40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 613 130. Interlude: Old Brothers and Old Friends

Captain Vittoria of the destroyer Sword was in a strange state of uneasiness, as were her first mate and the sailors. Don't get me wrong, this was not because they were about to go into battle.

You know, the Sword has successfully completed 24 ordinary combat missions, and its merits have made it receive a comprehensive upgrade from the Mechanicus not long ago. Its crew members have also been promoted and commended, especially Captain Vittoria, who was awarded a "Guardian" medal for a special escort and exploration mission.

Therefore, from all angles, the crew of the Sword should not be nervous - after all, if even the extremely dangerous void naval battle can't make them tremble and stand up straight and pray to the Emperor constantly, then what else can?

Of course there are.

This event is called: The Meeting between Imperial Regent Sanguinius and Lord Roboute Guilliman of Macragge.

Correction: The meeting was arranged on the Sword, a two-kilometer-long boat.

Why the fuck is that?!
Vittoria roared in her heart, but she actually had a vague guess, which could be attributed to a name, or a specific image - a man in a black robe standing by a porthole not far away, staring at the stars.

He was tall for a mortal, with unusually broad shoulders. He should have been strong, but his body was thin under the black robe. His skin color and eye color were two other interesting things.

As luck would have it, Vittoria is now allergic to the word "interesting". If a doctor were to say that this allergy doesn't exist in the world, she would definitely pull out a gun and put it to his chin to make him admit that it does exist.

She took a deep breath, walked behind the man, and asked, "Why?"

Khalil turned around and gave a seemingly clueless smile: "What is it, Captain Vittoria?"

"Why are you--" The female captain took a deep breath again. "--It's you, right? It must be you."

"I was surprised last time why Lord Guilliman asked us to escort you to Sotha alone. I thought you were a spy or something like that, but now I think I was probably wrong. You are not a spy, absolutely not."

"And even if you are, you are at least a spy leader. So who are you? I beg you, sir, the Sword is just a small boat, it can't handle this kind of mission. Please have mercy."

Khalil shook his head regretfully and gave this answer: "I'm sorry, Captain Vittoria, I don't know what you are talking about."

The female captain gestured to him angrily and then left.

In his shadow, the voice of Conrad Coates sounded again.

"Mission 24 was interesting. Is that why you decided to intervene and arrange this rendezvous, Khalil? To have the two demigods meet on her ship so that the Sword can get a little mystical grace and avoid being sunk on Mission 25?"

"How do you know she will be sunk?" Khalil asked softly.

"I do not know."

"Then why do you say that?"

"Then why did you choose the meeting place here?" Koz asked persistently.

Khalil turned back and continued to stare out the porthole. A huge fleet was slowly approaching between the stars.

It was not until much later, when a shuttle sailed out from between the fleets, that Khalil answered the question.

"Because of her name," he said.

"name?"

"Yeah, the sword name is the shortest spell, don't you think, Midnight Haunter?"

He got a hiss of dissatisfaction, not words, just a threat. Khalil smiled and shook his head, and the bridge of the Sword became noisy and busy.

The first mate cursed and urged his men to move faster. The female captain was in her command seat, her face was very pale. The sailors were running around among the meditators, sweating profusely, wearing their uniform caps that they hadn't worn for a long time.
Khalil stared at all this and left the main bridge apologetically - in the normal way. He didn't even lighten his steps, but still no one noticed his departure.

He went down all the way, and after passing through the third deck, he saw the livid-faced Captain of the First Company of the Ultramarines, the Unconquerable Sun, Sol Invictus.

Captain Lieyang's expression at this moment could no longer be described as "ugly", but he was still an Extreme Warrior after all, and he could control his anger perfectly.
Until he saw Khalil.

"grown ups!"

Khalil paused and tried to turn around, but failed. Conrad Kurtz began to snicker.

"My lord! My lord!"

"."

"My lord!" The Unconquerable Sun roared as he walked up to him, bowed stiffly, and began to complain.

"I beg you! Please persuade the Primarch before Lord Sanguinius arrives. This is too rude. How could he arrange such an important meeting on a destroyer? And--"

He raised his arm and lowered his voice under the gaze of the ten victorious soldiers: "--There's not even a guard of honor!"

"If I can, I will help you, Captain Invictus. However, as far as the current situation is concerned, whether I go to persuade Robert or not, the result will not change. A shuttle is about to dock with the Sword, which means that the Regent is probably here, so."

Khalil concealed his true thoughts without leaving a trace, put on a helpless face, patted the forearm of Captain Lieyang, whose face was as pale as gold paper, and then left this deck and continued to go down.

There, at Robouti Guilliman's request, he was alone in the Sword's hangar bay two, waiting for his brother. Under the blazing white light, the Lord of Macragge, dressed in ceremonial armor, sighed deeply.

"You're not masking your footsteps as much as you used to, Khalil," he said, turning around.

"Or maybe it's just because I want you to be aware of my presence."

"is it?"

"Who knows?" Khalil said, with an ambiguous smile that he rarely used in the past.

Guilliman looked at him with a hint of surprise, but said nothing. He just lowered his head and began to adjust his ceremonial armor. The various medals hanging on his right chest made a series of noises as he moved, as did the ceremonial sword at his waist.

He frowned, and suddenly reached out to grab the cloak behind him. He gently exerted force, pulled off the precious blue and gold cloth, and began to fold it.

There was an obvious annoyance on that face, and the reason was probably very simple: he didn't like the ceremonial armor, especially the cloak, which was the part he hated the most.

Kalil counted for a few seconds, and sure enough, he heard Guilliman's complaint.

"I don't understand. I really don't understand why those excellent fashion designers would inadvertently use cloaks or capes when designing ceremonial armor." "Maybe it's for aesthetics." Khalil said. His tone was very cautious, just like a court butler. Guilliman raised his head and suddenly stuffed the folded cloak in his hand into his arms.

The two looked at each other and smiled knowingly at the joke.

Ten minutes later, the newest sealed door on the outer layer of the second hangar slowly cracked in the middle. Through the thick bulletproof glass, in the scattered steam, a gorgeous shuttle in gold and red slid gracefully into the hangar.

Another half minute later, the inner passage gate slowly lowered.

Roboute Guilliman strode forward.

Before the meeting officially began, he probably wanted to strictly abide by the etiquette and rules. The rule-abiding part of him was strictly reminding him not to lose his manners in front of the Regent of the Empire.

However, the person who appeared in this hangar was not Regent Sanguinius.

He did not bring anyone with him, not even a single person. The famous Sanguinary Guards were nowhere to be seen. He did not wear ceremonial armor like Roboute Guilliman, but only a white robe without any decorations.

Guilliman therefore knew that Sanguinius did not come as Regent.

He walked towards his brother, then ran towards him, and finally hugged him.

"It's good to see you, Sanguinius."

"Me too, Robert."

Guilliman released Sanguinius, and at this moment, his face was filled with a simple and pure power, which was very contagious. This expression should not appear on him, at least not before, but time will change everything, Khalil thought.

He stood there, staring at this precious scene calmly, watching the two Primarchs joke with each other like ordinary brothers, commenting on whether the other had aged, and then smiling at each other.

There must have been very few relaxing moments like this between them. Even if one could go back in time to the Great Crusade, war was still the main theme of that era. They could not relieve themselves of their responsibilities, so naturally they could not simply get along with each other.

Khalil suddenly remembered a newspaper he had read before. On the front page, it published an account by a chronicler of a meeting between the Primarchs.

The narrator used very detailed language to carefully describe the nobility and perfection of the Primarchs at the banquet, describing them as statues made of marble and gold, and also spent some time at the end to introduce the things at the banquet.
However, from beginning to end, he never wrote about the Primarchs eating or drinking. Perhaps he didn't pay attention to such trivial matters, or perhaps he subconsciously thought they didn't need it.

He looked upon them as gods and saviors.

But what is the truth?

Khalil lowered his head and tapped the ground with his heels, or rather, his shadow. Then, a voice that only he could hear began to whisper.

"No"

"What no?" Khalil asked.

"Don't even think about it."

"I haven't said anything yet, Conrad."

"I know what you want to say. You want me to go out and meet them. No, I don't want to do that."

"But why?"

The Night King sneered viciously from his throat: "Because I don't want to see that golden birdman! I will really go blind. I am a Nostramo!"

Khalil laughed silently but said nothing more, not because he didn't want to, but because another voice could do it for him.

The voice said, "Conrad, give yourself some time to rest."

A golden light flashed, and a tall, pale ghost appeared in the hangar, bringing a burst of moonlight. He looked very reluctant, but still walked towards him under Sanguinius's dull gaze.
-
"How's your recovery going?" Khalil asked.

There was no one around him. The Sword had many winding corridors, and most of the time, no one was here. Rumors of ghosts were common on every ship, and they were hard to stop.

This was all too normal, considering the smoke-filled, dimly lit environment and the hollow echoes coming from the walls.

Since ancient times, sailors have generally been superstitious. If people saw his current behavior, it would probably make the word "superstition" become true.

Just imagine, a ghost-like pale person, sitting in a dark corner, with equally dark eyes, talking seriously to a statue.
However, the effect would probably have been better if the statue had not been of the Emperor.

"I can't answer you with words like 'very good', my friend, but it's not bad. The power of hope is much stronger than I thought. It may not be as effective as other powers in killing, but it is special."

Khalil smiled and nodded: "Then that's enough. A power that is good at creation is always better than destruction. In this respect, you are much better than me."

"What's the meaning of this statement?"

Khalil raised his hands and clenched his fists towards the statue in a serious tone: "See? These hands can't farm or do carpentry work. They can only hold knives, swords and fists."

"I don't feel like arguing with you about this."

"Why? Because we always end up with nothing in this matter and can't decide who wins or loses?"

"Because Malcador is not here," the statue replied, trembling calmly. "I am missing a helper."

Khalil resisted the urge to laugh, slowly exhaled a breath of cold air, and his expression gradually became serious.

"So, what's your plan?" he asked.

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Oh, I only know that you thought the name of the sword was good and told me in advance - other than that, I know nothing. I'm not just talking about your plan, but also other things. There are many things I want to know."

The statue trembled again: "You just want to know whether the world has become a better place. And I want to say that we are working hard. We still need to work hard."

Khalil leaned back and squinted at the cold wall.

"As it should be," he said in a low voice.

(End of this chapter)