Warhammer: Black Emperor

Chapter 783 The idea jointly proposed by Nimrod and Saint Gilles
In the Cyriolet system, Nimrod's private pilot, Nelson, pilots the black Skyhawk shuttle towards the flagship of the "Blood Angel"—the Blood Tear.

Inside the passenger cabin, Ning Lu sat comfortably in a spacious seat.

Old Huang did not clarify the primary and secondary relationship between himself and Saint Geres during the war conference.

Considering that Saint Gilles had arrived in the Cyriolet system earlier and that the Blood Angels, who had deployed their main force, had two thousand more troops than the Shadow Order, which consisted of three warbands, he offered to visit the Blood Tear.

“It is truly a work of art.” Arsena Dunn gazed at the approaching void ship, which was majestic and magnificent.

The Primarch's servant's angled, overhead view reveals the origin of the Bloodtears' name: it resembles a teardrop.

The engines extending from both sides and the naval port wing panels, together with the hull, form the legion emblem of the "Blood Angels".

“Indeed.” Thierry Vieira, the lord of the Eighth Battle Group, nodded in agreement.

Despite being ten kilometers long, shorter than any of the Legion's four Glory Queen-class battleships, the Blood Tear was still a powerful warship, with its forward section densely packed with light spears, macro guns, and torpedo tubes.

The entire ship resembles a giant arrow decorated with bright copper, bronze, and red steel stripes.

The transparent dome at the bow of the ship looks like an unblinking eye, staring at the enemy.

Standing opposite him was Per Koscielny, lord of the 11th Legion, scrutinizing the Bloodtears.

Its surface evokes images of a vast, rust-colored desert, and he has heard of a catastrophic war that buried the home planet of the "Blood Angels," Baal.

The combination of the Great Destruction and the legacy of antiquity gives the Blood Angels a strong aesthetic sense—a sense of awe for the past and a bitter understanding of the cruel history.

Nimrod only took three people with him to the Bloodtears. "The Scroll Professor" Thomas was working with William Wood, the lord of the 12th Regiment and "Master of the Puppet," who was controlling the prophet of Mag Sisla.

The elegant shuttle passed through the ship's long hull and climbed toward the towers where the bridge was located.

The decorations on the upper edge of the ship's hull and the hull plating came into view: a golden human face with intricately carved curly hair, bronze patterns extending into the jet nozzle panels, and Baal idioms covering the entire surface of the ship.

The shuttle drifted into the cavernous hangar entrance, where several squads of the "Holy Blood Angels" honor guard were already waiting for the Primarch's arrival.

The sound of air pressure being released rang out, and the light hanging above the exit changed from red to green.

Ninglu strode down the deck and looked down at the warriors clad in pure gold armor who were waiting for him.

The plate armor gleamed like the hangar, polished to an almost glass-like finish.

His exposed face was sharply defined, much like the pilasters and statues surrounding him.

He bowed and said, "Lord Ninglu, welcome to the Blood and Tears Ship."

"I am Azcalon of the Holy Blood Guard, and the angel himself eagerly anticipates meeting you."

Ning Lu nodded with a smile, "I also look forward to this meeting."

He led the three men into the spacious room.

The square ceiling, supported by rows of cylindrical columns, is painted with the seal of the "Holy Blood Angels" home world.

Beneath the roof are embedded crimson walls depicting the "Holy Blood Angel" fortress monastery—Angel Castle.

A bronze vase sits on a brass table, and in the center of the room stands a basalt sculpture depicting an idealized human figure wrestling with a tumbling serpent.

Per felt a little uncomfortable; everything here was so symmetrical, arranged in proportion, exuding an obvious sense of harmony.

Symmetry extends even from the exquisite craftsmanship of the exterior to the underlying principles.

An architect must be a soul that combines rationality and sensibility.

Per looked toward the architect—Saint-Gilles.

He was not merely beautiful; his smooth, pale face resembled a golden mask adorning the outer armor of a flagship.

His only obvious flaw was his pair of snow-white wings; by the standards of most of the Empire's worlds, he would be considered a symmetrical mutant.

Only the God's mythology of the old night regards wings as a symbol of holiness, which is strictly forbidden by the Imperial Truth.

His movement toward the Black Emperor exuded a dancer-like sense of balance.

Saint Gilles holds a goblet in each hand, "to honor brotherly affection."

Nimrod thought of Saint Gilles' sudden shift from hit-and-run tactics to a full-scale assault when facing the crazed Nether Knights, "I admire the tacit understanding of fighting side by side."

He tilted his head back, drank the wine, and praised it.

"It has a rich, lingering, and full-bodied flavor that rivals fine wines from Baizance."

Saint Gilles gestured to him, and Nimrod followed him toward two enormous mahogany chairs covered in ivory.

Following him on the other side was his chief of blood, Radoron.

Radolon glanced at the Knight Lord, whose battle group had arrived at the strategic juncture before his own, achieving its strategic objective—drawing away the main force of Mag Sisla's Ark. Looking at Vieira up close, out of combat, he was struck by his immense size, far surpassing any Astartes he had ever seen.

Thierry felt Radolon's gaze, and his obsidian eyes returned Radolon's gaze.

The two of them instantly examined and assessed each other.

In the exchange of glances, they both read a pure fighting spirit in each other's eyes.

The two looked away and walked to stand beside their respective Primarchs.

Saint Gilles bent down and sat down, his wings folded up like a shimmering silver cloak.

He spoke with a sorrowful tone and a sigh.

"Think tanks play a crucial role in the fight against the alien mad witches, guiding the way through the fog and stepping forward to confront powerful alien psionicists."

"But they also made significant sacrifices for this..."

Saint Gilles paused for a moment before continuing, "Fifty-two men were killed in action."

Nimrod's golden wings closed, and the Burner fragments shone brighter than the Lumen lamps above his head.

"My think tank has lost 149 people."

The actual number of casualties among the "Shadow of Order" was forty-seven, while the number of royal monks who were known as the think tank was fifty-eight.

The remaining people are naturally an artificial increase.

Despite fighting alongside the "Holy Blood Angels," Ninglu spent most of his time operating in a dispersed manner within the fog, and he still managed to seize opportunities to exaggerate casualties.

The actual total number of deaths was 1,592, but it was inflated to 2,743, which is higher than the 2,186 deaths of the Holy Blood Angels.

"They are all experienced think tank members..."

Ninglu's eyes flashed. "They can no longer serve the Legion."

The Astartes buried in the tombs of the Dreadnought armored machines will suffer immense psychological stress from the neural interfaces.

Psionicists will die from endless madness and malignant psionic mutations, and may even tear apart their allies in a psionic explosion.

To date, no think tank has been fearless.

“We should share this information with Magnus and Chagatai and put forward the fearless idea of ​​researching applicable think tanks.”

Ninglu recalls that Magnus solved this problem with astonishing wisdom, creating the Ossilon Dauntless.

Before the Council of Nicaea, he selflessly shared his creations with his Primarch brothers, though most Primarchs refused to adopt them.

Saint Gilles' eyes lit up. "Great idea."

“We jointly sent them a battle report, explaining our thoughts.”

As Primarch Artena and Chief of the Blood of the Angels Radolon approached the console and began browsing the data panels, Saint Gilles looked toward Nimrod.

"I'm thinking of throwing the alien ark onto a star. What do you think?"

Ning Lu shook his head slightly. "It still has value."

"By studying it, we can uncover the secrets of the Xenomorph, which will help us fight it."

Sanguiles spoke with a somber tone, thinking of Hannibal, who was convicted of keeping alien creatures.

"Our father hates aliens, and we should uphold his principles..."

Ning Lu understood, "I understand."

"I will not overstep any boundaries; this is merely research."

Saint Gilles thought of Nimrod's principles of order and the order established in many worlds, and said nothing more.

While Nimrod was lingering on the Blood and Tears at the Five Standards, he exchanged experiences with Saint Gilles on rebuilding the Legion.

He boarded the black eagle shuttle and gave instructions to the silver-haired Primarch servant standing before him.

"The 12th Regiment and the think tank team remained in the Cyriolet system to study the remains of the Mag-Sisla Ark."

"I obey Your will," Arsena replied immediately after receiving the order.

"The Commander of the Silent Sisters has arrived on the Shadow of Thrones."

Upon hearing this, Ning Lu's eyes flashed. "I will meet with her in my office."

(End of this chapter)