40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 620 6. A joke that is not funny (6k)

Azrael pulled the trigger.

Without a doubt and with great determination, the Torchbearer snapped his fingers together, as steady as ever. The muzzle of the gun merely jumped up slightly, the recoil having been completely eliminated by the excellent design and his rock-steady left hand.

He aimed at the person - or the thing - whatever, but he did aim. Time slowed down and stretched at this moment, and the bullet flew out of the gun barrel with a whirlwind of killing intent, shooting at the enemy he had identified.
Then it was gently pinched by five fingers.

At the same time, the lion's roar had just reached his ears.

"Azrael, no!"

No? But why? The Dark Angel looked blankly at the bullet that had shot out of the gun barrel and was now casually held at the fingertips. The finger that was originally planning to fire again stopped involuntarily.

At the same time, a hoarse laugh was heard in the darkness, followed by a sound of flesh rubbing against each other that made one's teeth ache. The lion's spear was pulled out of its chest by the creature itself and held in its hand.

But there was no blood.

The weapon of the Primarch level hit a mortal man, even if it was a spear, it created a terrible hole in his body, but no blood flowed out.
Is it a monster? It must be, otherwise it is absolutely inexplicable.

Azriel stood up vigilantly, but suddenly realized that he was not actually injured - he was just knocked away, and the weapon flew out of his hand only because of an irresistible shock force.

He was not hurt at all. Upon closer inspection, the only thing that could be said to be damaged was his self-esteem.

Then he heard the lion's voice, but it was not as confident and majestic as before. Instead, it was extremely low, like a philosopher who felt empty and was sighing for his meaningless life.
"That is impossible," said Lion El'Jonson.

"Why?" the man asked gently.

He raised his right hand slightly, flicked his fingers, and spun the spear around so that the tip of the spear, which was shining with golden light, was pointing downwards. Then he raised his arm and pointed the handle of the spear towards the lion.

This was a very dangerous posture. As long as the lion had any other ideas, the weapon could pierce his body again. Azriel secretly expected this to happen, but was disappointed again.

The lion did not do so, nor did he even raise his hand to take the weapon. Instead, he took another step back.

For a moment, Azrael thought his Primarch was about to strike, but he didn't, and the other man - let's call him a man - twirled the spear again, driving it deep into the 'mud'.

Then, he turned around and looked at Azrael with the hole in his chest. Through the hideous wound, the Dark Angel could even see the uncertain face of his Primarch.

The man walked towards him, slowly but powerfully.

"I thought you'd need this." As he walked, he raised his right hand and showed the bomb to Azrael.

Azrael decided not to try to understand what he meant. He wanted to stop the man from moving forward, but failed because the world in front of him began to distort without any warning.

Countless bones slowly rose from beneath the flesh and blood. The terrible friction sounded almost like the wailing of the dead, and incomprehensible whispers came from the darkness.
Finally, there was that person’s voice.

"Take a deep breath, it will be fine soon. I'm so sorry."

Azriel did not accept his suggestion. Instead, he concentrated his mind and tried to break the formation, which he thought was just an illusion of some kind of chaotic evil magic. He did not know what consequences this would bring him.

Khalil knew, but he didn't even have time to stop it.

He only heard a muffled groan, and the young Dark Angel fell to the ground with his back facing up, his limbs twitching, and low roars coming from under his helmet.
Khalil turned around slightly embarrassed and said, "It seems that I made a very bad joke, Leon."

"Joke?" the lion repeated, staring at the huge hole in his chest. "You call this a joke?"

The lion had a gloomy face, holding a stone in each hand, and pressed them together, then suddenly exerted force. With a slight sound, sparks flew out, easily igniting the wood chips and igniting the flame.

Khalil sighed, took off his recently bought coat which had a hole in it, rolled it up and put it on his elbow, then slowly sat down.

Behind them, Azrael, still in a coma, was still mumbling in his sleep.

The lion glanced at him, then looked away and asked in a steady voice, "So, when did you come back?"

"Four years ago," Khalil said, with obvious relief.

"Four whole years? You didn't try to contact us?"

"No, a little longer than that. But, actually, I met Robert soon after I woke up, and then Sanguinius. You should have heard the news about the Five Hundred Worlds, right?"

The lion narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly: "I know, but I don't know about you. I have sent a fleet to the Ultramarine to support them."

"The Zerg are a tough enemy. Robert and his sons have almost single-handedly kept them out. In the past, we were unable to provide support due to the weakness of the Astronomican, but now it is different. Those Zerg must know who is the master of the galaxy."

"But this is not what I am most concerned about now - how did you get back, Caryl Rohals?"

"Sacrifice," Khalil said.

"Is that all?" the lion demanded.

The person he was questioning shook his head slightly, but didn't say anything more. But the lion would not let the question end here, he turned to talk about another matter: "The secret key sent through the data terminal of Banjo-1's legal department-"

"—it's me," said Khalil.

"But why do you know that?"

The lion stared at him, his jaw clenched, but it was only for a moment. He soon gave up trying to find out the truth, and a bit of fatigue suddenly appeared in his eyes.

"No, forget it. The most urgent thing is these aliens. What is the specific situation?"

Khalil smiled, and as always, this smile was not gentle, and he seemed to be very talented in this aspect. This smile was fleeting, and the lion looked at his face that had become as cold as a statue, and got the answer he wanted from it.

So he stood up and seized the spear in his right hand.

"So, what are we waiting for?" the lion asked seriously.

"I don't know how many you killed before I came, but this is a gathering place for them, and it is also the place where they will start a rebellion in the future. You slaughtered them all here. The purebred ones among them will definitely get the news and launch assassinations and riots in advance. We don't have much time left."

Before he could even wait for Khalil to reply, he strode over to Azrael and tapped the poor young man's helmet with the butt of his spear.

The latter's twitching suddenly stopped, and then he jumped up. Khalil could even clearly hear the subtle sound of the artificial muscle bundles in his power armor suddenly tightening.
"Go to the surface, Azrael, find a data terminal, and tell your brothers that I have permission to use lethal force against Banjo-1, targeting the Genestealers. I want them all on the surface of Banjo-1 within twenty minutes, and to maintain covert operations."

It took the Dark Angel only a few seconds to shake off the confusion brought on by his forced awakening, but he still wanted to ask questions.

"But, Primarch..."

The lion interrupted him calmly: "Just do as you are told, my son."

"Yes, Primarch." Azrael said in a muffled voice, then picked up his weapons from the ground and turned away without any hesitation.

Khalil looked at the figure with admiration, walked to the lion, and suddenly reached out and grasped the Spear of Dionysus.

"Hello, Ruth," he greeted quietly.

".Hello, Khalil." Russ answered slowly. "Promise me that you won't stab yourself with the Spear of Dionysus next time, okay?"

"I stabbed him," the lion corrected him, his lips tight.

He had a thousand or ten thousand questions he wanted to ask, but he said none of them. Lion El'Jonson had a singular focus, and right now, he was using it to hunt down the Genestealers.

Khalil smiled and finally followed up on what the Lion said half a minute ago: "We actually still have time."

He received a questioning look.

"The Genestealers are not a monolithic entity. Although their mental network and hypnotic psychic power are indeed very tricky, I still managed to find their weaknesses, such as using cheat codes to invade the Cogitator array."

"In other words, Leon, I have infiltrated the minds of these aliens. The pure-blooded ones among them have not yet discovered my arrival, let alone the situation of these hybrids who have not been integrated into the psychic network."

The lion frowned: "They were not incorporated? What do you mean? How did you do it?" Khalil replied softly: "It means that these hybrids are not regressive enough, and those who are regressive enough are not smart enough. As for how I did it."

"Well, on Sotha, 500 Worlds, I faced off against the best of an entire Hive Fleet. Is that a good enough explanation? Also, since we still have time - can we go get a meal?"

The lion looked at him in disbelief.
-
"Three portions of rich fish soup and a large portion of grilled fish," Khalil said. "Thank you, Lady Caterina."

The noisy sound in the Stupid Fisherman's House could not drown out his voice. The waitress nodded happily and ran to the kitchen with the menu.

The old sailor Hayd sat stiffly in the booth, not daring to move.

The day had started well, with a fish pie and then a meat pie. Then his employer made the one demand that took things to a drastic turn: to go to Government House.

Hayid took him there according to his duty, but he didn't know what his employer was going to do. A few minutes later, he saw his employer surrounded by several officials who came in hastily and were smiling.
Just like that, the tall and thin man who looked more like a teacher than an official was led away by those officials who had become fawning for some reason. A young staff member in a neat uniform ran out of the door right after him and found Haid.

The young man told him that his employer wanted Hayd to wait in the Stupid Fisherman's House, and that he had something to do and would be back soon.

The standard for this fast time is two hours.

Two hours later, the uneasy old sailor waited for his employer, a burly old man.

In such cold weather, this man was only wearing a long robe, the sleeves of which were bulging due to his arms. He was so strong, but he held a long wooden staff in his hand, which was out of place.

Haid was skeptical: Did he really need this stick to help him walk? Was it actually a weapon? But he didn't dare to ask the question out loud, after all, the old man was sitting next to him.
Moreover, for some reason, he always reminded Haid of his superior during his service, a colonel known as the "madman". In the imperial army with strict military discipline and severe punishment, he was one of the few who dared to disobey those obviously unreasonable tasks.

Haid remembered that he even dared to bring people to question the officials sent by the Ministry of Military Affairs several times, asking why they did not give them the correct amount of supplies, and where did the stews and drinks on the supply list go?

It was a wonder that the military officials had not thrown him into the Penal Corps for his defiance and disobedience. And, when Hayd was discharged, Colonel Madman was still in service, gray-haired and full of energy.

Hayd wishes he were alive now
He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice his expression changing with memory, but the other two people at the dirty wooden table noticed.

So, Hayd’s meditations end here.

A voice so deep and convincing that it could not help but come from above his head made the old sailor almost slide off his seat in surprise.

"What are you thinking about, soldier?"

"Uh, I, sir--!" Hayd stuttered, straightening up and almost standing up to salute.

This was an instinctive reaction. The tone of the old man's speech was too much like that of a military man. He must be an officer, or at least a sergeant major in charge of the overall planning of the company.
"Soldier?"

Haid took a deep breath, calmed himself down, lowered his head and made the Sky Eagle Salute in front of his chest.

"Corporal Hayid of the 23rd Company of the 77th Regiment of the Doom Guards sends his regards, sir."

"There's no need to be like this, Corporal. You've already retired, and the unit I served in is not the same combat unit as yours. You were very nervous just now, relax, we are not on a mission, we are simply waiting for our food in this tavern."

"Yes, sir," said Hayd.

His instincts kicked in again, which was the aftereffect of being in a system for twenty years. Haid thought he could forget it with time, but now he found out that he was wrong.

It was impossible for him to forget the days when he served. The vivid faces flashed before his eyes, and then the dark trenches with continuous artillery fire, the trembling light guns in his hands, and the enemies who were all strange but equally vicious.
The identity of a soldier slowly revived in this dying body, causing him to instinctively straighten his back in the chair and place his hands flat on his knees.

"Are you interested in telling me about yourself, Corporal?" the old man continued, and there seemed to be a hint of approval in his voice.

"My sir, what are you talking about?"

"Let's talk about the Battle of Soweto," the old man said. "Given your age, you should have been there, Corporal."

"In that battle, the Doomguard fought alongside the Dark Angels against the Second Battle Group of the Orks of the Halderan System. I remember this battle, and you fought bravely, but I only know about it from paper records."

"And you are an eyewitness. The 23rd Company of the 77th Regiment was one of the assault companies that faced the orcs in that battle, and the casualty rate reached 83%. You are one of the few who survived, and you even retired."

"But you're obviously not doing well, and I want to know what's going on. But if you don't want to talk, that's fine. I can tell you about my own life. Soldiers get together and talk about these things to pass the time."

Haid gave a wrinkled smile and suddenly clenched his hands.

He didn't want to say it, that was obvious, Khalil saw it all too clearly, but the lion didn't push him.

If other people who knew Lion El'Jonson knew the tone he had just used, they would probably be shocked - was that really the soft emotion that the Caliban people, who were known for their majesty and inhumanity, could express?
"Nothing much to say, sir, it's just a bunch of shit. Fought an orc and survived, got traumatized, had to retire."

"That's not the reason why you've fallen into this state." The lion, whose size had shrunk due to Kalil's psychic power, frowned suddenly.

"Everyone who survived the battle was awarded the Battle Hero Medal. You were a member of the Assault Company, so you should have received a Model Medal and an Imperial Star. Such honors are enough for you to find a garden world to spend the rest of your life after retirement. Why are you here?"

The old sailor sighed, finally raised his head and looked at the lion with his tired eyes.

"Sir, or sir, I don't know how to address you, please forgive me. You must be working in the Military Affairs Department? Military Discipline Department? To be honest, I don't care too much. I thank you, but please don't look into this matter too closely, it will not have any good results."

"Why?" the lion asked softly.

Haid did not reply. The waitress came towards them with a tray, unaware of the strange atmosphere in the booth. She put down the thick fish soup and two grilled fish, and left the booth, looking less happy than she had been at the beginning.

Apparently her father said something to her in the kitchen.
Haid took the lead and raised the spoon, putting the boiling hot thick fish soup into his mouth, eating it very quickly, as if he wanted to cover up something.

The lion still frowned, the anger between his eyebrows was very subtle, but it was still clear to Khalil. However, the lion did not vent his anger immediately like before, but instead picked up the spoon and began to taste the fish soup.

After he took a sip, Khalil asked with a smile, "How does it taste?"

"This manufacturing technique should be promoted in the military," the lion said calmly. "This technology can make fish meat free of the finest soft bones. The canned food distributed by the Military Affairs Department has never achieved this. I didn't expect to taste it here, and the price is so low."

Khalil shook his head, tapped the table with his left hand, and began to defend the Munitions Department.

"I'm afraid we can't blame them. A new machine that can remove fish bones requires money to manufacture, debug, and maintain. Not to mention that the Military Affairs Department doesn't actually distribute too much canned food. Synthetic nutritional paste is the main source of food."

"No need to make fire, no need to preserve the environment, and rich nutrition. This is the best rationing option. Moreover, the empire is too large, but the means of communication are too backward. Therefore, the promotion of any policy requires astronomical figures and an almost incalculable amount of time to accumulate."

"Being able to do something but not doing it is different from wanting to do something but not being able to do it, Khalil," said the Lion.

The conversation ended very quickly, and the voices were not loud, but Haid still heard it clearly, so he drank the fish soup even faster, as if he wanted to cover up something.

About ten minutes later, they finished their simple meal, paid the bill and walked out of the door of the Stupid Fisherman's House.

It was just past noon, and the gloomy sun was gazing at the earth through the gray haze. The miners who were changing shifts were wearily coming and going in this area where taverns were densely distributed. Some wanted to get drunk, while others wanted to fill their stomachs and then go home.

None of them, including Hayed, had any idea of ​​what was about to happen next.

He received today's payment in advance, and an additional waiting fee, and then his employer dismissed him. The old sailor seemed to have no objection to this, but his back was somewhat hesitant when he left.

He had questions to ask, but he didn't. He could have chosen to report Khalil's dinner conversation with the Lions to the Legal Department in exchange for a reward, but he wouldn't do it.

"Like I said, this is a man who knows his limits." Khalil spoke softly in the cold wind. "So, what could have brought him to this state?"

He turned around and walked into a dense steel jungle. The lion followed slowly, holding a long wooden staff in his hand, not even touching the ground, with a frown on his face.

"I want the answer as much as you do, Khalil. Once we're done with this, we can find it together. I hope it's a good answer, something like a programming error or an omission from the list, carelessness and dereliction of duty rather than deliberate framing and taking away someone's honor."

The lion took a deep, deep breath.

Khalil shook his head and quickened his pace, leading the lion to another underground lair full of hybrids.

At the same time, Azrael and his brothers also entered the underground system of Banjo-1.

(End of this chapter)