30. The One Reborn from the Grave (Part Two)

A thin mist hung in the air, and the cold was biting. Heat seemed to escape from the walls, the light was dim, and footsteps echoed softly from outside the iron walls. After a series of complex checks, Jairzinho Guzman finally entered the interior of the medical hall.

He had finished his shift for the day two hours earlier, but that doesn't mean he needs to rest.

Any Astartes can maintain their energy for a long time with their enthusiasm, and besides, healing those who can still be saved in Quintus is no different from rest for the healers.

Treating the illnesses of mortals is much simpler than treating the injuries Astartes suffered in the war; sometimes, even just one or two courses of medicine are enough to restore their health.

In the past, Jairzinho Guzman only used his medical skills and compassion on his brothers.

Generally speaking, the Eighth Legion appreciates the former but despises the latter. Therefore, if you are a medic or Apothecary in the Eighth Legion, I suggest you abandon any idea of expecting gratitude after curing patients.

Now things are different. He has healed many people in Quintus, and their way of expressing gratitude is to kneel down and touch their foreheads to the ground. Guzman loathes this, but he cannot refuse them.

How can he refuse someone's thanks?

The common people in Quintus only express their gratitude in this way. Guzman dislikes kneeling, but he will accept their thanks. As for now, he only hopes that the Ultramarines can build the public schools more quickly.

Standing before the corpse shrouded in black cloth, Jairzinho Guzman bowed his head in respect. Two weeks had passed, and his shift had even been reassigned twice.

Apart from him, the hall remained empty, which was normal, as it was temporarily under martial law. Legion members could enter, but only one person at a time.

Guzman and all the medical officers agreed with Konrad Curze Curze's announcement of the order, but they also unanimously brought up another matter.

"He needs a burial plot," Surgeon Marlan said two hours earlier in their small conference room. "The medical hall looks decent, but we all know it's just an illusion. Although we have all visited him."

"The Primarch did not request that he be buried," another countered. "And I'm certain the Instructor himself didn't want to be buried in a coffin either."

"You talk like you know him like that," Marlan retorted with a sneer. "But we all know you were taken down in one hit when you walked into the cage, didn't we?"

The conversation ended there, followed by a brawl—the legion would refer to this as "routine exchanges of martial skills," but everyone tacitly knew what it really meant.

If one of the fighters feels that this is still not enough, he will continue to attack the other party through various means for the next seven days. Sometimes, this behavior will also affect other people.

That's why there are so many small medical rooms on the Nightfall.

Thinking about these things, Guzman exhaled a puff of white mist, his head still bowed, as if lost in quiet contemplation.

However, Guzman wasn't actually thinking; he was simply lost in thought—a feeling often evoked by quiet environments.

Unbeknownst to him, his senses were amplified. Those tiny details he used to always overlooked now came back, their unique insect chirps seemingly opening and laughing wildly in the corner of his eye. His thoughts sank deeper and deeper until they entered some other world.

Until a door is opened.

Jairzinho Guzman fell into extreme silence.

The fog gradually transformed, becoming a thick white mist on the dark metallic ground. The cold penetrated the scientific protection within his Power Armour, reaching his spine and stinging his very bones. His eyes began to sting, but he could no longer close them.

He can try, it's up to him, trying won't help anyway.

A force originating from behind the door has taken control of this place.

Often, coincidences are the most interesting. Guzman can no longer think; that right has been taken from him. But he can still hear, still see, and still perceive.

The white mist gathered and moved without wind, and something—something ancient—was piercing through the cold fog, heading straight from behind that door.

The temperature continued to drop, the air was deathly still, causing the moisture on Guzman's exposed skin to condense into fragile frost. His blood was frozen as well; this temperature was anything but ordinary. It was unclear how much time had passed before the chill finally began to slowly recede.

The ability to think gradually returned, reviving within his body. Jairzinho Guzman's eyes widened, as if a tsunami was crashing through his mind.

He suddenly looked up and saw that the corpse shrouded in black cloth had actually sat up.

Its empty eye sockets glowed with blue light, and a black cloth had somehow been draped over its body. Its jaw opened and closed, its teeth clattering together with a monotonous clicking noise. A familiar voice reached Guzman's ears.

That was the voice of Karyl Lohars.

"Hello," he said. "I hope I didn't scare you, Jairzinho."

The medical officer's response was a violent shaking.

--

"The situation is very bad," Karyl said.

"."

Konrad Curze Curze glanced silently at the skull-like face beneath his hood, then nodded. "Yes, I can see that too."

Are you mocking me, Konrad Curze?

"No," Konrad Curze Curze answered quickly and clearly. "I'm just curious why you've been lying there for two weeks."

"You want me to come back sooner?"

". No."

The skeleton nodded, and a strange, unseen wind emanated from its empty chest. "I also long to return, but the real world is not based on my will. It will not change because of my will."

"You're talking to me through a skeleton that's still radiating heat," Konrad Curze Curze said quietly.

"You should change your wording. This is my body that is recovering." Karyl raised his hand and touched his chin to stop the clicking sound from continuing.

Anyway, he doesn't have any vocal organs now, so he can still speak without opening his mouth; it's just that it takes some getting used to.

"Recovering?" The Eighth Legion Commander covered his face. "I'm not so badly affected by working non-stop on paperwork that I develop vision problems. You're just a skeleton now, how are you going to heal your wounds?"

"That's not your concern, Konrad Curze," the Skull said. "Studying my current physical condition won't do you any good in maintaining your proper sanity."

"Appropriate rationality?"

"One needs to stay awake." The skull looked at him quietly, the blue light in its eye sockets unmoving, unlike flames, more like solid ice.

"But you can't be too clear-headed. You've already seen one of those monsters, which isn't a good thing for you. Therefore, you need to be clear-headed, but you also need to let go of some of your rationality."

Are you telling me a riddle?

Konrad Curze Curze paused for a moment, lowered his hands, looked defiantly at the corpse, and uttered two words heavily in Nostraman.

"Father?"

"."

This time, the skeleton fell silent.

"No, it's not a riddle." After a while, he spoke again. "It's just a small piece of advice, because those monsters in the dark will never give up easily."

"Then I will become the monster hunter," Konrad Curze Curze replied coldly, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the skeleton, his expression mirroring someone else's. "Besides, this is a blood feud, and we will surely Vengeance."

"Whom should we Vengeance on?" Karyl asked.

"To the person or thing that turned you into this."

"I will avenge myself. And that thing has already paid a heavy price."

Konrad Curze Curze shook his head, crossed his arms, and sighed heavily.

"Look at yourself now, Karyl. Who paid the price? You were lying in my room, covered in ashes, still smoldering. I won't lie to you, just as you've never lied to me, so I'll admit it. I was going crazy."

But you didn't.

"So close! Don't talk to me like that, with that smug tone you're giving me!" Konrad Curze Curze roared, this was the first time he'd ever shown such an expression. "And you almost died, didn't you?!"

The skeleton remained silent for a moment, and then a certain will that governed it spoke again after a long time. Such silence would be devastating to a normal conversationalist, but it did not apply to Konrad Curze Curze. He was already used to Karyl Lohars's silence.

"If you're going to place your sanity on my life and death, Konrad Curze, I'll be very disappointed," the skeleton said calmly. "There will always be things more important in this world."

He stood up and left the room, the hem of his black robe fluttering in the wind. After a long while, Konrad Curze Curze let out a slow sigh.

"It's always like this," he said to someone outside the room. "Why are you always like this? Making silent sacrifices, silently saving people who have no idea who you are."

A sigh came from outside the room. The sound should not have penetrated the wall, but it did and reached the ears of the Lord of the Eighth Legion.

"Because I'm an arrogant fellow, Wraith," the voice hissed. "Arrogant enough not to even ignore them."

The Night Haunter did not answer.

Konrad Curze Curze continued working, his lips pursed, his expression displeased.

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