Chapter 293 Memories Waiting to Be Confessed
It only took Iskandar Kayan approximately ten minutes to locate the auxiliary army of the Night Ghost King's Court on the surface of Olympia.
In the higher level of etheric state of mind, he could feel those cold and fanatical souls, like black flames, using religious enthusiasm to fill the thirst of the broken openings deep in the soul.
The dark fire burns in the secluded place on the outskirts of Lokos, as if it is swallowing up the current dusk into a dark eternal midnight.
Well, things have become a little obvious. This mortal army does not look like pure human beings.
However, Kayon believed in the judgment of Perturabo, the master of the Iron Warriors. Perturabo did not never make mistakes, but at least he would not ignore such an obvious hidden danger.
Had the Fourth Primarch agreed to invite the team to his cherished homeworld, such anomalies would have been tolerable.
He bid farewell to Telemanon, told the Iron Warrior captain who led his team where he was going, wore a crimson cotton robe for daily life rather than wartime, and wore the battle ax Verid as usual. waist, and walked to the location of the auxiliary army.
There was no time to appreciate the construction level of Lokos, the capital kingdom of Olympia, which was different from Tizca but still far beyond the average level of the galaxy. He just wanted to know what the potion was about.
He stopped a few hundred meters away from the temporary barracks set up by the Night Ghost King's Court, staring up at the purple-orange horizon at sunset, the dark Gothic building that seemed to rise from the ground overnight. He hesitated for a moment and stopped moving forward temporarily.
What was he going to say later?
In this way, he made a good draft for himself in his mind, are you the gatekeeper? Hello, the army of the Eighth Legion, I want to ask which of you watched the battle between the Astartes this morning That rodeo? Okay, can you invite him to come and talk to me?
"What are you doing here, Lord Space Marine?" A familiar yet unfamiliar female voice sounded in his ears. He had only heard this voice once before, but he had already remembered it deeply. .
He turned calmly and lowered his head, content with the calmness expected of an Astartes warrior.
"Nefertari," Khayon said, noticing that Nefertari still had her wings clinging to her back, "Hello. I want to ask which of you this morning. Attended the equestrian match between the Astartes?”
A dozen sons of the Muses, wearing hoods, with dark skin and snow-white hair, looked at each other. They should be on the same road as Khayon, preparing to return to their camp.
Kayon suddenly realized that he had not heard the approaching sounds of these creatures at all. They were too quiet - living up to their reputation as night ghosts.
"We are all here." The female warrior's blue-gray thin lips opened and closed, touching each other lightly while speaking in a closed accent. "What questions do you want to know?"
"How did you recognize that potion? Did you really rely on the sense of smell?"
"The fearless emotion, the forgetful pride, This is a typical drug-taking phenomenon," Nefertari said.
"This sounds like the ordinary state of the Emperor's Son."
The female warrior smiled, "No, the world became colorful and restless before his eyes. He was more dizzy than ever, regardless of Everything, but there is no consciousness in the heart, thinking that everything is as usual. Even the most proud warrior will not fall into this state for no reason. We can clearly see the details of these emotions. "
" Are you familiar with it?"
"You do not belong to our night," Nefertari hinted gently, reminding Khayon that she was asking too much. It seems that just like the Iron Warriors, each Legion has its own secrets.
Sometimes, a scholar's thirst for knowledge will drive Khayon to do something extraordinary, an instinct that even their Primarch cannot completely restrain and can only try to adjust. And this is one of the reasons why Magnus makes some ridiculous mistakes from time to time.
"Did you make it?" Khayon asked.
Nefertari looked at him. "No," she said.
"Then do you know who has the ability to create this alchemical potion?" He paused. "Is it possible that it is someone from the Eighth Legion? Or an apothecary of the Emperor's Children?"
“Under unknown conditions, everything is possible.”
The son of the Muse gave an ambiguous answer, but Khayon would not ignore the fact that this female warrior mentioned it to him. When it came to the latter possibility, contempt flashed across his thin face.
"We are natural disasters and nightmares, but we are not masters of flesh and blood," she said.
Interesting metaphor. Khayon thought. But he still didn't get a definite answer.
"I would like to visit your camp," he continued, "for the sake of my battle brother. There is no way he would take that potion himself, even for honor."
"If If you insist," the female warrior agreed nonchalantly. Her reaction was unexpected, and Kayon immediately understood that there was probably nothing special about this camp built above the ground. They did not bring their secrets to Olympia.
"Forget it," the scholar said regretfully, quenching the curiosity surging in his heart. It seemed that he could extract no useful information from the Son of the Muses. Some secrets are best left untouched. One of Magnus's mottos is that even if you think you know everything and are omnipotent, no matter how perfect a scholar is, you cannot master all the knowledge in his hands. The sand from Tizca will definitely leak out from the gaps in the palms.
"Is it possible for me to get in touch with you in the future?" He asked, feeling that something was wrong with his words, and added: "For the sake of Telemanon."
"Contact? Nefertari repeated, looking at him strangely, "Unfortunately, you are a psyker, sir. The latest regulations in my hometown are restrictions on psionic powers."
< br>"However, in Olympia, if you really need it, please contact us through the data pad. The communication key for the Sons of the Muses..."
The female warrior put her hand into her cloak and searched for it from her waist pouch. Something she needs. Suddenly, her movements stopped. This woman, who had never been in awe of anything, wrinkled her snow-white eyebrows for the first time, and her dark night-like eyes radiated with anger.
"A thief touched something of mine," she said to another warrior of the same type beside her, her accent almost far removed from Gothic, "my hair rope."
"Lost?" asked her companion.
"No, just touching, but it cannot be limited to touching..." Nefertari gritted her teeth, "Not long ago."
Hair, or skin debris. This occurred to her immediately. In Commorragh, this is a common material used in divination, curses, cloning, and other conspiracies.
"Maybe I can help you." Kayon cleared his throat. This is a good entry point. "It is within my ability to follow some recent traces."
Nefertari stared at him, and Khayon nodded to her, waiting patiently for a response.
"Okay," finally, she relented. She purchased these hair ropes in Olympia, and psykers cannot trace the secrets further back.
She came over, handed the hair rope to Kayon's outstretched palm, and then quickly retracted her hand.
"Thank you, sir."
This time the honorific finally sounded sincere. Kayon thought. Little spells gathered in his hands.
Everything has memory. Memory exists in the aura of all objects. Memories are waiting to be discovered. Memories are waiting for an outpouring.
Afternoon, it was in Nefertari's kit. Like the Primarchs of the Nightghost Court, all of them had the habit of carrying tool kits with them.
It waited in total darkness. The sons of the Muses spoke to each other vaguely and distantly, chatting in Gothic about unimportant trivia. It heard it.
It spent a noon with the aroma of food. Nefertari thought Olympia's cuisine was too bland. This is an irrelevant message.
In the morning it was kept on a wooden rack outside the venue along with the entire kit. It hung there for a long time. There were only Astartes around and no one came near.
Then, light shines in. Like a pale blade thrust into the dark silk. It was taken out, soaked in a quick-drying liquid, and something was extracted. It was put back.
Kayon focused his energy on this moment of light. He watched intently and breathlessly. Then he saw it.
A servitor, undoubtedly belonging to the Astartes fleet. Armor on a white background, featureless gray cloth. Its presence here does not arouse any suspicion. It faithfully fulfills its master's orders. Who is its owner?
Kayon became more focused. Flashes of light mingled before his eyes. It stung his eyes, and as the last rays of the psychic spell were leaving him rapidly, his strength began to fade.
The spell is about to reach the upper limit of use limited by the Primarch. This is protection and limitation.
Khayon cleared away all distracting thoughts and tried his best to explore the truth wrapped around the servitor under the veil. Finally, he caught the last clue - a flash of purple light.
He opened his eyes suddenly.
"It seems Telemanon was right," he whispered, "I need to see Fabius Bile. Yes... a servitor belonging to the Emperor's Children has moved Your things, the reason is unknown. I will go back and report this matter to the original body Perturabo, you..."
"Contact my king immediately," Nefertari said to her companions. Then, she looked deeply at Khayon: "Thank you, Lord Space Marine."
"Iskandar Khayon." Khayon said, bidding farewell to the sons of the Muses.
His mind was filled with the newly discovered evidence. After he walked out for a long time, he suddenly remembered that the real pronunciation of his name was "Sekhandu Kain", but few people paid attention to this.
Let’s talk about it next time, he thought.
(End of this chapter)