28: Visit of the Dark Raven (III)

The Rhino rumbled and trembled as it relentlessly crushed the ground.

This metal box has been completely modified inside and out by the Techmarine of the Night Lords Fifth Company.

Its defensive capabilities were greatly reduced, its engine was replaced with a new model with greater power output, and even its tracks were thickened and reinforced. The original weapons were also reduced as much as possible; everything was done to transform it into a speed monster.

After all, the Night Lords don't really need to use the Rhino as cover or for suppressing fire; they just need to be able to quickly deploy their companies or hunting squads to the mission location.

But precisely because of this, the experience of sitting inside this metal box is completely far from being "comfortable".

No matter what the tracks run over, the people sitting inside the vehicle can clearly feel it.

"I might as well just walk," Xianni muttered to himself. "Those guys in the Fifth Company are all lunatics when they're modifying vehicles. Don't they even consider shock absorption?"

The First Company's adjutant, Mollez, didn't answer him; he was too lazy to bother with him anymore— Xianni from Terra complained about everything, no matter what vehicle he was in.

He complained that the modified Rhino was too steep, that the Land Raider was too stuffy like an iron coffin, and that the Spartan Assault Tank was just a big, clumsy thing—it didn't suit his personality at all.

Mollez had reason to believe that even if Xianni were to one day ride on the Adeptus Custodes' hovercraft, he would still complain.

Of course, he would indulge Xianni, but his company commander would not.

Van Cleef looked over expressionlessly, silencing Xianni with just a glance. And he had no intention of stopping there.

"You seem to have quite a few complaints about the Techmarine, Xianni." The company commander crossed his arms, the medals on his shoulders gleaming. "I'm beginning to suspect that Jago Sevatarion might have picked up some of his habits from you."

"That's slander, my company commander." Xianni quickly raised his hands from the four safety straps, expressing his innocence. "I would never shove a chainsaw into mud, sand, or building materials like he did."

"But you'll be throwing Boltgun quite often," said the Apothecary Sergio Donio, who was sitting nearby.

"I've seen it with my own eyes many times, Xianni. You run out of bullets, then throw them at people. You only pick them up after you've taken care of the enemies."

Xianni turned his head and glared at the Apothecary.

"Indeed." Mollez immediately joined the fray, nodding to Van Cleef in agreement with the Apothecary. "I testify, Sergei is telling the truth, Company Commander."

Van Cleef silently fixed his gaze on Xianni's face, who miraculously remained expressionless and even managed to speak up in his defense.

"The Boltgun is very happy about this; have you ever seen it complain?"

"It probably just can't speak, Xianni."

Van Cleef sighed, said nothing more, and let the conversation end there. A few minutes later, the troop carrier finally stopped jolting. The metal door collapsed to the ground with a whirring mechanical sound, turning from a gate into a downward path.

Stepping out, Van Cleef immediately smelled a strange odor in the air.

Years ago, the wilderness of Nostramo was a no-man's-land infested with deadly poison, where only mutants and ferocious beasts could survive.

The Mechanicum has transformed the environment here, turning it from a highly toxic swamp and sandy land into a surprisingly passable wilderness. Although no plants that can improve the environment can still grow, at least it looks much better now.

The fragmented light, cut into pieces by the architectural details, shone on Van Cleef's face, turning it into a grotesque abstract painting. The company commander silently glanced back; more vehicles were heading in their direction.

A motley crew, of all kinds, but most had been disarmed. After all, they were there for a celebration. If it were a war, Van Cleef wouldn't have come riding Rhino.

He would take the other thirty-nine men into the "Mastodon" and let it carry them into the enemy's rear, which would be much easier than riding Rhino.

"Van Cleef." A voice came from his side. "Is the First Company all present?"

"Still need to prepare, instructor," the company commander replied, turning around, unsurprised to see their instructor stride out of the darkness.

The dark Shadow was not eliminated by the light-up disc player, but remained in place as if it were alive, waiting for Karyl Lohars' next summons.

Van Cleef glanced at them, his fingers trembling slightly as he felt a surge of emotion, a urge to call out. He forced his gaze away, only to find Karyl staring at him, his eyes thoughtful.

"Instructor?"

"It's nothing, Van Cleef," Karyl smiled slightly. "But I still need to remind you, the darkness is still dangerous."

"I think I probably won't need them," Van Cleef said, tensing his muscles. "And what about the Primarch Guard?"

"Let's temporarily draw soldiers from the First Company and Eighth Company to form this unit, and equip them with Terminator Armour. The Servitor should already have them ready."

As Karyl spoke, he shook his head—no matter how the company commanders persuaded, pleaded, or even threatened him with implied pleas, Konrad Curze Curze remained unmoved. In fact, the Night Lords's original words even sounded somewhat cruel.

"Do you really think I need a guard? Do you really think I need protection?"

"Understood." Van Cleef nodded and began communicating with Anric Barbatos, the company commander of the Eighth Company, using the communication device hanging on his collar. Taking this opportunity, Karyl finally observed him closely for a while.

Van Cleef wore a standard old-fashioned dress uniform with a strong military style. Unlike most designs that are popular now, this uniform was very old-fashioned and austere in most details.

Whether it's the two gold cuff studs or the waistline with no wide design, it all exudes a rustic feel. Apart from the three colors of black, blue, and white, the entire dress doesn't even have any embellishments.

In fact, the medals hanging on the right chest and both shoulders are more eye-catching than the medals, one of which is particularly precious. It has a silver base and a golden lightning bolt as its main feature.

Karyl stared at it for a moment, then looked away. He flicked his finger, and darkness pounced excitedly, wrapping itself around him and causing him to vanish completely from his spot in the next second.

Van Cleef watched him leave, resisting the surge of instinct within him, and continued arguing with Anric Barbatos—"No, the guard only needs a hundred men, and your Eighth Company can only make up half of them."

On the other end of the communication, Anric Barbatos cursed in a gloomy tone using a Terra slang term.

--

Konrad Curze Curze stood at the very top of the platform, looking down. The night wind of the wilderness ruffled the black hair on his forehead, making his eyes appear somewhat eerie.

Legion servants and temporary helpers recruited from the Hive City were setting up the venue, with food and drinks placed on long tables covered with black and white tablecloths.

Tens of thousands of candles were placed on pre-prepared steel candlesticks, ready to be lit immediately when the banquet began. At that time, the lights would be turned off, and the flickering candlelight would take their place.

The managers of each Hive City and some workers who usually perform well were also invited to the event, and they were also given a long table.

Gazing at all this, the Night Lords nodded in satisfaction.

He said softly, "This is the first time it's been used, Corax. It was the Ultramarines' idea to build it, and I wasn't going to agree, but Lucretius Corvo convinced me. 'Every legion needs a grand hall to entertain cousins or other people worthy of such occasions,' he said. 'I admit he has a point.'"

Kolus Corax nodded, seemingly a little uncomfortable. Curze could tell why—what else could it be but his expensive suit?

This uniform was undoubtedly prepared by the Nineteenth Legion, or rather, the Raven Guard, for their Primarch. It was predominantly dark black, with delicate white accents in some places.

Curze couldn't quite describe what the dress looked like, but he could describe it in one word.

The Fulgrim style.

"Relax, brother." The Night Lords withdrew his gaze, not intending to add any more pressure to Corax. "You have absolutely no need to be nervous. It's the ones who should be nervous, the ones going up on stage to represent their respective legions. Do you see that sandpit over there?"

Corax nodded; of course he could see it. The sandpit and the magnificent building had an incongruous atmosphere; even a blind person could probably smell the roughness and bloodshed it exuded.

"I stole this idea from Angron," Konrad Curze Curze grinned.

"He didn't completely reject Nuceria; some traditions, under his improvements, have become part of the War Hounds' unique culture today, like this, the Duel Pit. Dealing with War Hounds inevitably involves going in and trying it out. If you're going to cooperate with Angron in the future, you'll probably be invited to the Firm Resolve."

"Can I refuse?" Corax frowned. "I know about duel cages, training rings, and similar traditions, but this duel pit you mentioned makes me feel a little uneasy."

"That's up to you, brother," Curze said patiently and gently. "I know what you're thinking, but I don't want to change your impression of Angron with my opinion. You'll have to deal with him yourself. So—"

He turned his head, changed his angle, and leaned against the railing of the platform. "--Whom did you choose?"

One more chapter.