30. Trade and Dreams (Combined Chapter)

The descent from the orbit was never interesting. The deck was trembling, as were the walls, the metal clattering against each other under the restraint of bolts, creating an unbearable, massive jolt.

There were no "seats" inside the transport plane, and when the Night Lords stood together, they even had to avoid stepping on each other's feet.

That's basically the only thing they could do if they landed normally.

No, perhaps we should also add casual conversation.

"I've heard the Mechanicum is researching shock absorption systems," Van Cleef said, his voice still clear despite the noise, the communication channel steadily transmitting his audio to Karyl's ears. "Do you think this news is true?"

"Perhaps," Karyl said. "But even if it's developed, we probably won't be able to use it immediately."

His voice was equally clear, but unlike Van Cleef's, it wasn't protected by technology. To be fair, his voice wasn't actually loud, but every word was audible.

Xianni pursed his lips at their instructor's remark; he wasn't wearing a helmet, and his expression clearly showed he wasn't happy.

The Eighth Legion has a long-standing tradition of strained relations with the Mechanicum.

After all, you can't expect a bunch of superhumans who are busy killing people and don't care about anything else to hang out with a bunch of people who are obsessed with research and protecting their knowledge through murder.

Although the two sides have cooperated quite a few times, in most cases the Mechanicum has only come to make a show of it, retrieving technology from piles of corpses, and that's it.

The priests in their red robes didn't care where technology came from, just as the Eighth Legion didn't care who the people they were about to kill were.

However, no one can deny the benefits of maintaining a good relationship with the Mechanicum.

However, you can't expect anyone within Night Lords to get along well with them. A Xianni is already considered a genetic mutation, and a Xianni who likes machinery and is obsessed with the beauty of machines is even less likely.

The landing process was short, taking only thirty minutes, before their transport plane arrived at one of the eight helipads of Quintus Hive. The cabin door slowly opened, and two hundred people walked out one by one, while more transport planes flew overhead.

They will always land; no bird can fly forever.

As Karyl stepped out of the cabin, the icy air hitting him made his expression appear somewhat relaxed, and also somewhat dazed.

Nowadays, the meaning of the word Nostramo has changed from "living hell" to something else entirely. Karyl always tries to avoid thinking about that word, but he can't deny it.

Honestly, what's there to deny?

"Primarch." Van Cleef's voice came from ahead, tinged with surprise. "Aren't you working today?"

"It's three in the morning, and honestly, Van Cleef, it really disheartens me to ask me why I'm not working at this hour," Konrad Curze Curze replied with a somewhat complicated expression. "I've finished my work for the day."

"And what about tomorrow?" Karyl asked calmly.

The Night Haunter sighed noticeably. He acted normally, but his shoulders slumped slightly, and his posture relaxed considerably. "I think it's best to leave tomorrow's tasks for tomorrow."

"But it's tomorrow now." Karyl smiled. "What do you think, Commander?"

"I think you talk too much—don't you, Van Cleef?"

The company commander made his stance clear by putting on a helmet, and upon seeing this, Konrad Curze Curze couldn't help but let out a soft sound from his throat.

His eyes widened.

Van Cleef!

"Yes, I am here, Primarch." The company commander answered the Primarch's call in a somber tone.

Curze choked up, seemingly wanting to say something more, but then refused to.

He couldn't help but chuckle and gestured for them to follow him. Five minutes later, they arrived at a conference room.

A faint glow floated overhead, and a holographic projection flickered in front of the conference table. A dark world was clearly revealed in the glow; if one stood a little further away, it would look like a dark, deep blue gemstone.

In fact, if we take into account the minerals it contains, then calling it a gemstone wouldn't be a problem.

"The Mechanicum wants to make a deal with us," the Primarch said softly. "They need Adamantium and research access to some ancient technologies on Nostramo. I can accept the former, but I'm less inclined to accept the latter."

Ancient technology on Nostramo

Karyl narrowed his eyes, his voice becoming more somber. "Don't tell me they're trying to research those torture devices that have existed for who knows how long."

"Pretty much the same," Konrad Curze Curze said, seemingly unsurprised.

He turned to look at his company commander. Van Cleef had taken off his helmet again, revealing bright eyes behind his high cheekbones.

"This isn't hard to understand, Primarch. I don't know much about the Mechanicum, but every Tech-Priest has a fervent passion for this."

"That sounds really unsettling," Curze said thoughtfully, as if recalling something. "Anything associated with fanaticism is generally not a good thing."

Karyl tapped his fingers on the table to draw attention. His face was expressionless as he asked, "So, what do they intend to offer us in exchange?"

"Replacement of outdated instruments on the Nightfall, engine maintenance, and free repair and replacement of weapons and equipment for thirty years."

Konrad Curze Curze couldn't help but chuckle, his expression quite intriguing, before adding a comment.

"The priest even promised to deliver twenty Power Weapon every month for the next ten years."

Karyl glanced at him and saw through his hidden true thoughts: the Night Haunter certainly found these conditions tempting, but he was actually more curious about something else.

"How could those instruments of torture be so attractive to them?" Karyl voiced the question for him.

"Perhaps it's just because it's old," the company commander offered another conjecture.

Konrad Curze Curze nodded, and the glow dissipated the next moment, no longer illuminating his face. Now, only a faint light remained in the room.

"Then let's talk about reserve player Jago Sevatarion," said Konrad Curze Curze.

"Our only recruit has performed very well in these six months. He passed the physical training with excellent results and also did well in the subsequent weapons training. Although he had a slight setback in swordsmanship at first, he quickly recovered."

"Jairzinho believes the surgery can officially begin. He thinks Jago Sevatarion is fully ready, but there is still one problem that hasn't been resolved."

"What's the problem?" Karyl asked.

"He's been having relentless nightmares. Every night for the past six months. The Librarian has investigated, and they've determined there's no psychic influence behind it. Under these circumstances, it's hard for me not to attribute the cause to the twentieth surgery. He's holding on for now, but what about later?"

Konrad Curze Curze paused, he looked like he was smiling, but his tone was a little too flat.

"Perhaps he will pull through, or perhaps he won't. And we don't know now whether this dream will stop, and if it doesn't, then..."

He didn't continue, but both Karyl and Van Cleef understood what he meant.

Astartes don't really need long periods of rest like sleep. After being implanted with Catalepsean Node, they can use them to alternately shut down different areas of the brain, allowing them to achieve a rapid and high-quality state of rest, similar to meditation.

Sleep was a very rare thing for Astartes, but if Sevatar's condition continued until he officially became Astartes.

"He might break down," Van Cleef rationally pushed the discussion forward. "Unless he continues to abstain from meditation, but I think that will only hasten his breakdown."

"What was the content of the dream?" Karyl asked emotionlessly.

"He didn't say, and the Librarian couldn't access his dreams." Curze frowned. "That's the crux of the problem; his dreams were influenced by the ritual, and our Librarian couldn't break through the barrier erected by it."

Karyl nodded slowly, stood up, his face expressionless. Neither Van Cleef nor Konrad Curze Curze had been able to glean any information from his analysis.

But for some reason, Konrad Curze Curze suddenly felt that Karyl didn't seem surprised at all.

"This is a problem that needs to be taken seriously, and now is a break time."

He said this, and walked into the darkness before their eyes, his figure vanishing in an instant. The darkness itself did not even linger; it turned into a dissipating mist and gradually disappeared.

Konrad Curze Curze paused for a moment, then turned to look at his company commander.

"Van Cleef, when did he start doing this?"

"Perhaps you should ask how long this has been going on," Van Cleef replied tactfully. "And I would answer at least four months."

The Night Haunter's expression became indescribable at a speed visible to the naked eye.

--

Jago Sevatarion is dreaming.

Once again.

Again.

He could clearly feel that he was in a dream, a strange feeling he had grown accustomed to. The intense training over the past six months had brought him not only a stronger body and progress in mastering the subject of "killing," but also a fundamental change.

He became more patient.

He could endure pain, fear, being knocked down time and time again, the seemingly endless physical training, and the emptiness of returning to his dormitory alone. Enduring the strange sensations brought by dreams was naturally no problem either.

The problem is, he also needs to tolerate something else.

Or rather, something else.

Corpses, wandering corpses. They are tall, they wear midnight-colored armor, they look like ghosts from a ghost story, and in fact, they really are.

The most crucial point is that Jago Sevatarion actually knew them.

He recognized them, even though he had never actually met them.

Sevatar took a deep breath and began to walk forward. He was in a desolate world, empty and devoid of anything except the dead. The sky was blood-red, yet draped with thin, veil-like clouds.

The reservists ran across a pile of pebbles and, in their dreams that night, witnessed their first death.

"Hey kid," Sergeant Tadeusz said with a smile, half of his face missing.

His armor was covered in dents and scratches, and Ceramite could not escape the fate of being destroyed. His helmet was also broken, with a goggle hanging in front of his only remaining eye, staring at Sevatar without any emotion.

"Hello, Sergeant Tadeusz," Sevatar said. "Why are you here to welcome me today?"

"Because everyone else is dead." The sergeant grinned. "Of course, I'm joking—just in case you're too stupid to not understand, let me explain my joke."

"I'm not that stupid." The reserve soldier curled his lip. "Your jokes aren't funny at all."

"You can't say that."

"I'm the only one who can see you. If I don't have the final say, then who does?" Sevatar retorted. "And why do you insist on wearing that broken helmet?"

"Guess," the dead sergeant sneered with a malice, his face contorted in a grimace. "Can you guess the right answer, kid?"

I can't be bothered to guess.

Sevatar moved a rock and sat down. He rested his elbows on his thighs, propped his cheeks up, and looked listlessly at the dead sergeant. "But..."

"Oh no, don't even think about it, kid." Sergeant Tadeusz suddenly became serious. "I'm not going to tell you how to deal with those Combat Servitor anymore; that's practically cheating."

"Don't do that. Don't you want to hear me describe Richter Nair's surprised expression?"

"If you could rely on your own efforts, instead of surprising him with experiences gleaned from a bunch of dead men, I think I'd be more interested in hearing it." The sergeant wagged his finger sternly at him. "There's nothing wrong with your street smarts, but if you keep relying on them, sooner or later you'll die from them."

"But I really have no talent for swordsmanship. Besides, if you don't want to talk to me, why do you come into my dreams every night?"

Tadeusz did not answer the question. The dead sergeant slowly removed his helmet so that his pale half-face could be fully revealed.

He glared at Sevatar with his only remaining eye. "Do you think we dead people want to see you, this arrogant and ignorant fool, every day?"

"Since you don't want to," Sevatar muttered, "Why do you have to come every day? I really want to get a good night's sleep."

The sergeant looked at him with a cold smile and said nothing more. Silence lingered for a while, then another set of footsteps echoed across the pebble beach.

He came from behind Sevatar, which immediately changed the reserve's expression from initial indifference to a chilling dread—the dead had never appeared outside his sight in the past six months.

Moreover, Sergeant Tadeusz's changing expression at this moment also illustrates one thing to some extent.

Jago Sevatarion immediately turned around and stood up abruptly, grabbing the stone in his hand. However, the owner of the footsteps was not the evil spirit that had finally appeared in his nightmare, as he had imagined, but someone he actually knew.

Karyl Lohars, the instructor of the Midnight Blade. The tall, pale giant stood still, silently gazing at Sevatar, who was striking a comical pose. After a stunned silence of more than ten seconds, the latter reacted swiftly.

He threw down the stone, his pale face turning even paler. When he spoke, even his voice trembled.

"Teach, teach, instructor.?!"

Karyl nodded at him, raising an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"You—how did you get here?!"

Can't I stay here?

"But, this is—" Sevatar turned to look at Sergeant Tadeusz, her face full of pleading. The sergeant tilted his head back, using his height advantage to prevent Sevatar from seeing his expression.

Seeing this, the reserve soldier gritted his teeth and spoke up, "This is a place for the dead!"

"And what about you?" Karyl retorted. "You're not dead, so why are you here?"

Sevatar was stunned.

"You don't actually think the drill instructor is dead, do you, kid?" the sergeant whispered behind him. "You're incredibly audacious, aren't you? Looks like I'll have to teach you a lesson."

He chuckled as he walked past the reserves, stood before Karyl, and put on his helmet. "Mission accomplished, Instructor."

"Well done, Sergeant." Karyl nodded approvingly. "How is he?"

"His talent is indeed astonishing," Tadeusz replied in a low voice. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing? His psionic talent seems a little too strong."

"He's still very young," Karyl replied meaningfully. "Anyway, leave it to me now."

"Understood, Instructor."

Tadeusz turned and nodded to Sevatar. A ball of black flame erupted from beneath his feet the next second, enveloping the sergeant and carrying him away.

Sevatar's sanity, which had just begun to return, was wiped away again. He stood there stunned for a while before remembering that he should turn around and observe the other dead bodies on the wasteland—he did so, and the wasteland, which had once been densely packed with the dead, was now completely empty.

Now, only Karyl and himself remain here.

"What's going on, Instructor?" After a long silence, Jago Sevatarion asked.

"What do you think?" Karyl crouched down, keeping his eye on him. His voice was still gentle, but combined with those dark eyes, Sevatar suddenly felt a surge of fear. He would eliminate this feeling in the future, but not now.

He still feels fear.

"I... I don't know."

"It's normal not to know, Sevatar. The unfortunate thing is that, right now, the answer to that question is not something you can know." Karyl smiled at him and reached out to poke his forehead. "Now, go back to normal sleep."

Sevatar's pupils contracted sharply. He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but it was too late—he was enveloped in black flames and vanished in the next second.

Karyl stood up and shook his head. The flames did not disappear but continued to burn. After a moment, a phantom armored figure emerged from them. The midnight-colored armor was decorated with lightning-like patterns, and the figure's expression was calm.

Karyl stared at him, and after a few seconds, he suddenly reached out again and poked the man's forehead.

"Don't do this, instructor." The man's calm expression vanished instantly, and he couldn't help but complain, "No one has done this in ten thousand years."

"Ten thousand years," Karyl began slowly. "Are we all dead?"

"I can't say, Instructor," the pale man replied with difficulty. "I really can't say—I never even thought you'd find out about me today."

"I know you can't say, but I already knew about you." Karyl smiled at him. "I won't forget anyone, even someone as special as you."

"."

The illusory Shadow remained silent in response to these words; he seemed sad, yet not quite. After a while, he spoke again.

"I really want to say something, Instructor."

"No," Karyl said. "You can't say."

"But--"

"--You can't say that."

For the second time in his life, Karyl interrupted someone. He looked sternly at the Shadow and shook his head at him.

"I know what you're trying to do, but you can't. Think carefully, are there any chances left for the reserves in the future?"

The Shadow spoke, its voice trembling so much it was almost inaudible. "And, and, Instructor. We've found your weapons and armor, we..."

He abruptly stopped speaking, the pause and prolongation at the end of his sentence sounding almost like a sob.

"Then that's enough." The pale giant nodded slightly to him. "Depart."

The Shadow slowly faded away.

Update complete.

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