"What do you mean by that word? Gutera - Ah, I remember. ”

Siani, from the first company, let out a snort from his throat: "Is that what you say, Richter? ”

"It's hard for you to pretend to be illiterate in order to show off your Terra accent, Siani."

Richtenar of the Eighth Company sighed deeply and began to wonder why he was on duty with him tonight.

"Compared to you, I really don't know enough about literature and the like." Siani grinned. "At least, I can't open my mouth and say a literary analysis of the playwright of Guterra."

"Are you sarcastic about my company commander?" Richter tilted his head, his brow furrowed.

Siani smiled obviously, but still shook his head: "It's just a little tribute to your little reciprocal last time, who said that our company commander always looks like a sculpture with a straight face?" ”

"It's not me, anyway."

"yes, it's not you—it's your company commander!"

"Be quiet, Siani." Richter shook his head helplessly. "We're standing guard."

He was right, they were standing guard outside the banquet hall. Normally, there wouldn't be anyone to guard the security here, but this day is a little different.

As Siani from Terra had said, the Nightfall was indeed a fluffy glow right now. After all, there was a banquet going on on the Nightfall with three genetic protogens in attendance.

However, this is only the thoughts of the Siani, and as for the real situation, of course, it will not be very normal.

——

If it were possible, Robert Killeman wished he could lose his sight for a short time now, so that he would no longer have to passively use his terrible powers of observation to discover his brothers' thoughts.

The Lord of Maculag grimaced, stretched out his fork that fit the size of the original, and forked up a large piece of tender and juicy steak.

Slowly but steadily, he placed it on his plate and began to cut with his knife. While doing this, he had been involuntarily observing Angrand's expression through the corner of his eye.

Then, he noticed that his brother's face was in a trance at the moment. Angron eats very slowly, chewing dozens of times before swallowing food. There is no doubt that he has no interest in good food now.

Kiliman lowered his head and put a cutlet into his mouth. This is Nostramo's sawtooth meat, which is tougher than that of Glockmon, and although the taste is indistinguishable, this tenacity brings an untamable wildness.

Truth be told, it's delicious, but Robert Kiriman is completely unable to focus his attention on it.

He looked up without a trace by chewing and glanced at Conrad Coetze with the peripheral vision of his right eye. The Lord of the Eighth Legion munched on the Sawtooth Steak with a calm expression, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth, and he didn't seem to have the slightest intention of trying to speak.

“.”

Robert Killiman picked up his glass and drank it down. A familiar taste came to the tip of the tongue, this is a wine from Maculage, his usual favorite. He put down the cup, rolled his throat a few times, and then opened his mouth with great courage.

"Isn't Carlil coming to this feast?"

As soon as the words came out, Robert Killeman began to regret - what was I talking about?

He bowed his head in remorse, not understanding how he could suddenly turn his tongue into a stiff tongue, and between his lips and teeth, he said something that was unbearable to himself.

But Conrad Coetzes didn't embarrass him.

"He's not going to be at this party." Coetzes replied softly. "It's a gathering of primitives after all, and you know what kind of person he is, Robert?"

Kiliman breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, I know." He hurriedly replied. "He will follow his principles in everything he does."

"Sometimes not." Conrad Coetzes smiled slightly, the brief emotional outburst before seemed to be completely absent, and he was now very calm, very decent, very gentle.

It looks like another person.

After a brief silence, Killiman decided to follow his brother's words and say, "Sometimes? ”

"Yes." Conrad Coetzes smiled and nodded. "He sometimes loses his mind, and so do I."

“.”

Once again, Killman made a decision, and he decided to confront the hint in his brother's words directly: "If you want to talk about that misunderstanding on the tarmac, Conrad, I want to tell you that I don't care. ”

"But I care."

Conrad Coetze said that at this moment, the smile on his face had disappeared.

"I want to apologize to you. I'm sorry for my loss of control, I should have controlled my emotions better, I will keep this in mind, it will be a lesson for me, and I will put it in the depths of my sanity to motivate myself to be a better person, to be like you. ”

“.”

This time, Robert Kiliman was silent longer than anyone else. He found himself unable to tell what Conrad Coetzes meant, and he didn't know if Coz was telling the truth, if he was sarcastic, or both.

Immediately after, he heard someone slowly lowering the knife and fork on his left hand.

"I don't think you have to, Conrad." Angron said in a low voice, his shattered voice recognizable, echoing through the dimly lit ballroom of the Eighth Legion.

Anywhere on the Nightfall seems to be so dim that it never really shines, but the light doesn't fade away. Their faint presence faintly illuminates the darkness and the people in the darkness.

They are not real, bright light, but they do the same thing as that light.

"Do what?" Conrad Coetzes asked rhetorically.

"At your age, you're taking on something you shouldn't have to do." Angron said slowly, stretching his facial muscles, making sure his features weren't too tense.

He didn't want his expression to be a possible misunderstanding, the Butcher's Nail was giving him pain as always, but it didn't matter, he just needed to release his precious kindness now.

"So what? What do you want to say, brother? Conrad Coetzes raised an eyebrow. Do you want to say that, at my age, my mistakes are understandable and forgivable? ”

"Nope." Angron replied. "Anyone should be held accountable for their actions, not to mention that you're a genotype. If you do something wrong, you should apologize or pay the price. I would say that you're good enough for your age. ”

He lowered his head, light blue eyes with an emotion that neither Killeman nor Conrad Coetzes knew how to deal with.

"So you don't have to force yourself to communicate with us with this attitude of responsibility." Angron looked at Killiman, then at Conrad Coetzes, who was finally no longer calm, and nodded at them. "We're brothers, aren't we?"

“.”

Conrad Coetzes leaned back in his chair in silence and sighed slowly. His expression did not change, only a little soothing, and Robert Killiman could discern a rare relaxation in the smallest details.

"Yes, we are brothers."

After a brief silence, he spoke.

"But my age doesn't mean anything. I didn't force myself to take responsibility, I should have taken them myself. I am the commander of the Eighth Legion, and I am also their original form, and according to the laws of the Empire, Nostramo will also be my home planet in the future. I need to be accountable to a lot of people, so I can't forgive myself for losing control. ”

He finally looked at Robert Killiman—to meet him, and this time, the Lord of Maculag did not run away.

"At that moment, I threw down my responsibilities because I didn't really attack Carlil with some irritation that I couldn't handle anymore, I didn't really care, I just couldn't see this happening in front of my eyes. As far back as I can remember, he was seriously injured and near death three times, and on two occasions he actually lost his vital signs."

Conrad Coetzes lowered his head again in silence, his long black hair hanging down in front of his forehead, covering his eyes and half of his face, and his pale skin looming in the dim light, like a ghost.

"I don't think I can afford another time." He said in a low voice.

——

+ When will you arrive? +

+ Three days, if you need a more precise description, then, fifty-nine hours. +

Carlil shook his head.

+ Nostramo's orbit is now home to three different military forces, the Ultramarines, the War Hounds, and the Eighth Legion. If the Emperor Dream is also moored together. Are you sure that this matter will not be given greater political significance? +

+ Politics itself is just a vain and meaningless thing, and it has only one meaning for existence, and this meaning is given by my own hands. +

The Emperor of Mankind narrates coldly with his psionic powers,+ so you don't have to worry about possible gossip. +

+ It's really a cold emperor, and I really don't get used to hearing your tone. +

+ You should get used to it, Neos is in the minority, and for the most part, I am a tyrant with terrible ambitions. I have been cursed by many who say that I will doom all mankind because of my ambitions. +

Carlil smiled.

Ambition? He would not use that term to refer to the Emperor's vision of the future of mankind, a term so small that it could not even be compared.

+But+, the Emperor of Humanity spoke again,+ I am indeed very concerned about this, and the Great Expedition must be brought to an end as soon as possible. +

+ You'd better get there first, let's talk. +

+ I'll do it as soon as possible. +

Carlil hung up the communication and began to wait in the office of the Lord of the Eighth Legion. Sooner or later, the party would be over, and he had one more conversation that needed the Midnight Spirit's involvement.

The pale giant tapped his fingers on the tabletop, his expression calm, but there was a hidden bitterness boiling in his dark eyes.

OK, this month's update is over, see you next month for the update of more than 270,000 words.

By the way, tomorrow I will only update the 4k word to keep full attendance, because tomorrow I have to go to the dental ()

(End of chapter)