and idols must be omnipotent and omniscient.

Nobody cared, and nobody paid attention to whether Kołos Kolax would shed tears.

Wuwei slowly stood up.

“A thousand years ago, or even a few hundred years ago, I would have said we needed you, but not now. It may sound cruel, and it may make those sleeping little ones turn their swords against me, but this is my honest opinion, Primarch. You have returned, which is good, but the Ravenguard’s policy and principles over the past few thousand years have never been ‘waiting for the Primarch to return.’ We look forward to your return, but we will not do nothing about it.”

"The Nineteenth Legion is the liberator and protector, and the most important thing for liberators and protectors is to stand firm, uphold good, and look to the future. This is what we did while you were away, and this will not change now that you are back. We will continue to fight against all evil and injustice. As for your question, what do we need?"

The synthesized voice stopped, replaced by a hoarse, indistinct, real voice.

It originates from Nikolai Sharokin's broken body and his undamaged, steadfast soul.

"We need all the wars that call upon us to end completely, forever. We also need all those who remember us to forget our names."

"Until one day, war machines are used to cultivate fields; until one day, the savior and the millions of saviors in this galaxy give rise to a new order, a better order than the one we have now; until one day, people can work with dignity and live a life we ​​never dared to dream of."

"Only in this way, only in this way, will our suffering be worthwhile, and our blood not shed in vain."

Nikona Sharokin took a deep, deep breath of the cold air. A hoarse sound followed, and the instrument's alarm beeped.

“We need you to come with us to do this,” he said. “Would you be willing, Kolus Corax?”

"I'd be willing to die for it."

Sharokin smiled and switched back to his synthesized voice.

"I think we don't need the dead part yet, sir. Let's not talk about the dead for now. Could you please call a pharmacist for me? I think I have a problem with my lungs."
-
[Investigative Report on the Origins of the Salvation Planet Rebellion]

Page 726

It can now be concluded that when the demon known as the Raptor died, its life form was completely different from its initial appearance.

According to Primarch Kolus Corax, from some unknown time, the Raptor absorbed the despair of him and the fallen Ravenguards. Its power grew daily as a result, and it gained the ability to trigger genetic defects in the Ravenguards simply by appearing. However, the price it paid was the acquisition of many of the Ravenguards' memories.

The memories of the dead crushed the personality still developing within this demon's nature, driving it utterly insane, yet also making it believe itself to be a member of the Nineteenth Legion. It would not attack any Raven Guards, and would even collect their remains and bring them back to its lair.

However, it also seems to have lost the ability to distinguish between life and death. In addition to the dead, it will also bring back the surviving Raven Guards. Raven Guards who die in the nest due to the black brand or other reasons will be captured by the power it unconsciously emits, becoming a kind of symbiotic demon of the bird of prey, appearing on the battlefield filled with despair.

[Page 849, Last Page]

The author's annotation: [Who taught you to write a report like this? Where are the format and brief explanations I requested? Rewrite it, Khalil Lohals!]

The Grand Judge replied: 【No.】

The person in charge replied: 【Do you want me to walk out of the State Council and hit you on the head with my scepter?!】

Grand Judge: [Yes.]

The seal bearer replied: [An unrecognizable ancient Terran slang]

The Grand Inquisitor: [I'll be waiting for you in the steel fortress. We're all here. Come quickly—Chagatai said he's developed a wine that you can also taste.]

The person who holds the seal replied: 【.Okay.】

(End of this chapter)