Memories are combined with sounds, smells, and images, and musicians are reminded of the afternoon when they first practiced a piece, and painters are likely to remember their first critic when they hear a specious comment.

Whether these things are good or bad, whether people want to admit it or not, it has always existed, and will always exist, until the vehicle that holds this memory is inactive, collapses in a pool of blood, or dies.

And for Conrad Coetze, every time he swings a knife, he thinks of a sentence.

"The hand holding the knife is tight, you have to swing it quickly, stab it into the heart quickly, remove the blood vessels, poke the vital points. The human body inevitably feels pain when faced with the injury caused by a sharp blade"

"Therefore, it is a necessary mercy, not to the enemy, but to yourself. If you don't always maintain the last bit of mercy you deserve, you'll become a monster. Don't understand? It's okay, Conrad, you'll get it later. ”

I do get it now.

The Night King swooped through with a blank face.

The eerie, foul-smelling darkness tugged at his side, from the abyss, from nightmares, but familiar to him. Every voice was whispering at him, and the words were full of respect. Thin bony hands sprang out from his feet, holding a crown as bright as moonlight, trying to put it on him.

Without looking, Koz kicked it away. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, of course, and the Bone Hands weren't frustrated or angry, they just picked it up and waited for his next arrival.

He quickly burst out of the darkness.

The vast sky changed color at this moment, and the blood that belonged to the dead alone pierced the dark clouds, and quietly appeared as if to celebrate his arrival. Violent currents blew by, howling like a storm through every crevice in his armor, and scarlet cloaks fluttered and danced fiercely in the wind.

The Night King is in the eye of the storm, but he feels calmer than ever.

What a grand welcome ceremony. He thought.

The battlefield was in chaos at the moment, and no one noticed the vision. When your feet are stumbling through mud and blood, there won't be much left to observe the sky.

Coates took a few steps forward and came to the very edge of the mountain of corpses. He looked around, and happened to see a cluster of cold gray steel and bright yellow boulders, as well as a relatively small number of other 'Imperial Fists'.

They were fighting in the trenches, struggling to support each other, and the two rubbed against each other, and the sparks that burst out had long since turned into raging fire, but the impact on the current situation was not great.

Their numbers are too small - at least, compared to the rebels, the number of traitors is not normal

Coates looked at the scene thoughtfully, knowing in his heart that he was back in the loop.

And if his memory is not wrong, then this is already the four hundred and twenty-third.

Every time, whenever he tried to find the wandering god, he would be passively sent by his power to other places, to places that had been thoroughly soaked in the spiral of hatred.

The Night Lord understood that it was a urge. The gods are urging His favored people, whom He is a complete stranger, to avenge Him more—instead of coming to Him, for He has no desire or mood to see Him.

The god of vengeance is untreatable, absolutely fair, and completely merciless.

Conrad Coetzes laughed silently - oops, dear God. Do you know that you are actually a stupid god?

Stumbling over power, eager to create more hatred, and with no regard for your true goals, the wild laughter in the darkness doesn't even need to hide from you, just a few simple tricks and specious rituals to trick you into wandering around Terra.

Sighing, Coates closed his eyes, and the snow drifted and fell, slowly melting on his shoulder armor. He counted for five seconds and opened his eyes, and by this time, there was no extra emotion left in the dark eyes of the Night King, only the coldness that belonged to the killer.

Complete missions, kill targets, commit murders, and that's it.

The blade doesn't need emotion.

He spread his hands and leaped down from the mountain of corpses, the wind blowing his black hair across his forehead. His expression was extremely indifferent, and a second later, he landed on the ground, and a short knife in his right hand was already stained with blood.

It wasn't the one that had been with him the longest, it was just a Seiko-level power weapon that had been crafted in accordance with his requirements, and it was more than enough to kill.

He rushed towards the group of enemies that were as red as blood, and the blade slashed through, completely slicing through the flesh wrapped in pottery steel.

He deliberately slowed down the pace of his killing, and the traitors soon discovered his presence. Then, these so-called Bearers began to shout out his name, Lord of the Blades, Lord of the Night, and the ghost of Nostramo

They worshipped him, not hated him.

Time can change many things, doesn't it, father? Coetzes scoffed meanly.

+yes+

Coetzes narrowed his eyes, letting the golden light dissipate from his eyes.

He tilted his head slightly and waved his left hand. The bones shattered, the blood gushed out, and its minions were brutally revealed in the simplest and most direct violence. A traitor, dressed in a uniform unlike any of today's auxiliaries, fell to the ground, his eyes and the bottom half of his face completely torn open by Koz.

As he passed by, the killer looked at him deliberately.

Another best proof of time confusion, he thought, how many years did this war last?

+ This is not a war, Conrad, the war will end. +

Oh my God, that sounds pessimistic. Like him, were both of my fathers pessimists of the first rank in the world?

+ I'm actually optimistic. +

The Night King burst out laughing, and the shrill laughter echoed through the enemy line. A pulsing blue flame struck him, making an even sharper cry. Coetze crushed it without looking back, then rushed to the next target.

It was a priest of the Bearer wrapped in human skin, and the one who summoned the blue fire. His armor was covered in human skin, and was deliberately dyed scarlet by fuel.

Just looking at him, Koz felt like his eyes were going to burn to the point of pain - please, at least some serious power armor, right? Is that how you deal with possible mechs?

The Night King stopped abruptly, stood in the midst of a steaming corpse, grinned at him, and gracefully raised the blade of his right hand, spinning it in a circle and holding it straight.

The Bearer's expression quickly began to distort.

He was not wearing a helmet, and his excessively pale face was covered with black scriptures. He was indeed Luo Jia's son, and if you ignored the sunken cheeks and sick eyes, he looked at least seven points similar to Luo Jia.

Koz then beheaded him in half.

With his screams, the Night King dragged his stump to a burning tank.

The vehicle from hell made a loud noise, like a roar, and huge clouds of smoke erupted from between the orange-glowing tracks. A dozen thick lasers burst out from its muzzle, but none of them hit.

Coates smiled and tucked the priest's body between the tracks and dodged away. A flash of fire from the explosion toppled the huge creature completely, and the crew, who had long been one with the tank, let out a dull wail and wanted to leave from within.

The kind-hearted Night King sliced through the fleshy side panels with his knife and dragged them out of them one by one.

However, the men did not thank him for his kindness, and as a sign of displeasure, Coates left an elaborate Imperial Aquila on their foreheads and comically strung them in a continuous row with a long eight-pointed flagpole.

A banner stitched together from a baby's skin is flying, but the Chaos Eight-Pointed Star on it has been completely destroyed. The wound looked like a vertical, bleeding blade.

Waving the banner, the Night Lord rushed into the center of the enemy group amid the fierce screams of the traitors as they carved the Aquila.

A smooth sequence of killings was quietly born, without any warning or any vision of an end.

Only the severed limbs and severed arms that are constantly flying sideways, like a whirlwind of flesh and blood, are the best proof that the Night Lord is concentrating on his work. He exchanged knives for knives, blades for blades, and let one life after another quickly disappear from his hands.

His armor was covered with blood, the lines were bloody, the cracks were stuck, the flesh and bones were jammed, the black hair was soaked with blood, the cloak was no longer scarlet, and the sticky blood of the traitors darkened it.

It stands to reason that such a hearty killing should have made him happy, and the torture of traitors should have made him smile, but the truth was nothing.

There is no pleasure, no impulse, only calm.

All of this is just appearances, and he needs to create fear, so he creates a banner of cruelty. He needed to let the traitors know of his coming, so he acted mercilessly and ruthlessly.

The blade always knows how to cut flesh, doesn't it?

Ten minutes and forty-four seconds later, they began to rout, scurrying towards the rift opened by the forces of Chaos.

Coates didn't chase after him, he just let go of his left hand and threw the flag down. He put away his knife and turned the scabbard around his waist upside down, from which shredded flesh and blood poured out. In this way, his blade was sheathed. He took a deep breath and wiped the broken hair from his forehead with both hands.

It's not hard to do this because of the blood. Blood splattered and slid down his forehead, creating a sinuous mark on his pale face. Coetze looked up at the sky. The color of blood had faded, and the darkness remained, like a cold steel firmament.

He smiled silently.

+ I'm afraid you still need to keep trying, Conrad. +

Well. How many times do you keep trying? Coetzes asked in his mind.

He found a stone and sat down slowly, waiting for his brothers to arrive.

They must have noticed the movement and realized what a gap he had created for them in this bloody tug-of-war. Whether it's Peturabo or Roger Dorn, they won't miss such a good chance to break the game.

They will come and they will find him. And I couldn't find him.

Coates put his hands on his knees and lowered his head, the silent breeze blowing, the burning metal crackling, his breathing so quiet that it seemed to fall asleep.

+ You are tired, my son, I know, but+

I know, I know.

Coetzes closed his eyes and remained motionless, as if he had long since died.

I know that this is far from the end, and that there will be many more such pursuits and killings.

Every killing I make for Him will push me and Him further and further away. I've tried to kill as emotionlessly as I can, but it's revenge.

And I had to do that before He allowed me to continue trying, to go after Him, to try to meet Him.

But

+ But what is it? +

But I'm miserable, father. I'm killing him.

There was no answer, only a sigh.

Conrad Coetzes opened his eyes and saw two expressionless faces.

He suddenly smiled slightly: "Hi, hello, what time is it in the afternoon?" Should we have dinner? ”

Perturabo reached out and pulled him up, and Roger Dorn handed him a rag, which the Iron Lord caught with his left hand and began to gently rub the Night King's face with it. The latter didn't struggle, just rolled his eyes a little helplessly.

Dried and crusted blood slowly fell from his face, like a plaster statue struck by the artist with a carving hammer, the dark red fragments fell evenly, and the miserable white face was as quiet as ever, and there was still room for the expression he was most familiar with.

"Stop laughing." The Lord of Steel said in a deep voice. "I know you're uncomfortable."

"It's a matter of duty." Coetzes shrugged. "It's like you have to fight side by side with Rogge, and you don't feel good, right?"

Frix, the City Breaker, coughed without a trace.

"If your throat is uncomfortable, you can leave, Frix." Peturabo said without looking back. "Go and defend the trenches for the next war. It just so happens that I need a little bit of personal space to talk to my brother, so let's get out of here. ”

The Iron Warriors turned away in silence, and Roger Dorn silently gestured two gestures and gave two orders without a sound.

As a result, the 'Imperial Fist' and the traditional Imperial Fist in different livery followed, as if they had a tacit understanding of fighting side by side for decades.

"Hey, Rog—" Koz seized the opportunity and winked at the boulder he had just turned around. "—What do you think it's like to play alongside our Abo?"

"Peace of mind." Stubborn Stone said. "It's like knowing you're here to help."

Perturabo tried to turn around, but somehow he couldn't.

Coates pursed his lips and sat back down on the rock, "It doesn't make sense for you to talk like that, Rogge. I'm counting on hearing some complaints from you about Abbot. ”

'Abo' exhaled a slow breath of cold air and spat out a sentence from between his teeth: "Can you stop calling me that?" ”

"Why? Don't you all agree? I've called you that all the way, dear Arbo. Coetze shrugged with a playful smile. Or do you just don't want Rog to hear the nickname? ”

"I've heard you." Dorn said. "Actually, I had heard Califon call Perturabo many years ago, long before she became the tyrant of Lokos."

"It was an accident." The Iron Lord said gloomily, but he didn't look at Dorne standing beside him. "Don't get an inch, Roger Dorne. Also, I hope you don't forget that I won the theoretical contest after that dinner. ”

"Congratulations on your victory." The boulder nodded at him. "I didn't have time to congratulate you at the time, and it shouldn't be too late to make up for it now."

Coetzes suddenly asked maliciously, "So, why didn't you have time at that time?" ”

Perturabo did not reply, but raised his hand, lifted him from the stone, grabbed his shoulder armor with his hand, and led him back to the new trench they were digging.

Roger Dorn quietly tugged at the corners of his mouth, and instead of following immediately, he raised his hand to burn the flag before he began to walk.

They returned to the trench and went around to a room underground. Coates observed for a moment, and realized that the diggers in the room had left a carved line that could be turned into a window.

"It's funny." He chuckled. "The instinct of an architect?"

He looked at Perturabo, who gave him the answer with a blank face and a very slight tilt.

So Coates turned to Roger Dorn and asked, "What the hell is this, Rogge?" Is it your instinct as a builder at work, or do you still keep hope? We're already in hell, and you're still trying to make a window for your room. ”

"We're going to win." Roger Dorn replied blandly. "The rough basement, which had been temporarily excavated, was then expanded to give it a complete set of facilities. The surrounding ruins will be cleared and the streets will be designed to a normal level. At that time, the engraving lines I have set aside will make it much easier for the workers. ”

Coates smiled and bowed his head at him, "Great idea, only, was there still a blue sky on Terra at that time?" It's not that I'm pessimistic, brother, it's just that you should probably be deeper. Instead of normal glass, they might need bulletproof windows. ”

Dorne was almost amused, and Rock gave the highest praise to his brother's joke with a more relaxed expression. He was encased in a scarred armor, scarred or bullet holes in every place, but his emotions seemed unaffected.

Cozi turned to look at Perturabo.

The Lord of Steel didn't look at him, and walked slowly to the center of the room, where there was a makeshift table, made of empty crates stacked on top of each other. There were several black squares on the edges, and he reached out and pressed them one by one, and a map was projected.

"Terra's space and time are chaotic, but we have thoroughly figured out the situation on the eastern front of the entire palace."

He said as he raised his hand and pointed somewhere on the map.

"We're here right now, measured by our feet, and there's nothing wrong with that. We never left here, and there's no room for the chaotic space to fool us. From here, we built a rudimentary fortification that was five kilometers long. Everything from trenches to supporting positions and areas to block the enemy."

He fell silent suddenly, and Roger Dorn picked up his words.

"But it can only be built for five kilometers." The stubborn stone said solemnly. "That's the limit, there aren't enough people, the battle is chaotic, there's a lack of supplies. That's the best we can do – and five kilometres is just a drop in the bucket for the entire eastern front of the Palace, so Peturabo and I came up with another solution. ”

"What's the solution?" Conrad Coetzes asked softly.

He was calm, almost knowingly.

"Symbol." Roger Dorn spat out the word. "The enemy army does not care about discipline, does not care about tactics, does not care about their life or ours. They just want to mess everything up and watch people scream in flames. But they still need to find us to do these things. ”

"They need to find us in order to kill us and torture us, so we're going to make a little change to the trenches." Peturabo said calmly. "For example, a flag is put up every 500 meters."

Dorne reached over to the long table, stretched out his hand and drew a line on the map, pointing out ten more points with precision.

"Ten flags." He said. "As long as the enemy is not blind, he will be the first to discover our existence. Then there will be more and more of their corpses. ”

The Iron Lord sneered, and said many words in one breath, as if he had already intended this and had been depressed for a long time.

"And we're going to keep these bodies and pile them up around the trenches for a view of the city and a landmark."

"They're not going to stop, they're just going to keep attacking, they're always coming here to try to kill us, or we're going to be traumatized."

"That's what they wanted, to see the others throw themselves into the arms of so-called chaos like them, and become a wild beast attracted by bloody bones. And we will tell them in the most primitive way of human beings why the beast is exterminated. ”

"The more they come, the more often they come, the bigger this landmark becomes. It doesn't have any design, it doesn't use any building materials, it just needs to stack the corpses together."

He placed his hands gently around the crates.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Perturabo asked in a tone that was different from usual. "The first collaboration between the two architects resulted in a landmark building that was nothing to praise about it."

Roger Dorn didn't answer.

Coetzes shook his head.

"If you do build it, I think, it will be the only spectacular building in my life, better than the palace, at least it is not golden." He said. "However, I want to give you a piece of advice."

"What advice, Conrad?" Dorn asked.

"Engrave every corpse on the Imperial Aquila." The Night King replied with a smile. "Trust me, you'll be able to use it."

——

Konstantin Valdo bowed his head and gasped.

Every muscle in his body was exhausted to some limit, and the fibers were as tight as fine, heavy tightropes, ready to break at the slightest chance.

However, this did not prevent him from holding the Spear of the Sun God and fighting alongside Corus Korax beside him.

"Tell me—" The Lord of the Saving Stars asked quietly in between killings. "—Did the team I sent out do their job?"

"Die a well-deserved death." The Marshal of the Forbidden Army replied in a low voice. "It's the only warrior I've ever seen in my life."

Indeed, this is not a consolation, nor an exaggeration, but the heartfelt words of Constantin Valdo.

He didn't know how to describe the sacrifice of the Raven Guards, but the natural Assassins resolutely chose to charge in a group at a critical moment, choosing a tactic that was completely contrary to their nature and training, with only one purpose, to give Orl Persson a chance to escape.

They didn't know what his mission was, and they didn't understand why this mortal was so important that it was even worth saying something like 'we can all die, but he can't,' but they agreed. For the sake of the emperor and humanity, they are willing to do so.

So they died, and their bodies were devoured by the traitors. The stupid and savage things that made this depravity and shamelessness an act of glory to boast about, made Valdo furious.

In the past, his spear was wielded only for the Lord of Mankind. Only at this moment, he is fighting for the dead. He couldn't perceive the difference, because he didn't have time to think.

Therefore, he was not aware of the approval coming from the other end of the link.

But even if he knew, what could he do? After all, the current situation does not allow anyone to think. There is only fighting, only fighting.

Waldo swung his spear, briefly closing the mouth of something with its bloody mouth wide open. Their so-called blood splattered out, as black as oil.

The elite of the Raven Guard swept past him, helping him with the killing, and then dissipated like a cloud of smoke, disappearing into the shadows in plain sight.

Their sharp claws had already been stained with blood, but no amount of killing would help them in their current situation. They are already surrounded, completely surrounded by a hundredfold number of enemies.

And it all stems from Konstantin Valdo's eagerness - he is too impatient to get Orr to complete his task. He briefly left his vigilance against the darkness and stepped into a trap prepared for him and Orr Person by the forces of Chaos.

He was cautious enough, but, no matter what the past was, it only took a brief moment of relaxation for them to find an opportunity.

They are such things.

Waldo knew that if it weren't for the Raven Guard, the mission he had received from the Lord would have failed, and he would have died, casting an eternal shadow over the glory of the Legion.

"There's no need to think too much."

Corus Corax swept past him like a real shadow, her voice soft. It was similar to his famous brother, but very different.

Waldo had met Conrad Coz many times, and the Night King's soft voice belonging to the Nostramo was menacing and rhythmic, and even if he wasn't hostile, his voice would be instinctively dangerous.

The Lord of the Savers was different, he spoke quietly, plainly, as if he would no longer be surprised by anything.

"We have to break through!"

Valdo shouted in the direction he had left, oblivious to the puddle of minced flesh that had been left behind. This is Colus Corax, who is bound to take dozens, if not hundreds, of lives every time he appears and leaves.

"How to break through?" Koraks asked. His voice came from behind Valdo again at this moment.

The Janissan turned sharply and stabbed a giant beast in the head with his spear. It spoke, and the voice belonging to Colus Corax was rapidly turning into a shattered scream - and, moreover, his voice.

Unconsciously, Waldo yelled an expletive, imitating Ur Pesson's tone: "You bastard! ”

He chopped it up at the cost of six new scars. Yaojin is being devastated, just like he himself. Everyone in this living hell is being devastated, and the first to bear the brunt is his lord, the lord of mankind

Constantin Valdo was furious at the thought of this—the faces he and Orr Pesson had seen on their long journey, and Terra's first appearance.

The palace still stands, and the common people at least have clothes to wear and to eat. And now, they have nothing.

A violent wave of pathos broke into his heart, forcing him to let go of his anger and force him to start fighting in a posture he had never had before.

And at the end of the link, the emperor is watching all this.

No, maybe not the end, this link used to be a chain in the past. One was caught in the hands of the emperor, and the other was put around the neck of Konstantin Valdo. And now, its nature is quietly changing.

It is no longer a chain, and one day it will become some kind of strange link with a conductive nature. The starting one was still held by the Emperor, but this time, it would no longer be put around someone's neck, it would be held by another human.

It will be the bond.

And that's when it all ends.

In his torture chamber, the Lord of Mankind patiently pushes all this. He was at the junction of reality and illusion, the net was burning silently behind him, and the demons were blocked by the golden flames, unable to enter.

They know they won't get any chance to kill here, but they're still coming, and their purpose is only to drain his power. To put it more accurately, it's actually to give him strength.

Of course, the existence behind the demons would not have such good intentions, and they did it only to torture him.

As soon as he relaxes for a moment, his humanity relaxes even a little, and the god from 10,000 years later, fashioned by prayer and faith, will envelop his personality and reduce everything he has worked so hard to maintain to ashes. He will bring him immense power, but he will also destroy it completely.

The Emperor will not let this come true.

All sacrifice begins with Him.

He will endure everything and carry everything until they are victorious.

It was just another torch-wielding battle in the dark, and this time, he wasn't even alone. Someone understands him, someone supports him, someone fights with him in the dark. Countless humans are fighting alongside him on Terra.

So this time, why would he lose?

The darkness of the wind and frost paved the surface, and the eyes of the Lord of Mankind were as bright as the torch of the stars.

But 10,000 years.

This chapter is 8k, and the update is complete. After thinking about it carefully, it's better to write it in one breath, just enough to be used as an adjustment after the siege of Terra is over.

(End of chapter)