43: A Deserter (I)

Karyl raised his hand and showed a gleaming mark to the lord of the Eighth Legion.

Its main body is silver, with blood-red trim and gold rivets as embellishments. Its main body is a capital letter I, with three horizontal lines of different lengths emerging from it, connecting a sinister skull.

However, the skull's eye sockets were not empty; two plump malachite stones strangely served as its eyes.

Konrad Curze Curze reached out and took it, feeling a scorching heat the moment he touched it. He frowned and began to examine the mark closely.

"What is this?" he asked.

"The mark of the Sigillites," Karyl replied. "Within the Imperium, Malcador is known as the Sigillites, but this isn't a title unique to him. The Sigillites was once the name of a secret society dedicated to protecting human history."

"Although it is now defunct in name only, Malcador intends to revive the logo and give it a new, yet-to-be-established organization."

What organization?

"I don't know," Karyl shrugged. "It hasn't been established yet, it doesn't even have a name—this symbol probably won't actually be of any use to our mission. He probably just gave it to me ahead of time to make a statement."

Konrad Curze Curze noncommittally placed the mark back on the table, the skull's malachite eyes gleaming in their sockets. He stared at it, then slowly shook his head.

"That's not important," the Night Haunter said solemnly. "At least not for now, Karyl. I must tell you, the First Legion is committing brutal murders, and the targets are not the enemy."

A dark anger flickered in his eyes, and Karyl smiled silently, a smile that felt familiar.

In the past, perhaps Konrad Curze Curze would have used teeth grinding to soothe his current emotions. On countless nights before, the Night Haunter had often perched on the Gargoyle, coldly overlooking the entire Hive City.

Now, although he is very different, some things have stubbornly remained.

They are difficult to change; in fact, they will remain unchanged forever.

As soon as he finished speaking, Konrad Curze Curze stood up and carried three stacks of documents from another table specifically used for storing papers.

They were incredibly hard and thick, and thanks to their dark hue, when stacked together they looked like unpolished steel plates. Curze pulled one out as if it were a treasure, and handed it to Karyl without even looking at it.

"Take a look at it," he said.

Karyl did as he was told.

Next, his brows furrowed more and more. He saw photos and information on 137 mid-level officers who had once belonged to the Imperial Army, their resumes, life experiences, and the wars they had fought.

Some of them are Terra, while others were once members of barbarian tribes from the frontier world. Judging from the information alone, their lives seem to have had little overlap; their only commonality lies in one thing.

They had all worked with the Dark Angels, and then they either died in battle or "disappeared during the war," in addition to many other low-ranking officers, such as sergeants or gunners.

Every detail, big or small, was meticulously written down in neat handwriting. Karyl silently perused their lives through the words and the rough texture of the paper in his hands.

A few minutes later, he looked up and another piece of paper was handed to him.

"And this one," Konrad Curze Curze spat out through clenched teeth. "Look at this one, Karyl."

Karyl silently reached out and took the paper; the contents were even more shocking. It contained several thousand words, written by the Cogitator Array, the unique characters instantly recognizable as mechanical handwriting.

This lengthy record of several thousand words documents a conversation between a soldier of Imperium armored division and an officer whose name has been erased. It contains little useful information, but what is revealed in these words is more than sufficient.

Private Mapala, what is your superior, Sergeant Trinfu, like in general?

"He's a very tough guy, sir. He has high expectations of us, but he always leads by example."

"Anything else? I heard he was born into a military family. Did he mention that?"

"Yes, sir. The sergeant often talks about his father, a corporal in the 799th Imperial Infantry Regiment who died in the battle to recapture Per-1. He respects his father greatly, and the pistol he always carries is his father's heirloom."

"Very well. So, Private, do you agree with the Dark Angels' claim that Sergeant Trinfu was killed for desertion?"

"I absolutely disagree." (The private's emotional outburst is highlighted in large bold letters.)

"So, you believe that your superior, Sergeant Trinfu, could never be a deserter?"

"By the hell of Terra! He could never desert! Trinfu Trimble led two hundred of us through the freezing cold, killing thousands of barbarians and holding out until reinforcements arrived. He's our backbone, our hero! How could he possibly run away?!"

"Is it possible that he has developed mental problems?"

"--A few intense curses are omitted here--"

"Calm down, Private. I'm just doing my job."

(The officer remained silent for half a minute.)

"Alright, now that my colleague has turned off the monitor, let's get down to business. Mapala, do you smoke?"

"I don't smoke, I prefer drinking, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir' anymore. Listen, I share your skepticism about the Dark Angels' claims. Sergeant Trinfu is a man of strong honor, and I respect such men. Based on his past record, there's absolutely no way he would suddenly desert on the front lines. And his mental state is clearly fine, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

(The officer in charge of recording noted Private Mapala's extremely sad expression in two lines.)

"So, you and I are talking about something right now, Mapala. Do you know what that means?"

"I know."

"Really?"

"I know, sir, we were talking about those monsters. The Emperor prayed they'd die, we fought alongside them, I thought they were comrades, and then they fucking killed my superior?! How dare they?!"

Watch your words, Mapala, the walls may be overheard.

I don't care!

"But the truth is what you're looking for. According to your testimonies, Sergeant Trinfu was summoned by the Dark Angels about three hours after the end of the second day's battle. What reason did they give?"

"I don't know, sir. The sergeant just came into the barracks and told us he was going to talk to the angels, and then he left."

How did he say that?

"That's normal, and he's even smiling."

"Very well, at 11:22 PM Standard Terra time that night, his body was returned to your position by the Dark Angels, is that true?"

"Yes."

"What killed him?"

"Gun, sir, fucking (the officer used a few words to describe the choked-up and weeping expression on Private Mapala's face) Boltgun."

"Is it Astartes -sized Boltgun?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, my questioning is over. The surveillance will restart in three minutes. Return to normal, Private Mapala. You must keep quiet about what happened today, okay? If word gets out, we'll all die. Are you afraid of dying?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Yes, I can see that, and I'm not afraid. But I'm afraid the truth will never see the light of day, and I'm afraid Sergeant Trinfu will be branded a deserter and scorned. So, for Sergeant Trinfu's sake, let's regroup and go to the front."

(The conversation ended there. Private Mapala left and died in battle a year later. The officer whose name was erased noted this event carefully, specifically adding that the note was written a year after the conversation. He also wrote that Private Mapala also died in a battle fighting alongside the Dark Angels.)

Karyl slowly put down the papers in his hand. He turned his head to look at the three stacks of documents, his face expressionless. Konrad Curze Curze stood by the window, arms crossed, gazing at Terra as it receded into the distance, without uttering a word.

"How many people are there in total?" Karyl asked after a long silence.

"The data cannot be accurately verified; it is vague and sometimes even contradictory. The recorder's name cannot be found; it has been completely erased. The Departmento Munitorum cannot provide any information about him."

"A headless case, is that it?" Karyl laughed. He grinned, his teeth fully exposed in the cold air.

"The First Legion seems to have a knack for this," he said with a touch of wistfulness. "But that's probably not their highest level. Many more dead may not even have names, simply marked as killed in action. By the way, Konrad Curze, do you know what the First Legion is primarily responsible for?"

Konrad Curze Curze turned his head and nodded slowly but firmly.

"I know," he said. "Fulgrim mentioned it a few times; he talked about their mystique and why they were so mysterious."

"In other words, our actions and tasks are essentially 'out of touch with the bigger picture'," Karyl said with a smile, though there was no mirth in his eyes.

He stood up and said in a light tone, "The First Legion certainly has its reasons for doing this, don't you think?"

"I don't care," Konrad Curze Curze hissed. "Innocence doesn't mean culpability, sacrifice is necessary, but that doesn't mean no one will come looking for them."

Karyl chuckled softly as he walked out of the Night Haunter's office. In the cold galaxy, the Nightfall was speeding towards another sector.

Finally finished... Just to let you know in advance, it won't disgrace DA and Lion El'Jonson.