The process of landing from orbit is not interesting, never. The decks were trembling, as were the walls, the metals colliding against each other under the confines of the bolts, making an excruciatingly loud jolt.

There are no 'seats' in the transport plane, and the Nightblades have to avoid stepping on each other's feet when standing next to each other.

That's basically the only thing they can do when they land in the normal way.

No, maybe add small talk.

"I heard that the Mechanics is working on a shock absorption system." Van Cleef spoke, the voice of the company commander still clear in the noise, the communication channel steadily outputting his voice into Carlil's ears. "Do you think this news is true?"

"Perhaps." Carlil said. "However, even if it is developed, I am afraid it will not be used by us immediately."

His voice is just as clear, but not protected by technology like Van Cleef. To be sure, he doesn't speak very loudly, but he can hear every word.

Siani pouted at their instructor's words, he was not wearing a helmet, his expression was unmistakable, and he did not look pleasant.

Bad relations with the Mechanic Sect are actually an old tradition of the Eighth Legion.

After all, you can't expect a bunch of Supermen who are running around killing people and don't care about anything else to mingle with a bunch of people who are obsessed with research and murder to protect what they know.

While the two sides have not worked together a lot, for the most part, the Mechonists have just gone through the motions to recover the technology in the corpse pile, and that's it.

The red-robed priests didn't care where the technology came about, just as the Eighth Legion didn't care about the identity of the people they were going to kill.

However, no one can deny the benefits of a good relationship with the Mechanics.

However, you can't expect anyone in the Nightblade to have a good relationship with them, a Siani is already a genetic mutation, and a Siani who likes machines and is obsessed with the beauty of machines is even more impossible.

The landing was not long, but in just thirty minutes, their transport plane arrived at one of the eight tarmacs in the nest capital of Quintus. The hatch slowly opened, and two hundred people stepped out one after another, and more transport planes streaked through the sky.

They always land, and no bird can fly all the time.

Carlil stepped out of the cabin, his expression a little loose and a little dazed by the cold air rushing to his face.

Nowadays, the meaning of the word nostramo has changed from 'living hell' to another term. Carlil would always try to avoid thinking about the term himself, but he wouldn't fail to admit it.

Honestly, what is there to deny?

"Primordial." Van Cleve's voice came from the front, a little surprised. "Aren't you working today?"

It's three o'clock in the morning, and seriously, Van Cleef, it's chilling for you to ask me why I'm not working at this time." Conrad Coetzes replied with a somewhat complicated expression. "I'm done with my work for today."

"What about tomorrow?" Carlil asked quietly.

The Lord of the Midnight sighed visibly, he behaved normally, but his shoulders couldn't help but sink a little, and his standing posture relaxed a lot: "I think it's better to do tomorrow's things tomorrow." ”

"But now it's tomorrow." Carlil smiled. "What do you think, Legion Commander?"

"I think you're talking too much—aren't you, Van Cleef?"

The company commander expressed his attitude by putting on his helmet, and Conrad Coetzes couldn't help but let out a slight sound from his throat at the sight of this.

His eyes widened.

"Van Cleef!"

"Yes, I'm here, Primordial." The commander of a company answered the call of the original body in a dull voice.

Coetzes choked up, looking like he wanted to say something, but he refused.

He chuckled and gestured for them to follow him. Five minutes later, they arrived at a conference room.

A glimmer of light floats overhead, and holographic projections flicker in front of the conference table. A dark world is clearly visible in the fluorescence, and if you stand farther away, it will look like a dull deep blue gem.

In fact, if you take into account the ore it contains, then it is not wrong to call it a gem.

"The Mechanics want to make a deal with us." The original voice said softly. "They need Adamantite, and research access to some ancient technology on Nostramo. I can accept the former, but I don't like the latter a little bit. ”

Ancient technology on Nostramo

Carlil narrowed, his voice muffled, "Don't tell me, they're trying to study torture instruments that have been around for an unknown amount of time. ”

"It's pretty much the same." Conrad Coetzes said, not looking surprised.

He turned his head and looked at his company commander. Van Cleef took off his helmet again at this moment, and his eyes behind the high cheekbones were very bright.

"It's not hard to understand, Primitive. I don't know much about Mechacult, but every technopriest has a passion for it. ”

"That sounds really unsettling." Coetzes said thoughtfully, as if remembering something. "Anything that has anything to do with fanaticism is probably not good."

Carlil tapped his fingers on the table, drawing attention. He asked expressionlessly, "So, what are they going to exchange for us?" ”

"Replacement of old instruments on the Nightfall, engine maintenance, free repair and replacement of weapons and equipment for 30 years."

Conrad Coetzes couldn't help but smile, his expression looking rather intriguing, and he added afterward.

"The priest even promised to deliver twenty power weapons a month for the next ten years."

Carlil glanced at him and saw what he was hiding: the Lord of Midnight certainly found these conditions tempting, but he was more curious about something than this.

"Those torture instruments used for torture are so attractive to them?" Carlil spoke the question in his place.

"Maybe it's just because it's old," the company commander once again gave a conjecture.

Conrad Coetzes nodded, and the fluorescence was dispelled in the next moment, not continuing to illuminate his face. Now, there was only a glimmer of light left in the room.

"So, let's talk about Reserve Yago Sevitaleon." Konrad Coetzes said.

"Our only recruit did well in those six months, he passed his physical training with flying colors, and he did well in the weapons training afterwards. Although he had a bit of a setback at first in his swordsmanship, he quickly adjusted. ”

Jaelziño believes that the operation can begin in earnest. He thinks that Yago Sevitaleone is fully ready, but, for now, there is still a problem that has not been resolved. ”

"What's the problem?" Carlil asked.

"He's having nightmares like hell. It hasn't been going on every night for six months. The think tanks checked and they determined that there was no psionic influence behind the incident. In this case, it's hard not to attribute the cause to the twentieth surgery. Now, he can hold on, but what about after that? ”

Conrad Coetzes paused, he looked smiling, but his tone was a little too flat.

"Maybe he'll get through it, or maybe he won't. And we don't know now if the dream will stop, and if it doesn't, then."

He didn't go on, but both Carlil and Van Cleef knew what he was trying to say.

Astartes don't really need the long breaks of sleep, they are implanted with nerve knots that they can use to turn off different areas of the brain, and they can use it to perform a quick and high-quality state of rest, similar to meditation.

Sleep is a very rare thing for the Astartes, but if Sevita's situation spreads until he officially becomes Astarte.

"He could have a breakdown." Van Cleef rationally pushed the discussion forward. "Unless he's stuck with not meditating, but I think that's just going to make him break down faster."

"What is the content of the dream?" Carlil asked without emotion.

"He didn't say it, and the think tanks couldn't get into his sleep." Coetzes frowned. "That's the crux of the matter, his dream was affected by the ritual, and our think tank can't break through the barrier built by the ritual."

Carlil nodded slowly, and he stood up, his face not wavering. Neither Van Cleef nor Conrad Coetzes could get the slightest bit of information from his analysis.

But, for some reason, Conrad Coetzes suddenly felt that Carlil didn't seem surprised.

"It's an issue that needs to be taken seriously, and now is the time to rest."

He said so, and walked into the darkness in front of them, his form disappearing in an instant. The darkness itself didn't even remain, it dissipated into a cloud of fog that gradually dissipated.

Conrad Coetzes was silent for a moment, then turned his head to look at his company commander.

"Van Cleef, when did he start doing this?"

"Perhaps, you should ask how long this phenomenon has been going on." Van Cleef replied tactfully. "And I'll answer for at least four months."

The Midnight Lord's expression became indescribable at a speed visible to the naked eye.

——

Yago Sevitaleone is dreaming.

Again.

Again.

He could clearly feel that he was in a dream now, and it was a strange feeling, but he was used to it. Six months of intense training has brought him not only a stronger body and mastery of the discipline of 'killing', but also a fundamental change.

He became able to endure.

He could endure pain, endure fear, endure being knocked down again and again, endure the physical training that never seemed to end, and the emptiness of returning to the dorm room alone. Naturally, the strange feeling of enduring dreams is not a problem.

But the problem is that there is another thing he needs to endure.

Or rather, something else.

Corpses, corpses strolling. They're tall, they're wearing midnight-colored armor, they look like ghosts from ghost stories, and they are.

The most important point is that Yago Sevitaleone actually knows them.

He knew them, even though he had never actually met them.

Sevita took a deep breath and began to walk forward. He was in a barren world, empty, with nothing but the dead. The sky was blood-colored, but it was also covered with veil-like clouds.

The reserve ran over a puddle of rubble and welcomed the first dead in a dream tonight.

"Hello, boy." Sergeant Tadeush, who had lost half of his face, said with a smile.

His armor was riddled with dents and scratches, and the pottery steel could not escape its destruction. His helmet was also torn, and an eyepiece hung in front of his only remaining eye, staring at Sevita emotionlessly.

"Hello, Sergeant Tadeush." Sevita said. "Why are you here to welcome me today?"

"Because everyone else is dead." The sergeant grinned. "Of course, I'm joking—in case you're too stupid to hear it, I'll explain my joke."

"I'm not that stupid." The reservists pouted. "Your jokes aren't funny at all."

"You don't count."

"I'm the only one who can see you, I don't count, who has the final say?" Sevita replied. "And why do you have to wear that broken helmet?"

"Guess." The dead sergeant sneered with his terrible face, full of malice. "Can you guess the correct answer, boy?"

"I'm too lazy to guess."

Sevita brought a stone and sat on it. He put his elbow to his thigh, braced his cheek, and looked at the dead sergeant boredly: "But."

"Oh, no, don't even think about it, boy." Sergeant Tadeusz suddenly became serious. "I can't tell you what to do with those fighter minions, it's no different from cheating."

"Don't be like that, don't you want to hear me describe Richtenall's surprised expression?"

"If you could have relied on your own efforts rather than be surprised by the experience of a group of dead people, I think I would have liked to hear it a little more." The sergeant shook his finger at him sternly. "There's nothing wrong with your street-style cleverness, but if you keep relying on it, sooner or later, you'll die at its hands."

"But I don't really have much talent for swordsmanship. Besides, if you don't want to talk to me, then why do you have to run to my dreams every night? ”

Tadeush did not answer the question, and the dead sergeant slowly removed his helmet so that half of his pale face could be fully revealed.

He glared at Sevita with one of his remaining eyes, "Do you think that we dead people would like to see you every day, stupid boy who doesn't know the height of the sky?" ”

"Since you don't want to." Sevita muttered. "Why do you come every day? I really want to get a good night's sleep. ”

The sergeant looked at him with a sneer and stopped talking. Silence lingered for a while, and then another footstep sounded on the gravel beach.

He came from behind Sevita, and the reserve's expression changed from unsurprising to creepy—the dead hadn't been seen out of sight for the past six months.

Moreover, Sergeant Tadeush's changing expression at this moment also said one thing to a certain extent.

Yago Sevitaleon immediately turned his head and jerked to his feet, copying the stone in his hand. However, the owner of the footsteps was not an evil spirit that finally appeared in a nightmare, as he thought, but someone he really knew.

Carlil Lohals, instructor of the Nightblades. The tall, pale giant stood still, staring quietly at Sevita in a comical pose. The latter reacted quickly after a stunned pause of more than ten seconds.

He threw the stone, and his pale face quickly turned pale. When he spoke, he even trembled in his voice.

"Teach, teach, instructor.?!"

Carlil nodded at him, raising an eyebrow, "What's wrong?" ”

"Y- why are you here?!"

"Can't I be here?"

"But, here—" Sevita looked back at Sergeant Tadeus, her face full of pleading, and Sergeant tilted her head, using her height advantage to prevent Sevita from seeing her expression.

Seeing this scene, the reserve gritted his teeth and said it himself. "—this is a place where only the dead can come!"

"What about you?" Carlil asked rhetorically. "You're not dead, why are you here?"

Sevita was stunned.

"You don't think the instructor is dead, kid, do you?" The sergeant whispered behind him. "How bold are you, how dare you think that? Looks like I'm going to have to teach you a little lesson."

He chuckled and walked past the reserves, came up to Karil, and put on his helmet: "Mission accomplished, instructor. ”

"Well done, sergeant." Carlil nodded approvingly at him. "How's he doing?"

"The talent is truly amazing," Tadeusz replied in a low voice. "Is this good or bad? His psionic talent seemed a little too strong. ”

"He's still young." Carlil replied meaningfully. "Anyway, leave it to me now."

"Understood, instructor."

Tadeusz turned his head and nodded to Sevita. A pitch-black flame ignited from the bottom of his feet in the next second, enveloping the sergeant and leaving.

Sevita's newly regained sanity was emptied again, and he froze for a moment before he remembered that he should turn his head to look at the other dead on the wasteland—he had done this, and the wasteland that had once been densely packed with the dead was now empty.

Now, it's just Carlil and himself left.

"What's going on, instructor?" After a long silence, Yago Sevitaleone asked.

"What do you think?" Carlil crouched down, keeping eye contact with him. His voice was still soft, but, combined with his dark eyes, Sevita felt a sudden wave of fear. He'll get rid of that emotion in the future, not now.

Now, he still fears.

"I don't know."

"It's normal not to know, Sevita. Unfortunately, the answer to this question is not something you know. Carlil smiled at him and reached out and poked him in the forehead. Now, go back to your normal sleep. ”

Sevita's pupils constricted, and he opened his mouth, trying to say something more, but there was no chance—he was enveloped in black flames, and in the next second, he was gone.

Carlil stood up and shook his head. The flames did not disappear, but continued to burn, and a moment later, an illusory armored figure emerged from it. The midnight-colored armor had lightning-like lines on it, and its expression was calm.

Carlil stared at him, and after a few seconds, he suddenly reached out again and poked the man's forehead.

"Don't do that, instructor." The man's calm expression disappeared in an instant, and he couldn't help but complain. "No one has done this in 10,000 years."

"Ten thousand years," Carlil said slowly. "Are we all dead?"

"I can't say, instructor." The pale man replied bitterly. "I can't really say - I didn't even think I'd be found out by you today."

"I know you can't say it, but I've already found you." Carlil smiled at him. "I'm not going to forget anyone, not even yours."

“.”

The illusory shadow remained silent on the words, and he seemed sad, but he didn't. After a moment, he spoke again.

"I'd love to say something, instructor."

"Nope." Carlil said. "You can't say."

"But—"

"—you can't say."

For the second time in his life, Carlil interrupted the others. He stared sternly at the shadow and shook his head at him.

"I know what you want to do, but you can't. Think about it, reserves, is there still a glimmer of life in the future? ”

The shadow spoke tremblingly, his voice trembling to the point of being almost unrecognizable: "And, there's more, instructor. We've found your weapons and armor, we"

He stopped abruptly, and the pause and elongation at the end of the sentence sounded like a whimper.

"Well, that's enough." The pale giant bowed his head slightly. "Let's go."

The shadows slowly dissipated.

Updated.

A little spoiler to give you a bottom.

(End of chapter)