14 Nikaea
"I have served with the Emperor's Eighth Legion for twenty-six years, and I have witnessed countless 'new blood' leave Nostramo's the Nest, embarking on endless journeys across the vast sea of stars."
"Rumors say they are bloodless, tearless monsters, killing all day long and craving fear. They feed on blood and bones in the darkness, but this is nothing but a rumor, and anyone with a modicum of reason can tell it's false."
"To me, the Eighth Legion is simply a group of people who are loyal to their duty. They never shirk their responsibilities and destiny, which is why those terrible rumors have fertile ground to spread. I have no intention of commenting on the fighting style of the Midnight Blade; they have already proven themselves."
"But I wonder, what will happen to them if the war ends?"
Karyl put down the book and did not read any more.
This journal was written by a Remembrancers, but not by Bellros von Sharp, who would not have asked the question "where to go from here?" He already had the answer to such questions.
Bellros was certainly not the only Remembrancers within the Eighth Legion.
While Konrad Curze Curze wasn't as extreme as Horus Lupercal, demanding that every company of the Luna Wolves —no, Sons of Horus— be equipped with a Remembrancers so that "our deeds would spread throughout the Imperium."
But he wasn't like Lion El-Jonson or Leman Russ Russ, who were extremely resistant to Remembrancers. Compared to his brothers, the Night Lords's attitude was actually quite interesting. His attitude towards Remembrancers could probably be summed up in one sentence: just don't go looking for him.
Of course, the Remembrancers couldn't just leave him out of the interview process. Most of these people didn't even know how to fire a gun, but they still dared to accompany Astartes into the most brutal battlefield.
If they have that kind of courage, then interviewing the Primarch is naturally no problem for them.
Courage!
Karyl chuckled and tapped his desk with his finger; the flickering lightning patterns on the desk suddenly dimmed.
At the other end of the desk, a person busy grading documents glanced up at him with an expression that seemed calm, but his right hand holding the pen trembled slightly.
"What are you looking at me for, Sai?" Karyl looked at him gently. "Keep doing your work. Didn't you say you'd rather help me with paperwork than train new recruits and become their instructor? Why have you stopped?"
"You didn't say there would be that many."
"Is this what you call a lot?" Karyl put on an incredulous look, deliberately using a softer tone. "Today's deliveries are already considered few, just a sergeant in a company. If we were still in Nostramo, you'd be too busy to even speak by now."
"Can't we use Dataslate to edit documents?" Sevatar couldn't help but ask—at this moment, he would rather take a stick and go into the training field with Sigismund for another 48 hours than hold a pen and write line after line of neat cursive.
"It works in Nostramo, but not here. Not everyone in the Imperium wants to accept Roboute Guilliman's Dataslate office policy; paper documents still prevail."
Karyl shook his head at Sevatar with a look of apparent sympathy and left his desk on the Nightfall.
This office has remained unchanged over the years. You could call it nostalgia or a stubborn unwillingness to change, but in any case, Karyl still loves his porthole.
He went to the window and saw a truly terrifying planet through it. The Nightfall was parked in its low Earth orbit, at a distance from which Karyl could clearly capture a series of natural disasters such as volcanic eruptions and lightning storms.
This planet, named Nikaea, was discovered during the middle of the Great Crusade. It is a newly formed planet, its landscape not yet fully developed, and extreme weather events are commonplace. Now, it will become the venue for a conference.
He turned his head to look at the other end of the track and glimpsed several equally enormous ships: the Red Tear, the Firm Resolve, Macragge's Honour. These ships, which only appeared together in Imperium legends, were now anchored one after another near Nikaea.
Some are located in far orbits, and some in near-Earth orbits. They are parked separately to avoid causing tidal effects.
The weather in Nikaea is bad enough. Its structure is in a state of flux, with shifting landmasses, chaotic gravitational waves, and lightning storms everywhere. The navigation and radar of shuttles and gunships can even completely fail during navigation.
If the weather gets any worse, this meeting might not even need to be held in Nikaea; it could just be moved online, at least that way no one would be in mortal danger.
Smaller ships were anchored between the Primarch's flagships, and shuttles busily moved back and forth. Those who arrived here were not only the Legiones Astartes and the Primarch, but also numerous delegations.
The Imperium's massive and bloated bureaucracy operated remarkably smoothly in the five months leading up to the Council of Nikaea. Countless documents and notices were issued, and representatives from all departments were sent to witness or provide evidence.
The High Lord of Terra, the Mechanicum of Mars, the governors or lords of the galaxies who have traveled from afar to the Sol System, the Astropathic Court, the Scholastica Psykana. As you can see, this meeting is unprecedented in scale.
So, what is its topic?
Karyl gradually fell into deep thought, remaining standing motionless for over two hours. He only stirred slightly after Jago Sevatarion had finished reviewing all the documents.
"Let's continue tomorrow, Sai." With his back to Sevatar, who had just endured a period of mental torment, Karyl spoke softly. "Of course, like I said, you can still choose between training new blood and helping with document corrections. It's never too late to make a choice."
"I was forced to teach the Primarch how to make those gestures."
"And what about what Leman Russ Russ learned?" Karyl turned around, staring at him with a half-smile. "Was that something you were forced to teach?"
"No, he coerced me with a whole Fenris honey-glazed Grox Steak. I was forced, Instructor."
Karyl smiled and used his psionic powers to push him out the door, ending the conversation. But his smile vanished immediately afterward. From a patch of darkness behind him, Konrad Curze Curze emerged listlessly.
"Is this really necessary?" the Night Lords asked, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
"What?" Karyl replied casually, already standing at his desk, checking the documents that Sevatar had edited for any improprieties.
"You're asking a question you already know the answer to," the Night Lords said, looking at him with displeasure.
"Ha," Karyl chuckled. "Well, if it's just because of some gang gestures, then of course there's no need to do this. But he'll be needing to review a lot of official documents in the future, so it's better to use this opportunity to let him get familiar with it first. What do you think?"
"I don't want to comment; I'm just worried about his future," said the Night Lords.
--
Malcador gripped his scepter and departed from the burning stars. This was not a metaphor, but a precise depiction of where he had stood.
The Sigillites took a step forward, finally setting his foot on the ground again. His scepter lowered, and a force swept across the entire rock chamber, causing the burning stars to vanish instantly. He released his grip, letting the scepter rest against the wall, and then touched his face with both hands.
A sense of aging made his fingertips feel a little awkward. Malcador shook his head and simply pulled his hood back up. Then, he took his scepter and left the cave.
The outside world looked like a tunnel, its surface bright and smooth, so large it was terrifying; even several Primarch walking side by side probably wouldn't make it feel crowded.
The ground was covered by some kind of transparent material, beneath which magma churned, its brightness terrifying. The intense Radiance and temperature illuminated the tunnel, and also made Malcador's scepter reflect an even more dazzling Radiance.
Six months ago, a group of well-trained "workers" used the best Melta tools to excavate this place.
The Tunnel Sigillites walked calmly, seemingly without any intention of using psychic powers to speed up, simply proceeding on foot. Nevertheless, the agility and nimbleness he displayed as he walked were far beyond what one would expect from an old man. After some time, he arrived at a not-so-spacious side hall.
Under the light of the golden Aquila, a giant clad in golden armor was turning his back to him, flipping through a floating book.
"You're reading at this hour?" the Sigillites asked, his tone laced with accusation.
"Is that not allowed?"
The giant who manipulated books with psychic powers answered nonchalantly, turning around, his golden laurel wreath gleaming above his shining eyes. But Malcador's words seemed to have some effect; the book eventually fell back into his palm and closed securely.
"Two hours left." The Sigillites spoke again, uttering a chilling time. "Your Majesty, in a maximum of two hours, this Judgment will commence. What words do you intend for me to use as my opening statement?"
"You can decide for yourself," The Emperor said. "If all else fails, you can prepare a few speeches for yourself, old man. I'm sure no one will care about such things."
Malcador laughed, at the title the Emperor had uttered. He shook his head, his eyes beneath the hood gleaming with amusement, but quickly regained their composure.
He waved his scepter, and a Radiance of psychic light appeared, instantly transferring several speech drafts into his hands. The Emperor looked at him, a hint of surprise on his face, which was enveloped in the Radiance.
"Everyone has to accept getting old." The Sigillites raised his right hand meaningfully and flicked the speech drafts. "What do you think, Your Majesty?"
"I am not old," the Master of Mankind replied calmly.
Preview.
Magnus: aeeeeee--! The Emperor? Why the Emperor?!