"What do you think they're doing?" Conrad Coetzes asked incredulously.

Fer Zaloster was silent for a while, bowing his head and telling his genotype, "They're fighting a duel with Lord Caril Lohals. ”

“.”

Conrad Coetzes was silent for a moment, but the first thing he said was not to ask for details, but to correct them.

"Don't call him Lord or put any honorific title after this name, Fell. Just like I call him that, Carlil, Lohals - anyway, don't call him sir. ”

"Yes, Primordial." Fell nodded suspiciously.

Coates took a deep breath and stood up from behind his seat.

Forty minutes ago, he had fulfilled his vow. He succeeded in writing down the names of every soldier of the Eighth Legion. It's a feat, but it's nothing at all for him.

After that, no one from the Eighth Legion pushed open the door alone.

So, you could say that Conrad Coetz was a little surprised when he saw Phil Zaloster walk in.

It's just that he never expected that this surprise would develop into a fright so quickly.

"Duel?"

He walked towards the door and turned back to ask about Fair. He had just taken the time to look at the detailed map of the Nightfall, and had every detail firmly in his mind. So he didn't need to lead the way.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked.

The former commander of the Third Company of the Eighth Regiment hurriedly followed the pace of his original body, and began to explain in a low voice: "It is said that Mr. Carlil was the first to make the suggestion. ”

"It started out as hand-to-hand combat, but it quickly evolved to free-for-all with ground-grappling techniques. Now it's even a fight, the original body."

"So, it's not actually a duel?" Coates asked, ignoring the 'gentleman' for the time being.

"It seems to me that there is almost no difference, the proto."

Fell replied pale—his current complexion was even more terrifying than that of some of the world's subterranean cavemen.

"We all felt that it was no different from a duel, Mr. Carlil was holding a blunt training sword, but everyone else's weapons were open-edged."

"It's fine."

Walking between the dark corridors, Conrad Coetzes slumped his shoulders as if relieved when he heard the news.

"Carlil must have acquiesced, and maybe he asked for it."

"Yes, the original, Mr. Carlil asked for it himself—and I want to apologize to you."

Phil Zaloster said uneasily: "To be precise, we want to apologize to you. Eight of our former company commanders were on the scene, but we did not stop the development of the situation in time"

"It's human nature to want to see the truth, and I don't blame you. As for the former company commander . I'll re-investigate this tomorrow and call for a vote. Their dismissal is nothing short of nonsense. ”

Kotz frowned sternly, and in the trot between barely able to maintain his demeanor, he used his closest tone to rebuke: "That's a testament to your past exploits and honors, how can you say give up?" ”

"I'm sorry, Primitive."

"Don't apologize to me, you, you, nothing is sorry for me - now, let's hurry over."

Conrad Coates let out a long sigh, he wasn't worried about Carlil at all, he was more worried about the others.

He worries about everyone else.

——

I'm really not good with a sword, Carlil thought.

His opponent stepped forward and stabbed him in the heart with a sword. The blow was fast, accurate, and ruthless.

But his opponent was clearly consciously holding his hand - for no other reason, his sword was open. And what Carlil had in his hand was just a blunt sword.

In the face of his kindness, Carlil turned slightly sideways, passed by, and dodged the trick very well. His opponent immediately changed his tactics, and the blade came to life like a nimble viper, stabbing him viciously in the shoulder.

This time, he still kept his hand.

Carlil couldn't help but smile.

His response was simple—the blunt sword spun, and he held it in the way he was most familiar with, reversing his center of gravity and balance, and slamming his opponent's sword away with unmistakable precision as if it were a short sword.

"You don't have to keep your hands, Richter." He whispered. "I've already said that if we're going to try to make the fight fair, we should give you more of an advantage."

Is this some kind of insult?"

The young man known as Richter replied, his expression serious, his lips curled downward, pressed tightly together. He seemed to make this expression all the time, with a serious and natural look.

"Of course not."

"Then why do you say that? You're holding a blunt sword, and I'm holding a sharp, murderous weapon—I must keep my hand! It's an unfair battle! ”

"This fight is inherently unfair."

"Perhaps, Carlil! You may be able to outdo us in hand-to-hand combat, but sword fighting is different! Swords have nothing to do with height, nothing to do with strength, nothing to do with everything else! ”

Richter's words drew shouts from the crowd below the ring, like a tsunami. The soldiers of the Eighth Legion cheered for his speech, and at the same time did not forget to cheer him on.

Carlil sighed softly.

Richter turned sideways solemnly, with his right foot straight in front and his right foot diagonally behind him. He raised the sword in one hand with his right hand, and then charged straight at Karil.

As always, he kept a hand.

The blades flew up and down in the air, and Richter was dizzyingly fast, swinging, slashing, stabbing.

The simple and direct moves were used by him again and again, and one hand turned into two hands at some point. If there is a substance in the air, I am afraid that it will also be finely chopped.

Carlil frowned and began to dodge the dense succession of attacks.

Of course, he could use his sword to block these attacks, but he knew something else. If you resist rashly, you can easily be brought into their moves by a master of swordsmanship like Richter.

He couldn't let the fight that had been going on for five hours go to blood, either his blood or theirs. Otherwise, the results may be quite unacceptable.

Although, the development of this matter is now beyond his control.

"It's useless to dodge!" Richter shouted. "Come on, beat me with dignity, or be defeated by me!"

He used the first stride again, and the blade stabbed into Carlil's throat at an exaggerated speed - and even more terrifyingly, even though it was so fast, he still had some hands.

Carlil's powers of observation allowed him to spot this. In addition to the desire for victory, there was a palpable caution in the eyes of the soldier of the Eighth Legion named Richtenar.

Such caution does not appear in a heart that is desperate for victory.

interesting

In this moment, Carlil grasped the sword with both hands.

Yes, it's true that he is not good at using swords, but that doesn't mean he can't learn.

The most basic and important thing in weapon fighting is the pace, and with the pace, these weapons can exert their maximum power. Richter's steps were not hard for him to remember.

He took a step to the left, his hands flat and his wrists locked together. The sound of blunt swords and sharp swords colliding with each other came in the next second, echoing throughout the wide ring.

The sound began to pass back and forth in the pitch-black metal cage of the ring, until it became a huge echo, even drowning out the cheers of the tsunami from the mountains under the stage.

Richter froze in astonishment, forgetting to attack for a moment.

The young swordsman was silent for a long time before he asked, "That's my pace. ”

"Yes."

"You can use a sword?"

"No, it won't."

"But, that's my pace."

"That's true."

Silence, silence again – a moment later, Richter lowered his sword in his hand.

What this gesture means is self-evident.

"I threw in the towel."

He said calmly, as if he was not ashamed of it.

"If you can do this kind of thing, then it's just me humiliating myself if I continue to fight."

"No, Richtenar."

Carlil shook his head and spoke sincerely. At the same time, he lowered the blunt sword in his hand—or rather, threw it down.

"From a sword fight point of view, I've already lost. I don't know how to make any sword moves, and you can tell from what I've done before. ”

"And you, you didn't use all your strength in every attack. Therefore, if there is really one person who admits defeat, then I should be the one who admits defeat. ”

Richter frowned, looking a little agitated for the first time: "How can you say that? If I continue to fight, I will definitely lose! ”

"Does winning or losing matter?"

Carlil smiled and shook his head.

"I didn't stand in this ring from the beginning with the heart of wanting to win against you, I just wanted to get to know you. In the same way, Aresta, who was the first to walk into the ring and fought me, didn't come up with the intention of winning. ”

"You remember his name?"

"I remember all the people who have told me their names." Carlil bowed his head calmly. "It's not hard, is it?"

yes, it's not that hard. Richter nodded silently and agreed with him.

"It may not be difficult to do this"

He whispered. "But what is really precious is this attitude, who are you, Karil Lohals?"

He looked at him in bewilderment.

"Why are you. So peaceful? ”

Carlil didn't answer the question, he just turned around in an unpredictable way and looked at a large door on the second floor—the training room was sunken, with only one exit and one entrance.

And there, now standing a pale-faced giant.

The chatter in the ring stopped in an instant.

——

"Angry, Conrad?"

"Nope."

"You were silent for a while before answering me, and the silence was rather suspicious."

"I'm not mad at that."

Conrad Coetzes said calmly. "At least it turned out to be good, and the moment you say you remember the names of all of them, their eyes change."

"But that doesn't hide the fact that where I came from is still a mystery."

Carlil smiled, leaned against the wall and shook his head, clasped his hands. "How are you going to explain to them where I came from?"

I don't know."

After a moment of silence again, Conrad Coetzes spoke, his expression distressed. At this time, he finally looked a little like a biological age of one and a half years.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to watch a military parade, Carlil. I can understand the meaning, but I don't understand why. I've already gotten to know everybody, so why do you need a military parade? And the formal speech, today's speech, do you think it's enough, Carlil? ”

The questioned giant smiled dumbly, shook his head, and replied softly. "How do I know? You are the Lord of the Eighth Legion. ”

"But I don't know anything about speeches."

"Why do you think I'll understand it? When I was on Nostramo, I didn't have the environment to hone this skill, Conrad. Am I going to mutter long sentences in high Gothic to the corpses of gangs and aristocrats? ”

"So, can you at least give me a little advice?"

"You're the Lord of the Eighth Legion, Konrad Coetze."

Karil shook his head gently, "Haven't you realized how important you are to them?" Just the first day we met, they were completely obedient to you. And, your presentation today was fantastic. ”

"Really?"

"Of course. Although it doesn't contain any battle cry that can be distilled, many of them are about to cry when you ask them if they are willing to accept you. ”

I didn't find that."

"Because you were about to cry at the time."

“.”

Carlil turned his head away so that Coates didn't have to see his expression. After a while, he continued to ask, "So, back to the point, how about it?" ”

"Okay."

"How are you going to explain my origin to them?"

Faced with his question, the Lord of the Eighth Legion was silent for a long time before speaking. He apparently replied after careful thought, and as a result, this passage surprised Carlil considerably.

"I'm not going to tell them just who you are, so there's no point. Whatever I say, they will take it. So, even if I really lie to them, they will take it as the truth. ”

"But I can't lie to them, Carlil I can't do that, you said it, didn't you? We should return the favor to those who have been good to us. ”

"So, I want to involve them in the cleaning and transformation of the Nostramo. They'll definitely be there anyway. In the process, they will also be aware of the image you have created, and they will realize who you are. ”

yes, they will. They'll find a legend about vengeful spirits, but it doesn't matter to me, kid.

Carlil looked at him gently, and the Lord of the Eighth Legion was now bowing his head, writing and drawing on the many documents in front of him.

They've been sent in by the servants, so Conrad Coz is pretty busy right now. He didn't even realize what kind of mixed feelings Carlil was having at the moment.

Fourteen days.

The giant who was once a ghost laughed slowly—fourteen days, and that's it?

You're so proud of me.

"Carlil?" Conrad Coetzes looked up. With no response, he had to look up and watch Carlil's reaction directly. The latter, on the other hand, just smiled calmly.

"I don't have anything more to say, Conrad." With a chuckle, Carlil replied. "As you say, it's a perfect explanation. I have one last question, though. ”

"What?"

"How are you going to explain to them that you didn't unify Nostramo? I mean. Your age. ”

"I don't have to say about it."

"You just said you didn't want to lie to them."

"Not saying it is just concealing, it is not lying."

"Is it better to hide than to lie?"

"You, you- you've hidden a lot from me, too!" Midnight Ghost hissed. "Don't you have a lot of things you haven't told me?!"

Carlil smiled dumbly and raised his hands in surrender.

His eyes were very gentle, not those that should belong to ghosts.

——

On the second day, Carlil did not participate in the parade.

Of course he won't be – why should he?

Is he going to stand below, or is he going to stand with Conrad Coetze to review the Eighth Legion?

Either way, it would have been unwise in his opinion.

Conrad Coetzes is mature enough to take on the title of 'Master of the Eighth Legion' on his own.

Carlil also felt that he had better not meddle too much in the internal affairs of the Legion.

Therefore, he will not give any substantive advice - in short, he intends to do his utmost to avoid any situation that might involve him in the internal affairs of the Legion.

Of course, whether this matter will go as he wishes or not is up to him.

As for now, he is reading some books.

The Eighth Legion had 20,000 soldiers, and they couldn't have all been as obsessed with mastering their martial arts as Siani or Richter.

Therefore, although it seems a little paradoxical to say it, the Nightfall does have a library that is not too small or small.

At this moment, Carlil was standing in a window seat reading a book.

The seats were clearly designed for Astarte's size, and he couldn't sit in, but he was not bad standing.

He was reading a book of poetry, which began with a line of annotation in High Gothic.

To the effect that this is a collection of poems from Terra, it has a very long history. Although the author is unknown, he hopes that anyone should read the book with a 'pilgrimage' mentality.

After fifteen minutes of reading, Carlil chuckled and agreed with the compiler.

"It's a pilgrimage, indeed."

He muttered to himself. "Her eager face, like the rain of the night, disturbs my dreams, and it is indeed a pilgrimage."

When he put down the book, his chuckle gradually turned into a wry smile.

At this time, two servants came from the aisle one after the other, one was responsible for sweeping the floor and the other was responsible for mopping the floor, and the division of labor was orderly.

They quickly cleaned up the entire library. It doesn't even take more than ten minutes. Carlil watched the whole process in silence, and he realized that the servants also had a job.

And he didn't.

It's better to find an opportunity to get back to Nostramo early, although the fear is not brewing enough right now.

He narrowed his eyes - yes, for the next nine days, the gang had been frantically searching for him, but had never found any clues. Words written only by corpses, ruins, and blood.

For nine days, Kalil watched almost coldly as they descended into madness, but that wasn't enough. He had to wait for the moment when the emotion spread to the most terrible moment, and that was the only way

He looked up, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

Steel stomped on the wooden floor, and the thick ground made an unbearable sound.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kalil turned his head slightly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw an Astarte wearing a cold blue power armor, who was not wearing a helmet. This made him immediately recognize who it was and what attitude he should use.

"Siani from Terra."

Carlil smiled and turned around, "What is the wind that brought you here?" ”

"Of course it won't be these books." Siani laughed too. "I just wanted to ask why you didn't show up at the parade."

Carlil raised an eyebrow slowly. "Why am I showing up?"

"You are the adoptive father of our primordials." Siani said solemnly. "Why didn't you show up?"

The conversation changed the mood so quickly that Carlil was even stunned.

But when he saw the sly look in Siani's eyes, he realized he had been fooled. Of course, that's not all.

He also realized that Siani's question was somewhat sincere.

"Because he's the master of the Eighth Legion." Carlil replied with a chuckle, smiling, but not frivolous.

He was obviously much taller than Siani, but his attitude at the moment was very modest. If there were a painter here, I'm afraid they would paint them as high.

"What you say is good, but it's not enough to convince me"

"Then you don't believe it." Carlil said briskly. "It doesn't hurt me, does it?"

"But it worked bad for me."

Terra's Siani laughed again, his teeth sharpened - a distinctive trait shared by all Terra.

Carlile, though, actually captured more detail. For example, he has a pale complexion, eyes that are darker than the average person, rarely blinking, and no hair.

The characteristics that come with adaptation are so evident in everyone, even Astarte is not exempt. They are still human beings – or at least they can be seen as belonging to the category of human beings.

But what about me?

"So, the parade is over?" Carlil asked. I kept everything in my heart.

He didn't mind making small talk with Siani for a while, it didn't hurt after all. As long as it did not involve the internal affairs of the Eighth Army, he was happy to accept it.

For example, yesterday's rotation match. If you look at it all from the ground, Carlil will admit that he actually had a lot of fun.

"Yes, a happy end."

Siani puffed out his chest proudly.

Although he uses Terra as the prefix of his name, he is also the fighter within the Eighth Legion who has been the champion of hand-to-hand combat for five years, but he spoke of both things with pride yesterday.

Only now, when talking about a perfectly concluded military parade, did he appear extremely proud and extremely satisfied.

"How complete?"

"Very complete, Karil Lohals. We've even shown the Protozo every detail we've had in the past, such as stealth and stealth combat. Ah, though, how did you see that yesterday? ”

"See what?" Carlil asked quietly.

"Don't pretend!" Siani grinned, pulled out a chair and sat down on his own.

The chair, made of the right material, let out an overwhelmed wail as it lifted his weight, but Siani seemed unmoved.

He smiled, raised his right hand and gestured, "They were choked by us yesterday." ”

"Are you referring to the five warriors led by Company Commander Ariel?"

"There's no company commander now, but, yes, it's just six of them."

"Just a bit of luck." Carlil whispered. "I've always been lucky."

Siani pouted, "If you don't want to say it, forget it, Lord Carlil." ”

"Why did you suddenly add an honorific title?"

"Our Primordial gave a brand new speech at the parade today, and at the end of that speech, he made a special mention of you. His adoptive father, Karil Lohals, also wants us not to add honorifics to your name. Considering that our Primordials didn't like it either, I made a small guess. ”

With a tense face, Siani said a long series of words in one breath in a kind of crepe grammar. And finally, he uttered the last sentence of the passage with a barely held expression and a tone that suddenly soared.

"I think you hate it, don't you, Lord Carlil?"

“.”

Carlil narrowed his eyes quietly, not answering in the first place. After a moment, he suddenly chuckled.

"Call it if you want, Siani from Terra, it's a big deal that the Eighth Legion has won the hand-to-hand combat championship for five consecutive years, let's compare the length of the title, what do you think?"

Siani's face twitched at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Count me losing."

"So, who wins? You don't seem to want to admit that I'm the winner here. Carlil asked deliberately.

He had sensed something.

Of course he would perceive.

"Tsk, I really don't have much talent for using language."

Annoyed, Siani stood up. After a few seconds, he changed his expression, looking serious and dignified, no longer as relaxed and natural as before.

"Lord Karil Lohars." He whispered. "In the name of Conrad Coetzes, and in the glory of the Eighth Legion, we have come to invite you to this evening's dinner."

Carlil narrowed his eyes and turned around.

Behind him, a shadow of black oppression slowly appeared.

The soldiers of the Eighth Legion surrounded the place at the moment, they did not have helmets, their armor was shiny, and the ribbons of military merit and honor fluttered on it. The expressions of each of them were extremely solemn and sincere.

They looked at him as if they were expecting something.

We should return with double kindness to those who have done well to us. ’

Taking a slow, deep breath, Carlil nodded expressionlessly.

"It's an honor to be invited by you, warriors of the Eighth Legion." He said aloud. "I'll be on time for dinner."

——

The Eighth Regiment rarely held banquets - this is a fact, a fact that does not even need to be argued.

In the Legion, the gloomy and silent people are the majority, and people like Siani are outliers after all. However, everything has a cause and effect. The Eighth Legion's unfamiliarity with the banquet led to their predicament at the moment.

Phil Zaloster anxiously lowered his head and looked at the few mortals on the Nightfall: "What does it mean that there are no raw materials?" ”

"I just don't have the raw materials, Lord Fair."

The man had a beard and a somewhat listless expression. He wore a crisp white robe and wore a chef's hat crooked above his head.

"We can't make food without raw materials."

"Why not?!"

"My Lord"

The head chef sighed: "The menu you and your adults have given clearly includes Glocks steak, apple and peach, herbal tea, butter bread, all kinds of dangerous seafood, fresh fruit, and red wine."

"Isn't that right?"

"Yes, of course, actually, it's even a little less for a banquet."

"Then why don't you do it?"

"Because we only have six flavors of Astarte nutritious porridge, individual portable rations, and regular beer in our food supply warehouse, my lord. Also, I would like to ask, which adult said on the menu that he wanted sand eel jerky? ”

"It should be Keg."

"The Keg from the Sixth Company? Well, alas. Please tell him that he ate the dried eel a month and a half ago! ”

Fair Zaloster didn't know how he had made it back to the huge ballroom that was so bustling with people - he really didn't, he just knew that he was sleepwalking.

The anxious expression of this sturdy warrior at the moment was evident to an extreme, which could almost make anyone know that he was in a bad mood at the first sight of him.

The wise will avoid it, and the less sensible few, or the brave few, will rise to the occasion.

For example, Adebiman Basley.

He walked towards Fell, who came to his senses the first moment he saw him, and subconsciously wanted to turn his head to the former company commanders to discuss countermeasures.

After all, it's still some time before the banquet officially begins. They should still be able to think of ways to remedy it. However, Adbiman Basli did not give him this opportunity.

"Your Excellency."

He stood in the middle of the road with a blank face, blocking Fair's path.

"Thirty-five minutes before the feast begins, but why hasn't there been any movement in the kitchen? I didn't see a single menu item being sent out of the kitchen inside our ballroom. ”

"Don't talk about it just yet."

"Why?"

"Don't mention it yet, Adebiman, get back to your seat. We'll naturally figure it out. ”

Adebeeman let out a long sigh.

"I told you ten hours ago that a banquet was not such a good idea, but you swore to me that tonight's banquet would be a success. The Eighth Legion will surely make the Primordial and Lord Karil Lohals feel at home. ”

"And now, I can make a bold guess that our supply depot is running out of ingredients for those delicate dishes on the menu. And, even if there were, I'm afraid the number wouldn't be enough to support the consumption of such a banquet, right? ”

"Your instincts are really hell-right."

Fair Zaloster said with a blank face. "So, my clever former adjutant, is there anything you can do?"

"Nope."

Adebeeman sneered and spread his hands.

"Not at all, sir."

"I can't conjure up raw materials out of thin air, and the supply fleet responsible for providing logistics and bringing in officials still has two months left before they reach the Ghoul Domain through the Extreme Field."

"So, unless you go tell the original now and convince him to postpone this banquet until two months from now, I think our banquet will fail."

"You've got a lot to say, Adebeeman."

Fell's eyes narrowed, his expression becoming a little dangerous. "Since you have such a way, why don't you tell the original body the news yourself?"

Satisfied to see his former lieutenant's expression turn horrified for the next few seconds, Fair casually made an excuse and quickly left.

Fell stood alone, pondered for a moment, and went to find the remaining seven former company commanders. After a brief meeting, they unanimously decided to honestly inform the Prima about the matter.

It was Fair, of course.

"Why me?!"

Phil Zaloster shouted angrily. "Why me again?! You've already sent me bad news to the Primordials, and this must not happen a second time! ”

"Because you came up with the idea of a banquet, Fell." One of the company commanders said.

He has a rather gloomy face that fits the standard stereotype of the Eighth Legion.

Hooked nose, high cheekbones, pointed chin. The whole person looks extremely fierce. And his straight face at the moment adds a strong persuasiveness.

"But you agreed!" Phil tried to argue with his case, waving his arms. "Didn't we pass this decision together?"

"The squad leaders outside the company didn't agree." The man replied briskly. "So, why don't you go and talk to them about it?"

"What does this have to do with them?!"

"That's right, it's not about them, it's about us, and it's the most about you. So, Fair"

He patted Phil sympathetically on the shoulder and pushed him out of the way: "Go ahead." ”

Ten minutes later, a stiff Fer Zaloster stood in front of their original body, Conrad Coetzes, with his head bowed, looking very nervous.

What he didn't know was that Konrad Coz had actually been very nervous ten minutes earlier.

He had a hard time choosing the right clothes for the banquet, and he didn't know what to choose. Therefore, the arrival of Fair put an end to his difficulties to a certain extent.

At the moment, he was wearing a black, blue, and silver tuxedo, a dress that had been cut by Vogrim himself, and every detail had been done by the hands of the Chemosians.

He didn't just give Konrad Cotz a lesson during those fourteen days, he made eight outfits for his brother in one go, just in line with the number of the Eighth Legion.

"So, what's the matter, Fair?" He asked softly, High Gothic echoing through the room.

That's right, the original. The banquet may have to be cancelled. ”

Phil Zaloster uttered this sentence calmly with the most fearless courage of his life, and then buried his head deeply, as if waiting for a judge to judge a sinner to make a decision.

"Cancel?"

"Yes, we made a mistake, we have a serious shortage of logistical reserves. All the dishes on the menu were almost impossible to see"

Fell bowed his head and added an explanation, expecting a stern rebuke - in fact, he was prepared for it.

After all, this was a banquet attended by the original body and his adoptive father, and it was also the first banquet held by the Eighth Legion to welcome the return of the original body, so it was naturally of great commemorative significance.

Therefore, even if his genetic father wanted to punish him, he was willing to accept it.

But he didn't expect to hear a soft chuckle.

"Is that all?"

Fell looked up blankly and saw a smiling face.

"It's just that the food on the menu isn't served in its entirety?"

Actually, none of the original bodies can be served." Phil said with difficulty.

"Well, it's not a big deal."

Conrad Coetzes nodded thoughtfully. "So, what else do we have in our warehouse?"

"Uh, six flavors of Astarte nutritious porridge, individual portable rations, and regular beer"

"So, isn't it enough to use these?" Conrad Coetzes tilted his head and said.

Fell looked at him in amazement, and it was a moment before he remembered that he should argue a thing or two.

"But, but—but how is this worthy of your identity?!"

"My identity? Who am I, Fair? ”

"You are our primordial."

Phil Zaloster replied very quickly. "You are the genetic prototype of the Eighth Legion, you are the son of the Emperor, and you are a noble demigod."

"Demigods?"

Conrad Coetzes frowned. "The first three are true, but where did the demigod claim come from? The Imperial Truth clearly states that there is no God in the world. ”

"But your brother Lorga Aurelian"

Fell just said one name and nothing else. But it was enough for Conrad Coetz to understand, and he sighed, didn't say anything more, just shook his head.

"I don't pick food." He said calmly. "It's a good thing to eat, but it's just a momentary pleasure, Fell. And these things don't mean much to me at all. ”

"We're far stronger than the average person, Fair."

"In my opinion, the purpose of our existence is to be their shield, their blade. We are the flame that sweeps away all darkness, the lightning that cleanses away the ghost. ”

"Our battle is not to allow ourselves to live a luxurious life where we can enjoy the delicacies of the mountains and seas, our battle is to allow all human beings in the entire galaxy to have normal diet, normal clothing, and normal sleep like normal people."

He raised his hand and placed it on Fell's shoulder. Looking at him earnestly—in fact, he could almost call it a gaze at the moment.

"Do you understand, Fell?" Conrad Coetzes asked cautiously.

His attitude was not 'force you to understand' or 'you should understand', he was genuinely asking worriedly, for fear that Fer Zaloster would not understand his words and the meaning behind them.

The former commander of the third company of the Eighth Army Corps and the director of the think tank had a sour nose and almost burst into tears.

He nodded, then nodded again, like a machine.

Conrad Coetzes smiled.

"It doesn't have to be that way, Fell. It doesn't matter if you don't understand, there's still a lot of time, and I'll try to make sure you all understand my thoughts. However, since there is no food on the Nightfall, we might as well change the location of the dinner a little as well. ”

The dinner will be held as usual.

When the bell rang for the opening of the feast, the Astartes of the Eighth Legion were surprised to find that the food that had been brought to their long tables by the servants was not the exquisite dishes on the menu, but nutritious porridge, individual rations, and ordinary beer.

The last item is not even a drink to them, it is almost the same as water.

But

"I'm sorry."

Conrad Coetzes used a makeshift microphone to make his voice heard in a huge ballroom that could hold 20,000 people and even had room to spare. Gentle and solemn, so that those who hear it will never forget.

"But they're the only ones in the storehouse on the Nightfall, the soldiers of the Eighth Legion. Oh, and also, which one is Keg in the former Sixth Company? ”

An Astarte in power armor stiffened to his feet.

Conrad Coetzes smiled softly at him, "Chef Dolsto, I'm telling you, the sand eel jerky has been eaten. ”

"Understood, Primordial!" Keg replied loudly. "The sand eel jerky has been eaten!"

His reaction caused a chuckle. Such was the atmosphere within the Eighth Legion, where not many people would show respect for such a thing. Ridicule is the most frequent greeting they use with each other.

Conrad Coetzes laughed too, but not mockingly.

He made a gentle gesture for Keg to sit down, and then spoke slowly.

"I see Glocks steak on the menu? Can someone explain to me what it tastes like? ”

"It's delicious, Original." A young Astarte replied. There was a glint of reverence in his eyes, which seemed to Carlile to be quite an interesting picture standing in the darkness at the edge of the hall.

Your original may be younger than you, Astarte.

He laughed silently.

"Delicious? Ah, I can't imagine what it tastes like. Conrad Coetze replied sincerely.

"My image of food is of the paste, the rat and the delicate dishes on the Emperor's Dream. Frankly, I doubted my sense of taste when I found out that the latter was not much different from the first two for me. ”

"But they are obviously fine, so I have nothing more to say. And my imagination is very lacking, you guys, I can't imagine what Glocks steak tastes like, but I do know what Glocks is. ”

He smiled, but the Eighth Legion did not. Their attention was focused on the original body's description of the food. A silent anger began to spread.

"I know that it originated in the Solomonic system and is an aggressive animal, but the whole body can be eaten. It is delicious, nutritious, easy to raise, and can survive in quite harsh environments. ”

"I read this description from the notes of my brother Fogham, and I have to say that it reminds me of a beast that lives in the wilderness of Nostramo."

"They can survive in harsh environments, their meat is just as tasty, and they're just as aggressive sawtooth, that's their name."

"Unlike the Glocks, their meat was a precious delicacy on Nostramo exclusive to the aristocracy. It is not sent to thousands of households like Glocks meat, and even herders on distant and backward planets can eat this delicacy through grazing. ”

"On Nostramo, the people who are like herders can't eat the meat of the sawtooth, and they can't eat the meat of Glocks."

"Do you know why?" Conrad Coetzes asked softly.

No one answered.

Twenty thousand pairs of eyes stared at him in silence, waiting for his next words. This has happened many times in the past two days. And for Conrad Coetzes, he would never get used to it.

But, every time, he makes himself act habitual.

"Do you want to know why?"

The owners of the twenty-thousand-eyed bowed their heads in silence.

Conrad Coetzes laughed again, toothy and restrained.

Among the people present, only one person could see his true emotions at the moment. The man stood in the darkness and shook his head with a calm expression. He was relieved, but he felt a slight and delicate complication.

"I'd like to leave it up to you to find out." Conrad Coetzes said softly. "Also, how about we be able to change the venue of the banquet and taste the specialties of Nostramo?"

The sound of helmet-wearing metal clashing replaced words and gave him an answer.

——

Phil Zaloster felt a slight shudder run through the ends of his fingers, which was unusual.

He's a solid Astarte and a stable guy. And if you're going to mention his other position, he's pretty consistent.

Therefore, the trembling he was feeling at the moment was not due to physiological reasons.

"You brute!"

His former lieutenant, Adhelman, roared and threw a nobleman to the ground, acting roughly, but clearly sparing his hand. Otherwise, that abomination will be shattered in the first place.

Fell turned his head so that he would not look at him again. He was afraid that he would not be able to resist turning this Nostramo nobleman into a headless corpse with a power sword.

The Emperor is above.

How could they be so depraved?

Fell closed his eyes so that he didn't have to look at the details that were hanging in the dark and swaying slightly.

The Eighth Legion has faced terrible darkness.

They carry out punishment and do not care about the classification of crime and innocence. Until the original body returned, they only received orders from the emperor. Therefore, with every action, they can see the sins that lurk in the darkness.

And Phil can swear by his last name, the darkness on Nostramo is incomparable to the horrors in Seragouna's underground genetic lab.

The latter can at least be traced back to the fact that the Serragons attempted to breed psionics in order to cross a certain line drawn by the Emperor.

But what about here?

Why did one man skin hundreds of other people for no reason or reason and hang them to dry their blood in the dark?

Adebeeman's eerie roar came from the other side: "You filthy monster, so reckless! How dare you do this to your fellow man? What do you think of them?! ”

The nobleman replied in a hissing language, and fear spread through it. Fell opened his eyes, looked at him indifferently, and raised his hand, stopping Adebeeman's next move.

"Remember what the original said to us before we left?" He asked in a low voice.

Adebeeman turned his head, his gloomy iron face glistening in the darkness, some of the blood stained by the killing slowly falling on it, and they had experienced a winding and rugged adventure, but this was far from the end.

"Judgment." Adebeeman replied in a low voice. "Judge them all."

"The Primordial has given us the right to serve as both judge and executioner by virtue of his reign granted by the Emperor, but we cannot simply drown these abominable beasts in a pool of blood of their making."

Fell stared at the nobleman who was gasping in terror in blood, the last one left in the mansion.

"They deserve to be judged, and to be judged under the watchful eyes of all those who are killed."

He repeated the words of their original body, his voice calm, but the breathing grille turned his voice into a terrible noise.

The nobleman began to scream again, he did not understand the language of the giants who emerged from the darkness, and it seemed to him that every pause was like a blade stuck in his body.

Fear.

"Take him away, Adebeeman." Fair said. "Go to the center of this nest capital."

"What about you, my lord?"

"Don't call me sir, I'm no longer a company commander or a think tank director. Didn't you notice that we were all scattered to fight at this banquet? ”

Adebeeman reached out and skillfully knocked the nobleman unconscious, then resisted it. At the same time, he did not even forget to refute his former company commander.

"The original body just said at the military parade that he doesn't plan to cancel your position, my lord, do you have to worry about it at this time?"

"Yes, I have to worry about it at this time."

Adebeeman snorted, turned around, and left through a floor-to-ceiling window. His figure vanished into the eerie cascading spires, and through the night vision devices, Fell watched him away.

Now, standing alone among the corpses, he slowly took off his helmet.

If there is to be a trial, then a crime is necessary.

The strong smell of blood and the smell of hallucinogens that pervaded the mansion swept across his face, and his physical fitness shielded him from the latter, but the former could not.

Phil Zaloster looked up and looked at the hundreds of hanging corpses.

The victims' eyes stared at him hollowly in their eyelid sockets, and the breeze blew in and shook them. The eyeballs also rotated slightly from the slow movement.

At this moment, Fer Zaloster of the Eighth Legion felt a tingling in his eyes.

He could understand the Seragon people, and he knew their ambition and the consequences that might come with it. Therefore, the Eighth Army quickly destroyed them.

But what about Nostramo? What's going on here?

He didn't have an answer.

The breeze blew through from Prem to Quintus, from the upper nest to the lower nest, from the blue lighting bars in the lavish mansions of the nobles to the dark yellow light sources in the lower gang stations

It doesn't stay, it blows by.

Under its blow, under the gaze of the eternal night, twenty thousand dark shadows brought something on Nostramo tonight that had not really appeared in a long time.

"Justice."

Conrad Coetze muttered to himself.

He turned his head to look at the other giant. "Am I doing the right thing, Carlil?"

"You are the master of the Eighth Legion." The giant replied with a smile. "Isn't it?"

"But I want to know if I'm right or wrong to do this."

Conrad Coetzee asked persistently.

"I got them all 20,000 people, Carlil, 20,000 Astartes are now operating in Nostramo. They used to be the Emperor's punishers, and now, they intend to be my punishers. But"

"But what?"

"But I don't think that's right."

Said the pale giant.

"The Emperor's punishment is merciless and enormous. I've read the Legion's past battle reports, and every one of their sorties has brought destruction to those sinners. But they themselves are indifferent to the sins of those who are being judged."

"So, don't you think that's right?"

I don't know." Konrad Coetzes said. "That's why I asked you."

"So, why do I know?"

Carlil chuckled and shook his head. "I don't know much more about the Empire than you do, Conrad."

"But the question I ask you doesn't require you to know much about the Empire."

Conrad Coetzee stubbornly asks questions, as he has often done in the past, and now turns the diggling into a common mode of conversation.

Carlil is not disgusted by this, and he is well aware of the great courage behind such an act.

There are too many people in the world who get by, such as some in the Eighth Legion.

Still others go with the flow and let their circumstances shape them, such as others within the Eighth Legion.

But only a few people dare to rebel against the environment.

He stared at the ghost he had created with one hand, and suddenly tilted his head, his expression a little relaxed.

"I can't tell you if it's right or wrong, Conrad." Carlil Lohals said softly. "This is a question that cannot be settled for the time being, and there is no point in discussing right and wrong in itself."

"No point?" Conrad Coetze's eyes widened. "How could it not make sense?"

"Because right and wrong, and justice and not in themselves, mean nothing, what kind of justice do you aspire to, Conrad? Justice of judgment, justice of punishment, or justice in the broadest sense? The word is equally vague, Conrad. ”

Carlil chuckled.

"It seems to me that justice itself does not exist."

Conrad Coetzes frowned slowly, retorting for the first time Carlil's words.

"Isn't what my legion is doing right now?" He asked, slightly angrily.

"Of course."

"Then why do you say it doesn't exist?"

"Because it's late." Carlil said. "And justice delayed is not justice at all."

"It's been too late, too long, and the reason for being late has nothing to do with you, with the Eighth Legion. It was the Nostramo people themselves who gave up on this justice, and they did not have the soil to give it up. ”

"But can you blame them? You can't blame them for those numb eyes, Conrad. It's like you can't blame yourself either. ”

Carlil stepped forward, patted Midnight Ghost lightly on the shoulder, and hissed softly.

"Don't blindly pursue justice, right and wrong, and look at what's in front of you, ghost. For example, this trial that you are going to have tonight, you have to pay more attention to the bystanders, the numb bystanders."

He sighed and lowered his hand. The ghost answered him a moment later, in a soft, complaining voice.

"But didn't you light the fire?" He asked frustratedly. "I thought I could at least do it. Let it burn. ”

"The fire I lit is not the fire of justice." Carlil replied softly. "The image I created does not represent justice. Do what you have to do, do what you want to do, don't learn from me, ghost. ”

He was silent for a moment, then laughed and jumped off the spire, disappearing into the darkness at the far end. The wraith stared into the distance, not following him for the first time.

Boiled not motivated. Two overnight changes in a row. It's hard to balance quality and quantity.

The remaining twenty chapters will be changed when I get up and after I get some sleep.

Slippery kneel apology (. ）

(End of chapter)