How can a retired savior be considered retired if he drops to 40,000?

After the round, he patted the slender arm that was strangling his neck, and jokingly asked Fujimaru Ritsuka who was hanging on his back: "If this were a real fight, would you want to strangle me to death with this move?"

The opponent's weight of less than 50 kilograms did not cause any effect on Fulgrim who was on guard. He had never tried it before, and he did not think that he would be easily strangled to death by this weight. But Fujimaru Ritsuka loosened his hand, jumped down from his back, and gave him an unexpected answer: "No, I don't think we will be strangled to death easily. At least I am sure that I can continue to move for at least three hours without oxygen. Broken cervical vertebrae should also cause paralysis for us, but it is only a temporary disability, not a fatal injury. As long as the bones can be straightened, we can just lie down for a few days and it will be fine."

——For the Primarch, these conclusions were not surprising. The surprising part was, how did she know?

Fulgrim must have asked the question without thinking, because Fujimaru Ritsuka answered him naturally, as if he was talking about what books he had read as extracurricular reading materials the day before. "A long time ago, I was cast into a quick-drying permacon block by a noble on Nostramo and stayed inside for three hours. It was a good position to eavesdrop, but there was no light around, and I couldn't move or talk. It was really boring, so I escaped after hearing the information I wanted to hear."

"What?!" Fulgrim was sure he had screamed out loud without ceremony. "You have been - what?"

"Oh, come on, it's nothing to be surprised about - I mean, thank you for your concern, but I did it on purpose knowing that nothing would happen, so - you see, I'm fine, and I don't care about it at all." Fujimaru Ritsuka walked around in front of him, smiling as she answered. That smile was normal, nothing to complain about, but in that context, Fulgrim felt that his sister's smile looked very wrong.

He did not immediately realize where the source of this abnormality was, because he was busy changing the subject and trying his best to appear to not care about the previous episode. Fulgrim turned to ask the other party what actions they would actually take at the end of the previous round if they were enemies:

"If you don't incapacitate me quickly, your strategy will actually put you in danger." He tried to bring his thoughts back to the present. "You are small and light. I can pull you down and throw you out in one go."

"I'm not sure, but I think if this is a real battlefield, I won't just have a sword that disappears when I throw it away." Fujimaru Ritsuka followed his words and returned his thoughts to the practice in front of him. "I will definitely find a way to attack the cervical vertebrae at the moment of approach. Even if destroying the central nervous system cannot completely kill the enemy, it will always create a flaw - the premise is that what I am facing at that time is called 'cervical vertebrae'."

Fulgrim also laughed: "Although the galaxy is vast and the aliens are diverse, the physiological structures of most of them are still traceable to us."

For a moment, he actually wanted to question whether Ritsuka Fujimaru's slender wrist could break his neck in a few seconds, but he swallowed this impolite question in time. In the short practice that day, he had fully realized that although Ritsuka Fujimaru looked only the size of a mortal, it was only "looks". That petite body undoubtedly carried the wisdom and strength of a Primarch, and the blunt practice sword that was half-inserted into the bulkhead behind Fulgrim was proof of it. As long as Ritsuka Fujimaru wanted to do it, there was no reason why she couldn't do what the other Primarchs could do, even if there was only one heart beating in her chest -

"I was underestimating her," Fulgrim realized suddenly. "She was so small, and had significant organ deficiencies, that I assumed she was physically inferior to me - I questioned her ability to do what I could do."

At that moment, he suddenly realized the source of his fleeting feeling of disharmony:

There was a hint of pride in Fujimaru Ritsuka's smile. It was rare, but Fulgrim would not mistake it, because he himself had shown a similar expression before, and he had also seen a similar expression on Ferrus.

That is the emotion that naturally emerges when a person displays his most proud weapon.

"A sword has two edges, Akuldona. You and I both know that if a double-edged sword is not used properly, the user will cut himself." In the corridor of the Terra Palace, in the core of the empire guarded by the Imperial Guards, the Lord of the Third Legion, who had successfully convinced himself, explained to the court swordsman who still seemed to have doubts with a just the right smile, "But if it were you, do you think you would be hurt by the sword in your own hand?"

"You're joking, my Lord." Akuldona didn't know why the topic turned to this, and answered a little dazedly, "If you're not talking about a sword that's so strange that it doesn't look like a sword, then of course I'm confident that I can control it with ease."

"The same is true for my sister." Fulgrim released his wrist, no longer considering the matter as anything to worry about. "She is an undisputed master in her field, and she clearly knows how to use her sword."

Akuldona instinctively turned back to try to confirm something - in fact, the team had already turned the corner, so of course he saw nothing. He was unable to follow the metaphors his Primarch was making on this topic, and could only mutter in a daze:

"But, she didn't bring a sword just now?"

(Sleeping like a leopard curled up in the quilt)

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 183 It’s OK if the Primarch returns, everything will be fine (3)

When the narrator Erin Ares boarded the Nightfall with a feeling somewhere between awe and fear, she expected to be greeted with some excessive visual shock.

The reputation of the Night Lords has never been good, whether before or after their Primarch's return. There are some rumors that are not only circulated among the narrators, but the versions between the narrators are more detailed, saying that they love to torture their enemies and always spread their terror indiscriminately. This cruel tendency has become even worse after their Primarch's return. This female narrator thought that when she stepped off the shuttle, she would see some clues in the decoration of the Legion's flagship. Unfortunately, the scene in front of her was so ordinary that she was even disappointed, even though she herself could not explain what she was expecting.

The hangar contained only the shuttle that brought her here, various common instruments and devices for detection and docking, two armed helicopters that seemed to have missions and corresponding spare ammunition. The servitors came and went along the established routes, preparing for their takeoffs. Two people in pilot uniforms held or clamped their helmets and walked around the vehicles to carefully check every detail. Except for the slightly dim lights around, and the colors of the walls, equipment and personnel uniforms were mostly midnight blue, this place seemed to be no different from any other hangar of the legion flagship in a state of readiness.

But in fact, Irene had never seen the hangars of other Astartes Legions.

This was her first time submitting a boarding application to such a purely violent organization in the empire, and it was completely on a whim without any prior research. She originally thought that she could only get permission to board any unimportant ship, but she didn't expect to be taken directly to the flagship by the shuttle sent by the legion.

She turned back to take one last look at the pilot of the aircraft. He was sticking his head out of the cockpit and shouting, asking the servitor below for fuel. The Legion was currently in a state of readiness, and Irene guessed that he might have other tasks besides transporting her. But after the pilot noticed her gaze, he still took the time to make an encouraging gesture to her:

"You actually applied to come here on your own. I really think you are crazy." This was obviously not a compliment, but judging from the tone of his words, Irene was not inclined to think it was a derogatory evaluation. "But I am optimistic about you. If you want to stand out on this ship, you have to be a little crazy."

Irene couldn't see his face under the pilot's helmet, but from his tone, he was obviously laughing. Obviously, he also considered himself one of the "madmen", but unfortunately, this was something Irene realized a few days later. At that time, Irene was overwhelmed by the nervousness of "boarding the flagship" and her mind was almost unable to work. She just nodded to the pilot randomly, then turned around and walked towards the exit of the hangar according to the guidance of the servitor. She didn't know his name, and she was not sure if she would see this pilot again in the future. The Nightfall was at least as big as a city. In order to drive this behemoth and enable it to play its due role in the war, it needed too many people. Even as a narrator, Irene could not confirm the future stories and final outcomes of every person she had contact with.

Under the guidance of the servitor, she passed through several safety gates that were only used when launching aircraft, and left the hangar. In a cabin a little further away, she saw another person waiting for her—a tall, thin mortal man with long gray hair that fell roughly behind his neck. He was wearing a retro, gray-colored striped suit, and his temperament was melancholy and gloomy. The only bright colors on his body seemed to be his red sclera and scarf.

"I'm Antonio Salieri, the chief narrator on the Nightfall and the chief music master of the Midnight Lords." Without much greeting, he introduced himself to Irene in this straightforward manner for the first time he spoke. "Your timing is very unfortunate. The Eighth Legion is preparing a war operation in orbit to demand surrender. Most of the resources and manpower have to give way to this. Otherwise, your arrival would be worthy of a welcome party."

He didn't wait for Irene's reply, but turned and left. Irene was stunned by the title of "Head of the Palace Music Master", which sounded like she could meet the Primarch. She stood there for five seconds, and the other party had already walked several meters away. Only then did she remember that she should jog to catch up.

"I am the narrator Irene Ares. My main focus is video recording. I am good at both video and simple images." She held the camera nervously, not understanding why the person who was responsible for welcoming her, an unknown person, was such a person who obviously had some status on the ship. Her tense nerves made her brain blank. At this moment, she was completely mechanically looking for something to say, "But perhaps you already know this from my application form, Salieri, sir."

"'Salieri' will do." The head of the court music master did not react to Irene's overly nervous attitude. He just calmly corrected her on the way. "I am not someone who deserves to be honored. I am not worthy of the two positions I hold. The reason why I can still live here is only because of the Primarch's nostalgia. You don't need to have excessive respect for me."

"But..." A sense of disharmony that Irene herself could not accurately identify forced her to refute before she thought about it, but the other party seemed to know what she was going to say and quickly interrupted her unfinished words:

"It's not that I'm being unnecessarily modest." From Salieri's tone and demeanor, even a narrator like Irene, who was best at observing and capturing subtle details, could not catch any trace of his emotional fluctuations.

When Salieri said these words, he had no regrets or remorse, nor was he grateful or happy. He was just as calm as the mirror-like surface of the water, as if he was just reiterating the well-known fact that "one plus one equals two": "As the chief narrator, I can only do a little bit of the job of passing on the request to the primarch; as a court musician, my level of playing instruments is also mediocre; as a composer, I haven't written any works that can be accepted by the hall for a long time. As a narrator, perhaps you will achieve more than me here in the future. At least as another artist with a different field, I have such expectations of you."

Salieri's confession was too calm for an "artist" to have, but it was also an abnormal problem that Irene gradually realized later. While conducting all of the above conversations, Irene noticed something else: they had passed through a steel corridor, boarded an elevator, and came to the upper deck. After walking this section, Irene could roughly determine that it was not just the hangar, but other places on the Night Veil were also dimly lit - the number of lumen lights met the Empire's architectural standards, but at most only one-third or one-quarter were turned on, and the shadows cast by the slanted light made everything seem shrouded in a hazy twilight that was about to come.

The artist's overactive mind made Irene connect the scene in front of her with the name of the ship, but the limitations of mortal body functions only made her feel that her vision was blocked. The physical difficulties dragged the narrator's thoughts back to reality without any romanticism. In addition, the topic that Salieri started was obviously too heavy for a strange conversation partner. Irene chose to start another one with her current question: "I noticed that the light on this ship is... a little dim. Is there any reason for this?"

Before the question came out, Erin had imagined a few possible answers, most of which revolved around some kind of negative atmosphere related to fear of the unknown, but the real one was more boring than she could have imagined.

"After the transformation, the Astartes of the Night Lords are more adapted to this kind of light in terms of their physiological structure." Salieri's tone was as flat as ever. "Their vision can see everything clearly in almost no light. In contrast, they will feel uncomfortable in strong light. The ambient light intensity we have seen so far is the result of a compromise between the Astartes and the mortal crew, which both sides can barely accept. In areas such as the Narrator's Living Area that are used more by mortal crew members, the number of lumens enabled will be greater. In contrast, in the Astartes Living Area, there is almost no lighting."

"The ecological park is also bright. Most plants need sufficient light to grow." Another low, eerie voice suddenly interrupted their conversation. Irene was startled by this uninvited voice - she literally jumped up from where she was, jumping from one side behind Salieri to the other, almost throwing the camera in her hand, and the untuned scream was stuck in her throat. Even she herself couldn't tell how many unformed images ran through her mind at that moment, until the next moment, the low voice laughed hoarsely.

"Captain Sevitarion." Salieri turned around and accurately called out the name of the person in question in the shadow behind the two men. "Please do not threaten the narrator on the ship again and again. Theoretically, they are here as guests. Your behavior now is obviously not a good way to entertain guests."

"I'm sorry, but Nostramo's hobbies are low-level. Scaring newcomers is one of my few pleasures." The monster said, walking out of the shadows with a self-deprecating tone. "Also, I'm no longer the company commander three months ago."

Out of some kind of artist's instinct, at that moment, Irene activated the camera in her hand in awe, connected it to the recording device on her retina, and recorded the scene in front of her completely: in the dim light of the corridor, what appeared in the light that mortals could clearly see was first the bone-white skull pattern on the giant's breastplate, then the dark red wings on both sides of the pattern, and then the entire huge and hideous dark blue power armor that almost melted into the black background. The Astartes, who appeared aggressive at such a close distance just because of his size and body shape, waved his hand armor that was painted in bright red and was out of tune with the rest of the armor, and corrected Salieri that he was currently just a sergeant serving as a commando leader and could not get ground combat missions for his team. In normal times, Irene might say that the humming sound produced by the operation of the Astartes armor that could be easily captured in the background of the conversation was an annoying noise for video recording, but now, it seemed like the breath of death to her.

Irene had heard that some people, when in close contact with Astartes, would suddenly find themselves suffering from a disease called "superhuman phobia" and collapse to the ground due to excessive tension and fear, unable to complete any actions on their own. She used to think of it as a psychological disease that only appeared randomly in certain individuals, just like giant phobia, void phobia and other things, which had nothing to do with personal will, but a defective code in the genes that emerged inappropriately in these poor people. But now, she began to understand that this problem had nothing to do with the defective code in the genes, and it was natural for those with fragile hearts to show similar symptoms. The existence of Astartes itself is the embodiment of violence and killing, and perhaps in the case of a soldier of the Night Lords Legion, there is also terror. This is an ethereal but real temperament that cannot be conveyed by images and videos translated from telecommunications signals, and it can only be felt when you are there. The opponent's strong presence almost physically oppressed Irene's fragile nerves, and even made her wonder how she had just walked past the shoulder of such a monster without noticing, or how she had calmly allowed the opponent to pass by her.

It was a fear that came from the instinct of survival. When you saw this scene, you didn't need any other knowledge to feel that death was within your reach, and then you would start to panic and blame yourself for missing such an important thing.

Due to the overly strong emotional impact, Irene was speechless for a while, but the conversation continued. Salieri did not react much to the Space Marine's correction of his rank, but just asked: "Since you appeared in the corridor, can I assume that the preliminary meeting for this operation has ended?"

"You could say that." The Astartes' answer was somewhat ambiguous. "The specific arrangements have been finalized, but if you want to bring in a new narrator, I think the Primarch will have to wait a while before taking care of this matter. You can wander around for a while before Captain Enrique's (out of some emotion, he deliberately emphasized the word representing his rank) solitary detention is over."

After he finished speaking, he turned around and tried to leave. Irene stood there in a daze, still not daring to breathe. Later, she thought that she was definitely very rude at that time (this was not the point, because no one cared about her behavior), and the advice she received through her inappropriate observation was still irresistibly input into her brain. At this critical moment, the first conclusion drawn by the running black box was even more rude:

At that moment, she thought that the look of a fully-armed Astartes warrior turning around was no different from a little boy who was angry with someone.

Irene covered her mouth tightly and quickly dispelled the thought. She was sure that she did not make any sound that should not have been made, but the Astartes still seemed to sense something and turned his head once more before leaving. The narrator was sure that he read the doubtful emotion under the eyepiece of the other party's helmet painted with a hideous skull.

"Did anyone speak just now?" Astarte's voice rumbled, sounding both doubtful and threatening.

Irene felt like she was about to die of fright. She could even hear her heart pounding against her ribs in her chest, and unnecessary blood rushed to her brain. Just before she was about to faint from excessive fear, Salieri spoke again:

"No one spoke just now, Captain Sevitarion." The gray-clothed man's calm and emotionless tone sounded so reliable to Irene at the moment. Even after that, what he said sounded illogical, but it did not dispel the narrator's impression of this.

"If you think you heard something, maybe you should be more confident in yourself," Salieri suggested, almost offensively.

For a mortal official (not even an officer), it is always risky to speak to the legionnaires in this manner, but this did not bring Salieri any punishment or reprimand. Astarte simply shrugged exaggeratedly, using body language instead of expression to silently express his dissatisfaction: "Come on, you may also serve in the court, but you are just a musician, what do you know. And don't make me repeat myself, I am no longer a captain."

“That’s what Director Zharost said last time, and I’m just repeating his words,” Salieri countered calmly, “And, regarding the question of rank, I also choose to repeat another sentence to you: ‘Everything will be fine.’”

The Astartes made a strange sound that was not a complete sentence, but it clearly expressed the emotion of "I am too lazy to listen to your nonsense". Then, he walked away quickly and angrily without saying goodbye, and his heavy footsteps clanged on the adamantine floor in revenge.

Just like a child. This thought popped into Erin's mind again, and this time it was hard to get rid of.

Salieri obviously had no idea what Irene was thinking. He stood there, watching Astarte's back disappear into the darkness at the far end of the corridor. He was not sure whether he was commenting to Irene or talking to himself: "He really should have more confidence in himself. Almost everyone in the legion can see that as long as he can get his mind right, he can immediately return to the position of company commander. Only he himself doesn't realize it."

The turbulent blood calmed down, and the narrator's curiosity was revived in Irene, who had survived the disaster: "It sounds like there is a story here?"

"Indeed, but another biographical narrator has already noticed this," Salieri replied, and once again turned in the direction they were going, moving his feet. "If you are curious about this, you can contact Mr. Bald Crofts later. The writer may welcome a photographer to participate in his project. But for now, let's get on with what we have at hand."

"What's happening right now." Irene's heart, which had just been put at ease, was hanging again.

After this experience, she had some guesses about what would happen next, but she didn't dare to believe it, so she chose to ask the other party: "What are we going to do now?"

"Meet the Primarch." Salieri's tone was still very calm, without any extra emotion, as if everything he had just experienced with Irene, as well as what was to come, were just daily routines for him. "Don't be too nervous, you are not special. The Master had said a long time ago that she wanted to personally meet every narrator who came aboard."

This was pretty much what Irene had guessed, and it was not a very pleasant feeling to have her guess confirmed. It was too sudden. The narrator was starting to back out, and her stomach, which had never been modified and was original, was twisted into a ball because of nervousness.

"Does it have to be so fast?" Irene asked weakly, "I mean, I don't have much time to prepare for this..."

"Like I said before, you came at a bad time. The Legion is preparing for a war. The Primarch may not have time to deal with anything other than military operations in the next few weeks." Salieri glanced at Irene's current state and added, "This is just an ordinary meeting. She just wants to have a simple chat with you. You don't have to worry about not having such an opportunity again. If you think you need to meet the Primarch in your future work, you can directly submit an application to the Legion Ceremonial Officer. They will arrange it for you."

Irene opened her mouth but said nothing. She just followed Salieri in silence, nodding randomly to indicate that she understood what he was saying.

But that's not what I'm worried about, she thought silently in her heart.

Irene Ares: The narrator and photographer of the series Children of the Emperor in which I watched the Night Lords forcing people to jump into a volcano. Apart from that, everything else was made up by me.

Antonio Salieri: He is the teacher everyone thinks of. He is paired with Enrique. Because he is mentally stable (too stable), he will come out to do some work when Enrique has no combat missions.

Captain Enric: Enric Barbatos. In the original work, during the Salamas expedition, a fortress blocked the DA for seven weeks, and even the Lion King himself had to go out to successfully remove this stronghold. In the fantasy, for reasons well known to high-dimensional readers (Barbatos, please have some heart), while most of the others were called by Guda's surname, only he was called by his name. Therefore, many of his colleagues envied him.

Captain Sevitarion: Lily the Otter, in the illusion, she is not a captain, nor the leader of the Black Armor Guard. She is developing her psychic powers intermittently. Because of a battlefield decision that was not a military mistake in essence, but had a potential risk in the way it was handled, she was put on the Red Gloves and dismissed from her military position three months ago, but she was not expelled from the Nightbat Council. Guda's original intention was to teach her a lesson, but she was angry. By the way, she has not yet paired up with Black Jeanne.

Director Zharost: Fell Zharost, the first (?) think tank director of NL, of Terran descent, was thrown out of the Legion by Otter after Nikaea, and was later found by Old Ma and became the Grey Knight. In the illusion, he is just an ordinary (?) think tank director.

(End of this chapter)

Chapter 184 It’s OK if the Primarch returns, everything will be fine (4)

There were many... unfounded rumors among the chroniclers about the Primarch of the Night Lords. Aelin was very sure that it was a blasphemy to even think of them shortly before she met the Primarch on the Nightveil. But perhaps this was also a curse of knowledge: if you knew something that might be related to the current situation, then whether it was true or not, you would instinctively feel worried and nervous about it before the dust settled.

From one perspective, the Eighth Primarch was a topical figure: when most of the Primarchs were huge men, ten feet tall or more, with majestic looks, the only woman who was just over five feet tall would be particularly eye-catching. But from another perspective, the Eighth Primarch was low-key enough, at least Irene had never seen her in any official propaganda or program of the Empire.

Her low profile is the perfect breeding ground for rumors, and the style of the Night Lords Legion itself makes this situation worse in the dark where no one can effectively supervise. There are rumors that the Eighth Primarch is a mentally ill woman who enjoys torture and killing, and hits it off with the Night Lords who crawled out of the underground prison. After returning to the Legion, she is as free as a dragon entering the sea, and eats a child alive every day amid screams and cries; there are also rumors that she is a useless embroidered pillow, and has been completely sidelined by her own Legion, so she almost never appears in any propaganda of the Empire - these are two relatively visible statements among many rumors.

This means that those who spread such gossip will only be criticized and educated, and will be forced to be locked up for a period ranging from three days to one month, depending on the impact of the rumor, during which time they will be forced to watch boring patriotic propaganda films over and over again. If the superior supervisor heard other more shocking versions of the story that were not sure whether it was true or not, "shooting for five minutes" would become a very merciful punishment in comparison.

But the supervisors could not always stop the spread of rumors in private, so when Irene talked with her colleagues about the Eighth Primarch, she had heard some of these shocking versions of the story. Of course, they were full of hints, metaphors, exaggerations, and unreliable and even blasphemous imaginations. Irene had originally scoffed at these statements that were obviously not the truth, and just listened to them as some curious stories, but when she walked in the corridor of the Nightfall, those curious stories attacked her in turn:

What if those horrific, bloody, and immoral descriptions were true? What should she do? What could she do?

Fortunately or unfortunately, the road to the destination was not long, enough for them to reach the end before Irene succeeded in scaring herself to death. As if calculated, when Salieri brought the new narrator to a door decorated with both the lightning symbol of Terra and the bat-winged skull symbol of the Night Lords, the door happened to open in front of them.

Another legionnaire flashed out from behind the door. Compared with the one who appeared from the shadows before, the one Irene saw here was more plain and more gorgeous - he was plain because there were far fewer decorative parts on his armor. Obviously, this warrior was not keen on "personal transformation" for his armor; and what made his power armor, which should have been ordinary, gorgeous was the various honor marks inlaid on it. They guarded the legion emblem on his breastplate with a ferocious beauty with a bloody atmosphere, so that even those who were not familiar with the rank of Astartes could immediately understand that this legionnaire had at least a very senior and glorious service experience.

After living on this ship for a while, Irene would figure out that most of the Night Lords didn't care much about so-called honor, and most of the marks often seen on Astartes officers, which were made with horrible aesthetics, actually represented something that ran counter to "honor". She would also figure out after a longer period of time that the Astartes who appeared in front of them from behind the door was the "Captain Anrike" mentioned before. But at that time, she just watched nervously as he and Salieri nodded to each other, and then passed each other in silence and calm, exchanging positions - and took Irene into the room behind the door.

The narrator was a bit too slow to connect this easily accessible room with the "Original Body", so she was attracted by the scene she saw almost instantly: behind the door was probably a wide office, with no lighting, and it was even darker than the corridor - but in Irene's opinion, this was not the point. What is really worth seeing in this room is, of course, several floor-to-ceiling windows connected side by side. These huge windows provide a huge viewing space of about 50 meters in length for the room. At least for now, all the light in the room comes from here. Through such a window, Irene can see most of the arc of the planet's outline under the Nightfall.

Even though humans can easily step into the universe and swim in the endless sea of ​​stars, for Irene, such a scene is still rare. The planet is quietly suspended in the dark void, and the atmosphere reflecting the light of the stars makes it look like a huge shining gem. The narrator can't help but be fascinated by the grandeur and magnificence of nature, until another voice sounded softly not far from her:

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

It was the voice of a girl - a young girl - and Irene could not distinguish it for a moment. But in her first reaction, she thought that this was a voice that should not appear in the center of a violent organization like the Astartes Legion. She turned her head reflexively towards the source of the sound, and saw a woman with hair color like the rising sun and irises like the rising sun, and she looked very young.

At first, she didn't realize why the girl was here. Even though Irene had already known from rumors that "the Primarch of the Night Lords was a woman who was not tall even among mortals", she had a hard time connecting the girl in front of her with him. She probably stood there in a daze for a few seconds, then turned to look for help at Salieri who had led her here, and finally connected everything with the girl - the Primarch of the Night Lords, the Star of the Long Night, the Prophet of the Empire, and the crisp laughter of Fujimaru Ritsuka.

Surprisingly, she did not find it scary. Perhaps it was because Fujimaru Ritsuka was significantly less aggressive than other Primarchs. Aelin herself was not tall among Terrans, but the Primarch was even shorter than her. Therefore, Aelin did not need to look up at the other person when talking, nor would she be frightened by the other person's appearance or posture that was different from ordinary people just in size. The Primarch did not wear power armor like other legion warriors, but wore a set of daily skirts that seemed light and simple and easy to move. Therefore, there was no annoying buzzing sound of armor working nearby, so the narrator's thoughts resumed without being disturbed.

Irene was only a little nervous at first, but after those unbelievable rumors were shattered by the solid truth that appeared before her eyes and were cleared out of her mind like garbage, she quickly transformed her original nervousness into excitement:

"Yes, it's a very beautiful planet." Irene's language center was still a little confused, so she chose to answer the other party's question instead of introducing herself as usual. "But she is the target of the Legion, right?"

The fleet of the Night Lords was evenly spread out outside the window. The plasma light emitted by the propulsion engines when calibrating the orbit was like a net made of stars, slowly but calmly enveloping the largest gem in the void. Human power and the majesty of nature showed a wonderful coordination here, but Irene knew that in the near future, this luxurious net would bring some kind of destruction to the gem.

——Otherwise, why would one of the most terrifying and violent institutions in the Empire be hovering in the planet's orbit with such fanfare?

"That's right." The girlish Primarch admitted this calmly, smiled at Irene, and turned his gaze back to the window. "So, this beautiful scenery won't last long. You can choose to record this scene of tranquility before the storm, or you can choose not to do so."

The narrator was a little surprised by the wording, but she was not able to clearly distinguish the source of this surprise. This illusion made her feel a little embarrassed for a moment, but soon, this subtle emotion disappeared in the Primarch's molten gold gaze.

"You haven't introduced yourself to me yet, Miss Narrator." She said this, not as a rebuke or a complaint, but as a gentle and friendly reminder, and her tone revealed an overly mature look that was in stark contrast to her overly young appearance. Irene began to recite her resume in a hurry, but when she was halfway through, she suddenly felt that she was being stupid.

"You don't have to care about a nobody like me." Perhaps because Fujimaru Ritsuka's appearance was too non-aggressive, Irene forgot herself and spoke her true feelings. "I'm really flattered - I just casually asked the lieutenant to join a combat fleet, I didn't expect -"

"But you really want to come here." Fujimaru Ritsuka interrupted Irene's slightly incoherent confession with a firm tone, "Is this what you want to see?"

The Primarch pointed out the window, directing Irene's sight as well: Perhaps a certain agreed moment had arrived, and the fleet suspended in orbit began to attack in an orderly manner at this moment. The bright spots of the light spears lit up one by one on the ships that served as nodes of the gauze net, and the torpedo tracks dragged out lines of fire in the planet's blue-green atmosphere like meteors. The explosions that fell to the surface were almost invisible on the Nightfall. Irene could only see those meteor-like tracks merging into the planet's own glowing atmosphere. At first, they became bright and vivid, but as the distance increased, they soon became thinner than a hair, and finally disappeared in the spectrum that the human eye could distinguish.

Irene's mouth was a little dry, perhaps because of nervousness.

"Yes." She pursed her lips and answered with great conviction, "I joined the ranks of the Narrator just to see this - to see what the Great Crusade really looked like."

"That does sound like a less accurate statement." There was a gentle disapproval in Fujimaru Ritsuka's tone. "In theory, all departments in the entire Empire are serving the Great Crusade. Rogue Traders, Colonial Fleets, Navigator Families, Mechanicus, Auxiliary Forces, Logistics - including the Charter Fleet that only communicates logistics within the star system, and many, many related departments. They are all part of the Great Crusade. The Great Crusade does not only take place under the command of the Emperor or at the forefront of the war where the Astartes Legion has reached the front line. This great cause requires the joint efforts of hundreds of millions of people in the Empire with their own hands. The Great Crusade is 'really happening' throughout the Empire."

She paused, then added: "I say this only because I feel the need to correct your wording here. I think it is very necessary to correctly understand the main body of the 'Great Crusade', but I actually understand what you want to express. You want to go to the front line of the battlefield to see how the war was carried out and how the empire's conquest took place. Of course, I allow any narrator to record and report these processes, but I also advise you to think twice about this matter."

Irene blinked in confusion: "But, my lord, this is the only way I can record the truth on the battlefield, isn't it?"

After hearing this, Fujimaru Ritsuka laughed instead: "'Truth'. Seeking the truth is a good goal in life, but be careful: once a fact has passed through the hands of others, it can no longer be the 'truth'. No matter how objectively you recount what you have seen and experienced, the so-called 'truth' will inevitably be colored by your own subjectivity - no one in the world can be truly objective, not even Rogal Dorn."

Irene was completely confused by this series of words. Half of her wanted to refute the other party and call it sophistry because her life goals were euphemistically questioned, while the other half of her vaguely felt that this made sense. She couldn't deny that when she picked up the camera, she did have a plan in mind before she knew what she would take. This is the coordination ability that any artist who is responsible for his work should have, but it is indeed a subjective output.

"Maybe this is a little offensive, but please allow me to ask:" Perhaps realizing that the previous topic was a bit philosophical, Fujimaru Ritsuka quickly changed to another more realistic topic, "Ms. Ares, have you ever fought in a war?"

"I—what?" This question was somewhat unexpected to Aelin. She had to take a moment to react before realizing what the Primarch was really asking. "No, I haven't. I was trained in combat before becoming the Narrator, but I had never really seen an enemy that required me to draw my gun."

"Then your imagination of the battlefield is likely to be too optimistic." The Primarch said, "It is not uncommon for narrators to be crushed by the so-called 'truth', at least in my legion. I cannot describe to you accurately any scene that you cannot imagine, but I can tell you that before you, seven people had submitted applications to leave the ship shortly after making similar requests, all because of serious mental problems. Three of them voluntarily underwent memory cleansing and were stationed in other legions, and four chose to completely leave the narrator industry. If you are very curious, you can ask Teacher Salieri to read their detailed resumes."

Irene glanced in Salieri's direction in confusion, and finally decided to interpret the Primarch's title of "teacher" as a respectful title for the musician and composer, and put aside the question. The euphemistic rejection brought by a few words could not extinguish her ambitions. After a brief weighing (or just pretending to weigh), she said: "These will not scare me, my lord. I believe I have been mentally prepared enough."

Fujimaru Ritsuka showed a look of disapproval for a moment, but it disappeared quickly. If it weren't for Irene's extraordinary talent in capturing details, she would not have noticed this. The Primarch then spoke quickly, letting his words flow smoothly after Irene's voice: "If you insist, my attendant Shen can arrange it for you after the first round of orbital bombardment. In addition, there is a psychological intervention department for ordinary crew members on the Nightfall, and all practicing therapists have signed the strictest confidentiality agreement. If you feel any mental discomfort, please don't be afraid to seek medical treatment."

Another Astartes warrior emerged from the darkest corner of the dim room. Irene was not familiar with the job titles and corresponding symbols within the Night Lords, but she could see that the mark on the shoulder armor of this "Shen" was very different from the other two warriors she had seen before.