Not many people would believe it, but there was a medical hall on the Nightfall.

Located between the upper and lower decks, it is a quiet and cold place, where the heat from the pipes of the walls does not affect it in the slightest, and it is a clever escape from all the noise and noise.

It's quiet like a cemetery, and in fact, it does look like a cemetery, and there is even a mist here.

Now, if you can walk through the twelve security gates and through the layers of isolation cells separated by airtight bulletproof glass, you can reach its main hall, a huge hospital room with energy cables on the floor.

It was a very different room than a regular ward, dimly lit, and the environment was eerie and cold, but none of that meant anything to anyone who had lived here for a short time in the past.

In other words, the Eighth Regiment didn't care what their 'ward' looked like. And Conrad Coetzes doesn't care.

At this moment, he was staring through bulletproof glass at a corpse covered in many instruments and was silent. The Medic Officer of the Eighth Legion, Jaelziño Guzmán, stood beside him and joined him in silence.

Thirteen minutes later, a deep hum erupted from one of the contemplatives in the hallway. So Guzmán immediately ran over and returned a few seconds later with a report.

He looked up, looked at his tall, lanky, gloomy protobody, and handed the diagnosis over to Conrad Coetze, who didn't reach for it.

"Would you mind telling me the results directly, Jaelziño?" The Lord of the Eighth Legion asked softly. He put his hands behind his back, and the cuff of his right hand was empty.

"Yes, Proto."

The medic complied, and he lowered his head and quickly scanned the file before speaking.

"Judging from the examination report, the deceased did not have any signs of life, there was no organic tissue on the bones that could be investigated, and he was completely dead in a medical and physiological sense."

"So, what about the cause of death?" Coates asked again, his expression calm.

Guzmán didn't know how to answer that question for a moment.

Four hours earlier, when his prototype had arrived in the medical hall with the corpse in his arms, there were four other medical teams trying to overcome the miners' lung disease in an attempt to reverse the advanced stages of the disease.

This was necessary, not only because Conrad Coetze had said that 'any man's life is precious,' but also because everyone in the Eighth Regiment had seen Nostramo with their own eyes.

No one should live like that, that's their consensus.

And now, they have left with their equipment and are scattered to the various infirmaries on the ship to continue their research work.

Conrad Coetze recounted why he did this, and offered his deepest apologies for interrupting the medical officers' work - but Guzmán was certain that his medical team would not be able to produce any results tonight.

After all, the corpse's name was Karil Lohals.

The cause of death was intense heat." Guzmán replied in a low voice. "However, no promethium flame can only burn the flesh and blood without destroying the bones, the original body."

"According to our understanding of the laws of science and physics, yes. Moreover, the common flames could not keep his bones still hot. ”

Coetz lowered his head and looked at the medical officer, his expression still calm, as if the mood swings of four hours ago were all a dream. Yet, out of Guzmán's sight, his hands are opening and closing repeatedly.

"Primordial, do you want to talk about psionic energy?"

The Lord of the Eighth Legion fell into deep thought and did not answer. He was very calm, even a little scary. Staring at his side face, the medical officer somehow felt a piercing chill welling up in his heart.

"Nope." Some time later, Conrad Coetzes said. "More than that—that's all for tonight, Jairziño, you can go and rest."

What about you, Primordial?

Jairziño Guzmán forced himself not to speak, he stood still, and continued to accompany his original body for a moment with silent silence. Conrad Coetze looked up and sighed softly.

Then he smiled.

"I'm fine." He lowered his head and winked at Guzmán in the same way. "You should have work to do tomorrow, shouldn't you? There are six hours until eight o'clock in the morning, and if I'm not mistaken, it should be your turn to be on duty on the ground today? ”

"Yes, the original." Guzmán said. "I'm in charge of Quintus."

"Well, you'll need some rest." Conrad Coetzes said patiently.

Jairziño Guzmán didn't hold out any longer, and he quickly left the gloomy and quiet cemetery, leaving their original bodies and a corpse there. The medic was in an extremely calm mood, but instead of going to his room, he walked to the upper deck.

This had to be known to all the soldiers of the Eighth Legion, and he didn't know why their instructor would come back in the form of corpses before the five hundred men who had gone with him, but he didn't really care.

This is a blood feud. Jairziño Guzmán thought calmly. And we will take revenge.

Midnight Ghost exhaled a slow, icy breath of air. Jairziño Guzmán left, everyone left, and he was the only one left in the medical hall at the moment. It's good that he doesn't have to take on responsibilities anymore and he can be a different person for a short time.

Two minutes later, he passed the inspection and entered the interior of the hall. The mist lingered beneath his feet, not dispersing as he moved. The wraith slowly approached the skeleton lying on the iron platform with the steps he had learned.

With a gentle movement, he pushed away the instrument and the connected inspection line, and pushed the iron platform to a relatively empty place. Then, he sat down slowly against the iron platform, as if he were leaning against some corner.

After a long silence, he spoke.

"I know you're alive, Carlil." Midnight Ghost hissed. "I can feel it. I shouldn't have been hallucinating, right? ”

There was no answer, only a cold dead silence, and a cold blue light. The corpse shuddered slightly, and its right hand slipped off the iron platform, resting gently on the Midnight Wraith's shoulder.

The ghost was stunned, but soon laughed.

"I knew it." He said firmly in a soft tone. "So, come back to life quickly"

He lowered his head again.

——

Drifting, familiar feeling, cold and lonely. The ghost is indifferent to this, and just wants to wake up quickly.

He still has a lot of work to do. It doesn't include comforting the Midnight Ghost, yes.

Midnight Ghost doesn't need the comfort of a ghost, he's strong enough.

However, perhaps it is no longer time to call him a ghost, he is no longer a nameless monster.

Carlil Lohals, a name he occupies, has become a real anchor anchor for him.

Even on the covenant, he wrote this name. He rolled his eyes, wondering where he was at the moment, but the world changed dramatically in the next moment.

A tired, bloodstained man stood in front of him with a sword in his hand, staring at him thoughtfully.

"Carlil Lohals?" He asked slowly.

Carlil nodded at the same slow pace as he did.

The man sighed and threw the sword down. He tapped his temple, and the light flickered, and a lit room took its place.

The firewood crackled in the fireplace, the dim yellow light was very gentle, and it looked like a hunting hut in the woods, if Carlil were to say.

He turned his head and began to look for windows in the walls.

"There are no windows here." Neos said. "This is a corner of my memory."

Carlil raised an eyebrow, turned his head, and watched him sit down slowly.

Neos shook his head.

"I know what you're trying to say - it's sad to find a haven of rest in your own memories. You want to say this, right? ”

Carlil smiled, but didn't go over and sit down with him, even though the chair Nios was sitting in seemed so comfortable. He clasped his hands together, leaned against the wall and shook his head.

"Aren't we all like that?" He asked calmly. "At this point, the only way to rest is death, but we cannot achieve true death."

Neos was silent for a moment, and his clothes changed again. At the moment, he was wearing dirty boots and a thick plaid shirt, and his hands were covered in calluses, and he looked almost like a lumberjack.

It took me a long time to realize what you just said." He said. "I used to live in seclusion in the mountains and forests, working as a carpenter in seclusion, occasionally hunting animals, skinning them, and selling them to shops in the town down the mountain."

Carlil looked at him a few times and nodded.

"You look sloppy." He smiled and shook his head. "It's not easy to bathe in the deep mountains and old forests, is it?"

"It's just not a good bath," Neos laughed.

"I made up my mind to be an ordinary person, and I often shivered in the winter with the cold, and I often forgot to move the firewood from the warehouse, which made it damp and difficult to chop and burn. However, looking back now, I was so happy. ”

"You're happy right now, too."

"That's true." Neos nodded. "Seeing the future of humanity getting better little by little is indeed a blessing for me."

"What a great statement." Carlil smiled too, but the smile was fleeting, and he quickly became serious.

"How can that thing ignore the veil?" He asked calmly. "What price did he pay?"

"Blood." Neos replied. "His own blood."

"That's all? Only in this way can he ignore the veil and forcibly turn the war dogs into his slaves? ”

Neos sighed silently.

"Yes." He said. "But what He gives is not as you say, 'That's all,' He gives a lot more than you and I probably know."

Carlile narrowed his eyes.

"Good." He nodded. "That's good."

Other than that, he didn't say anything more. After a brief silence, they began to gossip as if it were really just a reclusive carpenter and Orion entertaining his friends.

But is it really sad to find a haven of rest in your own memory?

Maybe no one has the answer.

Updated

(End of chapter)