Chapter 705 86 The Dark Side of the Moon (Happy New Year!)

Chapter 705 86. The Dark Side of the Moon (Happy New Year!)

Adro Branull holds a book and reads.

He reads very seriously, which is obvious. You don't even need to observe the dark face to easily get the correct answer-he is immersed in it.

As the old people often say, the book has become a goblin and stolen his soul. And the remaining flesh and blood body only has a little instinct to keep him breathing.

To keep him alive, so that he can continue to read.

Obsessed, fascinated, and enchanted.

The cover of the book is sewn from an unknown leather, and the original brown has been replaced by deep white marks over a large area. In the past, there must have been tens of thousands of borrowers who rubbed it with their fingers, so this solid material can be worn to this extent.

And this is not a problem for Adro Branull, he is a salamander with a pair of hard and soft blacksmith hands. They can ensure that his power will be completely obedient to his will, no matter what he reads in the book.

But the words in the book were whispering, throwing a concept in front of him. That concept was of no use to an Astartes, but it sent a shiver through the Salamander, forcing him to read on.

The dark side of the moon. The book smiled. Do you know, Adlo Branuel? Have you heard of this term before? No? Very well, let me explain it to you.

The moon is a satellite of Terra, and Terra rotates, and it rotates around her and also rotates on itself, which means that there is always a side of it that cannot be observed by astronomers on Terra.

In the distant past, this side was poetically called the dark side of the moon. It still exists now, even though Terra has been broken and the gravity that binds it has long since dissipated.

"It should not exist," said Caesos Mechne.

But it exists. The Salamander thought. It exists, and so should you.

"You should learn to let go as soon as possible, Adro. This so-called dark side will not do you any good."

I insisted.

Adro Branuel put down the book, and the obsession dissipated regretfully. The remaining things lingered in his heart, turning into a lingering grief. The voice of his dead captain was also like this, gradually fading away.

Adro carefully put the book away and put it in a small compartment on his waist, then stood up. He had a premonition that the person they had been waiting for today was about to arrive.

Standing in front of a full-length mirror, he stared at himself.

His armor was still gorgeous, with dark green dragon scales and gilded dragon heads, representing the delicate carvings of the undying honor of the Legion period. The scars were also like this, carefully preserved, and the bullet holes and knife marks cruelly declared how terrible malice they had harbored to the people protected by this armor, but now it was not important.

In any case, those malice had long since disappeared. As for these traces, they have become part of the warrior's honor forever. Quite romantic, quite poetic, gently dissolving cruelty.

However, he was angry, still angry - he could not forgive certain things, certain people, but he could not let it affect what was to come. He had been preparing for this since he set out on the journey back to the city.

His brothers all relied on him for this matter, like Narik Dragul of the Iron Warriors and Kefa Morag of the Death Guard.

As the three representatives elected by all, the three of them had been thinking hard for some time, trying to learn the political game they were not very good at.

Yes, politics - Robert Guilliman stood in the bright white hall and warned them earnestly - never think that everything will go smoothly after returning to the Empire.

Although my brothers and I will do everything we can to ensure that you are safe, I hope you understand that you have awakened from the collection of an alien, and the Imperial propaganda department will never miss such a good opportunity.

They will make you a model, a role model and a hero, and then publicize it. They will say that you broke free from the stasis field by willpower, and that you killed the alien. Even more exaggerated, you will become the heroic spirits who are resurrected by the Emperor.

There are so many things to do here, but we have to give them no chance to do these things. In other words, we have to shut them up, which is not an easy task.

They have worked in the power center of the Empire for many years. This place is a living hell, and they are the little devils in it. You must learn how to step on hell and magma under your feet, and at the same time, you must prevent these little devils from biting your toes.

I will help you, okay? Believe me, I will do my best.

They believed him, and he did his best, in the simplest and most direct way.

First, Robert Guilliman completely dismantled and crushed the essence of political operation in front of the three of them. He is a natural orator, and with this talent, he completely changed this boring process.

His words were like the flash of swords and swords, without the smell of blood, but they made the three of them feel as if they were on a battlefield, smelling the endless danger.

Then, he invited Sanguinius, and the two began to analyze the possible reactions of various forces in the empire to this matter. They were extremely detailed and did not hide anything, but Adro was sweating all over.

He had never thought that these mortals living in the center of the empire, in this peaceful universe under the feet of the emperor, could treat their compatriots, even children, in such a cruel and evil way.

It's not that he hasn't seen these things, but who were the people who did these things in the past? The warlords who did all kinds of evil, the traitors who fell at the feet of the aliens, and what about those people?

Most of them have been living a life of luxury since birth, and even a piece of cloth is a fortune that countless people can't earn in their entire lives, but they can look down on others with such malice.

Adro Branuel had to admit that he felt sick.

He was not naive, of course he knew that the world was like this, he just couldn't accept so many sacrifices and bloodshed in exchange for such

A knock on the door sounded, temporarily eliminating the dark side.

He walked over and opened the door. The glare from outside the universe shone from the porthole, shining impartially on his face, and also illuminated the profiles of Narik Dregul and Kefa Morag.

The two stood in front of him, one on the left and one on the right, their armor had long been polished to a shine, spotless. Their expressions were very familiar to Adlo. He had seen similar muscles working in the mirror countless times during these days.

He greeted them first, his voice was steady, and his words burst out, but they were like a hammer hitting an anvil: "Have the people responsible for dealing with us arrived?"

When dealing with respectable people, he never spared the little kindness he had left. He used it to make a not-so-funny joke. With the language ability of a person who was not good at speaking, he had done the best he could.

To be honest, Adlo didn't expect this joke to liven up the atmosphere, but the two men laughed.

The smile of the war blacksmith was fleeting, stiff and terrifying, but it was still a smile. But Mortarion's guards were different. His smile lasted for a long time, but it was full of the afterglow of grief. Moreover, Adlo noticed that a new tattoo had appeared on his side face at some point.

The fire lizard guessed that it was the text from Barbarus. He didn't know how to identify its meaning, but he felt that it must represent mourning.

After laughing, Narik Dragoor spoke slowly.

"He will be here soon. I looked at the data terminal. It is a Skyhawk shuttle with a very special paint job. It probably belongs to a big shot. And my Primarch told me-"

He paused, glanced at the Death Guard, and then continued.

"- From a personal perspective, the best advice he can give us is to take this matter seriously."

"Have you contacted your Primarch?" Adro asked.

He knew that this might hurt Kefa Morag, but there was a desire in his heart that drove him to ask questions with guilt.

As soon as he finished speaking, he began to regret it. In the war not long ago, Morag had already won his respect with his own hands. He didn't want to let the respectable warrior's broken heart suffer another blow.

But he obviously thought that the heir of Mortarion was too weak.

"Yes." Kefa Morag took over calmly. "Lord Perturabo sent a letter and communication eleven hours ago. It's a pity that you were busy reading at that time, Adlo, otherwise you could have met him."

"How is he now?" Salamander asked, feeling relieved. However, he got two meaningful awkward silences. In the end, it was the Warsmith who took the initiative to break it.

"Well." Narik Dragul said dryly. "He's not very well."

The Salamander was stunned for a moment, and then looked at him in shock.

"He was injured, very seriously injured, and his hands have been replaced with mechanical prostheses."

"I'm not sure if there are more injuries. He didn't give me more room to peek. But from what I know about him, he must have been covered in bruises."

When saying this, the Warsmith's voice became calm again. The Astartes have an instinct that is difficult to disobey. In most cases, as long as the Primarch is injured, their sanity will quickly burn out. But this is not the case with the Iron Warrior at this moment. His sanity still exists in his mind. He stands here with a clear mind, not affected by any other emotions.

Adlo secretly admired in his heart, while Narik immediately turned to another matter. He was still handling everything with the style of the old Legion period, and inefficiency was never acceptable.

"So I think that in the past ten thousand years, the situation in Terra - no, the solar system is definitely not good. Think about it, cousin, what could hurt him like that?"

He threw this question out very calmly, but Adlo and Kefa immediately fell into deep thought.

They frowned unconsciously, and the anger in the heart of the fire lizard, which had finally faded temporarily, took power again, making his hand armor creak. The Death Guard's eyes were wide open, and the pair of gray eyes on the withered face were now full of bloodshot.

Although they stood firmly in this new world ten thousand years later, they did not feel much reality in their hearts. Their way of thinking and philosophy of life still came from the glorious and enterprising era ten thousand years ago, and that era shaped them into extremely pure warriors.

What are they thinking? Very simple - is there an enemy? Yes. Very good, here are a series of killing plans.

Fortunately, there is still one person among them who keeps calm at all times.

Narik Dregul raised his hand and pressed the shoulder armor of the two men. As the metal collided, he slowly spoke.

"We should go to the hangar and wait now, even if it's just for show, it's good, what do you think?"

"I don't like bureaucracy, but I agree." Adro said.

The Death Guard didn't speak, just nodded, and the bloodshot eyes slowly faded. He raised his right hand and rubbed the tattoo on his face, his masseter muscles suddenly tightened.

A few minutes later, they drove into the hangar in a temporary transport vehicle. It stopped right in front of the hangar door, its tires scraped against the steel, and its engine slowly turned off. The pilot who had been temporarily recruited had a serious face and saluted them with an eagle salute before turning around and leaving.

This episode made the dull expressions of the three people become much lighter. However, this did not last long. Soon, continuous prompts sounded in the hangar. One after another, like a stubborn declaration.

I would not stop until the shuttle slid into the hangar.

It stopped precisely after one minute and thirty-five seconds.

The hangar door slowly slid open, air-conditioning flooded out, and the outer safety door being closed made a loud noise. The gears bite and rotate, a deep roar comes from the wall, and a giant beast is sent to them.

It looked coldly in the darkness, and the roaring engine had not completely stopped. The aftertaste echoed in the empty hangar, sounding like a roar.

The three of them watched the cabin door slowly open.

They have made psychological preparations and expectations, thinking that the person walking out will bring a whole group of attendants and guards. Regardless of male or female, this person will most likely be dressed like the people in the information provided by Robert Guilliman, exaggerated to the point of discomfort, and wearing a wig that requires someone to hold the weight behind.

They made such bad plans, but they failed to come into use at all.

"I'm here under orders, okay, wait a moment." The man waved the data pad in his hand towards them. "To be precise, it's not an order, because I have full authority to handle this matter. Come on, three of you, let's find a conference room and sort everything out."

He spoke in a foggy manner, but his movements were astonishingly fast. In just a blink of an eye, he turned around and walked into the passage on the side of the hangar.

The three people who had not fully understood the situation were still in shock, and the 'entourage' brought by the man also walked out of the cabin.

Check out the 16-9 book bar and see the correct version!

They were not the servitors, watchdogs or strong mortal guards they imagined, and there were not many in number, only six of them. However, the representatives of the veterans were almost stunned - most of the shock came from To a silent giant wearing golden armor.

He walked out of the shuttle right after the man, the sky eagle shining on his chest, and followed quickly. He attracted almost all the attention, so much so that the delegates were even slightly distracted.

It was not until several seconds later that the five Astartes disappeared without a trace in the darkness that they finally woke up from a dream.

"Is that a Custodian?" Naric Dragur asked in an extremely skeptical tone, as if he didn't believe his eyes.

——

"Let's talk about the number of people first. Four hundred and seventy-seven Iron Warriors, three hundred and sixty-two Death Guards, and one hundred and sixty-one Salamanders."

Khalil pondered for half a second and manipulated the data pad in his hand quite skillfully. It was completely impossible to tell that he was a person who knew nothing about these new models not long ago.

Soon, rows of data, briefings and materials rose from the center of the conference table. The light was clear and undulating, presenting the complex analysis in its entirety.

The representatives stared in silence, their attention fully captured.

"I'll start with the Salamanders," Khalil said, putting down his dataslate. "Vulkan already knows the news of your return. Although he cannot leave Nocturne for the time being, he has sent a team to take you back."

"However, Brother Adro, there will be many forces that are friendly with your parent group coming to visit during this period, so you need to be prepared."

The Salamander was slightly startled when his name was called. He obviously didn't know about this matter. Fortunately, the projection in the center of the long table quickly solved this question.

A series of lists separated from the light, densely packed with words, bringing one name after another to his eyes, followed by family, position or military rank.

Adro Branuel became more and more surprised as he watched - he was within the scope of his expectation to be friends with the Mechanicum, but what about the powerful men, officers and combat heroes?

He even found someone who came to visit in the name of the entire auxiliary army, but he had no memory of the name of this unit at all. Is it an honor in the post-legion era?

He was not allowed to think more, and the scrolling list brought other names that would cause greater surprise, such as the Battlefield Medical Association, the Corpse Guild, and the Veterans Association.

Especially this last one, it almost made him wonder if there was something wrong with his eyes.

In his era, it was difficult to associate the words soldier with retirement. Although they have a term of service, most of them either continue to be promoted or die with honor. Retirement never seems to be an issue that they would consider.

He inevitably fell into deep thought, which didn't surprise Khalil. In fact, this is the effect he wanted.

"Next is the Iron Warrior - War Blacksmith, please stand up for a moment."

Narik Dregur was startled for a moment, then immediately stood up with a solemn military posture.

Khalil gave him a fleeting smile, turned his left hand slightly, and the imperial guard behind him handed over a steel medal that was much larger than his whole hand.

"On behalf of the 4th Legion's Primarch Perturabo, I hereby relieve Narik Dragool of his post as warsmith at Camp 114 and send him and his brother to Fortress 004. This order is effective immediately, and those who receive it must leave immediately."

He placed the medal on the table and gently pushed it, and it came in front of Narik Dragool. The latter gently picked it up, and his eyes had become almost frozen.

You can say that he was stunned, and the reason was the medal. It was shaped into a small iris shield, but the surface was very rough.

A warrior as experienced as Narik could tell its predecessor at a glance: a fragment of armor, and the blood rust on it had not even been wiped off. A line of small words shone in the center of steel and blood.

Steel creates strength. The beginning and end of a prayer.

"Let me explain to you, Brother Narik. This medal has no official name. Outside your chapter, it is called 'Incarnation of Steel', and within the chapter, it is only called 'Inheritance'."

"Initially, the material used to cast it was a breastplate of City Breaker Frix, which was brought back to the chapter by Warsmith Dantioch after his death. He was the first recipient of it."

"Similarly, after he entered the Dreadnought due to serious injuries, a fragment of his hand armor was also recast together with Frix's medal. To date, the medal that has reached your hands has 116,924 successors."

Narik Dregol slowly raised his head.

"Where should I wear it?" He asked hoarsely, at a loss as if he was awarded the medal for the first time.

"When you arrive at Fortress No. 4, you can choose to cast it into any part of the armor." Khalil answered seriously. "The shield is you, you are the steel, and the glory is eternal."

The Iron Warrior exhaled deeply, deeply, and tremblingly, and made the Eagle Salute, and nodded to the other two in turn, and then strode out of the conference room without saying a word, holding the medal tightly.

Khalil watched him leave, but did not speak again, but walked to the side of Adlo Branull and whispered a few words. Soon, the Salamander's expression was surprised. He glanced at the Death Guard sitting upright, stood up, and also left the conference room. The door did not close at this point, and the Imperial Guard also strode out. For a moment, only the former Mortarion guards and Khalil were left here.

The Grand Inquisitor pulled out a chair, took off his hat, and slowly sat down.

"You are sad."

He said in a calm tone, with his hands clasped in a spire shape on the table, and his dark eyes stared at the silent Death Guard through the sharp narrow slit.

And the latter did not deny it.

"Yes."

"I believe your brothers are probably the same?"

"No one is spared, my lord." The guard whispered. "We have decided to mourn for the Primarch."

"In what form?"

"Killing." The guard said. "Blood debts must be repaid with blood."

"Have you set a goal?"

"Death is the end."

After saying this, Kefa Morag thought he would get a cold look like the "guillotine" described by the soldiers of the Eighth Legion, but he was wrong. He only got a cold smile full of approval.

"You have already made up your mind to die. Logically, I shouldn't say anything more. But, like Brother Narik and Brother Adro, your Primarch also has something to say."

The guard was stunned for less than a third of a second, and his face was twisted by anger-then he was swallowed by a burst of golden light.

Khalil leaned back, like a tired clerk after a whole day's work, and supported his weight with the back of the chair. He crossed his legs, turned the chair, and looked at the ceiling leisurely.

There was a stained glass window depicting a hooded, robed man holding a lantern and leading the dead. His face was shrouded in darkness, with only two pitiful golden lights.

Khalil closed his eyes and felt the soft light on his face

Then he heard a thank you and a barely perceptible cry.

The Grand Inquisitor sighed, stood up, put his chair back, put on his hat, picked up the data pad, and strode out of the conference room.

Outside the door, five Astartes who were not allowed to enter were staring at a guard with a fierce look, and were also waiting for him.

He couldn't help but smile.

"Let's go." He waved to them. "There shouldn't be anything to do in the second half of the night - gather the brothers of the chapter, how about we have a sand eel jerky banquet?"