Few people knew that Nightfall's banquet hall had actually been converted from three interconnected rooms—something that naturally complied with no regulations whatsoever. The company captains had held many meetings over whether to do it.
Fer had been the one voting against it every time.
At the time, he had not thought a structure like a banquet hall could be of any help to Nightfall or the Eighth Legion. That view was thoroughly overturned after a joint operation with the Ultramarines.
From then on, Fer Zalost's vote had been in favor.
And so, the only banquet hall aboard Nightfall had been built. Though it had been accomplished by tearing down walls and relocating wiring and pipes, at least they had a banquet hall.
And now.
Seated at a long table, Fer carefully wiped down his left gauntlet with a cloth soaked in machine oil.
He had executed too many people tonight, to the point that his gauntlet had been stained with far too much blood that had no business being there.
Normally, such simple work was left to the servitors. Though some did prefer to maintain their own armor, doing it while seated in the banquet hall was still somewhat strange.
But what choice did Fer have?
The moment the trial ended, the Eighth Legion had collectively returned to Nightfall without lingering for even a moment.
Their primarch's orders had contained no indication that they were to remain on Nostramo. As for why they had returned to the banquet hall—
Naturally, it was because the banquet had not officially ended.
"Are you really not planning to have some nutrient porridge, Captain?"
". I don't particularly want to talk to you right now, Adebiman."
"Why not?"
His former adjutant leisurely raised a metal spoon. The steaming nutrient porridge, thick enough to completely