84. Nine (3, 3k)

Thinking is a virtue.

To be precise, it is a rare treasure. Very few people know how to use it, and even fewer are able to use it on their own initiative.

Even the most optimistic visionaries about humanity's future will, after a pessimistic glance at the human race, acknowledge one thing.

Most people follow the crowd.

Most people are just following the lead of others.

If someone says "one," they will shout "one" without hesitation. If someone shouts "three," they will shout "three" along with them.

Sometimes, these people will suddenly realize just how ridiculous their behavior is, but only occasionally. They'll realize it, then forget about it and ignore it.

Karyl calmly put the book down and didn't read it again.

Day sixty.

He murmured the word, closed his eyes, let his thoughts settle, and cast them into another world.

It's been sixty days; the voyage is nearing its end. And for Karyl, this book is coming to an end as well.

Reading it is completely pointless.

The entire text reveals a ridiculous and terrifying arrogance. The author despises almost everyone, but cannot provide any specific examples; he merely criticizes, and stops there.

The world has never lacked thinkers, but pragmatists are the truly rare breed.

It's just a thought, why would it require any effort?

Since the dawn of evolution, the human brain has endowed its owner with the power of imagination. Simply imagine; no action is required. No preparation is needed, no long wait is necessary, and not even a drop of sweat is required.

He had intended to while away the last hour of the descent with reading, but the book didn't give him that chance. He had read it over and over again, and each reading and viewing only brought a deeper understanding and aversion.

Lowering his head, Karyl moved the book to the very edge of the desk, placing it completely against the wall.

He was reading while leaning against the wall. There was no furniture on the ship that fit his size, and for the past sixty days, his most common way of resting had been to stand against the wall.

Karyl was not unhappy about this; in fact, he even somewhat liked the feeling.

He stood up, head bowed and back bent, and walked out of the room. Just then, a Servitor staggered down the old corridor.

Its gait is quite interesting; it's not the way any normal human would walk. Its knees don't bend, and its feet barely touch the ground. Its legs swing like knives, and despite this unsteady posture, it walks incredibly fast.

It approached Karyl and took out a newly printed document from a wooden storage box hanging on its chest. It had been transmitted from the ground of Macragge via an old Cogitator on the bridge.

Karyl reached out and took it, saying softly, "Thank you."

He knew why the document was delivered by the Servitor, not by the officer or captain who was traveling with the ship. They had other things to do at the moment, and besides, Karyl had specifically instructed them to do so.

The Servitor didn't answer, but silently drove away. It didn't have the ability to speak, so unlike the Servitor on the Nightfall, it couldn't talk. Karyl watched it go, his gaze drifting to the far end of the corridor, and he frowned thoughtfully.

He lowered his head and began to read the document.

A license.

Karyl read and thought. It originated from Roboute Guilliman's court and arrived at their ship.

The power of technology.

However, I'm more concerned about something else now.

The giant among giants calmly turned his head and looked at the other end of the corridor. At the end of his line of sight was a tightly closed door on the side of the corridor.

Van Cleef, you haven't left your room for twenty-four days.

He slowly squinted his eyes.

--

Where? In what place?

Van Cleef searched anxiously.

Where? I'll be leading the First Company to land in fifteen minutes. Where? He searched, searching relentlessly. He searched tirelessly in his room, clad in his armor, even forgetting the open door.

"Company Commander?"

Who?

--who?

Van Cleef turned around.

Ah, it's Xianni. Xianni stood in front of the closed gate and greeted him.

"Company Commander, are you alright?" Xianni asked, his eyes fixed on Van Cleef's face, his pupils as black as the decaying teeth of the dead.

Behind him, in the corridor with the open door, more people were lurking in the darkness.

Wait, the open door?

Van Cleef wanted to laugh, puzzled.

But he didn't—he was somewhat annoyed.

"I'm fine," he said expressionlessly. "Why are you all gathered here instead of going to the assembly point?"

"Because we want to help you, Company Commander."

With eyes as black as a dead man's teeth, Xianni took a step forward, his movements slow but incredibly gentle. His steps—his steps—were as light as a feather falling to the ground.

"Help me?" Van Cleef almost laughed again, but this time it was a laugh born of anger. He snapped, "I don't need any help, Xianni. I'm just looking for a piece of paper!"

"What paper, Company Commander?"

"My paper! What's it to you, Xianni? Go back to where you belong!"

"Go back to where you belong?"

What am I saying? Is that my voice? Are those words I should be saying? Why am I so impatient with him?

I've always admired Xianni's energy; he's my brother and my junior. I've never been this angry with any of my brothers before, especially not with this kind of irrational rage.

What am I doing?

The question arose in Van Cleef's mind, followed by a subtle sense of dread, but it didn't last long.

A cold hand grabbed his right hand. Xianni grinned, and countless eyes began to peer through the tightly closed door.

Faintly, Van Cleef heard a satisfied chuckle.

"Xianni?" The company commander looked up blankly, his eyes rolling upwards. "The Primarch? Lord Karyl?"

"They're not here," Xianni said with a smile. He was wearing Power Armour, and Van Cleef was wearing Power Armour too, but his—or rather, its—icy coolness reached Van Cleef's very heart.

The terrifying chill emanating from behind the Veil froze Van Cleef's heart, rendering him powerless to search for any possible clues.

Only numbness.

"Company Commander, where's your paper?" Xianni from Terra asked with a smile. If Van Cleef could still "see" and "sense," he would definitely realize something was wrong.

But now he could see nothing at all; a soft blue light flickered deep within his pupils, and some ancient avian creature scraped at the company commander's brain with its feathers, making it tremble and destroy it.

"Paper," Van Cleef muttered. "I don't know where it is."

"Here it is." Xianni smiled and held out his left hand, on which lay a piece of paper. A blank sheet of paper, manufactured on the other side of the Imperium, having traveled an unimaginable distance to reach this place.

Its patterns shimmered, everything seemed normal. Van Cleef straightened up, took it blankly, and instinctively felt a little suspicious.

"Why would I need it?" he asked. "What do I need it for?"

He didn't look at the paper, but the twisted eagle at the very top of it was looking at him. It had two heads.

The Imperial Aquila also has two heads. No problem, Van Cleef thought. He let the thought pass through his mind again, without a trace.

"You need it to kill someone, Company Commander Van Cleef."

"You were born to kill, weren't you? You've killed sinners, wicked people, bad people, the elderly, women, men, children—you've even killed things you don't even know should be called human."

"So, what's one more today? Besides, you've been wanting to kill someone the whole way, haven't you? You crave a glorious battle."

Xianni — Xianni from Terra —his face began to boil.

Then he laughed.

"Kill whom? "Van Cleef asked instinctively, bewildered. "I only execute criminals; I am the Judgment, and I will never kill the innocent."

"Kill Tarasha Euten," it said. "You've never met her, but you will kill her because she is Roboute Guilliman's foster mother, and Roboute Guilliman wanted his Ultramarines to infiltrate your Primarch's homeworld; therefore, they are all guilty."

Van Cleef made a gurgling sound from his throat, which sounded less like a person speaking and more like someone coughing up blood.

"Kill her," said the thing with the face of Xianni. "Kill Tarasha Euten, Van Cleef, and then you'll get the glory you desire."

--There was a knock on the door.

He came, but it was too late. He respected you, so he overlooked too many things. Everyone is like that; everyone can be taken advantage of.

The thing laughed with satisfaction, like a monster anticipating the completion of its conspiracy.

Xianni's flesh stretched out, his skin sliding and twisting. This disguise vanished in an instant, leaving only a twisted essence. But it didn't last long either; in a mere moment, the immense pressure of the laws of the real world forced it back to its rightful place.

But that's enough.

It had done its work; it had grasped everything it needed. Satisfied, it returned to the blue light, leaving a mark on Van Cleef's heart—so subtle that it would be undetectable without personally dissecting his heart.

Now, the company commander is beginning to regain his senses.

He looked at the door that had been knocked on, walked over, opened it, and saw Karyl Lohars. The latter stared at him calmly, his eyes seeming to pierce with a sharp knife.

"Van Cleef." He nodded in greeting. "Fifteen minutes left, are you ready?"

"Certainly."

"Of course." Van Cleef nodded seriously and calmly, as always. "Shall we proceed with the planned ninth formation for the inspection, Instructor?"

"Yes," Karyl said thoughtfully. He gazed at Van Cleef and nodded slowly after a moment.

"Yes," he repeated softly. "Ninth formation, that's right."

Sneak attack!