Perturabo grabbed a corpse.

His fingers gripped tightly into the Assassin's shoulder, and the other man was lifeless, cut in half.

The flesh was enveloped in pitch-black ice that surpassed reason, and the blood that should have gushed out spread like ice edges on the two halves of the body, forming a spectacle that was difficult to find.

There was not the slightest detail in the clothes worn by the corpse that could find the truth, and that was the most ordinary black cloth garment. But what allowed them to get their hands on the council while it was going on?

The guards on duty outside the door didn't react at all, although they weren't Astarte, they were definitely not blind.

After a few seconds, Perturabo let go of his hand and threw the body down.

He glanced back at Carlyphon, who was holding a pale gold copper-tipped cane, looking at him worriedly. A wave of pain that he himself did not want to admit immediately came over - she was being tormented by the destiny that belonged to mortals.

"Are you okay?" Perturabo asked in a casual tone.

Carifon's right hand holding the cane clenched at once, and a palpable shock appeared on the tyrant's face.

It took her a few seconds before she was overwhelmed to respond, "I-uh, I'm fine, Abo." I'm fine. ”

"Where's your guard?" Perturabo's body stiffened, then he frowned.

His expression now made the little concern he had just revealed a joke, and Califon calmed down. Obviously, she was more comfortable with the look than Perturabo's concern.

And how could Peturabo know about it?

"They should be right outside the door." The tyrant replied with a little bewilderment.

Carlil stood aside and watched the interaction between the siblings, amused from the bottom of his heart. He couldn't look long, so he walked out into the darkness and picked up a translucent firearm still stained with blood on his tiptoes.

The voice of the Iron Lord immediately reached his ears: "My design." ”

"You sound like you're going to kill someone, sir." Carlil said.

"If the Rockos tyrant's guards don't show up here for the remaining thirty seconds, I do." Peturabo replied coldly.

"The Assassins had no rigorous training, and many of them were even farmers. Their hands and their rough countenances bear my point, and how did they get to the inside of the council chamber without alerting any of the guards? What's more, it's been a minute since the gunshots rang out, why haven't they sent someone in to observe yet? ”

"Invisibility cloak?" Carlil throws a conjecture at his first question, still with his back to the original and the tyrant, neither of whom can see his face.

"Impossible." Perturabo immediately dismissed the conjecture, and his tone was surprisingly calm, as if he were conducting academic research. "They don't have any technology on them, and even if they do, they can't be thin enough to be implanted under the skin or worn close to the body without revealing any clues."

Carlil didn't reply, he dropped his gun and walked straight to the front of the gate, his figure stepping into the natural darkness created by the stone pillars and design.

Peturabo didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew that Carlil Lohals wouldn't be out of the picture. So he lowered his head and looked at his sister again.

"You have opponents in the city." He said in a determined tone. "Your guards have either been rebelled against or have been dropped, Califon."

The tyrant's face turned pale, and Perturabo could see her pretense of calm and deep uneasiness.

His sister was smart, as she always was, but she had little political talent. After all, she's not just smart, she's stubborn. She doesn't like it, and she won't use her talents for dirty political play.

Some people are like that, if something makes them unhappy, then they won't do it even if they die.

"How much blood is Lokos going to shed for this?" After a while, Carliphon asked.

She seemed to be laughing, at least the tone in which she spoke suggested. It's just a pity that her expression spoils it perfectly.

"That depends." Peturabo said. "But you don't need to be upset about this, people need to decide their own destiny, I made a choice, so I have been a joke among the stars for decades. If even I can't escape the consequences and punishment of my choice, why can they? ”

Carifon looked at him at a loss, old age didn't seem to allow her heart to grow enough. Or maybe it was because what Perturabo was describing at the moment was too horrific for her to understand. It was a moment before she responded.

"The instructor—" The tyrant took a deep breath, and the Primordial heard her lungs begin to torture each other again. "—what did he do?"

"I don't know."

"There's something else you don't know, Abo?" Carifon curled the corners of her mouth, trying to make a smile, but failed.

Yes, there are more.

"I don't know much about this man, I haven't met anyone like him." Perturabo slowed down his tone so that Califon could calm down word for word. "I can't even tell you whether he came out here to kill people or investigate."

"You're making him a little too horrible."

Peturabo did not respond to this statement, on the one hand, he did not want to explain to Caliphon why he said so. On the other hand, he is now more concerned with another matter.

He shifted his steps and blocked Callifon from the front door: "You don't understand what I just said, do you?" ”

"Which one?" Carifon asked, slightly uneasy, unsure if Perturabo had asked this to mock her for her stupidity, as she had done before.

"Sea of Stars."

"Yes." Carlyphon bit her lip.

"I don't understand, you were born better than us. I even think the man who took you deserves to be called God. If the gods take you away from us and take you to fight a war between the stars for all mankind, how can you be a joke? ”

Perturabo was silent for a moment, a few seconds so long in his perception that he could clearly perceive every thought in his mind at the moment.

He wasn't angry, at least not because of Callifon's words. This could not have happened before, and if it was, he would have been angry with her by now.

He doesn't get angry, he just feels sad. Every time he thinks about it, he remembers a name, and he remembers it.

"Because of stupidity." The Iron Lord spoke slowly. "I'm not the only one in the galaxy called the Genoplasm, Califon. I still have a lot of brothers, a lot. None of them are worse than me, but I want to prove that I am the best of them. I was blinded by this thought, blinded to the fact that I couldn't even see the reality at hand. ”

"Aren't you the best of them all?"

Carifon didn't know what to say, and she even tried to comfort him with a smile that coaxed the child, but Perturabo wasn't comforted, he just smiled.

"Perhaps." He said. "But now is not the time to think about that."

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the back of Carlyphon's head.

His sister mistakenly took this as a precursor to a hug, but it wasn't bad for what Perturabo was going to do next. A thousandth of a second later, a bullet pierced the thick walls of the council and hit the back of his hand.

Blood splattered.

"Don't look backwards." Peturabo said.

He hadn't made the same mistake again, his focused hearing had just easily captured a gunshot hundreds of meters away, clear but distorted, like the sound of a whip hitting the ground.

So here he stood now, bleeding from the back of his hand, a powerful, specially modified bullet stuck between his bones and flesh. Carlyphon looked up at him with a pale face.

"In a moment, I'll have someone take you to orbit." Peturabo said in a slowed tone again. Somehow, he's a little more comfortable doing it now.

"I'll take care of this." He said. "I promise you."

——

Karil walked out of the darkness with a knife, he could go into the darkness if he wanted to, but not now. He didn't walk out of the council to kill, even though he was carrying a knife.

The sky in Lokos was still blue, and the city was quiet, and there seemed to be no commotion. This was not the case with the road directly in front of the council, where blood and severed limbs were everywhere, turning the once bright red carpet into a dark red.

Thirty-five of the dead were dressed in the robes of the guards. Their faces were calm, apparently not perceiving anything at all when they died. There are no 'anomalies' left on their bodies that can be called evidence.

Carlil swept his eyes across theirs, and his shadow began to boil.

"Stop." He warned softly. "Their blood is not your bread."

Then the shadow returned to silence, not daring to make any more movements. Carlil began to stride forward as a figure in a dark green cloak slowly appeared at the end of the carpet.

He was the first to notice Carlil's presence, and his walking posture inevitably stiffened for a moment, but soon returned to normal. At the hem of the cloak, a silver arm looms.

"Sir Luthor." Carlil greeted. "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Me too." The visitor took off his hood, revealing an older, but energetic face. "Long time no see, Instructor Carlile."

Carlil looked at him for a moment, and Luthor graciously accepted the observation. The old knight no longer had the high air he had once had, he looked a little older, with a gray beard covering the lower half of his face, and three or four more dangerous scars on his forehead and eye sockets.

But it was his eyes that mattered, and those eyes were now glinting with what he had been asking for.

So Carlil smiled slightly: "Looks like you're doing well." ”

Luthor grinned slowly, "Oh, I couldn't be better. ”

Also, yards.

(End of chapter)