I have been with the Emperor's Eighth Legion for twenty-six years, and I have seen countless 'new bloods' leave the nest of Nostramo and embark on an endless journey into the vast sea of stars. ”

"They are rumored to be bloodless and tearless monsters, killing all day long, thirsting for fear. Feeding on blood and bones in the dark, but this is nothing more than a rumor, and anyone who is still sane can hear its falsehood. ”

"To me, the Eighth Legion is just a group of dedicated men who will not shirk their responsibilities and destiny, and thus the terrible rumors will have a fertile ground. It is not my intention to comment on the fighting style of the Midnight Blades, they have proven themselves. ”

"But I wonder what will happen to them if the war ends?"

Carlil put down the book and didn't read it anymore.

The Codex was born out of a narrator, but not Bellos von Sharp, who would not have asked the question of 'where to go?' and who had already had the answer to such things.

Of course, Bellos was not the only narrator within the Eighth Legion.

Conrad Coetzes is not as extreme as Horus Lupecar, asking for the Shadowmoon Wolf. No, each company of the Sons of Horus has a narrator, so that 'our deeds may be known throughout the empire'.

But he wasn't the kind of person who was very resistant to narrators like Leon Eljonson or Riemann Russ, and the Night Lord's attitude was actually quite interesting compared to his brothers, and his attitude towards narrators could probably be summed up in one sentence - just don't go to him.

Of course, it is impossible for the narrators to let him go without interviewing, and most of this group of people did not know how to shoot, but they still dared to walk with Astarte and enter the most tragic battlefield.

They even have the courage to do so, and it's no surprise to interview the original.

Courage.

Carlil chuckled and tapped his finger on his desk, the lines of lightning that had been flickering and flickering dimmed in unison.

At the other end of the desk, a man who was busy correcting documents pretended to have no change in his face and glanced at him, his expression was very calm, but his right hand holding the pen was faintly trembling.

"See what I'm doing, Sai?" Carlil looked at him gently. "Keep doing your job. Didn't you say that you would rather help me correct official documents than to bring new blood and become their instructor? Why did this stop? ”

"You didn't say there were so many at the time."

"Is that too much?" Carlil put on a strange face, deliberately using a softer tone. "The official letter sent today is already a small number, a company of sergeants. If we were still in Nostramo, we would have been too busy to speak. ”

"Can't we use a datapad to grade a file?" Sevita couldn't help but ask—at this moment, he would rather take a stick and Sigismund into the training ground for another 48 hours than hold a pen and write line after line of neat calligraphy.

"It's okay in Nostramo, but not here, not everyone in the empire wants to accept Robert Killiman's databoard office policy, and paper is still in vogue."

Carlil shook his head sympathetically at Sevita and left his desk on the Nightfall.

The office hasn't changed in years, and you could say it's nostalgia or stubborn reluctance to change, but Either way, Carlil still loves his portholes.

He went to the window and saw through it a terrible planet. Nightfall was anchored in its low-Earth orbit, and at this distance, Carlil could clearly capture a series of natural disasters such as volcanic eruptions and lightning storms.

The planet, named Nikaia, was discovered in the middle of the Great Expedition. It's a nascent planet, the landscape isn't even fully formed, and extreme weather extremes are common. Now, it will be the venue for a meeting.

He turned his head to look at the other end of the track, catching a glimpse of several equally massive ships. The Red Tears, the Steadfast Resolve, the Glory of Macurag. One by one, these ships, which only appear together in imperial lore, are now anchored near Nikaia.

Some are located in far-end orbits, while others are located in low-Earth orbits, and are parked separately so as not to cause tidal effects.

The weather in Nikaia is bad enough. Its structure is in a long period of flux, full of moving blocks, chaotic gravitational waves and lightning storms, and the navigation and radar of shuttles and gunboats can even fail completely during navigation.

If the weather had been a little worse, the meeting would probably not have to be held somewhere in Nikea, and it would have been held online, at least so that no one's lives would be in danger.

There were also smaller ships moored between the flagships of the primordials, and dense shuttles busily went back and forth. It wasn't just the Astarte Legion and the Primordial that arrived here, but also many delegations.

The Empire's vast and bloated bureaucracy worked unusually smoothly in the first five months of the Council of Nikea, with numerous documents and circulars being issued, and various ministries sent in to testify or provide evidence.

The High Lords of Terra, the Mechanics of Mars, the Governors or Lords of the Galaxy who have come from afar to reach the Sun Domain, the Astral Court, the Psionic Academy. As you can see, the scale of this meeting is unprecedented.

So, what's on the agenda?

Little by little, Carlil fell into deep thought, and he remained on his feet for more than two hours, not moving. It wasn't until Yago Sevitaleon had corrected all the papers that he had made a move.

"Tomorrow continues, race." With his back to Sevita, who had suffered a mental torture, Carlil spoke softly. "Of course, like I said, you can still choose between training with new blood and helping to correct the papers. It's never too late to choose. ”

I was forced to teach the Primordial how to make those gestures."

"So, what about the ones that Riemann Ruth learned?" Carlil turned and stared at him with a smirk. "Was that what you were forced to teach?"

"That's not it, he coerced me with a whole piece of Fenris honey-flavored Glocks steak, and I was forced, instructor."

Carlil smiled and used his psionic energy to push him out the door, ending the conversation. However, immediately after this, his smile disappeared. In the darkness behind him, Conrad Coetze slouched out of it.

"Is it really necessary?" The Lord of the Night asked, clasping his hands against the wall.

"What?" Carlil replied casually that he had walked over to his desk, checking for anything inappropriate in the documents that Sevita had corrected.

"You're knowingly asking again." The Lord of the Night looked at him dissatisfied.

"Hah" Carlil laughed pleasantly. "Well, if it's just because of some gang gestures, of course there's no need to do that. But he will need to correct a lot of official documents in the future, so it is better to take advantage of this reason to familiarize him with it first, what do you think? ”

"I don't want to say anything, I'm just worried about his future." Said the Lord of the Night.

——

Machado gripped his scepter and departed from the burning stars. This is not a metaphor, but an exact description of where he had previously stood.

The Palm Sealer took a step, and finally stepped on the ground again, the scepter lowered, and a force swept through the rock chamber, and the burning stars vanished instantly. He let go of his hand, bringing the scepter close to the wall, and touched his face with both hands.

The feeling of being old alone embarrassed the tips of his fingers, and Macardo shook his head and simply put his hood back on. He then took his scepter and left the Rock Chamber.

The outside world looked like a tunnel, the surface was shiny and smooth, and it was terrifyingly large, and even a few primordials walking side by side would not make it seem crowded.

The ground was covered in some kind of transparent material, and the magma tumbled underneath it, terrifyingly bright. The blazing light and temperature illuminated the tunnel, making Machado's scepter reflect even brighter light.

Half a year ago, a group of well-trained 'workers' dug this place with the best hot melt tools.

The Tunnel Palm Seal walked calmly, seemingly unintentionally using psionic energy to speed up, only on foot. Despite this, the vigor and agility he showed when he walked was by no means what an old man should have. After some time, he arrived at a side hall that was not very wide.

In the light of the golden Aquila, a giant in gold armor was flipping through a suspended book with his back to him.

"You're reading at this time?" The Palm Sealer spoke reproachfully.

"Isn't that possible?"

The psionic manipulating the book giant replied nonchalantly, and he turned, a golden laurel wreath shining above his shining eyes. But Machado's words seemed to have had a bit of a job, and the book eventually fell back into his hands, closing securely.

"Two hours to go." The Palm Sealer spoke again, revealing a cold time. "Your Majesty, there are two hours left at most before this trial is about to begin. What words are you going to ask me to use as an opening statement? ”

"You can decide for yourself." The emperor said. "No, you can prepare a few speeches for yourself, old man. I'm sure no one cares about that. ”

Machado smiled, smiling at the title that the emperor had spat out. He shook his head, a pair of eyes under the hood with a smile, but quickly regained his composure.

He waved his scepter, and the brilliance of psionic energy flashed, and several speeches actually fell into his hands. The emperor looked at him, and there was a kind of surprise on his face that was wrapped in light.

"People always have to serve the old." The palm printmaker raised his right hand meaningfully and flicked the speeches. "What do you think, Your Majesty?"

"I'm not old." The Lord of Humanity replied calmly.

Notice.

Magnus: aieeeeee——! The Emperor? Emperor?!

(End of chapter)