The deck of the Storm Eagle trembled under the Iron Boots, and again and again, and on, and on, and on, and at the same time, it was annoying and extremely disgusting.

People who haven't experienced it can't understand it, but once you experience it, you can understand how terrible it really feels.

"If Banzolix doesn't finish his job, I'll give him a nose discount." Standing on the deck, Leonard, the captain of the Eighth Legion's 'Blade of Punishment' squad, said.

His voice was somber, which didn't rely on the voice-changing function of the breathing grille. His voice, which had been transformed by the poisonous gases released by the enemy during a war, was hoarse, gloomy, and sounded like two pieces of metal rubbing wildly in someone's hand when he was emotional.

Frankly, he was one of the few members of the Eighth Legion who didn't need a breathing grille to scare people.

"You can't handle him, Captain."

One of the members of the team, Estorev, retorted. "There were only a few dozen technical sergeants in the legion. If you dare to touch him, the company commander will dare to come over and stab you. ”

"Do you think I haven't been stabbed?" Leonard snorted disdainfully. "Van Cleef only dared to hurt me in training."

"You seem to be saying something dangerous, Captain."

Estornev shook his head. "Regardless of the fact that we, as a scattered squad, would not have operated with the First Company in wartime, what the hell would you have to do to get Company Commander Van Cleeff to stab you in wartime?"

"Can you handle it?" Leonard snorted again, but didn't continue. Instead, he turned his head and nodded to the rest of the team.

Eighteen pairs of silent eyes all flickered silently at this moment, and the scarlet color of the eyepiece took its place a moment later with the click of machinery.

Estornev shook his head and silently put his helmet on.

The Storm Eagle can carry up to twenty people, while the Punishment Blade Squad only has twenty people.

"Quintus."

Leonard hissed and spat out the name in the newly learned Nostramo language, and then switched back to High Gothic.

"The old rules."

After he spat out the words, only the sound of metal trembling remained within the Storm Hawk. Five minutes and thirty seconds later, they landed.

The hunt begins immediately.

——

Estornev knew that he was probably not the first to achieve results, but he didn't really care much about it. After all, it is he who makes the choice.

Unlike the others, he chose not to hunt down the obvious prey, but chose to track the prey that he tried to hide.

This decision also coincides with the old rules of the Blade of Punishment.

Hunt alone.

That's the rule.

As long as you join the Blade of Punishment Squad, everyone will have to spread out in order to be more efficient when carrying out missions. Judgment is a business that needs to be done, and although it may never be completed, they will keep trying.

Creaning in the darkness, his eyepieces glowing with a dull light. The upper nest is so quiet that some of it can seem elusive.

But this was not difficult for Estornev, and every Astarte of the Eighth Army had already imprinted a map of the five nests on the Nostramo in their minds.

Days of purges and trials have frightened the nobles of Nostramo, but not everyone wants to believe that there will really be a judgment from the sky.

It was not the first time Estornev had seen such a person, in fact, he had seen too many. Man is a stubborn creature, and they will not let go of their sword until their sins have been fully settled.

That's why we're here.

Estornev slowly walked out of the darkness.

Tonight, the first sinner he killed was a guard.

Estornev was even surprised when he realized his identity, and he couldn't understand why these nobles had come so far and kept such useless means of protection.

Moreover, the guard is actually a signal. The mansions of the other nobles who had already been judged by them had long since become empty haunted houses, and there would be nothing but the eerie death.

However, if you don't understand, you don't understand, and that doesn't slow him down.

He severed the guard's throat with his combat dagger, and before that he had even carefully chosen an angle that would allow the blood to gush out better.

As the guard fell to his knees in terror from the great pain and the rapid passage of his life, Estonev picked him up.

He ripped off the man's shirt, stabbed it through his jaw, and slashed forward, slicing his chin and tongue open.

Broken to the point of utter unrecognizable wails were born from their throats, blood continued to gush, they didn't care about their master's life, they just wanted to be released.

Just like Estornev - he couldn't take it anymore.

The mere thought of so many sinners in this world happily using the lives they had taken from others burned with anger.

He took the guard in his hand, kicked open the door, threw the latter in, and then spoke softly in Nostramo.

"I'm here for you."

The soft tone of voice became like an extreme cry under the effect of the breathing grille, and the hoarse tone brought terrible fear. In the soft light, dozens of men and women sitting nervously screamed in the room.

They were dressed simply, even in rags. The deliberately washed face still bears the terrible marks left by years of hard work.

Estornev immediately recognized that something was wrong.

His dodge was so timely that he could even fully see how the civilians, trembling with fear, had been blown to pieces by a bomb placed in the middle of the hall as he dodged back into the darkness.

And Estornev didn't even have time to sense his emotions at the moment, they slashed through his heart like lightning, leaving a scorched trail in it. However, the heart had been split so many times that the marks could not even be left intact on his heart.

He began to run, jumping back and forth between the walls to climb the third floor of the villa, and a floor-to-ceiling window with curtains drawn appeared before his eyes.

With a low roar, Estorev chose to let the desire to judge his sins cover his heart. He smashed the glass and rushed into it, but instead of a sinner he could easily kill, he was greeted by the roar and fire of an explosion.

Trigger bomb - the word flashed through his mind. There was a slight flash of chagrin, and his MK2 protected him, as always. Although he was not injured, the impact of the explosion caused him to fall off the third floor.

Behind the door on the first floor, which had been blown into molten and twisted metal, several figures appeared at this moment. Lying on the ground shattered by his weight, Estorev could see the blurred face of the flesh that flickered behind the broken door.

Then, he heard a dull, faint slamming of the door.

He can help them – if he wants to.

He can stand up and open the door for a second to rescue them, or he can take out the blaster that is securely locked on the belt to end their suffering. However, Estornev did nothing.

He just stood up, then drew his combat dagger and turned around. A group of dark shadows were rushing towards him from the otherwise quiet side of the street.

Everyone's foreheads were engraved with the words vengeance of the ghost in Nostramo, blood was drenched, and the stench of sweat mixed with the smell of perfume permeated the night.

Once nobles, they are now a remnant of a group of reverberations driven mad by constant death, and the only thing that sets them apart is the faith they converted to in the last moments of their lives.

Vengeful spirits.

To whom is revenge?

Estornev felt a sense of absurdity.

He rushed forward, the fire of the automatic gun not even enough to break off his protective coating, but the nobles rushed forward without fear.

There were not many of them, and there was a kind of madness on their faces that had been baptized by fanaticism—no, perhaps the madness that had been shattered by madness, and there was no sanity left.

Only madness.

But, there is no fear.

They were not afraid of him.

This caused Estornev to let out a low roar, and he rushed into the crowd, killing like a tiger into a flock.

The waltz of blood and minced flesh came the next moment, and there was not much to say, and they were killed by him in no time. Standing among the corpses, he heard a dull noise behind him.

It's like metal being struck, or maybe a heart is shattered.

Estorneuve turned his head and saw that the molten door had been opened at some point. He squinted, the readings flashing on the eyepiece didn't tell him anything useful, but he had no choice.

He must continue, he will continue to judge, he will judge them.

His hands began to tremble.

As he approached the door, the hall was filled with shattered human tissue scattered in no logical sense, and several bloody figures leaning against the wall stared blankly at the ceiling with their eyes open.

They may have tried to escape, but Estorev did not open the door for them, and they died of misery.

Flesh and blood blur.

Unmoved, he numbly stepped inside, vigilantly searching for a reason why it had been opened. He plunged into it, stepping through blood, shattered glass, and ground shattered by heat and explosions

Then, in the midst of the flames, he saw a giant half-kneeling on the ground. The giant, with his back to him, stood up like a prophet, and turned, his body covered in blood and the smell of death.

In an instant, the blue light of Senhan flashed away. The icy silence fell in an instant, the flames were all extinguished, the light faded, and only darkness remained. But this was not difficult for the eyepiece, and Estorev could see the giant's face, and he could see it clearly.

He saw a flame of rage beyond his imagination, and the mere sight of it made Estorev shudder.

"You're the thirteenth tonight." The giant said in a deep voice. "You're all unqualified."

The next second, the pain struck.

I'm not sure if there's still a Carvin + back pain, so I'll try my best to write another one.

(End of chapter)