A servant staggered through the hall, passing through the great red cloth that hung from the beams, and the pale, bloodless skin was accentuated by the red. But it has nothing to do with it, the servants themselves are not self-aware.

They were born to be enslaved.

Angron glanced at it, then withdrew his gaze.

"How many years has this transformation been going on?" He asked.

The questionee shook his head, not giving a definite answer, but did answer his question: "For a long time." ”

The Nukerian frowned, and he did not hide his disgust. Maybe he was disdainful, maybe he didn't think he needed to—but, either way, Robert Killiman saw the look on his brother's face in its entirety.

"If you want to know the exact number, I'm afraid you'll need to find a mechanical priest." Kiliman said. "But I don't think they really know the right answer. Knowledge is, in a way, their money and life, especially mechanical knowledge. And if knowledge is to remain valuable, it needs to be kept secret. ”

"So they're not going to tell me the answer?"

"If you want to know, they'll do that." Killiman shook his head, saying this in a strange tone, as if he had tried.

Angeland laughed, he stopped talking about the topic. I don't know if it was in return, but after he had been silent for five minutes, the man he and Robert Killeman had been waiting for finally arrived.

Conrad Coetze.

The Lord of the Eighth Legion hurried through the ordinary crew and the artists who were decorating, and responded to their greetings one by one.

He entered through the main entrance of the hall, far from where Angron and Gilliman were, which made his journey very difficult. Conrad Coetze did not ignore anyone's greetings to him, so when he finally reached his brothers, it was already fifteen minutes later.

"It's tough." Angeland smiled slightly, and his tone was affectionate. "I don't think you even need to pay those artists, you're their pay."

"It's still needed." Konrad Coetzes said. "But I didn't expect the Nightfall lobby to need to be renovated, and I didn't expect you to come here without prior notice."

"The context in which you say this makes it sound a little confusing." Robert Killiman replied with his hands behind his back, watching the painters record the scene, and occasionally looking up at the people who were carving on the top of the Hall of Nightfall.

They were protected by a raised iron platform, a huge machine that had been on board with the painters and looked like it had been many years old. Looking up from below, you can see a huge skyhawk. It means some kind of proof, allowed, and honored.

The servants were busy below, handing them tools and collecting debris from the cracks in the platform through the back-mounted servo arms.

I don't know if the designer of the Nightfall thought that its owner might modify it from the beginning, and the nameless designer designed the top of the hall as a single piece of marble without any decoration.

The sculptors were overjoyed to find out about the incident and quickly reported it. The Nightfall's 'office' was quick to reply.

Two responses, to be exact. One from Caril Lohals put it succinctly, "May your inspiration never run dry." ”

The other is from Conrad Coetzes—actually, it's not like a reply, it's more like an inquiry, "My brothers are in the halls of my ship?" Wait, the hall is going to be renovated? ”

Thinking of this, Robert Killeman couldn't help but laugh: "Don't you know about this at all? ”

"I know." Coetzes replied slightly depressed. "But that report weighed down on the papers I had to work on, and it was still in the pile when I was notified that you were embarking."

"Looks like you've met a careless messenger." Killiman smiled and patted him on the back, right to comfort. "But it's actually a good thing, because these people are my father's artists."

Conrad Coetzes looked up and observed the artists of the Emperor's court.

At this moment, the people who started the work are in the minority, and most of them are not carving the shape, but are roughly carving a huge oval. Most people stood together, communicating, debating, arguing – and even fighting.

Whenever things came to the last step, the men in charge of the Eighth Regiment would emerge from the darkness and separate them. It's a novelty, even for Conrad Coetzes.

He couldn't help but laugh too: "I didn't expect them to beat each other up for this. And it doesn't even take your hands. ”

"After all, they rely on their hands to perform their skills." Angelon said.

The Nukerians turned their heads thoughtfully, and made eye contact with a painter who was observing them, who was startled at first, and then gestured to Angrand without hesitation, hoping that he would change his stance.

The original body couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, but it still met the man's request. The painter laughed happily and began to carefully lay the pen on his canvas with a pencil.

And, it seems, we're going to have to be part of the painting." The gladiator withdrew his gaze and began to adjust the muscles of his face, trying to make himself look more gentle.

His actions were obvious and did not escape the eyes of his brothers. The attempt failed after a dozen seconds, and Angrand sighed. He couldn't put on a gentler face in his daily life, and the influence of nails was always there.

He doesn't mind the matter but .

The war dogs would always give him a hateful look at the back of the head behind him, and he knew it.

"What?" Conrad Coetze's eyes widened. "No-no, I can't stay here long, I still have two hundred and twenty-one documents from the ground of Nostramo that I haven't signed!"

"Actually, please excuse me for a moment, ladies and gentlemen."

A voice rang out not far from them, and Van Cleef, the commander of the First Company of the Eighth Legion, stood in the crowd in his armor and nodded to them.

"You don't have to worry about the files." Conrad Coetzes heard his company commander say this, his face expressionless, as always. "The instructor informed us about this three minutes ago via the communication channel, and he also reminded you to bring a simple communication device with you the next time you leave the office."

"Huh?" Conrad Coetzes looked blankly at Van Cleef. Angelon and Killiman couldn't help but smile at each other behind him.

"Is there anything else you don't understand?"

"—what did he do with my job?"

"Because you've got a meeting to attend later," Van Cleef said. "Didn't you get the report?"

The Lord of the Eighth Legion frowned and began to scavenge for his own memories. He soon got a not-so-good answer - he should have received it, but the document was put into the pile by him in a first-come, first-served order. And it is not labeled as 'important' or 'expedited'.

I should have received it." Coetzes sighed.

Killeman nodded to him empathetically: "One of the inevitable problems with paper documents is that when they're all stacked on top of each other, it's hard to figure out which one you need. That's why I love using data boards now. ”

"I'll ask the Mechanic about this later. Datapad's. So, Van Cleef, you say meeting? What meeting? ”

"A meeting on the reconquest of the human colony of Harcosus." The first company commander said, ignoring Robert Killeman and Angrão.

The Lord of Maculag quickly realized the implications of this by his statesman's instincts, and he looked inquiringly at Van Cleef, who nodded to him, "Yes, the instructor wants the two adults to join in. ”

Robert Killiman's expression immediately became serious.

There is one more chapter.

Today's yard is relatively slow.,Toothache + hand pain double debuff,It's hard to say.。

(End of chapter)