8. Idle Chatter?

The suppression of the rebellion in Cappadocia ended twenty-one hours after the Night Lords descended from the sky.

There was no effective resistance, no stalemate, no negotiation, no consultation, no exchange. For the Cappadocia, the boundary between life and death had never been so clear.

This is not a multiple-choice question, and there are no compromise options. Surrender, or die, that's all.

Most of the rebels were reduced to slave laborers, while the officers were executed, but there were a few exceptions. Several officers who led the way in sending the Planetary Governor, Torras Rasbayar, were pardoned; they were spared death but remained slave laborers.

The civilians also paid the price; after the arrival of the Departmento Munitorum and colonist fleets, they were sent to other planets as pioneers to atone for their sins.

Make the best use of resources?

Karyl shook his head, erasing the word from his mind.

Adapting to the new environment was not easy for him. Although he had indeed fully adapted to the role of "instructor," personally participating in the war was another matter entirely.

Karyl would describe it as a vague throbbing pain that would suddenly erupt just when he was about to forget about it, to remind him of its existence.

"Old stubborn man." With a low sigh, Karyl shook his head with a self-deprecating laugh.

He faces two paths, one old, one new. Making a choice isn't difficult, but if both paths are correct, how should he choose?

The nearby crew members were drawn to his laughter, but it didn't last long before their direct superior reprimanded them in a rather stern tone.

"What's so interesting? Get back to work! You lazybones, you won't move unless someone kicks your ass!"

Upon hearing this, Karyl's smile turned into a slightly helpless, bitter one. Half a minute later, an elderly man whose legs had been replaced by bionic prosthetics walked up to him.

He was bald, with a gruesome, large scar on his forehead and bald head. He must have been very strong; the legacy of his past physique still stubbornly functioned in his old body.

The old man stared intently at Karyl with wide eyes, which seemed impolite, but in reality, Captain Gisbil Hasir of the Tredesia looked at everyone like that.

He had a slight vision problem and stubbornly refused to undergo another bionic surgery. This became his signature expression, which was quite both funny and exasperating. To his crew, this old man was always someone to be feared.

"Lord Karyl!" the old man shouted at him in a booming voice that was almost deafening. "Where are we going next?!"

"That depends on the situation, Captain," Karyl said. "We'd better anchor for a while and wait for the War Hounds' reply before making any further plans."

"Understood!" Captain Gisbil shouted, nodding as loud as ever. Having received his answer, he turned and left without hesitation. Not only that, he didn't even linger on the bridge.

Karyl watched his departing figure and knew that the captain was going to inspect his ship again.

Gisbil Hassell was a very traditional captain, so traditional that he would spend several hours each day using the various elevators and lifts throughout the ship to inspect all the important sections of the Tredesia.

Sometimes he would even voluntarily work overtime. There were rumors among the crew that they had seen the captain wandering around the engine room like Ghost during their scheduled rest time, constantly checking things. That was good, actually, very good.

Karyl enjoyed working with these old-fashioned people. They might have their flaws, but they possessed qualities that progress couldn't provide for everyone.

This thing is more precious than gold, and it cannot be acquired through training. You are born with it, or you are not born with it.

Gold that was meant to shine had already shone.

Lowering his head, Karyl began to peruse his tactics manual.

Of course, Van Cleef wasn't the only one in the Legion attempting to compile books over the past three years. However, his focus differed from Van Cleef's.

Van Cleef is trying to improve the Night Lords's existing tactics and strategies so that they can work well with other legions. Karyl, on the other hand, has new tactics recorded in his tactical manual, all of which are derived from battles fought over the past three years.

For example, their battle against a certain Xenos race in the Misty Sector. This Xenos race was extremely brutal and incredibly strong, but its technology was primitive, and it only operated on one planet.

The Night Lords discovered them, but did not launch a full-scale attack immediately. In fact, after withdrawing their scouts, they caused a rainstorm to fall on the planet. A chemical substance with a strong tear-inducing effect rained down from the sky, striking the race as raindrops.

The torrential rain lasted for a full day and night before finally stopping. By the time the Night Lords descended from the sky, most of the Xenos had already lost their ability to move, making them easy to kill. As a result, other versions of this tactic were developed.

For example, the chemical substance could be modified into a toxin that causes blindness but amplifies other senses, and then used at night on planets that are unwilling to submit or rebel. Only after it takes effect will the Night Lords be deployed.

In just a few hours, the enemy will be driven to utter madness. War knows no taboos, and using such methods may be despicable, but the Night Lords don't care.

Besides this set of tactics, there are also rapid raid tactics for boarding, as well as a series of tactics that are completely unrelated to fair competition, such as the stealth-sabotage-decapitation psychological warfare that hunting squads love most.

However, this does not mean that the Night Lords are only good at fighting battles where the strong can bully the weak.

As he glanced through the gaps in their array, Karyl noticed a blue light flashing on the data console in front of him out of the corner of his eye. He quickly raised his hand and pressed it, and only after the biometric authentication was successful did the mechanical voice prompt "Communication in progress" belatedly appear.

Blue light converged, and a half-length statue of Angron with his arms crossed appeared before Karyl. Due to the distance, his image was somewhat blurry, but this did not prevent Karyl from seeing the bloodstains on his body.

Noticing his gaze, Angron explained, "I personally executed several nobles. The scene was rather bloody."

Karyl nodded knowingly, offering no comment. Angron, however, skipped the pleasantries and quickly got to the point. He spent a few minutes recounting the War Hounds' achievements, as well as some news that Karyl hadn't expected.

"--I issued a war notice to the remaining three rebel planets, informing them that the War Hounds and Midnight Blade are about to launch a joint attack. But they are willing to surrender unconditionally," the Nuceria said with a somewhat strange expression. "They have only one request."

What are the requirements?

"Ahem," Angron coughed softly. "They want the Eighth Legion to stay away from them."

Karyl paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"Looks like our reputation has finally reached this point." He shrugged, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "However, this could be considered a good thing. If things continue to develop, perhaps one day we'll be able to subdue an entire world with just a few words."

"But don't you think the price we're paying is a bit too high, Karyl?" Angron said pointedly. Even though they were separated by a great distance and could only communicate through holograms, the worry in his eyes did not diminish in the slightest.

"For some things, cost is a meaningless word, Angron," Karyl replied softly. "Everyone in the Eighth Legion is prepared; the opinions of others are irrelevant to us. We are the blades in the darkness."

"I respect your decision, but well, while the opinions of the common people are irrelevant, what about the other legions?" The gladiator from Nuceria shook his head with a worried expression.

"Over the past few years, I've met with quite a few people. Not everyone agrees with the Eighth Legion's approach. In fact, some people who have never met Konrad Curze have begun to regard him as some kind of terrorist."

Karyl narrowed his eyes imperceptibly.

"Hmm—" He nodded. "—Could you continue? If revealing their names won't bother you."

"What you're saying sounds strange," Angron couldn't help but frown. "I'm just stating a fact, why are you acting like you're trying to memorize a few names?"

"I will indeed remember these names, if you'd like to," Karyl said noncommittally. "I think it's better to resolve these conflicts sooner rather than later through communication, rather than letting them fester in silence."

Angron was silent for a moment, deep in thought, but ultimately shook his head.

"I can't tell you who these people are, Karyl," the gladiator said, his tone slightly serious. "While I disagree with their thoughts and opinions, these are, after all, private conversations. I can't be a snitch."

"I understand."

"But."

Angron thoughtfully raised his hand and scratched his head. He turned around, waved to someone out of sight, and exchanged a few words with that person.

Karyl waited patiently without saying a word. Several minutes later, Angron, still frowning, turned his gaze back.

"Where are you planning to go next?" he asked.

"If nothing unexpected happens, I should go back to Nostramo."

"Ah, that makes things easier—" Angron seemed visibly relieved. "You can stop by Storm Sector on your way; I'll send you the coordinates. Luckily, I went to Terra before coming to Cappadocia."

As the gladiator continued waving off-camera, he couldn't help but complain, "Seriously, Karyl, don't you think intergalactic communication is a bit too much of a hassle?"

"Perhaps you could try psychic communication."

"Ah, no, let's forget about that," Angron said bluntly. "I don't even need a navigator if it's not absolutely necessary."

Karyl smiled slightly and said nothing more. A few minutes later, he received a set of coordinates.

One more chapter, 10,000 words tomorrow.