40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 697 79. Interlude: The Cabinet Maker, the Toy Maker, and Kumiss
Khalil didn't use the teleportation beacon often in the past, but the reason was not because he didn't want to, but because there was no need to do so in most cases, and some subtle teleportation accidents always happened to him.
Therefore, he actually felt unfamiliar with what was happening now, but at least one thing was certain - the teleportation technology in the fortieth millennium had made great progress. At least there would no longer be a strong smell of rust between his lips and teeth, and his fingers would no longer switch between transparency and solidity.

In fact, it was more like something that happened in an instant, the blue light came on, the blue light went off, and he was taken to another fortress in the solar system.

The pale light here is not glaring, but it is definitely not peaceful or pleasant. The ground is not decorated in any beautiful way, just pure steel.

They were not even polished originally, but became smooth with the passage of time and people. The energy transmission cables and the curved heat dissipation and exhaust ducts quietly stayed in the blind spots of vision or in the dark places that could not be reached by lights in a practical and orderly manner.

Only those who look carefully here can notice this carefully processed pragmatism, which is not art, but far more than art. The designer does not seem to expect to win praise from any careful observer, because he does not give any other reward.

And another thing—there are no windows.

Khalil smiled, at the familiarity of the style, and at what was about to happen. He turned around and saw another piece of steel between the steel.

His smile disappeared.

"Long time no see." Perturabo nodded at him, his chin slightly raised, his face expressionless. "You're here quickly."

He was wearing a black robe, simple in style but heavy in texture. Both of his hands had been replaced with metal prostheses from the elbows down, with many different emblems and names forming a complex pattern, blending naturally into one, filling the entire surface in relief.

His right leg suffered the same fate, silver from the knee down, artificial muscle bundles trying their best to imitate the original body's muscle lines, but in the end it was just a copycat. A scar ran from the eye socket all the way down across the right side of his face, ending before the upper lip.

The murderer only needed a little luck to split his entire face in two.
"Maybe it's still not fast enough." Khalil resisted the urge to sigh and answered in a solemn and serious tone.

"It is enough," Perturabo said unconcernedly. "It is enough that you have returned. Follow me."

He turned around and walked steadily to the other end of the hall without any other conversation. Khalil followed him silently, and the joy he had just felt was completely gone.

Just two minutes later, the Lord of Steel led him to push open a heavy brown wooden door, and the world behind the door was completely different from what he had seen before. The well-maintained wooden floor under the crystal dome reflected the flames in the fireplace, creating a calming light.

The dome is carved from a single piece of crystal. Whoever the sculptor is, he or she must have extraordinary patience, skills, and most importantly, vision.

Ordinary artists can only carve dragons and draw phoenixes, but this crystal is different. The new form it has acquired is a whole star map, which encompasses the entire galaxy. Every planet is in line with their position and appearance in the real world.
Suspended by invisible strings, the crystal ball can even be moved manually. It is undoubtedly a treasure that is extremely suitable for scholars, generals and ambitious people.

This made it the most eye-catching thing in the room, but Khalil's focus was not on it, but on two rows of wide bookshelves, a workbench piled with many unfinished works, and a messy and huge bed.

Khalil turned his head and asked half-jokingly, "Didn't you say you wanted to meet me in your private reception room? This doesn't seem like the right place."

"When I designed this fortress, I didn't consider that I would need a private reception room. It would be too much of a fuss to temporarily vacate a room. Or do you think this place is not qualified?"

"How dare I be so ungrateful."

Perturabo seemed amused by this reply—he sneered with amusement and immediately pointed to one of the three armchairs by the fireplace.

They were also made of wood, with a stable and solid brown color, and the overall lines looked very comfortable. One of them was of mortal size, with its back facing the fireplace, and a medium-sized woven basket leaning against its feet, with wine waiting quietly in different glass bottles.

Khalil walked over, took off his heavy inquisitor's coat, untied his belt, and put them on the back of the chair. Then he slowly sat down and immediately asked questions.

"I suppose these chairs are not your work?"

The Lord of Steel, slumped majestically in his chair, cast a look that was not quite angry, but definitely not gentle either.

"Rogge?" Khalil continued to guess.

"Yes, that's him." Steel sneered. "A well-known furniture craftsman."

"What's that called? Well, if he's a cabinetmaker, what about you?"

Khalil raised his hand and pointed to the workbench not far away. He had noticed the small objects on it since he entered the room.

"What kind of craftsman are you? A toymaker?"

Perturabo's smile turned expressionless, but he was not angry, but turned to thinking. He raised his right hand, supported his chin, and subconsciously rubbed the wound on his face with his fingers. Obviously, this has become a habit for him when thinking.
"You could say that," the Lord of Steel said thoughtfully. "I did design a lot of toys for children and teenagers, and Zhongsi Academy used them as rewards for those with excellent performance in the year-end assessment."

Khalil raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"What does that look of yours mean? Don't you believe it?"

"No, no," Khalil chose his words carefully and answered him slowly, even cautiously. "I'm just curious about what the toys you designed would look like."

Perturabo nodded expressionlessly, stood up and left his seat, walked to the workbench and took away three things: a black cube, a hilt, and the most eye-catching thing - a small armored vehicle that was much larger than the primarch's palm and extremely exquisite.

He sat down, placed them on his knees, picked up the black cube, and began to explain.

"These are all experimental works. They have not been officially named yet. Take a look at this first. My think tanks helped me design it. When psychics hold it, they will receive different digital instructions. They need to input their own psychic energy, control the output, and then correspond to the correct number."

He held out the cube.

"Try it."

Khalil reached out to take it, and felt a gentle tremor the moment he touched it, and then a monotonous voice sounded in his heart.

"Please enter one."

Well, this might be a bit difficult.

Khalil concentrated his attention and separated a small amount of spiritual energy, injecting it into the cube. The dark top of it suddenly shook like liquid, and then floated, forming an ancient number, one, a simple one.

"It can go up to fifteen," Steel reminded.

Khalil understood what he meant, so he did as he was told. It didn't take him long to count from one to fifteen, just half a minute. When the number fifteen floated up from the top of the cube, a stronger vibration began to spread. The cube began to disintegrate.

The darkness faded, and the glitter of gold and silver appeared. Its shape changed, as if an invisible sculptor was working quickly with hammer and nail.
When the darkness faded completely, the cube disappeared, leaving only a small bust of the Emperor, lying in Khalil's hands. It had closed eyes, a crown instead of laurel on its head, and a calm expression that gave people confidence.

"That's amazing." Khalil exclaimed in admiration.

"Not worth mentioning," Perturabo said. "But the cabinetmaker criticized the work, saying that it lacked the reward, the joy."

"I don't understand what else he wants. Although the psykers in the Zhongxi Academy are still young, they must be devout believers. Nothing would satisfy them more than a statue of the Emperor that belongs to them alone."

"It doesn't matter. Let him do what he wants. He has some unfinished designs anyway. I can criticize them later. Now, the second one."

He raised, or rather, grasped the hilt with two fingers, but the demonstration seemed to end there. The wooden door was pushed open, and Rogal Dorn, the Primarch of the Seventh Legion, strode into the room.

He still had white hair, and his steps were firm, like a boulder jumping from a cliff into the valley. He wore gloves and boots, and a consul uniform that was different in many details from ten thousand years ago. The place on his chest where the badge should have been was blank.

As soon as he entered the door, he walked quickly to his seat.

The other two looked at him silently.

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Dorn didn't seem to want to speak first, and even though he was sitting in a chair with soft lines, he still sat upright.

His back was straight, and his shoulders didn't sag at all. It looked like a broad sword, piercing straight through his uniform, bearing all the weight underneath.
The master of the giant sword stared at Khalil seriously, his eyes like a miracle carved by a stone sculptor with his life's work, deep enough to be compared to the darkness of the stars. After a long while, he slowly nodded.

The giant sword fell immediately, and the muscles supporting his back relaxed. He leaned back, his posture becoming relaxed. His right hand naturally dropped, and he reached out to take out a bottle of wine from the wine basket at his feet, then pulled out the cork directly, tilted his head back and took a big gulp.

"I have a cup here," Perturabo said coldly.

Don ignored this and continued to drink, or rather, to drink the precious white wine like water.

He didn't care how much manpower and material resources it took to get here, nor did he consider what expectations the craftsman who brewed it had for it. He just drank, just drank, like a person who had been thirsty in the desert for four days without a drop of water, his throat rolling, not stopping for a moment, until the last drop of wine was swallowed into his stomach.

Khalil, who was sitting next to him, clearly saw the scars on his neck that were exposed because he tilted his head back.

".I'm so thirsty." Dorn put down the bottle and spoke in a low voice, his voice seemingly unaffected by the wound.

"If you are thirsty, go drink some water instead of wasting my collection here. You are just wasting it."

Perturabo expressed his opinion impatiently, but reached out from the basket at his feet and pulled out another bottle of wine, handing it to his brother.

It was not like the bottle of white wine that Dorne had drunk before, which had a luxurious bottle design. It was just a dark glass bottle with a hand-painted sticker on it. Someone had written four big words in cursive on it: Strike hard into dreams.

Dorn took it, looked at the bottle, and then shook his head: "You should let your chapter leaders taste these dangerous moonshine less and name them less."

"Dangerous? I am not sure whether this wine is more dangerous or you memorizing my Chapter Master's handwriting, Rogal Dorn. After all, this wine is only half mead."

Khalil listened to their conversation, lowered his head silently, and took out a bottle of kumis from the wine basket at his feet.

In the empire, it is known as drinkable gold, and its high price has attracted countless wandering merchants to flock to Chogoris over the past ten thousand years.

At this point, wandering merchants who consider themselves to be of high status would even try their best to invite one or two Chogorians to board their ships and become full-time winemakers.

The kumis obtained in this way can no longer be called a commodity, but a table treasure provided only to distinguished guests.
Carlile shook the bottle and put it close to his ear. This glass bottle must have been specially designed. The sound of the wine shaking in it and hitting the wall of the glass was like a breeze blowing across the grassland, which made people feel comfortable as soon as they heard it.

But before he could drink, he was interrupted.

"Cup, cup!" Perturabo said angrily. "Forget about him, but are you thirsty too, Caril Lohars? This is kumis brewed by Chagatai himself!"

"."

"I agree, this should be drunk from a cup," Dorn said, his voice suddenly becoming hoarse. "But it's also fine to drink it straight. Chogoris don't have that many rules when it comes to drinking."

Perturabo turned to him, a smile of triumph on his face. "You seem to be unfamiliar with the customs of our brother's homeland."

"is it?"

Dorn shook his head, not wanting to argue with him. He just reached out and picked up a normal-sized wine glass from the round table beside him, and then stretched out his other hand to take the kumis from Khalil's hand.

The cork was pulled out, and the fragrant aroma immediately poured out of the bottle. The aroma was so mellow that even Khalil, who had a dull sense of smell at the moment, could not taste more at the first time. He only smelled a strong milky aroma.
It was not until Dorne poured the wine into the goblet that the aroma of the wine escaped and mixed with the previous aroma, forming an even more wonderful taste that made one's fingers tremble and lips and tongue salivate.

"Try it," said Dorn, handing over the glass.

Khalil took it and sighed, "Haven't you had a rest in a long time?"

"Why do you say that?" Dorn asked.

"intuition."

"For him and me, rest is the greatest luxury in the world." The Lord of Steel said, his expression still calm. "So don't say anything more, drink, Caryl Rohals - we only have a few hours."

Khalil stopped talking, just raised his head and drank the first mouthful of kumis in his life. It was mellow and had a milky aroma, and then immediately turned into a burst of scorching heat, completely enveloping every taste bud.
He raised his glass again.

"Here's to you," he said.

(End of this chapter)