3 Malcador

Outside the building, the world was unusually cold. The temperature had vanished, leaving nothing behind.

Nature has always been so cruel. Poets and writers often sing praises of all aspects of nature in their works, but few people mention the truly cruel side of nature—it is cruel because humans are viewing it with their emotions.

If people are more rational, they will discover the real reason why nature appears cruel.

--It doesn't care.

It has no emotions, it doesn't care what each link in this huge ecosystem is thinking, it simply acts according to some naturally formed rules, nothing more.

Karyl slowly lowered his head to look down over the entirety of Nostramo. It had become unfamiliar; the violence and darkness he had once taken for granted seemed to have vanished completely.

He crouched atop the building, his sleeves fluttering in the cold wind. He was waiting, waiting for a signal, some hint, or a sound that could be heard, that was coming from the other side of the galaxy.

Two minutes later, he heard a rhythmic sound, like a scepter falling to the ground, interspersed with almost imperceptible footsteps.

Karyl closed his eyes, letting his senses spread through the air. The wind howled, and every corner of the world was so cold, yet his senses formed a vast, intricate web in the wind. Then, it began to rise, all the way up into the starry sky.

The footsteps finally became clear, and along with them came an elderly man wearing a dark green robe who looked like an office worker.

He was very old; his face beneath the hood was almost frighteningly aged, his skin like rough parchment, revealing a dried-out texture, weathered and withered. He gripped the Aquila scepter tightly with both hands, its tip flaming, and his eyes also blazed with fire—psychic fire.

"Nothing's happening in Terra today," Malcador said softly. "So I've finally managed to find some time. I apologize for my sudden departure last time; Terra is very busy, and the new Imperium needs someone to take care of everything. And he wasn't in Terra."

"You sound like you're complaining," Karyl said noncommittally.

"I'm just complaining," Malcador said. "I have so many things to complain about, and he usually doesn't listen to me."

"Is it that he won't listen, or are you just wanting to complain but not really wanting to complain to him?"

Malcador did not answer the question.

He raised the scepter, and a vague tremor swept across it, transforming the once dark starry sky into a quaintly decorated little room. Books and scrolls were piled haphazardly on all sides, clearly indicating that their owner had no intention of tidying them up.

A wool carpet was laid out in the center of the room, where two chairs and a table stood; they looked rough, but were clearly used frequently.

Malcador walked over, leaned his scepter against the table, and placed it down. The floor creaked, and the air was filled with an old, uniquely fragrant aroma.

Karyl walked over as well, his figure gradually shrinking until he returned to his original tall and thin form.

He sat down, and Malcador handed him a book.

"Some other techniques," the Sigillites spoke in a deep, hoarse voice, "May be helpful for what you need to do later."

Karyl reached out and took the book. The book felt strange to the touch. He rubbed it with the pad of his right index finger and quickly determined the material of the book.

"Human skin?" He shook his head. "It's always like this. Why do they always use human skin to write down this knowledge?"

"A cruel and absurd coincidence." Malcador leaned back, as if he were lying down in his chair.

He was still thinking; his eyes spoke volumes.

"For a while, I tried to figure out where these coincidences came from, whether they were manipulating things behind the scenes."

"So, have you come to the answer?" Karyl asked softly, turning to the first page of the book.

The crooked and distorted characters reveal the writer's level of education, while the excited and trembling strokes clearly expose his or her excited mood at the time.

Karyl squinted, catching a strong smell of blood. He ignored it and continued flipping through the pages at an alarming pace, not like he was reading, but more like a librarian checking returned books for missing pages.

"No," Malcador said. "And he wouldn't tell me."

"You won't even tell me?"

"He said he was afraid I'd lose faith in humanity." Malcador scoffed. "As if I had any great faith in humanity—tell me, Karyl Lohars, you know perfectly well just how stupid our race is most of the time, don't you?"

"It depends on how you look at it."

"I used to look at things with hope, but now I'm probably a complete pessimist. I hardly have any hope for anyone, not even his so-called sons."

Malcador shook his head.

"Hope is utterly unreliable, Karyl Lohars, just like humanity itself. The most ridiculous thing is that I can't completely deny humanity, because there will always be shining examples among us, heroes."

The old man's expression was intriguing, and so was Karyl's smile.

"You're behaving like a cynical old man." He closed the book and handed it back to Malcador, who took it but his expression turned disapproving.

Did I say something wrong?

"First, I am an old man. Second, I am inherently cynical," Malcador said. "So, could you please stop treating me like an idealist like him?"

Karyl smiled without saying a word.

The Sigillites the seal sighed—he reached out and grasped the heavy scepter once more.

The world has changed again; the quaint rooms and piles of books have vanished, replaced by a broken glacier.

The sky was a somber and ominous pale blue, extremely faint and thin. The glacier was cracked, and the sea was extremely deep, rolling in pitch black. They sat on this glacier, letting the cold wind howl.

"You have little humanity left," the Sigillites warned sternly. "Keep a close watch on your anchors, and be mindful of your power, Karyl Lohars."

He turned his head, his eyes gleaming beneath his hood. "I hope I can always call you by this name."

"I'll find a way," Karyl said. "But I can't do what you say, 'keep an eye on' them. They've sworn an oath to undertake a near-impossible mission. I won't interfere with their free will."

"Nonsense," Malcador said coldly. "Sacrifices are necessary for the future of all humanity, and you have already sacrificed enough. What's wrong with replacing you with others? No sacrifice is unacceptable."

"You're making it sound like you already have a list of people to sacrifice."

"I do."

Is he up there?

"He was the first." Malcador looked away, gazing calmly at the gloomy sky. "And the one who sacrificed the most—let's get back to the point, Karyl Lohars, enough of the small talk."

The Sigillites stretched out his hand, and the scepter leaped from the edge of the table into his grasp. The Aquila began to shine brightly, revealing a rough face in the light. He had a gloomy expression, and although young and handsome, his eyes were filled with a strange resentment.

"Perturabo, son of Olympia." The Sigillites turned around. "A hot-tempered, stubborn child, yearning for recognition yet wanting to trample it underfoot. And this child not only possesses immense power, but also commands an entire legion."

Karyl sighed.

"Please tell me you're not trying to start another conversation about Primarch all have personality flaws, Malcador. I don't want to talk to you about these things anymore—yes, I admit they probably all have some minor flaws, but you don't need to be so resentful."

Faced with his words, the Sigillites remained calm, even with a hint of schadenfreude. "You haven't realized the gravity of the situation, Karyl Lohars. You haven't seen what it's like when they're all together; it's a disaster."

"A group of children with immense power glared at each other resentfully, causing even the tables and chairs to tremble under their emotions, let alone ordinary people. Their father remained completely unmoved, even expecting them to solve the problem themselves. This is akin to hoping a blind person will regain their sight on their own—a complete fantasy."

"If you had gone through what I did, you wouldn't be as calm as you are now. Besides, those you met last time were the more normal ones; at least they would listen to you."

"Okay, okay, okay." Karyl nodded, pursing his lips. "I understand, I understand—please just say what you want, Malcador. Why did you specifically mention this Perturabo? What do you want me to do?"

"Support him," the Sigillites said sternly. "Support this fool who's so stupid as to seek maximum casualties to gain his father's approval."

Your assessment is truly harsh and sarcastic.

The Sigillites smiled sarcastically, "I'm only being sarcastic with words, but you'll probably have to take action yourself later, Karyl Lohars."

The turbulent waves swept in again, blurring the world. Karyl calmly opened his eyes and saw Nostramo Malcador had ended the meeting, but still left him with a message—or perhaps, a reminder.

+The relevant orders have already been dispatched by a fleet. Prepare yourself, Karyl Lohars.+

"Prepare?"

Karyl sighed and shook his head.

Two more chapters to go, plus an extra chapter for Qixi Festival today.