40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 854, Section 2: Historical Issues (10,000 words)
Vitus took out his newly received officer data board and placed it on the table.

It was a small, lightweight, silver-white thing, completely different from the kind of thing he was used to using at the academy that could be used as a brick. It even had a delicate beauty like a mechanical watch, which he didn't like. Too delicate meant fragile. If he had a choice, he would rather go back to the old, bulky, and crude model. At least he could use it to smash a few heads if necessary.

However, new things naturally have their advantages, otherwise the empire would not have promoted them so vigorously.

Vitus tilted his head back and downed the scalding hot energy drink in one gulp. The bitter taste of some kind of cooked plant root was quite remarkable. His right hand slid across the data panel twice.

When he looked down again, the words on his head were now in bold, serious text: The new alien called Titanium has been wiped out by Chagatai Khan's personal army; the Orcs of Stormwind have been successfully driven out and are currently on the run; the Imperial Research Institute has launched a new drug that can cure tens of thousands of diseases.
He went through them one by one, slowly reading these news articles that would have taken years or even decades to be published in the past. He still felt it was unreal, but what he saw before him was undoubtedly the real world, a place that couldn't be more real.

He understood that the Empire did indeed possess a way to transmit information efficiently, although it could not yet transmit in real time, it was already much better than before.

"Hey, academy student."

Vitus looked up and saw a face in the empty dining hall that had become somewhat ugly from being used to being fierce and mocking.

“Captain Cage.” He stood up and nodded in greeting. “You’re up very early.”

"What are you saying? What are you being sarcastic about? Sit down."

Cage muttered something, sat down with his overflowing plate, and casually placed Vitus's empty plate on the table behind him before immediately starting to eat heartily.

He ate extremely quickly, but his table manners were not exactly rude; he simply chewed and swallowed rapidly, without any exaggerated splashing of juice. Just six minutes later, Cage let out a satisfied burp. He rubbed his stomach, leaned back, picked up his glass, and downed the cold water in one gulp.

A dozen seconds later, he suddenly widened his eyes and let out a long, extremely loud burp.

The burp echoed in the empty dining hall, and Vitus spoke expressionlessly in admiration.

"Your eating speed is truly astonishing, Captain. Have you trained for it? Did you bite your tongue just now?"

"Hey, don't even mention it, that's a step backward. As for the tongue-biting problem, you'll get used to it after a while."

Cage waved his hand with a grin and suddenly started chatting, the topic shifting quickly and illogically.

"You know what? I used to be able to eat eight meat pricas in one go, but now I can only manage four. I'm really getting old. Sure enough, once you get older, all sorts of health problems start to appear. You know what? I feel like I'm losing interest in alcohol lately."

Vitus ignored this clearly rambling statement made while sober. The bottles scattered all over the small room yesterday were a clear indication that Cage was not, as he claimed, "almost losing interest in alcohol." On the contrary, he was probably still deeply in love with alcohol.

Vitus abruptly asked, "Then, opposite sex or same sex?"

Cage raised an eyebrow, glanced at him, and suddenly slammed his hand heavily on the table, causing the cup to leap into the air.

"What do you think? Do I look like a mindless ascetic, or a disabled person without any function?" he asked with a half-smile. "Besides, I'm not into that sort of thing."

Vitus wisely chose to remain silent and did not respond to this statement.

He found himself still not adept at dealing with typical veterans like Cage. In their eyes, perhaps only guns, cigarettes, alcohol, the political commissar's gun and whip, and emperors deserved respect. He somewhat regretted making that joke; it wasn't his style.

Cage chuckled, as if he had anticipated this reaction, and then slowly began to speak.

"Hey, student, you went to report to the colonel yesterday, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Hmph, what did he say? Did he say anything nice? Even half a sentence would be fine."

"No."

Cage snorted coldly: "I'm not surprised he didn't say anything nice, but this old bastard never shows any mercy when it comes to riots. He should have immediately ordered everyone involved in the riot to be hanged. Did you not tell me the whole story?"

Vitus calmly said, "Insulting a superior is a serious crime, Captain."

“I cursed at him, so what? Go ahead and repeat what I said to his face.”

Vitus shook his head and replied, "You warned me yesterday not to be an informer."

Cage looked up, stared into his eyes for a while, and then grinned.

“Not bad, academy student, you learn very quickly. For the sake of this matter, I'll teach you something new. Listen carefully, he actually knew all along these things, like when we cursed him as a bastard without an anus, or said that he would go out at night to mess around with Graxmon. I believe he wasn't there when we said these things, but I also believe he knew everything. He knew, but he never cared. Do you know why?”

Vitus made a gesture that meant, 'I ask you to continue,' which Cage didn't understand, but he still kept talking.

"Because the soldiers under his command are not the model army composed of you academy students, but a scumbag gathering place that is even worse than a disciplinary camp. The scumbags who can be on his list are all rare bad seeds, so he will use high-pressure methods that you have never seen before to deal with them. But no matter how bad they are, they are still human beings. They can go crazy, they can shout, and they can break down."

"In this situation, they need an outlet for their anger. In other penal legions, this person is usually the most incompetent and cowardly loser, whom everyone bullies and tortures until he dies or can't take it anymore and kills the others. But in the Last Chance, the outlet is Shephar."

"When we were squatting in the trenches, our toes freezing off, the colonel would become the one enjoying everything in the tent. In our imagination, he could drink sweet milk, enjoy massages from maids, and sleep on soft beds. We would curse and insult him for this, even though in the real world, he was actually squatting just a few dozen meters away from us, like a wooden stake in the mud, observing the enemy through binoculars."

Vitus nodded thoughtfully, and a few seconds later, he spoke thoughtfully.

Are you suggesting that I join you in verbally abusing our superiors?

Cage pursed his lips, took a deep breath as if he had a toothache, and his expression returned to one of nonchalance.

"No, college student. I'm just telling you that if you hear them cursing at you in a while, it's best not to take it to heart."

"why?"

Cage maintained remarkable patience in the face of his persistent questioning.

"Because they deserve it. In one more day, we'll set sail, and training will officially begin. We'll keep training these scum until most of them are dead, leaving only a few pieces of rotten wood that are barely usable. By then, you might even feel a little sympathy for those who are still alive. So let them curse us; it's our right to give them a few words of criticism."

“I don’t understand yet, but I will take your advice. Also, Captain, I did report the whole story to the Colonel, but he really didn’t say anything.”

After Vitus finished speaking, he stood up, picked up his data tablet, gave a military salute, and then walked to his plate.

Cage blinked in surprise, muttered a few more swear words, and finally waved his hand impatiently.

“Alright!” he exclaimed. “Perhaps he’s just getting senile!”

He got up and left without even taking his tray. Left with no other choice, Vitus turned back, took his tray with him, and returned it to the servant behind the window.

The rigid program actually thanked him.
-
The next day, the Imperial Messenger sailed away from the dock alone. While the other ships of the 691st Vanguard Fleet were still resting, it was determined to head towards a corner of the galaxy.

In the officers' meeting room, Augustus Federiz told Vitus and Cage about their destination: the Saros system, a place located in the hazy star field.

According to reliable sources, the governor there defected a month ago, and they were sent to carry out a decapitation strike.

To be more specific: break through the rebel fleet's blockade, locate the governor, parachute onto the ground or board the ship, then break through the tight security forces and finally kill him.

This is completely unreasonable.

“This doesn’t make sense.” Vitus unusually questioned his superiors. “This happened a month ago, and it’s something like the Star Governor’s rebellion. Why didn’t the Military Affairs Department assign Astartes and other well-trained auxiliary troops? Instead, they sent this group—”

He didn't finish his sentence, but Cage, who was standing casually to the side, didn't hesitate to finish the sentence for him.

"—On the contrary, we're asking this bunch of good-for-nothing rotten bastards to carry out this kind of mission?"

After he finished speaking, he stared at Vitus and smiled without saying a word, standing arrogantly and without any military dignity.

The major offered no explanation in response to their questions—or perhaps it was just one person.

“We are only responsible for executing orders,” he said calmly. “The training protocols have been sent to your respective data boards. Now, dismissed.”

And so, two hours later, Vitus and Cage herded the prisoners to the training grounds of the Imperial Messenger.

Compared to their initial stench and tattered prison uniforms upon boarding, they were now dressed in identical gray uniforms and all had shaved heads. This was to effectively prevent the spread of infectious diseases, as there was virtually no sanitary condition to speak of in death row.

Of course, not everyone willingly wanted to be shaved bald, but unfortunately, the programmed armed servants wouldn't reason with them. Faced with the spinning chainsaw blades, the dark muzzle of a gun, and what was at best a colder razor, everyone wisely chose the latter.

Now, standing before this group of gray-clad, crookedly standing death row inmates, Vitus couldn't help but frown.

He was already mentally prepared for their poor manners, but he didn't think that failing to stand at the most basic military posture was a matter of character—after all, the prisoners who could board the Emperor's Messenger were all former soldiers, and although they had committed different crimes, they were all professional soldiers before that.
Imprisonment may wear down one's body and mind, but it will not make one forget military discipline, something ingrained in one's very being.

Therefore, their current emotions can only be understood as a rebellious mentality.

Vitus opened his mouth, about to speak, but Cage, standing beside him, beat him to it.

The captain, a former death row inmate himself, launched into a torrent of curses and insults, his vocabulary and speed astounding. He hurled insults for a full fifteen minutes without stopping, relentlessly hurling abuse at every single death row inmate present, from head to toe, then from toe to hair, before finally pausing briefly to get to the point.

"Listen up, you bunch of beasts! I'll only say this once!" he roared. "Stand still!"

After a series of clattering boots, a miracle occurred.

Vitus didn't understand how Cage did it, but he knew he couldn't do it himself.

Cage nodded in satisfaction, then uttered another insult in a half-joking tone.

"Looks like you bunch of bastards still know what's good for you, your brains aren't completely fried. Now, those of you who were sergeants, take two steps forward!"

The sound of boots hitting the ground rang out again, and about one-fifth of the condemned prisoners left the line.

"Those who were once sergeants, step to the right! Those who were once sergeants, stay where you are! Those who were once corporals, step to the left!"

Cage's orders were brief and clear. However, the former sergeants hesitated for a moment before slowly dispersing. Vitus was somewhat surprised to find that most of them were sergeants, rather than the corporals he had expected.

He took the data pad from his waist and pointed the scanner at them. A red scanning light flashed, and soon Vitus had a list of 461 former sergeants in his hand. He expressionlessly pressed a few options, sorted them according to rank and the severity of their crimes, and then walked to Cage's side and handed him the data pad.

The captain, puzzled, took the item and glanced at it before frowning immediately.

"Damn, this is really eye-opening," he muttered. "This thing actually has this function? Are you sure all of this is accurate?"

“It came from Mars, Captain,” Vitus replied without looking away. “The sacred Martian foundry.”

Cage looked like he wanted to sneer, but he held back. He looked down and flipped through the pages for a while, then called out a name.

"Flake Protecott, step forward!"

A tall, strong man with a somber expression took a step forward from the front row of sergeants.

He was the tallest among the death row inmates, with two scars on his face. One of them ran horizontally across his entire face from left to right, likely causing some kind of nerve damage, resulting in his facial muscles constantly twitching involuntarily. This movement, in turn, made the scar writhe as if it were alive, making it appear particularly terrifying.

"What crime did you commit?" Cage asked knowingly.

“Murder,” Flac answered reluctantly, his voice low.

“Be more specific,” Cage said, suddenly becoming very patient. “Tell me everything, hurry up, Protecott, there are many people waiting behind you.”

"."

"You won't talk? Then I'll take pity on you and help you out. Flac Protecott, murdered three lieutenant-level officers, stole important military supplies, and detonated a barracks resulting in 46 deaths and 244 injuries. You're quite capable, Protecott."

"I didn't steal anything, and I didn't set fire."

"Do I look like the kind of guy who cares about this?" Cage scoffed. "You've done something this big, and all you're doing is arguing that you didn't steal or set fire? I don't believe you, Big Guy. But let's put the theft aside for now. Tell me, why did you set the barracks on fire? I can understand killing your superiors, since there are a lot of bastards among the lieutenants, but what about the brothers who shared the communal bunk with you? They were innocent, weren't they?"

Flac Protecott lowered his head as if in shame, but his fists, which were placed at his sides, suddenly clenched.

“I have nothing to say,” he replied hoarsely. “Killing is killing.”

"You bastard."

"."

I'm cursing at you, can you hear me?

"."

Seeing that he still didn't speak, Cage simply shoved the data panel back into Vitus's hands and then quickly walked towards Flac.

The latter finally raised his head and stared blankly at the captain who had been spewing profanities, his fists slightly clenched.

Why would you harm your own brothers as well?

Stopping in front of him, Cage asked this question calmly.

Flac's lips trembled a few times, as if he had sensed something, and he finally answered.

"I didn't start the fire, I didn't mean to hurt them."

"Who put that there?"

“I don’t know,” Flack said. “I only killed people. I didn’t steal anything, and I didn’t set fires.”

"Then why did you kill people?"

Once again, Flac fell silent, but even Vitus, who was not far away, could see that his silence did not mean refusal, but rather a prelude to him speaking. Sure enough, just over ten seconds later, the ruthless thug spoke again.

“They wanted to recruit me to embezzle soldiers’ pay, but I refused, so they ganged up on me. For a year and ten months, I didn’t receive a single penny of allowance. A letter came from home; my sister wanted me to send some money back to pay for my mother’s medical treatment, but I had nothing to give her. That night, I went to them, hoping to beg them to give me some money, but I found them laughing at my mother in the barracks, saying that she should have died long ago after giving birth to me.”

Flac Protecott clenched his lips tightly, then took a deep breath. He could no longer control his trembling fists; the veins on the back of his hands bulged, and the scars on his face twitched incessantly.

“Then you kill them,” Cage said in a detached tone.

"Yes."

"How to kill?"

"I went into the tent, and then I opened fire."

"It wasn't just guns, was it? The files say you also strangled one." "Yes."

"how do you feel?"

“I’m very happy,” Flack replied blankly.

Cage nodded. "I'm fucking happy too. Your family must be doing pretty well, right? You have a younger sister, and your mother is still alive, at least she was alive back then. You were a student, weren't you?"

"Yes."

The captain grinned and smiled.

He turned his head, glanced at Vitus, then turned back and suddenly punched Flac in the chest. It wasn't a hard punch, but it made a very deep thud.

"Stand up straight! Chests out!" he roared. "Soldiers should look like soldiers!"

Flac immediately stood up straight.

“Listen up, Sergeant Flack,” the captain called out, his voice still rough as he announced his stripped rank. “Your file says you served in the Desert Serpent for ten years, seven of which were as a junior sergeant, but you never got promoted. Is that true?”

"Yes."

"Why? Because all the officers in your unit are bad guys who embezzle soldiers' pay, and you're the only good one, so everyone ostracizes you?"

"No, that's not the case."

“I think so too. Otherwise, you would never have been sent here. You should have been executed the night the camp caught fire. Someone is protecting you, Sergeant. Do you know who it is?”

Flack pursed his lips again: "...Maybe it was my former superior."

"Who?"

Major General Paul Coles.

The captain whistled smugly: "Major General, you're really something, but he can't escape the death penalty either. You killed someone, stole something, and set a fire."

"I don't--"

The captain suddenly roared, completely interrupting him.

"—I fucking don't care, Sergeant, and those people who're so eager to throw mud at you, the scapegoat, don't care either! Your crimes have been committed; you're a piece of trash who murdered a superior, burned down the camp, and stole vital military supplies! You should have been executed on the spot, but you happen to have a former superior who's already a major general, so you're still alive!"

The captain let out a loud, cold laugh, turning his gaze behind Flack and towards the group of death row inmates with their varied expressions.

"Listen carefully now, listen carefully. You, all of you, and me and this academy student behind me, we all serve a colonel named Xie Fa. He is the most ruthless bastard I have ever met. Even the God Emperor would shed tears for his cruelty, but we have no choice. We are already under his control."

"And what I'm about to say is that the days to come will be the most painful experience of your lives! You will even beg for death, and when you can't bear it anymore, you will beg me to put a hole in your head! You will not enjoy the treatment of regular soldiers, and even if you make a meritorious contribution, you will not be rewarded. You will be even lower than the penal battalion and be looked down upon! But none of that matters, because Colonel Shefa has connections in the Ministry of Military Affairs."

His smile turned sinister, and his voice became very soft.

“I don’t know who he licked to the toes of to get this relationship, but the fact is the fact: Colonel Shepherd has a full five thousand pardons. He can issue them to any criminal, alive or dead, it doesn’t matter, but as long as your name is on it, all your past crimes are wiped clean, no matter what you did.”

Upon hearing this, Vitus noticed that the condemned prisoners suddenly became agitated.

He didn't stop them, and neither did Cage. The two of them stood by and watched until they realized they needed to stop, at which point Cage spoke again.

"So, you scum? How's the reward?" he asked.

He neither laughed nor shouted, but simply asked calmly.

No one answered, nor did anyone question or refute.

The training of the death row inmates officially began ten minutes later and continued until late that night. On the first day alone, Cage killed six people during the training.

As requested by Colonel Xie Fa in the briefing, the matter was not reported.
-
Vitus lay down wearily, but felt a splitting headache. He had no choice but to get up again and hastily swallow two pills.

It will probably take some time before they take effect, but I don't know if it's just psychological, but the headache caused by the heart attack seems to have eased a little as the pills slid down my throat.

Vitus didn't want to think about it too much, so he quickly closed his eyes and planned to take a nap.

He could only sleep for less than two hours before having to get up to discuss today's training with Cage.
To be fair, the death row inmates are actually quite good in terms of character; at least after they corrected their attitudes, they reached a level close to average, and there were quite a few outstanding ones among them. However, that alone is not enough.

The training manual, personally written by Colonel Shefa and distributed to him and Cage, clearly stated one thing: Saros was only the first battle for this nameless Execution Legion; there were four more objectives to be completed, each more difficult than the last.

To be honest, Vitus even doubted whether they could achieve the first goal, but he didn't doubt Shefa.

He knew all the battles that Shefa and his Last Chance had fought, such as fighting the Tyranid swarm and banishing the Demon Prince.
Indeed, some in the auxiliary forces have accomplished similar feats, but these were all done by renowned elite units such as the Gladiator Forces or the Storm Loyalists. As for the Last Chance Guys? A penal legion filled with scum and death row inmates?
By the Emperor's grace, when this legion was first formed, some even thought they couldn't even form a proper square. Xie Fa single-handedly brought about this miracle; he seemed to possess a kind of magic that could transform the original dregs into unwavering and fearless steel.

"You trust him so much, what if he disappoints you?" his only friend suddenly asked.

Vitus didn't want to answer, firstly because he hadn't thought about it yet, and secondly because he really wanted to sleep. So he simply turned over and pulled the blanket over his face.

A burst of laughter followed, and Neguy laughed without restraint.

"What are you laughing at?" the young man asked in a muffled voice through the blanket.

"nothing."

Vitus yanked off the covers, no longer sleepy, and sat bolt upright. He stared at the tall figure, asking a question with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t understand what’s so funny about this. I admire him, Negui, that’s all.”

"Yes, it's not a big deal, but you're working with him now. You should put aside this admiration and try to get to know him better. At the very least, you need to figure out the real reason why he specifically chooses these death row inmates to work for him."

Vitus frowned: "Specially selected?"

His friend laughed, crossed his arms, leaned back, and strangely, as if in spirit form, leaned against the wall, then nodded.

“Yes, didn’t you notice?” he asked, coaxingly. “Those death row inmates come from different prisons, and judging from their records, they could form a very versatile army. Among them are former scouts, senior officers, special forces assassins, and even professional gunners. He didn’t just randomly pick some prisoners; he investigated them.”

Vitus remained silent for a while, thinking about the data, and finally nodded.

“You’ve probably already guessed it; his plan is to form a suicide squad.” Negui’s smile sharpened slightly. “You can tell from those targets. He’s training his troops this way, Vitus, and he doesn’t care about the mortality rate. With this kind of training, by the time this mission is complete, those who remain in this squad will be the elite of the elite.”

He sighed, his smile vanishing abruptly: "But doing this will kill many people."

“They deserved to die,” the young man said.

“Perhaps most of them deserve to die, Vitus,” Negui retorted calmly. “But what about someone like Flac Protecott? Don’t tell me you can’t see he wasn’t lying, or that you can’t see the implications behind his crimes. Stealing vital military supplies and setting fire to camps. Humph.”

He shook his head and continued, "How many of these five thousand people, no, four thousand nine hundred and ninety-four, are like him, innocent victims?"

"He killed someone, how can you say he's innocent?"

"Was he intent on murdering them?" Negui frowned sharply, his voice turning stern. "Killing them is true, but if it was for that reason, he shouldn't be punished; he should be commended! How much pay did those three lieutenant officers embezzle? Don't you understand how serious that is in the army?"

“Murdering a superior is murdering a superior,” Vitus took a deep breath. “He could report it, or he could remain silent, but what he did was far too egregious. What if others follow suit? This could trigger a mutiny among the soldiers.”

Negui laughed, a laugh so cold it sent chills down your spine.

"If an army can mutiny because of withholding soldiers' pay, what is the point of its existence? The education you received in the academy was advanced, and the people you met were all the most upright soldiers, but you have never met those soldiers who are inferior to you, and you have only seen those exploited soldiers or corrupt officers in books."

"I--"

"—Welcome to the real world."

Neguy interrupted him mercilessly, his eyes deep and his tone calm, yet his words were like a prophecy.

"You will suffer greatly in the days to come, it's just a matter of whether you can get through it, my child."

After speaking, he turned and left instead of disappearing. Vitus instinctively jumped out of bed, his voice tinged with nervousness for the first time.

"Where are you going?"

“Didn’t you say yesterday that I still had a lot of things to do? I’m going to take care of one of them now. Sleep well, Vitus Sable.”
-
"The empire's territory is vast, and its standing army is countless. The academy students can only change a small fraction of it. According to 051.M40's nationwide survey report, slave armies and warlord private armies are two excellent examples, representing a significant portion of the forces. Their courage and honor are certainly commendable, but this old system, which needs to be changed along with the times and technological advancements, deserves criticism. Of course, this is a deeply entrenched problem that has existed for ten thousand years and requires long-term consideration. However, in conclusion, I personally believe that military reform should be prioritized and placed in a paramount position."

Khalil slowly put down his pen and shook his hand.

For some reason, he was wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses for the first time ever, which gave him a rather intellectual air. This was certainly not what he wanted; it was just that someone in charge was forcing him to do something against his will.

To be fair, Macardo is an absolutely good boss. He can fully delegate authority and provide support, and he can also shoulder all the pressure when needed. However, in recent years, he has a habit of making things difficult for people in some trivial matters.

These glasses—or, to be more precise, the clothes Khalil is wearing right now—are one of them.

Wearing it, even a ruthless judge can look like a teacher.

Khalil leaned back, slumping gracefully against the chair, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his head tilted back, and his legs slowly straightening.

After decades of immersing himself in government affairs and documents, he had long since mastered this unhealthy and ungraceful posture of relaxation without any formal instruction. He had never been so impolite when he was still guarding the gargoyles in Nostradamus every night, yet now he was so frustrated after writing just a short report.

This suggests that, in the mind of the Grand Inquisitor, the endless reports and documents were perhaps more unbearable than the truly cannibalistic and terrifying society.

After all, he could wield a knife back then, but what about documents? Even if you tore the documents to shreds and threw them into the fire, you still had to write them, stamp them, and then hand them over to various departments to wait for a reply.

Khalil Lohals expressionlessly raised his hand, removed his glasses, and tossed them onto the table. He seemed to be in a state of unprecedented laziness, and it was because of this that a giant who had been lurking in the shadows finally couldn't help but speak.

"Please, please maintain a little bit of your image."

Without turning his head, Khalil called out his name: "Scaraderik, is this your first mission with me?"

The Crimson Claw Highlord nodded very seriously. He stood ramrod straight in the room, like a statue.

“Sigh.” Khalil sighed. “I don’t expect you to be a shameless bastard like Yago and want to come every time, but even just coming a little more often would be good, right? Your other three brothers are always fighting for this spot at meetings. And you, you’ve been absent four times.”

Skladrek's face twitched, and his beast-like fangs protruded from his lips. This infamous chapter commander looked utterly bewildered at that moment.

"Me, the instructor..."

“Relax,” Khalil said. “Why are you so tense?”

Skaldrick wisely decided to keep quiet, but Caryl did not let him off the hook.

"I heard from Kai'er and Leng Hun that a while ago a world called Angelist volunteered to provide you with all kinds of support, including manpower?"

".right."

"That world is very wealthy, second to none in the Pacific Star Region."

"indeed so."

"And you refused."

"Yes."

Khalil sat up straight, turned his chair around, and asked quite seriously, "May I know why you did this?"

The Crimson Lord subconsciously became serious, and even his tone became much more hesitant: "We only recruit soldiers in Abelar."

Khalil frowned. "I wasn't talking about conscription, Skaldrick. I just wanted to know why you refused."

“I can’t think of a reason to accept,” the Great Khan answered honestly. “We don’t need their troops, nor do we need auxiliary forces, nor do we need logistical support.”

Khalil glared at him: "What about political support? Well, maybe you don't even need that, but you shouldn't have refused the governor to his face at the banquet. It was a victory celebration held specifically for you. You could have told him your intentions privately."

Skalardrick was silent for a moment before finally replying somewhat stiffly, "I don't understand what you're saying, Instructor."

Khalil smiled helplessly, his tone softening.

"Among the blades beneath Nightblade, Crimson Claw is the first blade, and the purest blade. Unlike the Judgment Blades, you do not cooperate closely with the Inquisition, nor do you maintain close ties with many chapters like the Shadow Knights. You are solitary, forever filled with hatred, forever hunting. But what price must you pay for this?"

"Whatever the cost, the Crimson Claws take pride in it," the Highlord replied coldly.

Seeing his tone, Khalil stopped smiling.

He shook his head, slowly stood up, and the lights in the room suddenly went out. Even the hazy light emanating from the stars swirling outside the porthole disappeared, leaving only darkness.

In the chilling cold, Skladrick felt a hand on his shoulder. He instinctively looked up and saw a pale, bony face.

The instructor of the Eighth Army Corps spoke in a low voice.

“We have already paid the price, and we do not want you to follow in our footsteps. Besides, you are not qualified; we are not dead yet.”

Half a minute later, the darkness dissipated, and the ordinary-looking Khalil put his glasses back on and continued writing his report.

This time, however, Skaldrick stood a little closer, feeling rather awkward.

Khalil didn't seem to mind, but he would occasionally offer reminders, explaining why certain parts were written the way they should be and why certain areas should be left blank.
However, this time it didn't last long. A knock on the door interrupted them, accompanied by a deep voice.

"May I come in?"

As if he had been prepared, Khalil put down his pen, then raised his hand to stop Skladrick from instinctively drawing his knife, and slowly stood up.

“You should have come sooner,” he said calmly. “Horus.”

(End of this chapter)