40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 593 111. Interlude: The Old Folks (I)

"It was not until the Battle of Macragge began that I realized we were not at war," said Kefa Morag.

As he spoke, the noise continued to echo under the deck, a phenomenon caused by the roar of the engine, a steady noise. The distance and the designed soundproofing measures could not reduce it too much, but the soldiers in the hangar did not care at this time.

Their long military career had long made them accustomed to this kind of noise. The sound they felt when sitting in the Storm Eagle was much stronger than the reactor engine of Macragge's Glory - at least they were not in the engine room, and this was enough.

There were long cables hanging from the ceiling, passing through the main control panel on the second floor. Power maintenance tools were lined up on the wall next to the control panel, all emitting the smell of lubricating oil, and they had obviously been well maintained.

There were no shuttles or gunboats parked in the hangar, and even the mobility scooters provided for technicians and workers were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were a thousand Astartes wearing armor with different paint schemes.

It's worth noting that no one's armor appeared to be intact.

"Take the war we are familiar with as an example. We have codes and rules. We wear the most advanced power armor, hold deadly weapons, and go in groups to kill in another place we have never been to. Therefore, we must have honor in our hearts."

"Apart from the orders of the Emperor and the Primarch, it is almost the only thing that binds us. Some people have a conscience. I wouldn't say I have it, but I do have a sense of honor. But those... those bastards who were once Word Bearers, they don't."

"In Macragge, I saw them slaughtering civilians in the burning streets, gutting them, and nailing them to the doors of their homes or the walls, even laughing at them. I saw them letting the dogs loose—"

The Death Guard paused, as if recalling something, the wrinkles on his rough face increasing due to his emotional fluctuations.

"—A kind of dog-like demon, let them eat people. Everywhere there are disemboweled corpses, everywhere there are people screaming. From this point of view, they have not only violated our principles, but also abandoned the most basic principles of being human."

"Morality?" someone guessed.

"No." Kefa Morag denied with disgust. "Morality is the restraint that humans impose on themselves. They don't have it. They are no longer worthy of being called human beings."

"I agree."

A fire lizard took up his words. This person was sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding a power hammer that he had obtained from someone unknown, and was hammering on the edge of his left shoulder armor.

His hands were very steady, and each stroke was precise and quick, a pleasure to watch. His words were the same, simple, direct, and to the point.

"They would use people's blood to paint eight-pointed stars on the walls and streets. Those things would flicker, light up, and then distort. If there were corpses piled up around, they would suck them in, like a black hole."

"Then, some monsters we had never seen before jumped out from the center of the black hole. I knew at that time that they were performing a sacrifice. They used the blood of their own kind as bait to lure out the monsters in the nightmare and use them for their own purposes."

He was silent for a few seconds, shook his head, ended his speech, and finished his work. He stood up, walked behind an Iron Warrior, took the repair tools handed over by his brothers, and began to check the operation of his power armor.

The warriors made way for him, wordlessly and quickly. They acted and reacted as if they were still on the battlefield, not in the hangar bay of Macragge's Glory.
Moreover, in this battlefield, the war has not gone away, now is just a small gap before another battle comes. They must seize this little time and use everything they have to help each other.

"In general," Warsmith Narik Dregul continued the fire lizard's words and looked at an inconspicuous mortal in the crowd.

"That's all we know about Chaos. We know it's pure evil and feeds on human flesh and blood. But beyond that, we know very little."

"I understand." The mortal said. "After all, for you, the war has never ended. As for the passage of ten thousand years, it is probably difficult to feel anything real when you are in the stasis field."

"So..." The Warsmith spoke again. "What happened in these ten thousand years? Could you please explain this to us?"

Khalil began to search for words.

Perhaps because there were a thousand people staring at him, this became a little difficult. Many opening remarks passed through his throat one by one, then were rejected and fell into the abyss without a sound.

His silence was so deafening to these people that they began to feel that it was actually a rejection.
This made sense, as it was an open secret that the Eighth Army had an instructor. However, other than that, there was very little information. They didn't know much about him, so it was reasonable for them to make such an assumption.

Some people say that he is as tall as the original body, while others say that he is just a lucky ordinary person who became a so-called instructor just because of luck, and maybe even enjoyed a life-extending surgery.

In the eyes of these people, this instructor is the most direct proof that Conrad Koz, as a judge, was partial and perverted the law.

Narik disagreed with this statement, and he didn't understand where these people got the courage to play this kind of party-building trick on a primarch. As for the former statement, that Caril Rohars was as tall as the primarch.
The Warsmiths will say that this is not true, and that the instructors of the VIII Legion are actually of a higher rank than most Primarchs.

Narik Dregul recalled the scene at that time and his left hand instinctively clenched for a moment.

He looked at the man in deep thought, and was genuinely puzzled by his appearance at the moment. If his memory was correct, then Caryl Rohals was a giant of 4.2 meters in height.
He didn't know whether that appearance was transformed or born that way. In any case, he was a giant, completely different from the ordinary-sized mortal now. However, Narik's intuition told him that they were indeed the same person.

From the eyebrows to the expressions, and the temperament that no one can imitate
The war blacksmith unconsciously rubbed his palms with his fingers. The slight sound of steel friction eased his anxiety a little.

It was not until several minutes later that the person he was asking answered the question slowly.

"This is something that is difficult to explain clearly, but the alien named Trazyn probably told you about the specific matters on the way here, right?"

"Yes." said a fighting brother from the Salamanders.

His MK4 fine power armor and the complete version of the Ash Cloak revealed his identity - he was a member of the Pyrotechnics specially established by Vulkan, and he was absolutely meritorious. The dragon head relief on the side of the helmet was the best evidence.

This is also a notable feature of the Legion period. All the ancient power armors that have been passed down have a certain degree of honor decoration, some are exaggerated, some are low-key, and all kinds of styles are available. Their original wearers chose to use armor to express their merits and personality, which is basically invisible in the war group period.
The mortality rate of new recruits is too high, and they basically do not live to have such power. The few who are qualified will be rewarded and receive a set of fine power armor from their predecessors.

Few people would refuse such an honor, and coupled with problems such as unmanageable supply chains, the tradition inevitably fell into withering and decay.

Khalil looked at him, who immediately understood: "Tubak, sir. Sergeant, and assaulter."

He patted the power hammer leaning against his feet and the "Pyroblast" type flamethrower made by the Primarch himself, and forced a dry smile on his dark face.

He obviously didn't do this often, so this expression even looked like a threat. But he himself didn't realize it at all and continued to talk.

"The alien said that the Empire is in a critical situation, the Astronomican is deteriorating, and darkness is covering everything. I don't believe this bullshit it said, and I hope you can tell us the truth."

His brothers looked at this scene with concern. Some of them had already started trying to explain, but Khalil raised his hand helplessly to stop their good intentions and took over the conversation himself.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Tubak, but the alien was right. This is the state of the Imperium today. Only the very edge of the Five Hundred Worlds we live in can barely see the light of the Astronomican, and cannot benefit from its blessings."

"Robert Guilliman and the Ultramarines have held out here for 10,000 years, keeping an extremely dangerous and numerous alien species out—"

"——A large number?" someone couldn't help but interrupt. "More than the greenskins, sir?"

Khalil looked at the Iron Warrior, and Narik Dregul, who was standing behind him, also looked over. His expression became a little subtle, but his face remained normal.

"It's hard to say," Khalil told him. "If I had to come up with an answer, I'd say the aliens - the Zerg - are superior."

"Why?" the man asked persistently.

"Because once they appear, they are a huge threat that is hard to count, without exception. The orcs may need time to increase their numbers, but the Zerg do not. Their bio-factories can produce countless Zerg within a day."

"However, if the numbers are the same, I don't think the orcs will lose unless there is a void sea battle. The characteristics of their physiological structure can help them gain the upper hand in the tug-of-war with the Zerg."

"In addition, the Zerg's own Gestalt consciousness will also passively help the Orks win. They fight wars only to plunder biomass. If that consciousness determines that the biomass gained by continuing this war cannot compare to what they get, then they will retreat without hesitation."

The Iron Warrior thought for a moment and nodded: "Manek Kalchi, instructor, from the 103rd Company of the Iron Warriors."

"It's my honor to help you solve your problem, brother Manek." Khalil smiled at him, and there was gratitude in his smile.

Just now in the conversation with this battle brother, he discovered a new mode of communication that allowed him to avoid the trouble of organizing his words.
"Does anyone else have questions?" Khalil asked, looking around.

The tribune standing beside him with his sword in hand shook his head imperceptibly, looking somewhat helpless. This was not quite the same scene he had expected, but judging from the result, his goal had been achieved.

"I have it." A Death Guard said, as if he was imitating the Primarch. He also wore a respirator, and hung a few scattered metal cans on his waist belt. The surface of the cans was mottled, and through the observation window on the side, one could see some herbs that had dried up for a long time.

He spoke very hoarsely, not because of the respirator, but probably because his vocal cords had been injured. The soldiers tacitly made way for him so that he could walk in front of Khalil and tell him his doubts.

"Sir, I want to know the current situation of our legion." He lowered his head and looked directly at Khalil with his gray eyes. His posture looked like an interrogation, but Khalil knew that it was a request or even a plea.
He suppressed the urge to sigh and spoke slowly: "Unfortunately, I cannot tell you the exact answer because the legion has been split up."

"Split?" he asked, his tone seemingly calm. Discussions broke out among the crowd, and many people seemed to be unaware of the Astartes Codex.

This is something worth pondering. It means that many of those taken away by Trazyn were brought into the museum of the Codex Astartes before it was introduced throughout the Empire.
Khalil made note of the incident, silently preparing to settle the score later, and continued answering questions.

"Yes, split. After the Heresy ended, the Codex Astartes was promulgated under the joint promotion of the Primarchs and the Sigillites. The legion was split into one chapter after another to safeguard the territory of the Empire."

"The light of the Astronomican is fading little by little over the years, and the threat of Chaos is growing day by day. The huge size of the Legion can no longer be maintained, and it is not conducive to future operations."

"So, we, the Death Guard, no longer exist?" the man asked again.

This time, his voice was noticeably trembling.

The discussions around him came to an abrupt halt.

"Yes," Khalil said. "Of course the Death Guard exists, and for that matter—"

He paused for a few seconds, looked around, and suddenly smiled.

"--Okay." He shrugged. "You all seem to want to know about the Chapter, and I can't explain it clearly by myself."

"Fortunately, Robert Guilliman, who has always been foresighted, has set up a library on Macragge's Glory. I think the Lord of Macragge will not have any objections if I just look up the information."

"Please take us there," Kefa Morag said firmly.

(End of this chapter)