"He looks confident." Conrad Coetzes said nonchalantly.

He was tapping the vermilion railing of the box with the fingers of his right hand, and they fell one after another, turning the railing into a dull and boring instrument.

The monotonous sound resounded throughout the observation deck, but for some reason, it reminded Corax of the mines, of the sound of pickaxes and stones tormenting each other.

He looked down at one of the many entrances to the amphitheater. He saw St. Giles, Fogham and today's main character, Magnus the Crimson.

Their guards followed them not far behind, the Holy Blood Angels and the Emperor's Sons holding their heads high, while the few Lion Guards looked a little unconfident and even slightly uneasy.

Corax narrowed his eyes and looked at Magnus again, and saw a vague pain in the latter's face—it was clear that the Crimson King thought he had been betrayed.

"If you think so, it only proves that you are naïve, Magnus." The Lord of the Night, who stood beside him, whispered, and he caught the gloom on Magnus's face, and his tone sounded anything but sympathetic.

Corax glanced at him, folding the empty bag of jerky and tucking it into his right sleeve. He poked it lightly with the tip of his finger, and the special material bag didn't make any sound, only the dimpled sensation came back from the tip of his finger.

The primitives came to the center of the field, and above them was the golden platform. The forbidden soldiers surrounded the sides of the high platform with real weapons of killing, and they were silent and solemn. A thin old man in a black robe held a scepter, standing in the center of the high platform, looking down solemnly.

A bright light awaited him beside him, and its owner sat on a throne with an eagle fluttering its wings behind him. His face was blurred, and even with an extremely irreverent gaze, it was only a little partial from the brilliance.

Or a pair of golden eyes, or lightning, or a sun.

The three primitives in the arena began to salute silently, while their guards knelt on one knee. St. Giles was the first to speak, his voice soft but powerful enough to refill the theater without the aid of any amplification.

"Magnus has arrived, father."

There were no greetings, no honorifics, no prideful titles like 'Lord of Prospero' or 'Crimson King', just a simple 'Magnus has arrived'.

There was an immediate noise of waves in the venue, and the people who were here today were not stupid, and they could all see something from St. Giles's attitude. Magnus was no exception, and his only remaining eye was burning with a reddish-orange light.

Half a second later, the emperor spoke slowly.

"Thank you, my son. Rise, Guards, no one needs to kneel today. ”

Before he could finish speaking, the sound of the waves in the amphitheater had stopped. The silence was silent, and the scene bordered on absurdity. All eyes were on the emperor, waiting for his next words. But he didn't say anything more, and instead Machado walked down.

The Palm Sealer, holding the scepter in his hand, walked slowly to the three primordials like a real old man.

Coetzes grinned abruptly, and a low laugh flowed silently through the darkness of the observation deck. Coraks looked at him puzzled, not yet questioning, and the explanation had arrived.

"There's a good show to watch, dear raven." The Lord of the Night smiled happily and turned his head to make a gesture to him, a palper face far greater than the dead was born with a paleness of anticipation.

Corax looked at him, and somehow, suddenly saw the true emotions beneath the smile.

"You're worried about him?"

"Of course not" The Lord of the Night turned his head and leaned on the railing. "Drama is certainly the most wonderful thing that can be seen, and whatever Carlil Lohals is doing, I can't see it right now. So, why should I worry about him? ”

Corax shook his head and said no more.

At this moment, the three primordials placed their right hands on Machado's scepter and swore solemnly and briefly. No matter what the tone is, no matter whether the rhetoric is ornate or not, these three vows can be summed up simply.

They swore an oath that they would be honest with all those at the Council of Nikaia, and that they would tell the truth as they knew it under the watchful eye of the Emperor, without any deception or falsehood.

After that, there was another tedious ritual step, which was drowsy to watch, until the last servant of Makado sealed an oath belonging to Magnus with hot wax.

There are three scrolls in total, recording the oaths of the primitives, and the emperor's seal is placed on the top of the scroll as a witness. Machado nodded to the minions, and they raised their hands above their heads and slowly left the arena with scrolls. And then the meeting really began.

"So, the Nikaia meeting officially begins from now on."

Machado lifted the scepter and gently landed it. A strong tremor immediately spread throughout the theater, and with a flash of light, the face of the person who held the palm print was completely obscured by the golden light. He was not speaking on his own behalf in this moment, but on behalf of the man behind him.

"There's no point in red tape, so I'll just be more straightforward. The main content of this meeting is only one point, that is, the think tank system. We've come here across the galaxy to solve this problem once and for all. ”

The Palm Sealer paused for a moment, giving everyone some time to discuss with each other.

"For too long, the Empire's discourse on psionics and witchcraft has been divided into two distinct factions. One side sees the term 'witchcraft' as ignorant and short-sighted, just another form of persecution in the new age, forged by fear and ignorance. ”

The other side argues that psionic abilities are extremely dangerous and must not be completely trusted, and should be controlled or simply banned. Now, ladies and gentlemen, you can start debating with each other. ”

In the exclamation caused by his words, the Palm Sealer slowly raised his scepter, and the eyes of the Aquila lit up, and his voice swept through all the noise at this moment, resounding in everyone's ears.

"Who's going to speak first?"

"I'll come." A voice said. The person who spoke was from the Space Wolf's box and was named O'Sheilwaldmaker, a rune priest.

In the primitives' box, Riemann Ruth grinned. He raised his head and finally took the first sip of his arrival in Nikaia, but not all at once, but only at a sipping of it.

Motarian snorted faintly, "You owe me once, Ruth." ”

"What?" The Fenris looked at him. "What do I owe you?"

Mortarian stared at him, silence lingering for a few seconds before Ruth burst out laughing and patted him on the back, causing a clash of glass jars.

"Okay, okay, I owe you once—thank you for being willing to give up the opportunity to speak to O'Shell Wardmaker."

"So, what is he going to say?" The Lord of Death asked again, and watched as Oschel Waldmaker made his way through the stairs, the box, and the recorders seated on the sidelines to the Emperor's high platform.

There was a wooden pulpit there, which was even able to accommodate the original body, which was more than enough for him. RunePriest raised his hands rudely and walked in with the sliding door of the pulpit open.

He held his head high and began to speak, his voice far from friendly - the wolves of Fenris were not associated with the word friendly, but there were not many moments when they seemed so ferocious like Rune Priests at the moment.

He didn't come to make accusations, but more like he came to kill.

"You'll know just by listening." Ruth shook his glass and took another sip.

"I'm O'Sheel Waldmaker of the Space Wolves." Standing in the pulpit, the Rune Priest raised his hands and showed the tattoos on his arms to everyone.

"I fought with the thousand sons of Magnus the Red Devil, Shrike Star or Akuru, you can find out for yourselves, I don't bother to repeat it. I would say that everyone in the Fifteenth Legion is an evil wizard. They are abusing witchcraft and magic, and in the presence of the Emperor and Riemann Russ, I swear that what I say is true. ”

There was another uproar in the theater, and the accusations against O'Sheel Wardmaker were appalling, but they were only the beginning, far from the end.

Magnus's lion guards looked at the Runecraft Priest in shock and rage, as if they had been with him all morning, completely unexpecting that Oschel Wardmaker would be standing here today, accusing them.

"Does anyone support him?" Machado sternly raised his scepter and touched the ground again, stopping the noise. "Does anyone support O'Shelvaudmaker's complaint against the Fifteenth Legion?"

"It's your turn, brother." Ruth stopped laughing, but backhanded the glass to Motarian. "How? Take a sip? ”

The Fenist wine, which belonged to the Wolf King, rippled in circles and circles in the wooden wine glass, and the Lord of Death looked down at the wine glass, then looked up at him, and actually reached out and took off the respirator.

"Oh?" Ruth looked at him in surprise.

"I'll just take one sip." Motarian said coldly, and took a sip as he had said, and handed Ruth both the glass and the respirator, motioning for him to keep them for the time being.

He walked to the observation deck, where Coates and Colax made way for him. Immediately, the voice of the Lord of Death resounded throughout the theater.

"I support O'Shell Wardmaker's claims." He said, not surprised to see Magnus's angry glare. A smile slowly appeared on that pale face, without any malice, but it was surprisingly cold.

"I'll put it at the front, Magnus. What I'm going to say next doesn't contain any bias or targeting against you, so you can be prepared. ”

The Crimson King snorted coldly, and he could be regarded as an answer.

——

"What's going on?"

A man with an eight-pointed star carved on his forehead waved his arms timidly, and in front of him was an open sarcophagus in which lay a giant, his hands and feet pierced and fixed, and his face pale as a ghost.

"Why did he vomit blood?" The man shouted in panic.

"Leave it alone!" The other woman viciously pushed him away and closed the stone coffin. "Go and inform the master! The life of the newborn is passing! ”

Yes, yards.

(End of chapter)