40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 855, Part 3: Crying, Death, Blood, and Other Things (10,000 words)
Some people are crying, and some are dying.

Amidst cries and the horrifying sounds of blood gushing from the wounded's throats, Vitus tossed the Silencer, which he had once treasured, to the ground. He knew it would be damaged, but he thought it wouldn't blame him.

He swung his right hand with all his might, the end of his hand holding a sword—the sword left behind by his father, whom he had never met. The outdated model couldn't affect its disintegrating force field, which now emitted a terrifying fluorescence. Vitus watched it slice across someone's neck—someone he'd never met—and then saw blood and mangled flesh.

Excellent. He thought, slightly dazed. Instructor Tal would whip me for this subpar one-handed strike.

His thoughts were absurd, yet his body moved with unbelievable agility. While the blade was still in its trajectory, he naturally took two steps back, dodging an axe blow, and then with a backhand slash, sliced ​​open the man's abdomen. But this didn't seem to completely stop him; the eyes beneath his bulletproof helmet still gleamed with a ferocious, savage light.

Vitus belatedly realized what had happened, but his well-trained body had already increased the force of his blows, cleaving the man's chest and head in one swift motion.

The axe landed heavily on the ground, and the whistling sound of falling shells echoed from outside the makeshift concrete fortifications.

Vitus instinctively lay down, his eyes fixed on the only entrance to the fortification. He lay on the ground, his ribs aching from the rubble and the axe, but he had no time to worry about it. He simply reached out and grabbed the Silent One, then deactivated his power sword.

The crying continued. He ignored it. Shells kept falling. He ignored it. Sweat and blood, mixed with dust, stung his eyes. He still ignored it.

He held his gun tightly, staring at the only entrance, until, after an unknown amount of time, a shout came from the cave entrance.

"second lieutenant!"

It's Flack, Flack Protecott, formerly a sergeant, now a sergeant first class.

He rushed into the fortifications several seconds after the shouts rang out, clutching a blood-stained entrenching shovel in his hand. His empty assault rifle, emptied of bullets, hung on his shoulder, the strap stained with his skin, flesh, and tattered cloth. His face was completely covered in dust.

Vitus slowly lowered his gun. He tried to speak, but his first attempt to open his lips failed. He raised his hand to touch his face and found that where the skin had once been soft, it was now covered with a thin layer of scabs. He peeled them off with his fingers, not sparing the ones on his lips either. After the burning pain subsided, he finally spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Where are your people?"

Flac shook his head and didn't say anything.

Vitus's heart sank; he knew the breakout attempt had failed, but he didn't show it.

This was mentioned in textbooks and in the instructors' teachings: officers must lead by example. But he didn't react this way because of this ironclad rule; he was simply too lazy to put on an act—there was no need. Flac had far more experience in war than he did, and the soldiers he had left in the fortifications as bait had all been killed.

The crying stopped half a minute ago.

He turned to look at its source and saw a terrified man with a fighting knife stuck in his stomach, his hands gripping the hilt tightly.

It's better that you're dead, you coward. May your soul vanish completely in the agony of death.

He turned back to look at the only person he could trust at that moment, who was searching through the corpses for ammunition and any possible supplies.

Vitus asked in a low voice, "Where is the captain?"

"We can't get in touch. The colonel was right, the enemy did indeed tamper with our access permissions. The communication channels have been completely cut off, and now all we can hear are their continuous surrender broadcasts."

Vitus tried to show some anger, but he was too tired. He felt like a rag that had been wrung out and left to dry in the sun, and there was nothing left to squeeze out.

But he still had to answer.

“I’m not surprised. After all, they have some red robes over there.”

“Some?” Flack laughed, then shook his head. “I’m afraid more than that. When we broke out, I glanced at the eastern front; the Sixth Company was already engaged in combat with the armed machine gunners.”

Vitus coughed a few times, and the face of the corporal who was the acting company commander of the sixth company appeared before his eyes.

He shook his head to dispel it, then got up, straightened his helmet, and began to examine himself.

He had four wounds on his hands and feet, but none of them were serious—a stroke of luck amidst misfortune. Furthermore, he discovered that the silencer's gun had no indelible scratches. This incident stirred a ripple in his stagnant heart, which quickly dissipated.

"What do we do next, Lieutenant?"

Vitus didn't answer, he simply loaded his gun. A multitude of thoughts converged into a turbulent river, surging through his mind and flowing into a fine web.

A few minutes later, a stone or a lost pearl is caught in the net.

Vitus looked up at Flac and said, “The colonel ordered us to hold this position until the other troops arrive and spread out to form a battle line. He wanted the 4th Company to be a nail driven into their flesh, and we’ve done that, and we’ve given them a good thrashing. As for now, I think it’s time to go a step further.”

The sergeant naturally understood his meaning, but was somewhat puzzled: "Now?"

“Yes,” Vitus nodded. “They’d never fucking dream of this.”

The sergeant thought for less than two seconds, then gave a perfectly standard grin.

“Yes,” he said, picking up the dead man’s gun with a broad smile. “They’d never fucking expect that.”

Vitus lowered his right hand, sword tip pointing to the ground, and walked out of the fortifications. The battlefield map, which he had seen nearly a thousand times, appeared in his mind, then zoomed in again and again. Flac walked past him carrying a machine gun with half a belt of ammunition remaining, wrapping the belt around his neck as he went.

Without a word, they stepped into the depths of smoke and death.

Corpses were everywhere, some from the Fourth Company, some from the enemy, but besides them, only the two of them were still standing. It was clear that the enemy detachment that had been fighting them here had scattered, with the largest part most likely going to support the eastern front, intending to launch a flank attack on the Sixth Company and catch them off guard.

This is the most likely scenario that aligns with the fighting style of the commander that Vitus has never seen before.

He had faced off against that man here for more than thirty-three hours and had come to fully understand his opponent's style: disregard for the lives of soldiers, an extremely keen sense of smell, and an exceptional ability to fight on multiple fronts.

In terms of tactics and command, Vitus acknowledged his inferiority. He lost, but not decisively; after all, the colonel's mission had been accomplished, and the fortress occupied by the enemy was now under siege.
From a macro perspective, Vitus believed that victory was only a matter of time, because the enemy would no longer receive any support from the sky or orbit. The Imperial Messenger had completed its mission in the vacuum eleven hours earlier, and its advanced weaponry had not let them down.

Therefore, at this moment, Vitus believed he had an opportunity. It was fleeting, but he could seize it.

He began to think calmly.

At any time, the information received by the command level was always delayed. There was a 60% chance that the enemy was still issuing various orders from their command post, while urging the soldiers to clear the battlefield. From his perspective, after the artillery barrage and encirclement, the Fourth Company had become a group of routed soldiers, and all that remained was to pursue and mop them up.
In war, this is one of the few easy jobs, because defeated soldiers have no intention of resisting.

The unit that man commanded was a typical warlord's private army. Although discipline was strict, it was maintained through perverse punishments. These soldiers would stop at nothing to obtain any opportunity for promotion in order to get a good pair of boots, which they would then use to kick others until they bled.

In other words, the company commander's command post must be very empty right now, and the force he left behind to defend it would not exceed fifty people at most.

Vitus smiled, a rare and genuine smile.

Flac and his companion walked silently across the dead's territory. During this brief and quiet walk, they did their best to scavenge for bullets and grenades like two carrion birds, while trying to evade the predators.

When footsteps sounded, Vitus would hide under corpses or in mud pits, but Flac was different. The sergeant would simply kneel down lightly, then lie face up, and then roll over as gently as a cat, releasing the machine gun and gripping the entrenching tool. He was already thoroughly stained with blood and dust, giving him a good camouflage.

Perhaps the God Emperor was truly protecting them, because after dodging four waves of patrolling squads, they successfully reached the rear of the battle line without exchanging any words throughout the entire process.

This was most likely the location of the command post, but finding the disguised fortifications would probably take a lot of effort. They lay prone in a shell crater on the opposite slope, silently observing. After a while, the sergeant suddenly exhaled softly, sounding almost like a sneer.

He pointed to a spot, an unassuming little mound covered in gray and red, just like the rest of the place.

Vitus looked at him with a questioning gaze.

Flac nodded heavily, made a shooting gesture to his temple, and then set up the machine gun.

Without a word, Vitus removed his helmet and stiff officer's uniform, then gripped his gun and sword and crawled backward out of the shell crater. He then descended and slowly advanced forward from the blind spot of the mound until he made official contact with the position.

He calmly rolled into a pile of corpses, lay there for a while, resting and listening to the sounds. A man with his eyes wide open stared at him on the left, but Vitus chose to ignore him.

The sounds of battle drifted faintly from behind them in the distance, and the ground trembled occasionally, but the entire position was eerily quiet. The sky, like the ground, was gray, and the smoke from the battle rose straight into the sky like giant stone pillars.

Vitus waited another thirty seconds before beginning to crawl again. This time, he crawled extremely slowly, almost like a stone shifting due to geological activity. He crawled for a very long time before stopping, until he was less than ten meters away from the spot Flack had pointed out.

He could hear faint conversations and the sounds of instruments operating, which meant that both Flack and he were correct. Therefore, only one question remained.

What about people?

Vitus knew he had to resolve this first before he could address anything else. He turned over, squinting at the shell crater he'd come from, and waved at the gun barrel now covered in mud.

The barrel wobbled after two seconds.

Vitus raised his right hand as low as possible, wrapped it around his neck, pointed behind him, and then raised it again, clenching it into a fist.

The bullet grazed his head three seconds later, dirt flew up, and gravel rained down on him.

In pain, Vitus held his breath, hearing a sudden surge of footsteps and low shouts. Then came the sound of a door opening. He didn't move, and Flac fired two more shots. These two shots unmistakably revealed his position; the footsteps resumed, followed by low curses and then running.

A dozen seconds later, Vitus heard the sound of a whip cracking and an explosion, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a cloud of dirt fly up from the edge of the shell crater.

He remained unusually calm, only his right hand gripped the silenced person tighter and tighter.

The position was eerily quiet; no more gunshots rang out, and the gun barrel remained motionless.

One minute, two minutes, three minutes
The sounds of the instruments came softly through the not-so-thick concrete walls of the fortifications beneath the mud, distorted and strange, almost like someone panting.

The voice reminded Vitus of his adjutant, a man nicknamed "Fingers."

He was a habitual thief and a veteran who served in multiple planetary defense forces. After finishing a battle he considered 'paid off' or a period of service, he would sneak into military camp warehouses to steal, then leave satisfied with his loot, reselling it on the black market. He would then change his identity and join the defense force of another world using fake credentials.
He's an eccentric and a sinner, but his tactical skills are undeniable.

If it weren't for him, the Fourth Company would never have been able to complete the arduous task of "nails." And he died, having called out that before he died.

Hehe, hehe, hehe.

The sound of whips rang out again.

Vitus suddenly sprang to his feet, flipping off the position and leaping into the trench. He was met by three faces that hadn't even had time to show fear. One of them was carrying a sniper rifle by a pre-existing peephole, while the other two were carrying short submachine guns.

Without the slightest hesitation, Vitus fired six shots at them in mid-air, instantly obliterating them all. He landed heavily, and the gunfire resumed. The machine gun in the shell crater began to roar wildly as if it had gone mad, bullets flying everywhere and creating muddy patches on the battlefield.

Vitus swiftly turned, his knees sticky from being soaked in bodily fluids and entrails. He calmly counted, waiting, until footsteps echoed again from within the fortifications.

A figure flashed by, he fired, and the body shattered. The enemy discovered this useful old trick two seconds later and immediately returned fire, a terrifyingly dense barrage of crimson beams striking the spot where he had just been standing, ultimately merging into the depths of the earth.

Half a second later, a dark figure suddenly drew a beautiful arc and threw it towards them and the open door.

An explosion was heard immediately.

Vitus blinked to try and shake off his growing drowsiness—it was ironic that at such a critical moment, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He changed to a new magazine, quietly stood up, leaped out of the trench, reached the top of the position, and peered down from a different angle, staring at the smoke-filled gate of the fortification. There was no movement inside. A not-so-small crater had been blasted into the ground, and only half of the door remained in place. Fires raged on the body parts, and the aroma of grease mingled with a strange stench.

Vitus stared for more than ten seconds, then reached into the soil, grabbed a chunk, and kneaded it to make it firm.

The dark shadow flashed again and crashed solidly into the doorway.

Half a second later, footsteps sounded, and Vitus looked down at them: one, two, three. There were six people left in total.

He shot and killed two of them, then switched positions, jumped into the trench, and waited for a few seconds in the path of one of the foolish soldiers who had deserted his unit. The footsteps grew closer, and he timed his move perfectly, thrusting his sword forward, then grabbing the man's shoulder, shoving him to the ground, and kicking him hard in the throat.

The sound of bones cracking flashed by, and Vitus drowsily turned around to listen to the sound of running, then he too took off running.

Three minutes later, he stood before the two pools of dismembered bodies, staring at a panting man.

The man was not tall, with a broad chin and a rather obese appearance. His uniform was stained with the blood of his own soldiers. Judging from his rank, he was also a captain.

They looked at each other.

The portly captain smiled with relief, released his grip, letting the gun slide to the ground, and then asked, "I'm curious, this..."

"second lieutenant."

"Okay, Lieutenant. What I want to ask is, how do you know so much about my trenches?"

“I looked around a lot when I came down,” Vitus said, then pulled the trigger, smashing his head.

Gunfire erupted again from the shell crater.

Vitus raised his gun to the sky in response. Smoke rose from the muzzle, and tens of millions of particles, or even larger, of dust particles flowed upwards, eventually obscuring the entire planet's sky and ruining the once beautiful, azure-blue landscape of Saros I.

A heartless person calmly observed this scene.

He stood with his hands behind his back on the deserted bridge, his glacier-blue eyes reflecting the pitiful state of the world gradually being swallowed by war, without any emotion.

A voice sounded from behind him.

"How many people do you expect to die, Colonel Sheffield?"

"At least half."

"So, are the surviving half of the people able to meet your needs?"

“I personally have no need of them, Lord Skladrek.” Shefa paused. “Only the Emperor has that right.”

May he know your loyalty and your sins.

"My evil deeds are so numerous that I should be left to rot in the wilderness."

Skladrek chuckled. "Interesting. You're talking about sin in front of a Nightborne?"

“I know what I’ve done,” Xie Fa replied calmly, turning to look at the Great Khan and a man writing furiously. “That’s why I say they are not yet worthy of the approval of a villain like myself. They still need more refinement.”

"Until they're all dead?" the Great Khan asked thoughtfully.

“No,” Xie Fa said. “That would be too wasteful. I will give them rest time and some refreshments.”

"manpower?"

"Yes."

“Ah, I see.” Skaldrick suddenly realized. “No wonder your Last Chance Man was able to achieve such success in such a short time. It was truly an extreme method.”

“To fight evil, one must first become evil,” Shefa replied with an old proverb, then looked at the man writing furiously. “What do you think?”

The clerk-like man quickly wrote a few strokes, then straightened up and looked over. "I'd rather the world always stand in the light," he replied. "Otherwise, they'll suffer like you forever."

“Me?” Xie Fa raised an eyebrow. “I feel that description applies to you more.”

The clerk chuckled and lowered his head to write the last few strokes on his report.

On a side note, we should start rediscovering those qualities we've long abandoned. What do you think? If you agree, please write to the toymaker and ask him to mail me a bottle of craft beer, preferably an Eagle's masterpiece. I'll drink it for you.
-
Vitus didn't see Cage again until the day after the Battle of Saros ended, in the infirmary.

The captain was lying listlessly on the large bed, flipping through a magazine that was clearly contraband. He was beaming as he read, his legs shaking incessantly, looking extremely content.

Although these kinds of things have always been on the prohibited list, they are nothing compared to cigarettes and alcohol, and few people would actually take them from the soldiers unless they were extremely wicked or simply wanted to die.
Vitus didn't consider himself to be any of them, but he had never actually read such a magazine before, so he glanced at it curiously as he sat down.

As a result, with just one glance, Cage noticed it with astonishing speed and immediately grinned.

“Hey, college student.” He closed the magazine with a malicious grin and rolled it up again. “Were you peeking at my Veronica just now?”

"What Veronica?"

"She!"

As Cage spoke, he abruptly flipped open the magazine. Vitus's temples throbbed as he turned his head, only to suddenly find everything black as the magazine was smeared onto his face.

The captain burst into laughter, unable to contain his joy.

Vitus grabbed the magazine, his brow furrowed, and a rare hint of anger appeared on his face.

He still hadn't looked at Cage's 'Veronica,' just tossed it back, and then quickly got to the point—at least in his eyes.

"Captain, we..."

"Hey!" Cage sensed something was wrong and abruptly raised his hand to interrupt him. "If you're here to discuss some damn war details or something, then don't utter another word."

"But--"

"—No buts, you damn college student!" Cage roared, raising his voice. "Go look at the battle report yourself, can't you? What's the point of your new data tablet? Go, go, look at it yourself, don't bother me! My head is still fucking throbbing!"

"Concussion? Or aftereffects? You probably need another full physical exam," Vitus replied, skillfully ignoring all his curses.

Cage gave him a strange look, then sighed, slowly lay down, stared at the ceiling of the infirmary, and stopped moving.

For a moment, Vitus was convinced he was dead.

".College student."

"Captain?"

“I’m not a good person, I confess to you. I’ve killed people, robbed people, stolen things, and done every kind of despicable thing you can imagine. I’m actually the worst of the worst among this bunch of scoundrels. But I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“No, Captain. Besides, I’ve seen your criminal record; you were imprisoned for murdering an officer.”

"Then why the hell are you still bothering me?" Cage ignored his last sentence and asked sincerely. "Please, have mercy on me. That bastard Colonel will only give us a week of rest before dragging us to another hellish place to die. Can't you just let me be alone for a bit?"

Vitus looked at him for a moment, then suddenly asked, "How can I be sure this isn't just an excuse?"

"What did you say?"

Vitus actually smiled slightly.

"Many soldiers who commit suicide due to aftereffects exhibit these behaviors in the final days of their lives: a need for solitude, irritability, and aversion to everything related to war. According to the data, they often try to end their lives when alone. So how do I know this isn't just an excuse for you to get rid of me so you can commit suicide alone?"

Cage stared at him as if he'd seen a ghost, remaining silent for a long time, then tremblingly raised his right hand and pointed to the door of the infirmary.

"Get out!" he screamed desperately. "Get the hell out of here!"

Vitus nodded and stood up.

“Okay, I’ll be back in two hours,” he said politely. “Also, would you like me to bring you lunch? They have smoked Glocks steaks on the menu today; I checked the cafeteria beforehand.”

“Bring five portions of his mother’s food over.”

"Understood, Captain."

Two hours later, Vitus arrived as agreed. He brought seven servings of Glocks steak, two for himself and five for Cage.

The latter did not disappoint him, once again displaying that terrifyingly fast eating speed, finishing all five chops in just thirteen minutes and twenty-six seconds, and even picking up the bones to break them and lick the marrow.

His focused expression even made Vitus doubt his own taste buds—could this smoky flavor really taste better than the properly cooked version? Why didn't he think so?
"belch--!"

Cage carelessly tossed the bone aside, placed the plate on the table beside him, and then lay down, his eyes half-closed, yawning repeatedly, looking like he wanted to sleep.

Seeing this, Vitus had no choice but to politely offer a reminder. Cage didn't take it seriously, glaring at him angrily, then licking the grease off his lips and narrowing his eyes.

“Okay, I know what you want to ask, college student, but I have to say, it’s not very useful.”

"why?"

"Because the work we do is not what normal people do. The Punishment Legion is no different from cannon fodder on the battlefield. Wasn't what happened on Saros I enough of a wake-up call for you? To parachute directly without ground support, what's the difference between that and suicide? Alicia's paratroopers have so many assault boats, what about us? Let me put it more bluntly, Vitus Sable, if you're hoping to learn something from this battle, I advise you to give up that idea as soon as possible."

Vitus thought for a moment, nodded, and said, "I understand what you mean, Captain, but I don't plan to leave the Penal Legion in the future."

Cage stared at him in astonishment, and after a long pause, he managed to utter a single word.

"what?"

Vitus ignored him and continued speaking to himself.

"In the Empire's military system, every renowned army has its own specialty. Take the Alicia Airborne Regiment you just mentioned, for example. Their expertise lies in air raids and guerrilla warfare behind enemy lines. Their soldiers are proficient in a variety of combat methods and strategies, but they are extremely lacking in experience in coordinating with ground armored vehicles. I have read some battle reports related to them, and almost every one of them emphasizes this issue."

"So?" Cage's brow furrowed even more. "What are you trying to say?"

“I want to say that I couldn’t possibly be the first person to notice this problem, Captain. I’m not a particularly smart person, but if even I can notice this problem, why wouldn’t others notice it? However, I think that in their eyes it’s probably not a problem that needs attention. After all, everyone has their own expertise, and people’s energy is limited. A truly all-around legion can probably only exist in imagination until the last opportune person appears.”

Cage sat up, his expression growing increasingly serious. He pulled his military cap from under his pillow, straightened it, and put it on before gesturing for Vitus to continue.

"I believe that Colonel Xie Fa is doing something unprecedented. As a former member of the Last Chance group, you should be able to enlighten me on this point?"

“I don’t understand any of your fancy words,” Cage replied rudely. “But I can tell you, that old bastard definitely didn’t treat us like a simple suicide squad.”

"I've reviewed every battle report from the Last Chance, Captain. According to the data, you've fought raids, carried out airborne operations behind enemy lines, cooperated with armored divisions, and conducted coordinated offensives with various corps on the main battlefield. May I ask about the casualty ratio?"

“Oh, no need to ask,” Cage said calmly. “I’m the last one left in the first batch of last-chance applicants.”

Vitus tried to salute him, but Cage pressed his hand down first and then spoke slowly.

"It's no exaggeration to say that we're constantly losing people, even in peacetime. Scoundrels always find a way to cause trouble in the camp, conflicts turn into bloodshed, and bloodshed means death. Sometimes the colonel and I can stop them, sometimes we can't. If it turns into the latter, then many people die, and the colonel will take his sword and behead them one by one, then hang them at the camp gate as a warning. Of course, those who die like this are usually fools who can't see the bigger picture. Generally speaking, those who survive two missions won't cause any more trouble."

Vitus nodded and then pondered for a long time. When he spoke again, he brought up something else.

"You mean you were among the initial batch of those who had the last chance?"

"Yes."

"So, Captain, have you been pardoned?"

“Of course.” Cage laughed, starting to boast with a hint of pride. “I personally received my pardon from that old bastard. It clearly states that, in the name of the Emperor, all of this man’s past crimes are pardoned, and he is free!”

"But now you're back under his control."

Cage's smile vanished abruptly, followed by a gritted-teeth expression.

What made you make this decision?

"A decision?" Cage looked at him incredulously. "You don't think I came back voluntarily, do you?!"

"Is not it?"

“Do I look like I’m crazy?!” Cage roared, pointing to his own face. “Do I look like the kind of lunatic who can’t stand not fighting and can’t feel safe without a gun in his arms? I’m perfectly normal, college student! My biggest dream in this life is to find a quiet place to drink and sleep all day, and when my hand can’t hold the bottle anymore, I’ll shoot myself!”

"But you've come back."

Cage shuddered at these words. He raised his hand to cover his forehead and lay back down. Several minutes later, he finally spoke in a weak voice.

"Yes, I'm fucking back. I swore I would never come back, but I can't help it, college student, I killed someone again, and this time it was an officer."

He turned around and waved to Vitus, signaling him to leave.
-
Late that night, Vitus finally saw Negoi again.

This was somewhat unusual, as he had spent some time talking with Neguy every day for the past twenty years.

The ghost was always a patient and wise listener, always offering helpful insights into his questions, often hitting the nail on the head with just a few words. However, Vitus had already prepared for this; he knew full well that he would one day be on the battlefield, and how would he then seek out Negui's questions? He would probably have to wait until after the war.

Such as now.

"Have you finished your business?" Vitus asked bluntly.

“No.” Negui shook his head. “This is a difficult matter.”

"Can you be more specific?"

“No, child, this won’t do you any good,” Negui refused decisively, then changed the subject. “Besides, you fought very well.”

"What are you referring to? My defeat in direct confrontation, or that foolish risky move that followed?"

"all good."

"Failure is not a good thing; failure is failure."

“You cannot decide the course of a war by your own strength, Vitus,” Negui said with a smile. “And local setbacks are not a matter of failure. As you told that sergeant, you have accomplished your mission. Even if the entire Fourth Company is wiped out later, this matter will not be erased.”

Vitus pressed his lips tightly together and remained silent. He thought again of the dead, of the death row inmates assigned to his Fourth Company.

He trained them for a month, and then watched them die one by one on his orders over a period of thirty-three hours.

These people are indeed scum, and they have all committed serious crimes, but that doesn't prevent them from obeying orders. The instructors at the academy often say that the most important thing for a soldier is to obey orders. If one can do this, they can be given a 'qualified' evaluation regardless of their stance, personal feelings, or even right or wrong.

Although it takes more to become a good soldier, for most people, being qualified is enough.

They were all competent soldiers, but they were all dead. Vitus thought to himself.

He suddenly felt drowsy, just like when he was standing in the trench. He simply lay down fully clothed and closed his eyes.

"Aren't you going to chat a little longer?" Negui asked from the side.

"No," Vitus said to his ghost with his eyes closed. "I have to go to the nearby hardened prison to pick up recruits for the colonel tomorrow, so I'd better get some sleep tonight."

“Alright,” Negui said with some regret. “I was going to tell you who the man standing next to the colonel was, but since you’re going to sleep, never mind.”

"."

Vitus rose without a word, looking—or rather, staring—at the ghost, waiting for what would follow.

Neguy burst into laughter.

“He is one of my, well, how should I put it? An elder, let’s just say that. He was a good friend of my father and a good person.”

“Why did he board the ship?” Vitus asked. “Is he from the Ministry of Military Affairs?”

“You could say that,” Negui said. “As for why he boarded the ship, I’m still looking for the answer. Vitus, I initially thought he was coming to see me, but I was wrong. You see, that’s how people are; they easily pat themselves on the back.”

He shrugged self-deprecatingly, but his smile remained unchanged.

Vitus nodded silently, then suddenly asked, "What's his name?"

"Khalil Lohals".

"And what about you? What's your name? Don't try to fool me with the name Negui; I know it's not your real name."

The tall ghost slowly crouched down, gazing gently at the child he had watched grow up. After a long while, he sighed softly.

“You’re not qualified to know yet,” he said in a low voice. “But I can tell you other things, like your parents.”

Vitus's eyes widened, and for a moment his breathing became rapid, but in the end he didn't ask anything and just lay back down on the bed.

“Don’t you want to know about them?” Neguy asked.

"think."

"Then why don't you ask?"

“I’m scared,” Vitus said. “I thought I was prepared, but actually we can talk about it later.”

Neguy stood up and left without a word. His figure floated upwards through the walls, drifting through the interior of the Imperial Messenger, which was distinctly different from the construction of previous Imperial warships, until he finally arrived at the door of a cabin. He raised his hand, about to knock, when a chill ran down his spine.

Horus Lupecal lowered his hand without turning his head and quietly savored the moment.

He called out the person's name with a bitter tone and turned around.

"Conrad".

The Night King, dressed in black robes, smiled and bowed to him in greeting.

(End of this chapter)