Dark Raven's Visit (II)

"A little to the left," Konrad Curze Curze said.

The Servitor moved its hands stiffly; its pale arms waved rigidly in the air, carrying a painting silently a few centimeters away from the wall.

"Hmm, let's move it a little to the right," the Night Lords said thoughtfully.

The Servitor responded to his command immediately; its simple mind could not disobey any words directly from Konrad Curze Curze. Its neurons were stimulated, and its arms began to move again, creaking and groaning, reminiscent of an old, dilapidated machine.

The painting was moved again, but Curze was still not satisfied.

He frowned, beginning to feel that the painting looked awkward no matter where it was hung. The Servitor turned its head, staring at him with a pair of crimson electronic eyes, awaiting the next command. The Night Lords sighed and shook his head.

"Thank you for your help," he said gently. "But I'll do it myself. You can leave now, G-2-173."

The Servitor bent down, put the painting down, and left his office without a word. Curze stared at the painting, his expression unusually bewildered.

The person in the painting is dressed in court-style boots and breeches, and a tight-fitting aristocratic blouse, and even carries a silver rapier with a gold hilt.

His black hair was tied up in a swordsman's ponytail at the back of his head, and his pale face held an arrogant expression that would never appear on the face of the person in question. He stood in the shadows, with a dim moon slowly rising behind him.

Yes, the person in this painting is Konrad Curze Curze.

Terra sent this painting; it's said to be the work of a group of painters who held an art festival, creating thousands of Primarch paintings. Each one will be judged by them, and the best works will be given to the Primarch.

But here's the problem: they've never actually met Konrad Curze Curze; they've just fabricated this image based on some rumors.

The Night Lords simply couldn't understand why these artists would depict him as a nobleman. It would be reasonable if Fulgrim wore this outfit, but what was going on with him? He didn't even have any casual clothes of this style in his wardrobe.

"They might as well not paint any clothes at all, just have me standing there draped in a white cloth like they did with Sanguinius," Curze muttered to himself. "This painting is unbearable."

Even so, he couldn't bring himself to discard the painters' good intentions, but he also temporarily abandoned the idea of hanging it up. With a sigh, the Night Lords turned his head away and ignored it.

Behind him sat a sofa, made of genuine leather—to be more precise, it was a "Caliban leather sofa" gifted by Lion Aljonsen.

Konrad Curze Curze certainly didn't understand why the Primarch of the First Legion would give him such a gift, but how could he refuse?

Even through the holographic projection on the ship, Lion Alderson wore a grim expression, as if his hand had been chopped off with a sword.

If he refuses on the spot, who knows if the Lion El'Jonson will come to the Nightfall in a shuttle and question him about why he didn't accept the gift.

Of course, the sofa isn't the point; the point is the person sitting on it right now.

His skin was pale, but not like Konrad Curze Curze, who looked like a long-dead man. It was a paleness that was acceptable to most people, with a texture similar to an alabaster statue.

He also had black hair and black eyes, but his eyes weren't completely black; there was still some white in them. Undoubtedly, he was very similar to the King of Nostramo, but there were also many differences. The most obvious was his quiet and slightly melancholic demeanor.

"What do you think of the painting, brother?" Curze asked, managing to keep his tone very calm.

"Unlike you," Kolaus Corax replied quietly. "They also sent me a painting."

The Night Lords raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Would you mind describing it to me?"

"It looks just like you," Corax said. "They even painted my eyes completely black and made me stand on a bunch of skeletons."

Konrad Curze Curze chuckled—what else could he say? The description certainly sounded like him. He glanced at Corax, who sat upright on the sofa, his posture almost reminiscent of someone from the past. Curze narrowed his eyes and changed the subject. "How do you feel about the Great Crusade, brother?"

"Not good," Corax said. "My legion isn't doing well either. Fulgrim suggested I come to you for advice, so here I am."

"Do you really trust his advice that much?"

"He's a good man, rational enough, and clear-headed enough. I think his advice will be very helpful," said the Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion, speaking softly and slowly. "And, Father... also suggested it."

Curze couldn't help but frown.

"What did he say?" he asked in a calm tone.

"He thinks your and Instructor Karyl's experience at Nostramo over the years will be very helpful in building the Deliverance, but I'm more puzzled as to why he doesn't just give me some advice directly."

The Night Lords chuckled, but the laughter wasn't exactly gentle. "That's just how fathers are, Corax. I suggest you get used to it as soon as possible. But I have two experiences."

His smile gradually widened, and it was anything but gentle. In fact, it could almost be described as utterly malicious. Kolaus Corax, however, remained seated, unmoved.

He keenly sensed that the malice Konrad Curze Curze was displaying at that moment was not directed at him.

"Two kinds." Curze held up two fingers. "The first is the experience of a killer, about how to create panic, brutally commit murder, torture, punishment, and extract pain from a person."

"The second option is to build cities, adjust policies, impose tax exemptions, and investigate people's livelihoods. But to be honest, you can ask the Ultramarines for these things. They have far more experience than I do."

"I've thought about it." Corax blinked quietly. "But I'm not familiar with Roboute Guilliman."

"Are we that familiar?" Konrad Curze Curze wanted to ask, but he held back.

"Okay, you need some experience and help, I don't think that's a problem."

The Night Lords turned around and went back behind his desk.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, beginning to compile a data manual on the spot using Dataslate. Some of the rules were his own insights, while others came from the five hundred Ultramarines led by Lucretius Corvo.

Although they had long since returned to Macragge, what they left behind had a profound impact on Nostramo. They even compiled their work reports from those years into a book before leaving, which took Konrad Curze Curze a considerable amount of time to read through.

"So—" the Night Lords asked casually as he wrote, head bowed, "Is there anything else you need, brother?"

"Yes," Corax said. "I'd like to ask."

"Hmm?" Curze looked up and saw that his brother was unusually hesitant. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, Curze put down the electronic pen he was using for the Dataslate.

"Speak, it's alright," the Night Lords said softly. "Humans should help each other, especially since you and I are brothers."

"Okay." Corax seemed convinced, or perhaps he had finally made up his mind.

He looked up at Curze: "I'd like to ask, how do you manage to get along with your legion?"

Konrad Curze Curze froze, a series of images flashing through his mind. They had never been forgotten, always lingering deep within his memory. Now, they flickered, like a clear night sky unobstructed by anything, with every star clearly visible.

"I can't reach an agreement with my legion on some things."

Corax frowned, struggling to find the right words. Curze frowned as well, sensing that Corax's next words were unlikely to be pleasant.

"I'm referring to those Terra veterans, many of whom have a very cruel habit. They enjoy torturing the enemy and often execute prisoners of war and even civilians without reason. And they—"

Corax took a deep breath before continuing.

"--I don't know if I should say this, but many of them behaved exactly like slave owners in their daily lives. They treated all servants and commoners as slaves and their lives as their private property."

"It sounds like your legion has serious internal problems," the Night Lords remarked thoughtfully. "Are there really value conflicts between the Astartes and their Primarch? Have they expressed any dissatisfaction to you?"

"My company commander Al Phall, once said," Corax sighed. "He thought I was being overly frugal in my daily life. He advised me, hoping I could—"

"What?"

"--He wanted me to be more extravagant," the Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion said. "I didn't know what he meant, and I didn't ask any further questions. I just finished my breakfast in front of him."

What did you eat?

"A bowl of delicious white porridge," Corax said, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

"And I had absolutely no idea what was wrong with him. After that day, he served me lavish breakfasts for almost a month straight. Each meal consisted of seven different meat and vegetable dishes, accompanied by various drinks and fruits whose names I couldn't even recall."

"Well, this is a bit beyond my expectations." Konrad Curze Curze raised his hand and rubbed his temples.

"Here's what we'll do, brother. I'll host an exchange event on Nostramo, Astartes- style one. We'll exchange martial arts techniques, experiences, and share our cultures. You can have your legions land from orbit, and then I'll figure something out."

"Thank you for your help," Corax said apologetically. "Isn't this a bit difficult for you? I mean, I actually have a solution."

The Night Lords smiled softly.

"Oh, it's nothing, Corax." He winked. "I told you, you and I are brothers."

Update complete.

To be honest, the way the Raven Lord treated these Terra veterans is one of his few flaws.