Chapter 324 Changing Perspectives

"I..." Konrad Curze shrank back into his shadow, his eyes, which usually looked scary because of the darkness, now widened to show clear and pitiful confusion.

Under Sanguinius's gaze, Curze's loss of composure lasted only a breath. The bloody lord's lip muscles twitched, and he squeezed out a smile that he tried his best.

"I should get used to it," he gritted his teeth nervously, "things will change infinitely under the operation of the sky wheel, and the lines swept by the same brush will be different in the center of the canvas... What did Perturabo do? Throw a psychic mentor from the sky to Mortarion, making him obsessed with witchcraft from then on?"

"I didn't see it." Sanguinius stood up regretfully, his hands naturally hanging by his side, and one side of the snow-white wing covered with beads and gold and silver stretched out, patting or scratching Konrad Curze's shoulder with the long feathers on the wing tip. "It was just a momentary picture, Konrad."

Koz tried to avoid the feathers by leaning back, but unfortunately, he forgot that he was leaning against the bone stone chair.

He moved his hand with lightning claws away from the angel to avoid damaging the precious vision and valuable assets of the empire's future behind the angel.

"I should have gotten used to it," Curz repeated again, his tone still full of disbelief, "No, that's not right. Magnus is very conservative about the use of psychic energy. His favorite thing to do is to overly worry about me using prophecy... Yes, Magnus might be accepted. What about Mortarion? He went to take a shower. I mean, he became clean?"

"I don't know." The angel said with a smile. "Just from the signs at that moment, our fourteenth brother is still using the mathematical compass, and there are smoke particles floating in the room."

"Didn't Magnus advise Mortarion to use psychic arts with caution? I also gave him the same advice!" Curze took a deep breath, cleared his mind of distracting thoughts, and looked at the angel's wings.

"What about you?" Conrad's voice returned to his low and soft tone with a hint of agility. He even used the Barakan language he had just learned recently. "Since when have you gradually been able to witness the scenes of this world? This really makes me curious, Archangel." "Just recently, Koz. Maybe since you came," the angel restrained his smile and looked solemn, "On that day, the one I saw was still our father." "However, from a certain day, the signs I saw in my eyes changed a little. I saw you threatening me with blood wine, Conrad." Conrad Koz shrugged his shoulders wrapped in a dark cloak, "Your heart is not as great and bright as your appearance, little angel." "Don't be like this, I answered the question about blood seriously in that fragment." The angel retracted his wings and returned to his seat again. "That's not a good choice."

"Am I getting angry?"

"No, you're not."

Curze waited for the second half of Sanguinius's words until he realized that his lack of anger was exactly why Sanguinius thought he should make another choice.

He buried his face in his hands and said grimly, "At least you don't always believe in following the prophecy, Sanguinius."

"You spent months proving to me that the prophecy is not absolute, or even unique." The angel said, smiling again.

In fact, Sanguinius nervously challenged the life principles he had followed for many years for this new fact. This attempt to go against the prophecy was almost terrifying for him. In every moment he was worried that reality would collapse, even if it was just an extremely insignificant thing.

And then, reality was still stable, and a more unique and easier to get along with Conrad Curze still sat in front of him, clean and without a trace of smell. Under his pale face, he was using cruel cold reason, not desperate self-destructive madness, as the background of his soul. He judges, not is judged; listens to confessions, not gives them.

The angel silently accepted the success of the experiment, his heart relaxed.

"Okay," Curze said, flipping through his memory again, lest he also missed some short-lived, this-life foreshadowing.

Conrad Curze's life was always deeply entangled in reality and omen, like an inseparable spiral of vines on a tree, and he was not always in the mood to analyze every picture in the triptych.

For example, how he skinned a woman who was about to commit suicide in Nostramo to prevent her from committing suicide. He was not very interested in the details.

After all, the damage caused to the outer skin by the untrained skinner while twitching restlessly and using the boning knife to cut the tendons and skin was simply unbearable to watch.

Even the Mandela agents under his command were more proficient in skinning than Conrad Curze of Nostramo-although objectively speaking, those special shadow creatures who have always had the tradition of sewing their own leather clothes for themselves are indeed proficient in leather skills.

Finally, Curze chose to find something to stare at, such as the angel wings that lit up like a chandelier in his dark hall, to express his deep sorrow.

"Only your omens are changing," he said, pressing a few fingers on the three holes in the skull. "I am one step behind you, Archangel."

"You can't call me Archangel and Little Angel at the same time," Sanguinius said, "or I will call you Midnight Angel."

"You won't," said Coze, even though he was not very confident in this conclusion.

He lifted one leg over the other and pulled his black leather cloak again to cover his body.

"In this case, our sorting process needs some adjustments..." He touched his chin and said, "Try to discuss the two possibilities separately. If you see a sign that you can't decide where it belongs, classify it into the story of the old world."

"Will this miss some scenes that will happen in our future?"

"Omission is the best, which means that no one will be troubled by that omen." Coze said, with a natural coldness in his tone, "Hehe... The more you know about the future, the more difficult it is to capture the truth of fate."

"Do you have any other stories you want to tell me, my bright blood?"

"There is another one, but it is not a prophecy." The angel said , flexed his wings, "Someone in my tribe told me this morning. An inspired person is active in the market, providing private divination for the Baal people. His predictions are accurate, and all he needs is often a glass of water or a piece of bread."

He paused, his words full of interest: "Do you think that could be our father, Conrad?"

"That sounds exactly like him." Coze asserted, "If you are curious, go and check it out first. I should cleanse myself."

For a moment, Sanguinius suspected that Conrad Coze insisted on living in his own boat, not even to avoid the people, but to waste water resources and take a bath every day.

The angel glanced at the sky outside the colored window: "It's late today. At night, the inspired people often disappear into thin air. I will come to find you tomorrow."

"Go." Coze stood up and walked into the shadows behind the bone stone seat, "No need to see you off."

Sanguinius smiled and turned to leave.

At the entrance of the hall, he suddenly remembered the unknown phrase that Curze often used, so he tried to imitate the mouth shape of the Son of Muse who was guarding the gate and wearing an iron grid mask.

The mask of the Son of Muse immediately turned to him, and the smell of confusion emanated from the expressionless iron face.

"Well," he said softly, "I want to know what this means, can you tell me?"

The iron mask turned back to the angle of looking forward, refusing to pay attention to the great angel.

"Alas." Sanguinius sighed, walked out of the corridor, spread his wings on the deck, and felt the direction of the wind.

Then, he jumped out of the deck lightly, spread his wings and glided, and soon became a white dot like a bright light, disappearing into the twilight.