32: Those Who Came to Trade

Karyl gazed thoughtfully at the mirror before him, his expression calm.

The mirror reflected a pale face, with completely black eyes resting quietly above the cheekbones, a high nose bridge, and thin lips pressed into a line. Like a sculpture, it was condensed in the dim light. This face was no different from his past self; it was always the same coldness when expressionless, and it did not appear gentle when smiling.

The only difference is that this face—or rather, the flesh clinging to the skeleton—was painstakingly constructed by him over seven days using psionic energy.

They are real, made of his flesh and blood; physiologically speaking, he is now a living person.

"I'm starting to doubt medicine, Instructor," said Jairzinho Guzman. The medic stood behind him, every detail of his face revealing a numb calm.

Karyl turned to him and smiled apologetically. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all this, Jairzinho. But you can still trust medicine. My case is one of the very rare exceptions."

"Like your height, Instructor?" Guzman asked with a touch of humor, shrugging wryly. "Well, I guess I should try to convince myself that, as an exception, your situation doesn't prove anything."

"At most, it only proves that I am a Psyker."

"A terrifyingly powerful Psyker — Fer Zalost of the Third Company couldn't do that, Instructor, and he's practically the best Psyker among us."

"You've excluded me, Jairzinho." Karyl raised an eyebrow. "What? Does that mean I'm no longer human just because I went out for a while?"

Guzman didn't answer the question; his expression answered it—a complex mix of wanting to laugh but not daring to, filled with both approval of Karyl Lohars's unique sense of humor and a certain apprehension.

"There's no one else here," Karyl said. "So, if you want to laugh, then laugh, Jairzinho. My sense of humor may be terrible, but this joke should be pretty good, right?"

The physician raised his hand, covering half of his face, unsure of what to do. This calm lasted for several seconds, and when he lowered his hand again, he had completely regained his composure.

At least on the surface, there is calm.

"How about it?" Karyl looked at him expectantly. "You should at least give me a critique of my joke, Jairzinho?"

Guzman finally burst into laughter.

He thought that these interconnected jokes were far more terrifying than those that could be told in a single sentence. In a sense, the joke teller was like planting landmines, and a chain of minefields was certainly much more difficult to deal with than a single one.

Those who listen to the jokes are the ones responsible for defusing the mines. You never know where the enemy might plant booby traps that could trigger a chain reaction of explosions. Once detonated, the aftershocks will continue to spread.

Thinking of this, the medical officer couldn't help but laugh even louder—in that instant, he suddenly realized that his sense of humor seemed to be even more terrifying than that of their instructors.

This incident relieved him of the stress he had been under due to continuous checkups, but it also brought up another issue.

It brought out the voice of his Primarch.

It came from behind him, calm and clear.

"What's so funny, Jairzinho?"

The laughter abruptly stopped, and silence returned to the "cemetery." The physician stared wide-eyed at Karyl, whose expression remained calm. Khalil smiled slightly but said nothing.

After a brief silence, Jairzinho immediately turned his head and, as expected, saw Konrad Curze Curze, the Primarch of the Eighth Legion, in the darkness.

He wore a long black robe, and his sharp features appeared softer at the moment, but his dark eyes were fixed on the physician with curiosity, trying to probe his inner thoughts. Seeing him turn his head, Konrad Curze Curze asked again.

Why were you laughing so intensely just now, Jairzinho?

"May I not answer this question, Primarch?"

"Sure, you certainly have the right to choose, but I'd like to hear it. I want to share in the joy in your laughter."

The medical officer fell silent again. After five seconds, with a death-defying resolve, he recounted the joke in its entirety. He kept his head down and therefore didn't see Konrad Curze Curze's expression, but after he finished, he heard a series of soft chuckles.

Jairzinho looked up in disbelief and found their gloomy Primarch smiling broadly—not feigned, but genuine joy. It radiated from his pale face, softening the somber mood in his eyes.

"I must say, it's a terrible and very easily misunderstood joke. But personally, I would classify it as a good joke. However, as the commander of the Eighth Legion, I must also remind you, Jairzinho, you'd better not tell this joke to your brothers."

"Of course not," the physician replied quickly.

He could certainly tell what his Primarch was implying—what a joke! Not everyone has such a terrible sense of humor. If he dared to say it aloud, he'd probably be spending the next few days in the dueling cage.

Konrad Curze Curze nodded to him.

"So, would you mind if I spoke with our instructor alone for a moment?" he asked softly. "I have a lot of work to hand over to him."

--

"Work?"

Karyl looked at his nominal superior. "Don't tell me you're planning to put me back on the job right now and get me back to paperwork."

"Didn't you already start?" Konrad Curze Curze asked, sitting in his chair. "You started creating extra work for the Servitor the day after you returned, Karyl."

"That's an interesting adjective." Karyl chuckled. "Okay, I admit I'm a restless person. So, what's up?"

Konrad Curze Curze shook his head and gestured. "You haven't forgotten the Adamantium on Nostramo, have you?"

Will a poor person forget every bit of his wealth?

"."

Night Haunter glanced at him with displeasure, then began his hissing speech again. "I'm talking business, Karyl. But you haven't been so pessimistic lately, and I think I have Roboute Guilliman to thank for that."

Karyl didn't answer the question, but simply chuckled and nodded, indicating that he understood the Wraith's dissatisfaction.

"In short, the nobles trade with several planets around Nostramo, with Adamantium being the main commodity. They have already reached some Transaction Agreement with the people on those planets. Every five years, they send a fleet to trade with the nobles."

Karyl raised an eyebrow, and Konrad Curze Curze nodded, confirming his idea.

"They approached Nostramo three hours ago and were intercepted by us using a boarding maneuver. This fleet consisted of three ships, unarmed, unarmored, and lacking even any detection capabilities. They were completely unaware of our presence."

According to the Cult of Mechanicum, these ships are extremely old, their models are unidentifiable, and most of them are abandoned beyond repair. One priest speculated that these ships were likely legacies left by former human colonists, a type of short-haul transport vessel specifically designed for interplanetary cargo transport.

"One or more human worlds that rely on the legacy of their ancestors and trade with Nostramo?" Karyl asked softly. "That's quite interesting. Do any of them speak Nostraman?"

"Quite a few," Konrad Curze Curze replied calmly. "Many of them are even descendants of nobles from Nostramo. According to information obtained from the interrogation, they went out to 'broaden their horizons' and 'relax for a trip.'"

Karyl grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the soft light of the Eighth Legion Commander's office. "So, do they know what's happening in Nostramo right now?"

Konrad Curze Curze smiled slowly. "They don't know."

"So, what do you intend to do with them, Commander?" Karyl asked again.

"I intend to imprison them first," Curze replied firmly. "Simply executing them is an act of mercy; their fathers died in the fires you ignited, and they will naturally suffer the same fate. The people of Nostramo do not yet know of justice and Judgment, but they will soon."

Karyl smiled gently, a fleeting hint of satisfaction crossing his face. "And what about the rest of the fleet?"

That's the crux of the matter.

Konrad Curze Curze pursed his lips. "I don't know what to do with them."

Karyl wasn't surprised by his answer. He nodded. "Thinking from the perspective of the commander of the Eighth Legion, what answer would you arrive at?"

"I should take the throne from the Imperium and reclaim the lost territories."

"Reclaiming lost colonies is one of your duties."

"But."

"But what, Konrad Curze?"

Konrad Curze Curze remained silent for a long time before giving his answer. His tone was hesitant and slow, a stark contrast to his previous firmness. "But this means I'm going to start a war."

"You are already at war," Karyl replied calmly. "Humanity has no other path but unity."

"Even through war, to achieve this kind of unity?"

"Even if it means war to achieve this unity."

"Karyl, is this right?"

The instructor of the Eighth Legion calmly gazed at the commander of the Eighth Legion, and after a brief silence, answered him in a calm yet resolute voice, "I will not change you with my ideas, but your questions will find their answers on this path, Konrad Curze."

One more chapter, currently being written.