40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 629 12. The Past of Sovet (IV, One of the Two Courts)

The door was opened.

It's not easy for me to realize this now, I'm a little injured, so my reaction has become a little slow.

But make no mistake, that Necron ship didn't hit us, or I wouldn't have just been dizzy and had three broken ribs, I would have been a piece of space junk, cold, stiff, and floating in a spiral in the vacuum of space.

My injuries came from my mistress.

She mistakenly thought I pushed her down because I could no longer resist the price, the whispers. She thought I had let my guard down, lost my mind, become one of the millions who have fallen.

At that moment, she was so sad that she could hardly breathe. I could tell because her eyes had never been guarded against me, even in that situation.

Then she planned to shoot me in the head.

I struggled, resisted, tried to explain—and at the same time had to convince myself that even though she was breathtakingly beautiful in her sadness, I had to find time to savor her beauty, and now was not the time to admire her rare humanity.

I convinced myself and then I overpowered her. It took her a moment to realize the truth, and the sadness in her eyes immediately disappeared.

I gotta tell you, initially I only had one broken rib.

I looked towards the gate, and at the junction of darkness and light stood a man, wearing a neat officer's uniform and his military cap was straight, frighteningly straight, and a pair of ice-blue eyes were staring at me.

This gaze made me feel familiar, so I immediately realized his true identity. The door slowly closed, and the man began to walk towards us, and finally stopped opposite the iron table.

The lights came on, blindingly bright. He put down the documents in his hand, pulled out a chair and sat down, each step he took with a robot-like coldness and ruthlessness.

This makes me a little unhappy - hey, I'm not the kind of person who loses my mind when I'm unhappy, please remember this, okay? But I'm hurt now, and it's hard for humans to stay rational when they're hurt.

So I spoke before the hostess could speak.

"Excuse me, who are you?" I asked in a deliberately nonchalant tone.

The man looked at me, then unbuttoned the first button of his uniform and pulled out a pendant with the logo of the Tribunal shining. I cursed myself for being stupid and kept silent.

The man nodded to me. He didn't laugh, but I always felt that he was laughing at me. This may be my illusion. I hope it is an illusion. I don't like being laughed at.
He spoke slowly, his voice as grim as his face.

"Shefa." He spat out the name, then paused for a few seconds and uttered an emotionless official statement. "The trial is about to begin. Do you have any objections?"

I remained silent and shook my head.

My hostess placed her hands on the table. There was some metal on the wide cuff of her left hand that collided with the table for a moment, but Shefa didn't even look at it, still staring at her face intently.

This meant that he was focused and difficult. To be honest, all Inquisitors were like this, but this was the first time I was bothered by this quality in them - after all, this time, I was the one being judged.

"No," said the hostess. "Ask the question, Judge."

Shefa nodded and spread out the documents in front of us. The heavy papers rustled. I looked down and found that they were a special yellowish color and the surface was very rough.

This meant they came from Qiatar, a world far away in the Tempest Sector where people made paper for a living, and the whole world did the same.

The paper produced in Chatar is very popular in the empire. Firstly, it is tough; secondly, it is water-resistant; thirdly, it is not too expensive. As for the fact that it is thick and hard, and can even be used as a weapon in some cases, this feature is actually not a disadvantage.

Why do I care so much about this insignificant little thing?

The reason is simple, because I have to grasp every possible straw, okay? Otherwise, who the hell cares what type of paper he uses.

You see, after that neurotic Shroud-class cruiser fired its rechargeable guns at us, it moved away from where it was and hit another battleship anchored nearby.

The ship was the Edge of Reason, an Opalon-class battleship belonging to the Dark Angels Chapter, and the Dark Angels' Primarch, Lion El'Jonson, was aboard at the time of the incident.

He is fine, and so is the Rational Edge, but we are, because the Lion said he would hold us accountable for Corporal Haid's incident. He is going to board the ship and deal with it, and before he comes back, he hopes that we can tell the truth to Shefa in front of us.

Do you understand now? Lion El'Jonson! This is no small matter.

"First question," Xiefa said. "Name."

Is he serious? I thought in disbelief.

Okay, maybe he meant it. I exhaled.

The Inquisition is a large and loose organization, and the connections between the Inquisitors are not as close as most people imagine. In most cases, they only work within their respective jurisdictions, and then take a peaceful time to return to the headquarters to report to the Seal Holder.

The Milky Way is vast and full of darkness, but it's not really dangerous enough to have to live with your head on your belt every day. Cultists also need to eat, and they also need to earn money to buy ritual equipment.

Oftentimes, if you just keep an eye on the local black market, you can catch and kill these bastards before they can really accomplish anything.

Of course, this is just the normal working situation for me and my mistress. As for other people, like Xie Fa, he probably handles internal affairs.

Or, to put it another way, to people.

If my mistress and I are two guns that are used to kill cultists and demons, then this man is a butcher knife that is well versed in human physiology.

His posture, appearance, and even every detail of his movements were carefully designed to show a unique inhumanity.
Of course, it is also possible that he was born like this, who can say for sure?
He raised his hand and pointed at me. "Let's start with you, Mr. Renthal Sable. Name?"

I smiled and replied very politely, "Renthal Sable."

"What about you, ma'am?"

"Cyrano van der Leve," my hostess replied expressionlessly. "Can we get to the point?"

Shefa lowered her head, glanced at the document in her hand, and said calmly, "We have been at the point for three minutes, Ms. Dellefe."

"As early as the moment I pushed the door open, the four Dark Angels Librarians outside the room had already begun to review the memories of you and your deputy." "My questioning was just a trick to trick you into telling me your names. Your name is the shortest spell, both of you."

Oh shit.

I hoped he was joking, but I knew he wasn't. The second he finished his words, my nose started bleeding, very sticky and shiny. At the same time, the pain came instantly.

I can't even begin to describe how much this hurts, which is incredible because I've had many unbearable injuries in my life, some of which were very severe.

For example, during the desert runoff incident, our group of fifteen people was hunted down by the local lord for half a month and was finally captured. They planned to use me as a tool to execute me using ancient punishments and dedicate my blood and life to their gods.

It's a simple punishment, you know, nails? They had these magical nails, long, pointed, thin, made from the bones of twin babies.

I don't know how they do it, but I gotta tell you, it's not a good feeling when four spikes are piercing your brain through your eyes and ears at the same time.
And I have to say that even if there were four more nails, the pain would not be as great as the pain I am feeling now.

I twisted my neck as far as I could in the chair and looked at my mistress. Her eyes were bleeding, just as thick as mine, but different, her blood was almost boiling, snaking down and hissing on her skin.

I could even see the white smoke rising. I tried to call her name to calm her down, but I couldn't make any sound.
And Shefa was still talking.

"Please remain calm. The pain is only temporary and will soon pass. I am sincerely sorry for what happened to you two, but this trial is no longer an internal matter of the Tribunal. Do you understand?"

I rolled my eyes stiffly and looked at him.

"Mr. Sable."

He even nodded to me, this inhuman bastard with ice blue eyes. Damn it, I'm going to beat the shit out of you when I get out of this mess
"I'm sorry, but I don't think you can do this." The Inhuman Bastard said. "Also, please be prepared, I'm going to start asking questions."

Do you have any questions?
"Yes."

I want to see your mother.

"My mother is buried in Cappellio Cemetery, 1-97-A-772. You can find her using this number. If you really want to go, please bring me some flowers. I haven't seen her in a long time."

Ask me a fucking question!

"Are you loyal to the Emperor, Mr. Sable?"

What kind of question is this? I thought angrily - I'm not sure if my anger was conveyed to him by the Dark Angels' Librarians, because I still have some things to say, and those words are not very presentable.
But what made me angry was not the torture he inflicted on us, or the personal contempt he showed. I understood what he did, and if I were in his shoes, I would do the same.

The reason for my anger was very simple: this bastard was doubting me and he thought I was a traitor.

And I am absolutely loyal to the Emperor. Damn it.

Every day I survive in this galaxy, I am more loyal to him. The more darkness I see, the more I yearn for his glory.

Granted, some people who know me well might say that I have always been scornful of the state religion, and I won't deny that I just don't believe their talk of the Emperor saving us all one day.
He is already doing it, otherwise how are we alive?
But he is not God, at least not the omnipotent God described by the state religion, so there is only so much he can do. He has given us all he can give, and what happens next is up to us.

Humanity must save itself, I have always believed, and my loyalty is to the Emperor, for it is only through him that we are still alive today.

"Your ideas will cause the ministers of the state church to label you a heretic, Mr. Sable." I heard Shefa say this, and to be honest, I couldn't see his face clearly.

In my eyes, he is now just a blurry block of color, his face is blue, glacier blue, and there is a touch of gold on his head, that is where the Sky Eagle is.
This made his words somewhat funny, and I had an inappropriate urge to laugh.

Shefa seemed a little surprised, so he raised his hand - to my eyes, it was just blocks of color changing.

The pain then disappeared, and I couldn't help but burst into laughter, unable to stop myself from laughing at what was about to happen to me. My vision also returned to me, and Shefa was still sitting opposite me, nodding at me.

I ignored him and turned to look at my mistress, and found that she had also gotten rid of the pain and was no longer suffering.

The blood meandered, extending to her chin and spreading across the five scars on her face, crisscrossing each other, making her look as if she was wearing a mask made of blood.

She turned and looked at me, her eyes full of seriousness.

I understand that she has no intention of leaving here.

I held her hand and waited for Shefa's final verdict. This bastard did a good job. He was an excellent judge. In just ten minutes, he had dug out everything in our heads.
Most people would not allow the Astartes' think tanks to dig into the Inquisitor's memories. It is obvious that he is not someone who will be bound by rules.

I hope he can be more loyal to the emperor in the future.

If I do die, I want the Emperor to judge my soul. He can do it by scales or by feeling it with his hands, whatever, I trust he will make a fair judgment.

I am loyal. So is my mistress. I close my eyes and wait.

But the Emperor did not come.

I heard a voice give the order: "Open your eyes."

I did as he said. The majesty contained in this voice made it difficult for people not to obey any order he gave - or rather, it was difficult for people not to take his words as orders and execute them.
I felt as if I had been electrocuted, and a shiver ran deep into my bones. Fear? Perhaps, but more of an emotion was excitement, the excitement of seeing a Primarch in person.

He stood across from us, alive, not a statue, a painting, or a pale description in words, breathing, wearing armor, holding a spear in his hand, with powerful energy emanating from it, making my skin tighten.
My mind went blank and I didn't even know how to start talking.

Lion El'Jonson, the great lion.

He just stood opposite and looked at us.

What was he going to do? Stab us to death with his spear, or smash us to pieces with his gun? I shuddered as I imagined it, but the lion did not do so. He simply stepped to the left and stepped aside. An old man with a gray beard stood weakly behind him.

In an instant, I understood.

The trial continues.

(End of this chapter)