From a long time ago, Van Cleef understood one thing - it is always a hundred times more difficult to kill with his own hands than to pull the trigger.

The latter does not require any psychological construction and preparation, only needs to pull the trigger abruptly or forcefully, and a child can kill mercilessly with a firearm.

Killing someone with your own hands is a different matter entirely.

Whether you choose to strangle the victim with both hands or plunge the blade into the opponent's vital point, you will inevitably feel the struggle of the dying person, you will feel every trembling of the other person, every plea hidden between gasps.

However, this is limited to the first kill. As soon as you begin to walk on this path, the feeling of the dead becomes more and more of a sense of nothingness. No need for mercy, no need to say much, no need to do anything else, just kill.

That's what we do. Van Cleef leaned against the cold walls of the training ground, thinking.

We are the blade of killing, the final punishment given to sinners, the shadow they see on their deathbed, we are—

"-I, Siani from Terra want to fight you!"

“.”

Van Cleef covered his forehead with a headache and sighed silently. Siani's voice echoed in the training ground of the Eighth Legion, and he was now staring at Richtenal of the Eighth Company, full of defiance.

"I only spar with those who use swords." Richter replied briskly. "And you obviously don't use a sword, Siani, your favorite tactic is to pounce between enemies and tear them to pieces with power claws."

"What can kill the enemy is a good trick."

"But if you fight like a beast, no matter how good a trick is, it doesn't matter."

"Between life and death, do you still care about manners?"

"No, but that's what my swordsmanship is, I love to study the angle, the power, and even the speed of my swing. I need to make sure that every sword I use can deal damage to my enemies. So, I'll only practice with instructors in the future. ”

Siani sneered: "It's like you can beat him once." ”

Richter glanced at him and suddenly smiled: "Actually, I did win once." ”

"What?"

"I won the instructor once." Richter said, but he didn't look very proud when he said this. Van Cleef glanced at him, and with just one glance, he vaguely realized the truth of the matter. The company commander nodded secretly.

It's like their instructors would do it.

"How is that possible?!" Siani screamed in disbelief. "I thought I was the first person to receive this honor!"

"It's a pity you came back too late." Richter smiled. "And I have many witnesses who can testify to it for me."

"Forget it."

Siani from Terra sighed, loss flashing across his face, but it didn't last long, he quickly laughed and patted Richter on the shoulder, just like everyone else.

"Well done, Richtenall." Siani said heartily. "We're finally getting closer to the instructor, and while it's probably been a step he's taken to reduce the distance, it's still an improvement."

"yes." Richter softly agreed, nodding.

Van Cleef saw it all in his eyes and felt a subtle change that was being born within the Legion and changing them all.

In the past, the Emperor's Inquisitors were ruthless and silent, and even Siani would not have been so energetic. The Nightfall was eternally silent, eternally dark, and the corridors and pipes of the Nightfall were in disrepair, and dust encroached upon them so much that the ship was almost indistinguishable from a cemetery.

And all of this has changed dramatically after the return of the original body.

The dust was swept away, the broken pipes were reforged, and an atmosphere different from the previous one began to spread in the escaping mist, and everyone in the Eighth Regiment could perceive the change, not everyone could adapt to it, but Van Cleef was sure of one thing.

It was welcomed by all.

With a rare smile, he turned around and left the training ground through the second exit of the new addition.

He returned to his station, changed into his only modest outfit, and headed straight for the regimental instructor's office.

It is located on the lower deck and the entrance is completely dark, which means that it was formerly an old warehouse. It was converted into his office--room at Carlil's behest, and despite the many opinions of the Eighth Legion, they were helpless about his decision.

He came to the door, and instead of knocking, he walked straight in—he had gotten used to some of the habits of their instructors, such as not having to knock.

The décor in the office was actually not austere, with eight flags hanging from the iron-gray walls, which Carlil had specially requested to come. All that was left of his office was three chairs of various sizes and an iron table.

The chairs, ranging in size from mortal to full-size, were leaned against in an inconspicuous corner, and they were black armchairs that looked comfortable, with the edges of the chairs shining gold. As for the table, it looked much weirder.

It was a heavy iron table that was completely welded to the ground, and its surface shimmered with lightning-like lines. They flickered as if they were breathing, and clouds surged quietly beneath the iron-blue surface, and the papers spread out on them, and a pale giant sat behind them, quietly correcting them.

"Instructor."

The door closed, and Van Cleef greeted quietly.

"Ah, Van Cleef. Can I help you? Carlil asked, looking up. Did you come to me for training? Unfortunately, I'm afraid I'll be absent today. ”

"Isn't it you, you're going to be absent from work today?"

Carlil laughed silently, "yes, if you want to know why, I can reveal it in advance." How, want to know? ”

Van Cleef frowned, his serious personality made him instinctively not want to make such a guess, but he did want to know why.

"I want to know." The company commander nodded solemnly. "After all, this is the first time you've been able to miss work from the training ground."

Carlil turned his head and looked at the porthole of his office, which was a heavy six-layer glass that did not have the ability to give the viewer a clear view of the starry sky. But he didn't really need to see the stars.

The golden glow was too conspicuous.

After a moment, he shook his head regretfully: "Looks like I don't need to say anything more about Van Cleef?" ”

The company commander stared blankly out of the window and did not answer his words.

"Huh, Van Cleef?"

"Ahh Yes. I'm here! ”

"Looks like you know what it is." Carlil smiled. "Prepare, then, Van Cleef."

The pale giant slowly stood up and straightened his collar. It was only at this time that Van Cleef realized that their instructors were dressed very formally today.

"After all, it's the emperor's own visit." He whispered.

——

Conrad Coetzes felt nervous for no apparent reason - he shouldn't be, after all, it wasn't the first time he had met his father.

But he just can't help but feel it.

It spread from the tips of his fingers and continued down his back, causing him to feel a constant complication. However, his brothers seemed to be a little more nervous than he was. At the very least, Conrad Coetz can maintain a semblance of calm.

Robert Killiman is different.

His ceremonial armor was ornate and intricate, with many insignia displayed on his breastplate and shoulder armor, and the honors of the extreme warriors in the past were displayed on this armor, making it look shining. He wore no helmet, and the laurel wreath appeared between his short blonde hair and a resolute full forehead, giving him a palpable hint of divinity.

And the eyes that belonged to the blue lake were now devoid of the wisdom of the statesmen of the past, only a tension that was extremely rare for the Lord of Macurag.

As for Angelon.

The Nukerians, like the Lord of the Eighth Legion, did not have the ornate armor of Robert Killman, but they also wore the most dignified garments they had now.

The contrast made Killiman look very embarrassed, and his uneasiness made Coates smile quietly, and Angron caught the smile, and he silently touched Coz with his elbow and looked at him, and the two of them smiled at each other, all without saying a word.

"Ahem." Half a minute later, Robert Killeman started their conversation with this awkward cough. "I'm sorry, brothers."

"Why apologize?" Conrad Coetzes asked quietly, still calm, not letting his own emotions leak out. "Why is the Lord of the Glittering Maculag apologizing to us?"

Killiman's face quickly turned red, and Angron threw a disapproving look at Coetze, but he couldn't hold back a smile. His laughter was so obvious that Killiman's expression became a little incredulous. However, Angron soon stopped laughing.

"Hmm" he tilted his head, muttering to hide the fact that he had laughed. "Conrad, what you just said, is that sarcasm?"

"I don't think so." Coetzes said briskly. "I'm just recounting a fact."

"You guys. . . All right! ”

When Kiriman finally realized what they were up to, the Lord of Maculag was not angry, but laughed, a smile of helplessness and rare sincerity.

The tension was thus diluted.

Killiman spread his hands and shook his head: "But, to be honest, this armor is not comfortable, it doesn't have a power system in it. I had to move it on my own, and I had to maintain my posture. ”

"It's all so gorgeous, what more could you ask for?" Coetzes asked.

"I ask it to look like a real piece of armor." Kiriman sighed. "It was a 'surprise' from the Craftsman on Makurag and my Warband Commanders joining forces, and frankly, I wasn't really happy to receive it. But I can't afford not to take it, because that would make them sad. ”

"Do you think it's bad?" Angron asked.

"No, it's good, it's just not to my liking." Kiliman said. "I think I'll make some of my own changes to it later, like adding servos."

"You still know this?" Coetzes raised an eyebrow.

"There are many books on Maculag, of all kinds, and I read them whenever I have free time. Books are memories that don't die, and reading other people's memories is always good for us. ”

"You sound like a guy with some horrible fetish when you say that." Angron commented unceremoniously. "Reading does put me at ease, though."

Killiman nodded, his eyes quickly sweeping over the nails in his forehead—he had made up his mind that he was going to ask their father something in this meeting.

Kiriman believed that his request was absolutely justified and reasonable, how could a father rather see his son suffer?

But

"This meeting was too abrupt." Robert Killiman said. "The Star Whisperers aboard the Glory of Macullag did not receive any orders prior to his arrival, and after his arrival, he only informed us via ship communications that we did not need to hold a military parade"

"Isn't that weird?" Conrad Coetzes asked.

Killiman nodded, his thoughts still continuing: "It's a little strange, he would have asked for these things before, I heard Leon and Horus say that he would review every unit of their legion with satisfaction."

"Maybe it's because they like it." Angelon said calmly, the Nukerian expression was very intriguing at the moment. "And he's just doing what he likes."

"It's a direction I haven't thought about." Kiriman nodded slightly blankly. "But it seems reasonable. Conrad, what about you? What do you think? ”

I?

The Lord of the Eighth Legion laughed silently: "I don't have too special opinions about him, he is the emperor, my father, and the ruler of the empire. But I don't really know what kind of person he is. ”

"But haven't you seen him?" Kiriman asked in surprise.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I know him better than you." Conrad Coetzes replied quietly. "I hope this time will be different."

He shook his head and said no more. The three primordials waited quietly on the boarding deck of the Glory of Maculag, the Emperor did not seem to want this meeting on his ship, and Glory of Maculag was the only option.

The Steadfast Resolve's current ballroom is still in tatters, let alone the Nightfall, and only the Markulag's ballroom can handle it.

However, although the Emperor did not call for a military parade, the Eighth Legion and the War Hounds had already sent a team of 1,000 men each to the flagship of the Ultramarines, hoping to show themselves to the Emperor on a whim.

These warriors were undoubtedly proud, but they were all waiting with anticipation and nervousness, just like their original bodies.

- If you have to do hard calculations, perhaps, only one person will not be nervous.

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(End of chapter)