Chapter 546 64.Interlude: The Freedom of the Least Equal Partition (Plus 2/5)

Drowsy, drifting, difficult to breathe.

Cato Sicarius knew that he was being treated. His injuries must have reached a very bad level, and being bitten off his left hand by the monster was secondary, and it was a miracle that the severe injuries he had received and the secondary internal bleeding from the fall from a height had not killed him.

But he didn't feel the pain, in fact, he didn't feel anything. There is no sense of reality, no sense of touch, just a very quiet sense of tranquility.

Sicarius sometimes almost felt like he was dead, but he didn't believe that this was the end of his life—if this was really the end of his life, then why didn't the emperor come and take him away?

The ancient scriptures say that only death is the end of duty, and he thinks there is something wrong with that. Death does not end their duties, and at best they are a transit point.

The Emperor must have had another arrangement for these dead souls, and if it was just to rest in peace, Cato Sicarius would not agree.

There was an extremely strong longing in his heart, not for life, or for honor, and even he could not tell what the ingredient of this longing was.

However, one thing is clear – it is because of this that Cato Sicarius woke up from his slumber.

The pungent smell of disinfectant water suddenly rushed into his nostrils, and then there was a strange rust sensation, and his tongue and mouth seemed to turn into rusty metal, and with every breath he could feel the extremely strong smell of rust.

The gentle light fell into his pupils, and it irritated his eyes to tears. He tried to blink, but his eyelids didn't care much about his thoughts, they were now as heavy as the Adamantite Gates of the Arsenal, and they couldn't close at all.

Sicarius lay on the hospital bed with his eyes widened, and it took him a moment to realize the pain in his left hand that could not be concealed, the numbness in the back of his head, and the disharmony in many parts of his body.

He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, trying to see how he was doing, but he realized something else again—he couldn't hear a sound.

There was no sound at all.

Sicarius blinked hard again, swallowing a mouthful of rust-smelling saliva. I don't know what happened, but as my throat rolled up and down, the speculation about deafness went away with the influx of voices.

"He's likely to remain unconscious for another four hours or so." Someone said seriously. "With all due respect, the Original, but it's a miracle that he's alive."

"There are no miracles in this world, only hard work and bravery, unless you preach to me, as our priest did, that the emperor can send down any miracle at any time and place."

He did come down, my lord." The speaker replied meaningfully. "And right in front of my eyes."

Cato Sicarius chuckled softly when he heard his primordial – his real primordial – and then thanked him and told the pharmacist in charge of treating him to go out and do his own thing.

The young scout immediately realized that he was about to be alone in the same room as the Original, and an emotion rushed into his two hearts, forcing them to start beating rapidly.

Sicarius struggled to organize his thoughts and wondered: Will he notice my awakening?

A hand pressed lightly on his left wrist.

"Cato Sicarius." Robert Killeman sighed. "You know what? Almost everyone who is in charge of your health or has common sense about medicine has told me that it's a miracle that you're alive. ”

He knew I was awake.

Sicarius opened his mouth, trying to say something, or at least take a look at his original body. However, due to the injuries and some kind of restraint that held his body in place, it was now difficult for him to even turn his head.

When the ten-second attempt was over, the best response Sicarius could give was a dull nasal voice.

He couldn't speak, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't utter half a syllable.

"I read the post-war report given to me by Idaios, in which he highlighted your name, Cato Sicarius."

"Judging by the descriptions, you're fearless and adept at seizing opportunities in battle, and you're able to hold these fleeting little things in your hands even before you complete the ordination ceremony."

"Overall, you can be called an ultramarine, a descendant of Tarasa. But I didn't come to you for that, actually, I have some questions for you. ”

Sicarius anxiously began to urge his vocal cords, but Kiliman was different, he just patiently withdrew his hand and stood aside. Sicarius could sense his presence, and even if he couldn't, he could sense the calm, gentle gaze of the primordial.

Both of them made him begin to redouble his efforts to recover, but it was not until several minutes later that Sicarius succeeded in making a sound. To his surprise, his voice didn't sound hoarse.

"I understand, Primordial." He said dryly. "You can ask me anything."

"Don't be so nervous, these questions don't involve any secrets. Did that thing talk to you? ”

"Talked."

"What did it say?"

Sicarius was silent for a few seconds, reluctantly and angrily repeating what the monster had said to him.

He had a good memory, but he really wished that his concussion would allow this part of the memory to flow out of his brain along with the brain. However, Robert Killiman seemed rather calm after listening to those words.

He wasn't angry, the anger of the primordial was usually staggering, but now it was different, Sicarius didn't see the slightest sign of anger from the giant who was standing beside his bed.

All he could feel was peace.

It's like a data board with a set output band, and it can only give data from a certain value to a certain value

Sicarius was ashamed of his ramblings, and he couldn't understand how he could use such a blasphemous metaphor to describe his genetic protoplasm. What he didn't know was that Robert Killeman knew all about it.

Just outside the hallway, his chief think tank, Lazlion, and his gifted apprentice, Varo Digres, were using psionic powers to detect Sicarius' thoughts and feed them back to him in real time.

It's a kid who knows how to make fun out of suffering. Killiman smiled quietly.

"Primordial?"

"Huh?"

"I think"

"Say, Sicarius, I'll give you permission."

Killiman moved to the head of the bed so that his face could be seen by Sicarius, whose head was tightly wrapped in gauze.

He had always been aware of his role as a symbol of inspiration, and Robert Killiman had learned how to take advantage of it 10,000 years ago, and even more so now.

Unsurprisingly, he waited for a few seconds later for something to come out of his mouth.

"I think that thing knows who I am." Sicarius said with a little confusion.

yes, it knows. Kiriman thought.

How could it not know? It eats the brains of Issos and Deshimir, and they know you

"I see." Kiliman said. "Get more rest and recover from your injuries quickly, Sicarius. Your duty is calling, and so is your power armor. ”

After he said this, he was satisfied to see the man still lying on the hospital bed's eyes widen instantly. The original body smiled and turned away.

Eight hours later, after finishing a speech, he found Karil Lohals, who was reading, in his office.

After 10,000 years of wind and rain, the Glory of Maculag has experienced many vicissitudes, but it also carries many memories. These things are called books – or materials that are placed on a data board – but in the end, they are a medium of preservation.

A lot of news about the current state of the five hundred worlds and even the current state of the empire is quietly waiting in it, only to come one day and be able to be held in someone's hand and read carefully.

The person they are waiting for has no specific image, and in fact, if the words are self-conscious, this image should be extended to anyone.

Karil Lohals is naturally one of them.

With a quick glance, Kiliman analyzed what he was currently reading from the scattered stacks of books and dataplates.

"The Inquisition?"

"Inquisition."

Killiman let out a sigh as he returned to his chair.

"Agents, eyeliners, and spies across the galaxy, as well as powerful inquisitors. Honestly, Carlil, did you ever think that the nameless organization you founded would grow into what it is today in 10,000 years? ”

"I had it." Carlil said without looking up. "Based on what Machado and I envisioned at the time, it was a matter of course that the organization evolved into what it is today."

"The only thing I'm glad about is that these people who hold the power of life and death also have a sword hanging over their heads."

"Just like you?" Kiriman asked in a warm, mocking tone. He'd probably never spoken to anyone in this tone, and he seemed rather rusty.

Carlil smiled, and he looked up and nodded to Killyman.

"Yes, just like me."

The Lord of Macurag was speechless for a moment, and it took several seconds before he spoke again.

In short, they have good relations with most of the warbands. As far as I know, many warbands are happy to work for the Inquisition, and they never skimp on pay. I've heard that they've also created a special unit that draws battle brothers from different warbands to form a special unit for aliens. ”

"I haven't seen that yet." Carlil said. "You're ruining my reading experience, you know? Dear Lord Robert Killman, ”

Killiman frowned, looked at him suspiciously, and after a long moment slowly raised his hands to complete an ancient surrender ceremony.

"You've changed." He said slowly. "And it's changed a lot."

"When you were just a normal person, and not Robert Killiman, you would be like me."

"What? Do you feel like an ordinary person? ”

Carlil shook his head and said calmly, "No, it's just an analogy. The gap between my former form of existence and my current flesh and blood is as great as that between you and a normal person. ”

Robert Kiliman was reluctant to continue the conversation, but a feeling suddenly rose in his mind that he had never felt before.

That feeling had happened between him and Marius Gage, Ionid Hill, and between him and Conrad Coetzes, Corus Corax, Angron and other primordials.

He had forgotten the feeling for a moment, and he hadn't even remembered what to call it until now, and then he began to think about it, the conversation he had just had with Carlil in this study, and came to a conclusion.

Shoot the breeze.

Small talk between friends.

Robert Killiman gave a lilting smile.

"So, have you become stronger, or have you become weaker?" He deliberately spoke roughly, uttering the simplest analogy.

"Are you learning from Riemann Ruth.?" Carlil asked.

"Yes, like?"

"Not really, if it were Ruth, he would have asked me in a rough voice if it felt good to be a human being. And I'll tell him I'm fine, just like he's hanging out with his wolves. ”

Carlil shook his head with a smile, and he sat in the specially found chair, holding a book in his hand, like a well-mannered scholar. If you find someone else to meet him, I am afraid that this will also be their first impression.

Now, on the glory of Maculag, no one knows who he really is, except Robert Killiman. Looking at the galaxy as a whole, this ratio can still be used.

He is a person who does not exist in this era, or even in this world.

But it is also because of this that Karil Lohals, for the first time in his life, gained a certain degree of . Freely.

"That's how good it is, Robert." He said, and smiled.

"You see, there are some things in this world that cannot be destroyed or changed no matter how strong the force is. Some people are born in ignorance and cruelty, and they don't know what it's supposed to be called, or even that such a thing really exists, but they instinctively pursue it. For some, this thing is freedom. For others, it's about being fed and clothed, not oppressed."

"So, what is it to you?" Kiliman asked curiously.

Carlil didn't answer, just reached out and tapped on the table. The lights then dimmed, except for the light on Robert Killman's desk. There are two of them, providing plenty of light to illuminate the paperwork.

And now, they illuminate Karil Lohals himself, casting his shadow backwards, onto the floor, the bookcase, and the walls.

His shadow began to dance, and then a voice rang out. The smile was bright, with a slight sneer that Robert Kiliman had once so familiarly known.

"Long time no see, brother."

Robert Killiman got up from behind his chair and strode over to his brother.

Carlil leaned back, leaned back in his chair, and kept his head down to read.

(End of chapter)