8. The First Order

Jago Sevatarion was momentarily at a loss for words.

He was silent, as silent as a dead man. A gloomy, lifeless air began to spread across the boy's face. Karyl waited patiently, without urging him on.

He didn't intend to be too harsh on a child, even if the child was from Nostramo.

However, if Sevatar agrees, he will hear the grandest ideals he has ever heard in his life. He might be captivated by these words and nod in agreement, throwing himself into them.

However, after a brief moment of hesitation, he might realize the true reason why this ideal can stand atop the mountain and overlook all other people and things.

Piles of white bones, endless bloodshed.

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Sevatar asked in an extremely soft voice.

Do you want to hear it?

I want to hear it.

"Very good." Karyl leaned against the door, looking down at him. His gaze made Sevatar feel almost breathless.

"You've already read that pamphlet, and you learned about the Emperor's Eighth Legion from it. So, do you know who the Emperor is?" he hissed.

In Nostraman "The Emperor" is a long compound word, with the first half gentle and the second half heavy, without liaison. These characteristics combine to create a stark contrast between the word "The Emperor" and its intended meaning in Nostraman.

Sevatar spoke stiffly, "The Emperor?"

"Yes, Your the Emperor, but we won't mention him today."

"But I've only just learned this new word," Sevatar said boldly. Then he noticed that Karyl wasn't laughing.

There wasn't a trace of a smile in his eyes.

"We won't talk about him today, Jago Sevatarion," Karyl said. "Perhaps in a year or two, someone on Nostramo will come to publicize his great deeds, to let the world know what he did for humanity—but not today."

"You don't need to know his deeds today. What do you think we brought you here for, child?"

"I don't know," Sevatar tried to remain calm. "I don't know why you summoned me. I've never seen anyone as tall as you before, especially you, Instructor Karyl."

"I'm not your instructor yet," Karyl said. "So you don't need to call me that. Now, let's get down to business. You've seen gangs recruit new members before, haven't you?"

"I've seen it," Sevatar replied rapidly, his hands already unconsciously behind his back, standing ramrod straight.

How do they recruit new people?

"Kill."

"No, that's not all. Continue, Jago Sevatarion."

"Selling medicine, eating meat, stealing, robbing, or fighting each other until only one person remains standing."

"It seems you've seen quite a lot," Karyl said in a detached tone.

"Yes, they use many different methods to recruit new people, but they all have one purpose—to test them."

"They use these things to test new recruits, to see if they have the basic guts to survive the next few months of gang life. If these new recruits don't die within a few months, they'll be in a much worse state. Right, Sevatar?"

"Yes, Mr. Karyl." The boy pursed his lips, and some familiar faces flashed through his mind.

They were once homeless children like him, struggling to make a living on the streets, but in just a few months, or even a few weeks, they can transform into something entirely different.

Most people will become emaciated monsters with gleaming eyes and a hyperactive spirit. Others will disappear forever, never to be seen again.

"And we're going to recruit you now," Karyl said. "You're excellent; for the Astartes reserves, you're among the best. Company Commander Fell Fer and Chief Medical Officer Jairzinho Guzman, who are waiting outside, are undergoing retraining; they weren't nearly as strong as you before joining the legion."

Sevatar silently memorized the two names and compared them with the two faces he had just memorized.

His left hand gripped his right wrist, trembling incessantly behind his back—he didn't know what the word Astartes really meant, but that didn't stop him from catching the word "legion" in Karyl's words.

Legion.

The Emperor's Eighth Legion.

Astartes.

He keenly connected these words, and other guesses began to take root in his mind—he began to recall how Fer and Guzman looked when they walked out of the room, their steps, their speed, and the sense of power they exuded.

Sevatar unconsciously took a deep breath, his back instantly soaked with cold sweat. He ripped off the veil covering his eyes and saw the truth. He began to realize some facts that no one in the room had ever mentioned.

They are soldiers, Sevatar thought. Soldiers belonging to the Emperor.

"So, what do I have to give in return?" Sevatar asked after a deliberate silence left by Karyl.

He still tried his best to maintain his steady posture, looking up at the giant by the door. This posture was interesting; it didn't seem like resistance, but rather like anticipation of what was about to happen.

However, Karyl gazed into the boy's eyes and softly asked another question.

Do you hate gangs and nobles?

Sevatar was taken aback.

He had expected to hear questions like, "Are you willing to pledge allegiance to the Emperor?" or "Are you willing to give your life for the Legion?" That's what gangs always asked—loyalty, life.

If you agree, you'll get guns, status, and plenty of food. If you refuse, you'll die.

He didn't believe these people would kill him for refusing; they were clearly different from nobles and gangsters.

But

"I hate them," Sevatar said. "I wish they could die dozens of times over."

"Reason?"

"Do I need a reason?" Sevatar's cheeks flushed red; this was the first time he had shown such obvious emotional fluctuation.

His breathing faltered, as if something was blocking his nose. He felt a dryness in his eyes and began to blink rapidly. After a brief pause, his tone became very sharp.

"I don't think there needs to be a reason, Mr. Karyl. I hate them, all the survivors hate them. Don't you hate them?" he asked, with a hint of provocation. "You're a Nostramo citizen too, aren't you?"

"Of course I hate them."

"So am I, sir, me too."

"Very good."

Karyl nodded to him and smiled, but the smile was anything but gentle. Half a second later, he returned to his expressionless state.

"This is essentially conscription. We're recruiting you, selecting you for the army, and you have no choice. In fact, most people wouldn't even choose to refuse. But the situation is different now, so I'm giving you a chance to choose, Jago Sevatarion."

"I've given you many choices, but this one is the most important, and the last. You can choose to join the Legion, or you can choose to refuse and go back to being an ordinary miner."

"If you choose the latter, we will erase this memory and lock away your talent. From now on, you can live a completely ordinary life, no longer suffering from sleepless nights, nightmares, or inexplicable Ghost sightings."

"What if I choose the former?"

"You will suffer for the rest of your life," Karyl said slowly. "First, you will learn the true connection between the world beneath our feet and the sky. Then, you will understand the true duty of the Eighth Legion."

"You will undergo surgery after surgery over the next few years; in other words, you will be cut open again and again and new things will be put in. You will endure the pain of many complications, and on top of that, you will undergo a lot of training."

"These training sessions won't be as easy and natural as me standing here talking to you. They will be extremely brutal, even brutally so. If you can't endure it, or if you're careless, you will die, die a painful death. No one will help you during this process; you can only rely on yourself."

Sevatar nodded silently. He looked like he was thinking, but he wasn't. He was simply listening attentively, nothing more.

He couldn't fully understand what Karyl meant, but he could glean some comprehensible information from it.

Die.

Pain.

Torture.

"Well then," Sevatar took a deep breath and spoke again.

His face had turned deathly pale—a pallor beyond the natural skin color of the Nostramo people; Karyl's words, repeatedly dissected, had finally taken effect on him.

What would happen if I succeeded?

"What? You're still hoping for a reward?" Karyl laughed again, a cold laugh.

"There is no reward, Jago Sevatarion. All you'll get are new duties and endless tasks, nothing more. You will be trained by us to be a killing machine, to slaughter nobles, gangs, or worse, world after world. You may die, or you may not. That's it, child. What you gain is not proportional to what you will give, so it's not too late to give up now."

"No," said Sevatar. "I'll join."

He released his grip, and they returned to his sides. He began to take deep breaths and repeated his own words, "I join in."

"So, what's the reason?" Karyl asked. "What is the reason, Sevatar?"

"I have no fucking reason to give it to you," Sevatar said. "In fact, I don't even think I should be standing here talking to you."

"I think I must have gone mad today, otherwise I wouldn't have witnessed so many inexplicable things. I didn't understand a single word you just said, sir, but I'm still a bit smarter than most people."

He grinned palely, "All I know is I want to join, that's all, sir, believe it or not."

"Very good." Karyl smiled as well. "Then, the first order: reserve Jago Sevatarion."

"What, sir?"

"Call me Instructor," Karyl said. He turned, opened the door, and went out.

Yes, code