22. Phoenix Falls from the Sky (IV)

Konrad Curze Curze squinted at the sky, remaining silent.

As darkness fell, the sunset in the world of the Laer was as magnificent and chaotic as a dream. The sky was an almost illusory pink, with layers of clouds overlapping and blending together, while the swarms of Stormbird and Thunderhawk taking off completely tore them apart.

The Primarch's vision allowed him to see farther than a normal Astartes, and combined with the zoom function of the helmet visor, Curze was able to clearly see the markings on the gunboat at this moment.

They do not belong to the Midnight Blade or the Emperor's Children; they belong to the Word Bearers. Painted in a gray tinged with a dark red, their wings are covered in scriptures, densely packed, like a swarm of insects gnawing at them.

The Night Lords made no comment on the matter; he had long since learned the necessity of silence. A few seconds later, he even lowered his head, no longer paying any attention to the sky.

The Night Lords are cleaning up the battlefield; they've captured another Laer city in the past hour, a time that, under the Primarch's personal leadership, is hardly considered efficient.

The Xenos corpses were thrown into the fire one after another, their four arms and snake tails twisted and contorted. Curze looked at the fire closest to him and took a deep breath.

The air filter, against his will, failed to filter the air, yet he didn't smell the charred stench of roasted flesh. In fact, he smelled a fishy odor, like that of a dead fish left to rot in a cellar.

After a brief silence, Curze activated the filtering function again.

He turned and walked past the numerous corpses he had created with his own hands, limbs and severed bodies mercilessly crushed under his steps. He made no attempt to avoid them, his gaze indifferent, as if he were stepping on garbage, utterly unconcerned and oblivious.

A Night Lords without a helmet approached. His face was fierce and gloomy, and one eye was a dull, lifeless metallic gray. He had clearly only recently had the prosthetic eye installed, and the rejection reaction had caused the flesh around his right eye to swell and turn red.

"What is it, Drazok?" the Night Lords asked in a gentle tone.

His fourth company commander lowered his head silently, his expression softening slightly. He looked as if he were mourning, but his voice was as heavy as the clash of swords.

"I swear an oath of Vengeance."

The Night Lords narrowed his eyes.

"Have you thought it through?" he asked succinctly. "This is a one-way street, Delacroix."

"I've made up my mind," the fourth company commander replied slowly. "My mind is clearer than ever, Primarch. I have found my true self, I have seen the truth."

Konrad Curze Curze slowly removed his helmet; he wouldn't allow himself to be separated from his offspring by metal and goggles at this moment.

A vow of Vengeance.

After officially participating in the Great Crusade, a new tradition emerged within the Night Lords. The Great Crusade was war, a confluence of many, almost never-ending wars. Sacrifice or bloodshed was commonplace and completely unavoidable.

After battle after battle, those who remained standing were determined to comfort the souls wandering in the darkness with even more blood.

"In that case, I permit it," the Night Lords replied solemnly. "Stain your hands with the blood of your brothers, Drazok, and you shall not stop until the blood of your enemies completely covers them."

"Yes, sir," Carl Delasok replied hoarsely, and immediately turned and left.

Generally speaking, not every Night Lords can apply for the oath of Vengeance. Only officers or highly regarded killers can obtain this "honor," and they usually consult with someone of higher rank to serve as a witness to the oath.

Gazing at the departing figure of the fourth company commander, Konrad Curze Curze put on his helmet and silently turned away as well. He left the battlefield and found a rather secluded ruin to rest in temporarily.

The rumble of Land Raider and Rhino echoed from a distance, but Curze listened to them indifferently as he sat down on a broken stone pillar.

His cloak billowed in the darkness, its crimson color swaying slowly. A foul sea breeze blew from the distant atoll city, slow but far from gentle. The Night Lords tapped his kneeplate with his fingers, listening to its dull echo, and suddenly spoke.

What findings did your investigation uncover?

In the darkness, two points of eerie blue light slowly lit up.

A giant shrouded in darkness emerged heavily, and the seawater beneath his feet instantly froze—a pitch-black, abyssal ice, utterly ominous. His pale skeleton emanated a chilling aura, and specks of blue light emanated from his eye sockets.

"The cities of the Laer are built in a very interesting way," Karyl said. "They don't build their cities based on advantageous geographical locations, but rather on some kind of pattern."

"A pattern?" The Night Lords turned his head, tilting it to observe the skeleton. His actions were very intimidating, especially when he was wearing a helmet. Unfortunately, those he stared at were already immune to most kinds of fear.

Karyl spoke softly, answering Curze's question.

"Your brother, Fulgrim, sent me a battlefield overview from the Pride of the Emperor. Based on the current intelligence, the cities of the Laer can almost be considered a star map. All the cities are fragmented stars, waiting for a clue or something to connect them completely."

The Night Lords's face beneath his helmet hardened, and when he spoke again, his voice deepened. "Is it them...?"

"I didn't smell that stench, nor did I see any suspicious signs," the skeleton said calmly. "The Laer are indeed suspicious, but they haven't been paying attention here. Besides, Konrad Curze, do you know where the Word Bearers' gunboats are headed?"

"You saw their gunboats too?"

The skeleton seemed to chuckle.

"With such an overwhelming presence, I think it would be hard for me to miss it. They're heading to the religious center of the Laer —a city of temples, or rather, a colossal, Xenos cathedral. You probably understand the Word Bearers' attitude towards a foreign god without me having to explain."

"Are they going to burn that place down? That's good, I'll applaud in support," Konrad Curze Curze remarked listlessly. "I'm sorry, I'm not particularly interested in that kind of ruthless persecution of those who are different in religion."

"Me too. But they are, after all, the Imperium Legion."

You want us to get involved too?

"That will be up to you." Karyl looked up at the increasingly dark sky. "Darkness, after all, is our hunting ground."

"Let me think about it for a moment," Konrad Curze Curze said.

He took off his helmet again, and amidst the sounds of machinery operating and gas being released, he flipped it over.

The eyepiece was scarlet, with gold and midnight blue stubbornly clinging to its edges. Everything about it was so eerie and terrifying, yet it also carried an inexplicable elegance and nobility.

The Night Haunter grinned in disgust and uttered in Nostraman, "Did they have to add these meaningless, elaborate patterns?"

Karyl didn't speak, he just smiled.

I can see you smiling even through the mask!

"Well then, congratulations?"

Curze sighed noticeably, then casually poked the edge of his helmet's bat wing with his finger. "You should know I don't really want to stand with the Word Bearers."

Why?

"I don't like religion," the Primarch said bluntly. "It has nothing to do with Lorgar; I simply hate believers, especially fanatical ones like this. Standing next to people like that makes it hard for me to breathe."

"It sounds like you've developed some kind of religious allergy." Karyl tilted his head, mimicking Curze's expression. "But you should be perfectly healthy, Konrad Curze; it's unlikely you're sick."

At this moment, in his almost inverted vision, he could clearly see every trace of helplessness on Konrad Curze Curze' face—an expression of self-convincing, utterly resigned, and also quite...

Interesting.

"Were you laughing again?" Curze asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes." Karyl nodded. "I couldn't help it."

"Tsk"

What does "tsk" mean?

"It means --"

Konrad Curze Curze slowly rose from the stone pillar, his cloak billowing in the wind. He raised his hand and put on his helmet. The movement was ordinary, yet as solemn as a king putting on his crown.

"--You've successfully annoyed me, Karyl."

"I can't bear such an honor."

The Night Lords ignored those words.

--

Through the transport plane's porthole, Fulgrim solemnly surveyed the burning ground. Darkness had fallen, yet the burning alien city illuminated half the sky. The Primarch withdrew his gaze, closed his eyes, and entered into a final moment of contemplation.

In fifteen minutes, he would be on the battlefield, shedding the tedious constraints of strategic planning, and once again slaying the enemy as a warrior. He had long awaited this moment; how could he, as the Emperor's Children, not be at the front lines in a conquest?

If it weren't for the requirement that each of the three legions needed a commander to oversee the overall situation and issue orders, Fulgrim wouldn't have forced himself to stay on his flagship for so long. But among the three Primarch, who else besides him could shoulder this responsibility?

Lorgar Aurelian was a skilled orator, but aside from that, his military talent was not particularly outstanding.

Konrad Curze Curze was a very formidable commander, but that was only true when he commanded his own legions. He was a general who excelled in only one area.

Unlike Fulgrim, who had unknowingly knocked on the door of omnipotence on his path to perfection, the joint operations of the three armies under his command were a great success.

In just two days, they had completely engulfed the world of the Laer in flames. If they had attacked alone, it would probably have taken a month. Thinking of this, Fulgrim couldn't help but feel fortunate that he had found help.

He felt no shame for this idea; perhaps he had in the past, but there was no need now. Constantly refusing help from others is essentially just paranoia, especially in wartime.

How despicable would he be if he were to use the blood of his own children to build a stairway to perfection?

The Chemos would never allow themselves to become like that.

With these thoughts in mind, he slowly opened his eyes. The specially designed transport plane had been simplified in many ways to fit his body, but some decorations deemed "necessary" were still retained.

For example, an eagle claw flag and an eagle wing flag were gifts sewn by a group of grateful commoners, representing the world's gratitude. The materials were not precious, and the craftsmanship could be described as inexpensive.

However, over the years, Fulgrim has never truly kept these two banners out of his sight. To him, they have long transcended mere honor.

"Casoron." Phoenix suddenly called out. The person he was calling was his company commander, Julius Casoron, who was also the captain of the Phoenix Guard. He had followed him for many years, was extremely loyal, and possessed superb skills.

"Primarch, I am here." Kasoron responded immediately, the golden eagle mask on his helmet poised to take flight against the purple background, his crimson eyes fixed intently on his Primarch. "What are your orders?"

"How should we achieve victory?" Fulgrim asked softly, a question that should never have been on Kasoron's mind, and the company commander was stunned.

He had recently returned to the Pride of the Emperor using the shuttle. As the captain of the Phoenix Guard, he was required to accompany the Primarch on his campaigns. Over the years, he had become well-versed in much about warfare.

However, the question the Primarch was asking at this moment was beyond his expectations.

"That doesn't seem like a question I should be pondering, Primarch," Kasoron replied cautiously.

"You are one of my most important commanders." Fulgrim seemed to smile. "How to win should be the top priority on your mind."

Phoenix's gleaming lips and his ambiguous smile should have been captivating, as evidenced by the countless men and women who had once screamed for him.

Yet, his eyes were so calm, so powerful.

Kasoron was momentarily speechless, completely unsure how to answer the Primarch's question, making the moment somewhat awkward. Fortunately, Fulgrim didn't continue staring; he quickly looked away and returned his gaze to the two eagle banners.

"My brothers' legions are already heading towards the religious center of the Laer, Kasoron. According to some investigations, the Laer are not a society where technology dominates their thinking; they are more religious."

"Such a political system is more cohesive, but also more vulnerable. Typically, its religious center is its ruling center. This is the decisive battle, my son."

Phoenix reached out and tenderly stroked the two flags. Her violet eyes began to burn brightly, beautiful and captivating, radiating divine light and sharpness.

"And we will win," he declared. "We will utterly extinguish the last hope of the Laer and drive these Xenos from humanity's galaxy!"

One more chapter.

I'm late because I wasn't feeling well, sorry.