"You have done a very terrible feat." Van Cleef said. "At least I don't know how to put this in the post-mortem report."

"Just report it truthfully." Carlil replied mildly.

"Say you beat up a primordial in full view?"

"Nope."

"But you're asking me to report truthfully."

"You can change the wording a little bit, and Van Cleef educates, teaches, lessons—or you can just put it straight and write about the beating, and I think that's okay now."

The commander of the first company sighed helplessly.

This mission was issued by Makado himself, and it was the first time that the Nightblades had received a direct order from him, both before and after the name change. Considering the position of the Palm Sealer, it is not an exaggeration to say that this task is to some extent the meaning of the Emperor.

But Van Cleef always sees more.

First of all, why did Machado issue such an order?

He sent the Nightblades of Nostramo half a galaxy to the planet known as Cordipo. Why didn't he let the other legions that were closer to him?

Secondly, even in their heyday, the Nightblades could not compare in numbers to the Iron Warriors, not to mention that they only had six thousand now. Although their fighting style is indeed an alternative, tactical reinforcement for the Iron Warriors.

However, everyone knows that Perturabo, the original form of the Iron Warriors, is not a person who will listen to anyone's advice. He even fell on deaf ears to the advice of the members of the Trident Council he had formed, let alone from other legions.

The combination of clues made it impossible for Van Cleef to see this mission as a so-called 'support'.

"Maybe we should go straight back to the surface, instructor." After a brief silence, the company commander spoke in his characteristic tone that did not pause, and even his tone did not rise or fall.

"Why?" Carlil asked.

"We should end this war quickly." Van Cleef said. "To be honest, I don't know what you just did in the infirmary, and I don't really want to know but, in my opinion, I'm afraid that Master Peturabo will have another fight with you when he wakes up."

"You know him well, Van Cleef."

"The only use of living long." Van Cleef shrugged, in a rare display of self-deprecating humor. "I haven't seen many of the originals, but I've heard a lot of rumors."

"Rumors?" Carlil raised an eyebrow. "Mind saying a few?"

"Now?"

"Now."

"Okay."

Van Cleef pondered for a moment, then spoke again. It's still the same tone that doesn't pause or fluctuate, but it doesn't make people feel drowsy.

"The angels of the Ninth Legion would privately exchange and collect their father's paintings, some by their own hands and others by some of the most eminent painters. They see this thing as a kind of . Liability. ”

"It is said that they worked so hard just to create a work of art that better reflects the spirit of St. Giles. I don't know why, but the painter who told me about it said he didn't think anyone could touch a tenth of the archangel's face with a paintbrush. ”

"Hmm," Carlil nodded. "You're not doing that, are you?"

"Of course not." Van Cleef replied with no change in his face. "We only kill, and we have no interest in painting or sculpting."

Carlil chuckled and didn't say anything more.

The Iron Blood was staggeringly large—unlike the labyrinthine expanse of the Nightfall, and its size was reflected in the wide corridors and long staircases that were everywhere.

Yes, it may seem paradoxical, but there aren't many elevators or fast-moving devices on board the Queen of Glory. The only ones are housed in the gun decks or hangars, and areas like this used for the main passage are completely devoid of any elevators.

Moreover, there are no windows either.

With the iron-gray minimalist style, it looks like a prison.

"So, go on, who is the next rumor about?" Carlil asked with interest. "I'd love to know about that."

"Do you still want to listen?" Van Cleef asked, slightly surprised. "I thought only Siani or Jairziño would be interested in this kind of thing."

"Of course I would like to hear it." Carlil smiled. "But. Does Jaylziño like to hear about these things too? ”

"He's the chief medical officer, after all." Van Cleef said, and deliberately accentuated the word chief. Other than that, he didn't say anything more. The company commander stopped, his brows furrowed abruptly: "Instructor."

"It's fine." Carlil said. "You go to the landing deck first, Van Cleef, and take them back to Nightfall."

"But."

"It's fine." Carlil turned his head to look at the limping figure, the smile on his face. Van Cleef was silent for a few seconds, no longer hesitating, and immediately turned to leave.

The person who came was none other than Perturabo.

He came alone, still wearing the same hospital gown. The forehead is swollen and the fingers are wrapped in thick bandages. He didn't walk very smoothly and appeared to be limping, but it wasn't because of a problem with his legs and feet, but because he couldn't breathe.

Carlil broke some of his bones, some of which shattered and turned his breathing into a painful ordeal.

However, none of this seems to have had any effect on Peturabo himself, who has no expression on his face. In fact, at this moment, if the eyes that were fixed on Carlil were hidden, some people might think that he was dead.

Carlil stood still, waiting a moment. It was only when Peturabo came to him that he spoke again: "Is there anything else, dear Perturabo?" ”

“.”

"Son of Olympia?"

“.”

"Ah, isn't that enough?" Carlil nodded. "So, what do you want me to call you?"

"Whatever you want." Perturabo gasped and spoke with a gloomy face. "Stupid Perturabo, cruel Perturabo you can call whatever you want, I won't deny them."

"But it's an insult."

"There is no insult in the face of facts." The genogen straightened his back and said. "You can call me whatever you want, I won't deny the facts. I may be incompetent, but I am by no means shameless. ”

His body was still in pain, and Carlil could tell something was wrong from the frequency of his heartbeat. However, what really amused him was the unconcealable flood of emotions that Perturabo was at the moment.

They swooped up like a tsunami from the depths of his eyes, and though they weren't really revealed, Perturabo's emotions couldn't be hidden from Carlil, who was staring at him.

Perhaps Peturabo had no intention of hiding either.

Sad? Perhaps.

What about regrets? There should be one too.

But more often than not, anger and disgust. His cheeks twitched, as did his lips. His teeth peeked out behind his lips, and he looked like a wolf trying to bleed with his sharp teeth. But his constricted nostrils and widening eyes made him look unhostile.

After five minutes of silence, Perturabo finally spoke again. The voice was low and calm, an extreme contrast to his own face.

"I'll prove it." He said. "I'll prove it to Eltros."

"But he's dead."

"He didn't."

Perturabo twitched his cheeks nervously.

"I'm his original form, and I won't allow him to die, you know, Karil Lohals? I don't know what kind of witchcraft you just did to me in the infirmary, and I don't care, but you listen to me. I'll prove to Eltros that I'm not who he says I am. I went to war because I was far better than the rest of the people, and they needed my protection and my leadership. And not to get some damn approval! ”

"Even if it's from your father?"

"He's already approved of me!" Perturabo growled. "He gave me the legion."

"Then, you take your legions over and over again to fight a war with high casualties and inefficiency. Three reconquests in sixteen months may sound like a bluff, but how many brothers have the Iron Warriors lost so far? ”

Carlil tugged at the corners of his mouth and smiled. The expression, which had been used to show good intentions or malicious intent, was now a pure nothingness in Perturabo's eyes.

He didn't see any 'emotion' in Karil Lohals's face, the smile seemed to be just a mask, only the words were true.

"In other words, how many Sergeants of Eltros have died at your orders, Perturabo?"

"I'll figure it out."

"Does it work? They're dead. ”

"I'll put the numbers together." Perturabo repeated.

"And then?"

Karil put his hands behind his back and shook his head, "Then, what are you going to do, Perturabo?" ”

"It's up to you to do this." Peturabo said coldly. "Now, let your men wait on deck. You and I come. ”

"I remember I said you don't have the right to command me, do you?"

"It's not an order." Perturabo gritted his teeth, his eyes widening to the limit. "Come with me, Karil Lohals."

With that, he turned and left. Carlil stood still, pondered for a moment, and finally informed Phil Zaloster, who was on deck, through psionic communication, and asked him to bring the sad news to his brothers.

——

"The Kordipo have a lot of forts, a lot of heavy firepower, and they are very fanatical about it. I'm not interested in why they have such traditions, I'm not a historian, I'm here just to conquer. ”

"So they have only two choices, either surrender or die. They first sent a diplomatic envoy to try to communicate with me, but the envoy said something that shouldn't have been said. ”

"You killed him?"

"No, I gave him two extra prosthetic legs." Peturabo said. "But that's not the point, look here, Carlil Lohals."

He raised his hand and pointed to the screen in front of him. The holographic projection rippled along his fingers, suggesting that it could be dragged. This is not what is common in the Empire, it is undoubtedly Peturabo's own modification.

In fact, all of the machinery in this private tactical workshop was made by Perturabo himself. In his words a few minutes ago, he 'doesn't look down on garbage full of stupid and shoddy design'.

Whether they are garbage or not, Carlil is naturally opposed. But it is an irrefutable fact that Perturabo's creations are much better than those that Caril is familiar with.

"See?" Peturabo asked, gasping, his left hand still on his chest and abdomen.

"That's my tactic with the Kordipo fortresses, they've made a lot of forts along their broken earth and planet, but they're all in precipitous locations. Weapons, ammunition, and even the most basic food are transported across the planet by relying on a few of the largest fortresses. ”

"That's why I've stretched the battle line so long, they like to defend the city, and they are proficient in defending the city, so let them defend it. We just need to cut off the traffic routes and capture some key transport hub forts to get them to surrender easily! ”

His eyes widened: "-Do you understand now?!" They have no chance of winning at all! ”

Carlil nodded slightly.

"That's true." He said as he stood next to the holographic projection with his hands folded. "But how many more will your legion lose? The Cordibos love heavy firepower, and there are some things that even we find a little tricky."

"According to your tactical style, it is true that you can win by confronting them head-on and capturing the lines of communication and those forts, but how many men will you have to sacrifice?"

“.”

Perturabo was silent, and there was a special look on his face that only a ravaged man would have. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but when the words came to his lips, he held back and spat out another sentence.

"It's none of your business." He forced himself to look proud. "There's no problem with my strategy."

"So, is there something wrong with the Iron Warriors?"

"They don't have a problem either."

"Oh, that's a surprise." Carlil smiled. "A war that is doomed to heavy casualties, a commander who thinks he's right, and his soldiers aren't right — then, whose head is to blame for this doomed casualty?"

"I can win!" Perturabo clenched his right fist. "Are you going to deny that?"

"Of course I won't deny it, but what the hell do you think of the war, Perturabo?" Carlil wiped the smile from his face, and the nothingness that had terrified and angered Perturabo at the same time returned.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking at Peturabo, but as if he didn't. His eyes were focused on Perturabo's shoulder, not his face. He no longer had any emotion when he spoke, as if he were simply expounding a mathematical theory that everyone knew.

For example, 1+1 equals 2.

"You pulled me into your private tactical rehearsal room and told me about your strategic direction and why you were stretching the front so long. So what, Peturabo? ”

"I just want to prove to you that my strategy is okay!"

"You don't have to prove these things to me, and I never said your strategy was wrong. The purpose of the war is to win, and I will not deny it. But winning can't be the only goal. ”

"If you continue to fight like this, you will indeed win, but it will reduce the number of your legions by forty percent or more. You've seen the artillery fire fired from those forts, and Kordibo is mostly plain, and our heavy vehicles can't be deployed. ”

"An air raid can cause some problems for a fort, as long as you're willing to send out ten Storm Hawks at once, and put up with the possibility that six of them will be shot down. Your makeshift fortifications won't make your legion move forward, and even if they do, there's no point. The Kordibos simply did not come out of their fortress. ”

Carlil paused for a moment, pleased to see that Perturabo's face changed little by little. That imaginary pride is gone, replaced by a shocking whiteness. Breathing heavily, his hand clutching his chest and abdomen began to sink deeper and deeper.

Carlil waited for a moment, and seconds later, he unleashed a long-planned attack.

"Since the beginning of the war, how many members of your regiment have died under artillery fire without even seeing the enemy's face?"

Perturabo's body shook violently, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to vomit and vomit. He raised his right hand and pressed it against the projection sand table, and the tremendous force caused the precious machine to shatter at once, and sparks of electricity erupted.

Broken pipes and cables were exposed between the twisted metal, his face and heart were burning in the beating arcs, and every cell in his body was violating. In a trance, Perturabo felt extremely weak.

He looked down at the sand table that was sturdy enough to withstand the blaster, and at its embarrassed appearance at the moment, and a wry smile was born on his face at a loss.

Steel, fragile steel.

After a long time, he spoke again. This time, however, he didn't sound like Perturabo at all.

"So." The original asked in a low voice. "What do you think?"

"Does the great son of Olympia want to listen to my advice?"

Perturabo looked up and glanced at Karil. His face turned pale, and there was a pungent smell of burnt paste from his hand that touched the iron table.

"Yes." He said. "I don't have a problem with strategy and tactics, that's what you said. So, how do you achieve my tactical goals without relying on a frontal attack? Rely on the six thousand men you brought with you for airborne raids, or stealth tactics? ”

"Nope." Carlil shook his head calmly. "We have a better way, an old way. Can the Iron Blood take over the Cordibo's communication channels and broadcast them? ”

"Yes."

"That's enough." Carlil said. "But, like I said, Perturabo, what are you doing this for?"

The proud man from Olympia gritted his teeth slowly and refused to answer.

There are also three chapters, 5k each

(End of chapter)