For a long time, there was a sort of incomprehensible understanding between Conrad Coetzes and Carlil Lohals. This tacit understanding is not reflected in their actions, but in many tacit corners.

For example, there were many nights when the Lord of Midnight would drop his work in the early hours of the morning and go somewhere in the city. He would crouch on the gargoyle and caress the top of its head thoughtfully, blurring its coldness with the heat of his palm.

Minutes after his arrival, another person will arrive. There is no communication between them, just a common view of the city in front of them.

They chewed and savored the changes, took in the information they needed from the wind, and felt a sense of peace and joy from the bottom of their hearts. Then, after a while, they leave together and get back to their daily routines.

This is just a one-sided example, and it is not enough to fully express their indescribable tacit understanding, but perhaps you can already get a glimpse of it.

Because of this, Carlil was not surprised by Kozna's slightly icy tone.

In fact, he felt that he should have asked a long time ago.

"What do you want to ask?" With a sense of relief, Carlil asked. They were in Conrad Coetzes' office, and everything was as usual.

"Let's not talk about it yet." Said the Lord of Midnight. He reached for his cup and drank all the filtered water in one gulp.

He picked up another bronze kettle and began to pour himself a new glass of water. The kettle doesn't look like a Nostramo product, it's too flashy, and it doesn't look like something Konrad Coetz likes.

The reason why he stayed and used it was, I'm afraid, only because of the reliefs on its surface. The man who made it carefully carved the image of three giants talking to each other under the stars with fine and continuous brushstrokes, which is very exquisite.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know." Conrad Coetzes gave a cautious answer, his expression looking rather intriguing. He squinted, holding the cup in one hand and the corners of his mouth downward.

"I tried to guess what you thought by relying on what I knew about you, but I failed." He lifted the corners of his mouth and finally smiled. "But I don't seem to know enough."

Carlil sighed.

"Maybe you should learn more from your brother Roger Dorn." He said meaningfully.

"Dorne is a good man, but I learned from you." Coetzes raised his chin defiantly. "This is the style of using observation to find out the problem, and then burying the problem in the bottom of the heart, and waiting until it has to be solved. Isn't that what you've been living by all along? ”

"That's in the past." Carlil said. "In the past, I could have concealed plans from you, the truth and the real problem. But not now, Conrad. ”

"yes, you don't hide it anymore, because you've found something new to join this tiresome game." Conrad Coetzes shook his head solemnly.

"You weren't going to use your powers in front of everyone in the past, no, you weren't even very cautious about using your powers in the past, Carlil?"

"It's a dark time, Conrad." Carlil spoke slowly. "As good as the future looks like it seems, I want to tell you that the sky is still dark."

These words may sound like wizards and witches trying to manipulate their ignorant followers, but, in essence, they are all the same as us. They're trying to survive, and so are we. My current status doesn't allow me to stick to the rules of the past, it's the opposite of what I'm used to, but I have to get used to it. ”

Conrad Coetzes nodded slowly, he closed his eyes, and the atmosphere fell silent.

After a few seconds, his body began to tremble. As the temperature gets colder and the room thermometer starts alarming, the machines try in vain to get the temperature back to normal, but they can't succeed, at least not until Conrad Coetzes stops.

Five minutes later, he opened his eyes, his face paling as it had been.

"How?" Carlil asked.

"I didn't see anything, but I hope Yago Sevitaleone is in good health." The Lord of Midnight replied with a serious expression and a pretended lighthearted tone.

His eyes flashed with sadness, but not negatively. Carlil smiled silently and slowly at him, it wasn't a gentle smile, it was bloody, and the bones flickered in his shadow.

"No need to grieve." He said softly. "Blood debts must be paid in blood."

This is the end of the conversation, and everything seems to be business as usual.

——

Conscription began.

The news came from the 'Lair', which spread from the Quintus Hive to the whole of Nostramo in just three days.

People rushed to tell each other - the literate people told the illiterate, the shift workers told their companions who had just come up from the mines, and the guards preached in the streets. The floating billboards that used to circulate job postings and welfare regulations have also changed their appearance.

During working hours under the eternal night, they hummed over people's heads, alternating messages of conscription in low Gothic and nostramo.

At first, not many people understood what conscription really meant, until they saw or heard the name of the Eighth Legion. So, the cold atmosphere was ignited in an instant.

Miners with school-age children at home began to follow the instructions to submit their resumes to the mine director, and students in literacy education at the school repeatedly asked their teachers about the process

The guards patrolling the streets had to spend more time explaining why children were between the ages of twelve and fifteen.

It may seem absurd to say, but the enthusiasm of the Nostramo people has largely nothing to do with whether they can be better treated if they join the Eighth Legion, and there is no mention of anything like 'welfare' in the conscription news.

People are enthusiastic only because it helps Konrad Coetze, the savior of Nostramo, and the emperor.

Well. and the Emperor. It may sound like a terrible risk, but considering that this is Nostramo, most of the people who survived were full of hatred for the nobility, and the word emperor

In the Nostramo language, the meaning it refers to is not very good. Actually, it is a neologism formed by the addition of two words. One of them is the 'aristocracy'.

So, now you can probably understand why the Nostramo people are less interested in the emperor. Perhaps this will only change in a dozen years.

Anyway, back to the point - although the conscription caused quite a stir in Nostramo, it was not very large.

The Nightblade has never been an outnumbered legion, and Coz has no intention of changing that. Plus the impact of the twentieth surgery with screening.

According to Jairziño's speculation, he believed that there might be only three out of ten people who managed to get into the Legion and get out of the reserves.

This success rate can no longer be called low, it is simply appallingly low. Fortunately, the Nightblades' tactics didn't really require much in numbers, and in the eyes of the Lord of the Night, it would be enough to raise the total number of legions to 40,000 or 50,000 after three years.

"The war we're going to fight doesn't need bombing, frontal advance, and crowd tactics." Conrad Coetzes said to his company commander. "Constant use of fear tactics may make us look bad, but all we need is efficiency."

Van Cleef nodded, agreeing with the Proto, but not just because of Astarte's natural obedience to the Protogen.

The Nightblades had been executioners in the past, and they had understood all too well what fear could become. Van Cleef is the best of them, otherwise how would he become a company commander?

"So, what was the first week like?" Coetzes asked, slightly expectantly. He and Van Cleef were walking through the corridors of the lair's now perfect, stirring up the mist, but they also looked like two ghosts against them.

"One thousand two hundred twenty-three." Van Cleef cautiously quoted a number. "There are only so many reservists in Quintus who can successfully pass the twentieth operation."

"Only? Listen to your tone, Van Cleef, isn't that enough? The Lord of Midnight laughed and shook his head a little meanly. It's not a good thing to be too greedy. What's more, they only passed the twentieth operation, how many people do you think will survive the reconstructive surgery? ”

"One-third." Van Cleef remained cautious.

"Well, then, let's go see them." Conrad Coetzes stepped forward, his tone relaxed. The company commander was silent for a while, but still followed. There was one thing he didn't tell his original.

There is a tradition within the Eighth Legion.

The veterans will go and 'pick' the reserves, and they will bet on these recruits. Now, Van Cleef estimates that many people in the training ground inside the nest have begun to continue this not-so-honorable tradition.

He didn't know how his protoplasm would react when he found out about it, but.

As one of the few who doesn't bet much, Van Cleef is completely indifferent to this.

He even had the urge to smile.

This chapter is 3k, and there are 5k

(End of chapter)