Chapter 282 "Can bats get lost?"
The two thin and frightened mortals were dragged out of their dilapidated off-road vehicle and carried to the original body like little chickens.
When they were released and dropped, these two guys, who didn't know whether they were lucky or unlucky, fell together into the thin gravel in front of the tall figure, stirring up a burst of dust.
Lami Zain picked up his long hair and looked at them carefully for a while.
Both of these two local residents should be male - the reason why is because their heads and faces are wrapped in layers of bandages, making it impossible to tell their appearance.
Ears, mouth, nose, and any exposed skin outside the dusty old clothes were tightly covered by dirty cloth, and their eyes were tightly covered with goggles-Lami Zane suddenly Aware that the planet's ceaseless dust storms carry in the winds as fine a grit as broken glass - enough to lick the surface of the skin and eyes of any unprotected mortal like coarse sandpaper in minutes Flesh.
But he himself had obviously been blowing around a rag in this sandpaper-like wind for so long and felt nothing.
...Forget it, it must be the power of the original body, just get used to it, there is no need to delve into it.
"You..." He just started to speak. One of the two trembling mortals heard the voice and boldly raised his head and glanced at him, and then froze - in the physical sense, two eyes. One turn.
"..." Lamizane was silent for a second, and Talos, who was still crying just now, seemed to suddenly remember his original duties and stepped forward to check on the unconscious person.
"Fear." The prophet told his master in a chant-like tone, "The fear of your majesty prevents him from looking directly at you."
"... Just say that he fainted from fear, Talos. - Judging from the results of many samples, he is very likely to have a phobia of giants." (*Some kind of impatient exhalation)
When the Midnight Ghost first appeared in 10,000 years. For the first time, he formally spoke to someone in front of his descendants. When he spoke the entire conversation, his pronunciation was so clear and soft. He still had the unique accent of the language of the dead world, but it was calm, steady, and Driven by a tone that was logical and completely devoid of cynicism and bitterness, something deeper contained within it quickly stirred up a thousand ripples in the Night Lord's silent communications.
Taros stiffened for a moment, then quickly raised his head and glanced at the original body who was talking to him. The eyepiece lens on the skull mask shone brightly.
Everyone heard the Prophet seem to be breathing hard and gasping for air beneath the grille of his helmet.
"As you wish, father. Thank you for your teachings."
The voice of the Eighth Legion prophet almost sounded choked with grievance.
Lami Zane didn’t know how to answer the question, so he shut his mouth and turned his eyes to the remaining mortal.
This man's dress is slightly different from that of his companions. It seems that he had already taken off the bandage covering his lips in order to prepare for conversation or drinking water. However, the appearance of the Night Lords may It prevented him from re-wrapping himself, so now his lips and the fragile skin around them had been worn down by the glass gravel and began to bleed.
The thin smell of human blood spreading in the wind made some of the Night Lords start to make moves. They remained silent on their internal comms channels, listening to Ursus drooling and muttering about his blood god, and betting on smaller and more confidential channels as to who could get this idiot to be killed by the Primarch. The remaining remains serve as new supplies for his claws.
Lami Zane noticed that although the man was so frightened that he could not stand up and his heartbeat was almost exploding, the man's body language showed that he had not completely lost his mind. He noticed these two things at the same time. The instruments and backpack he carried with him, so he thought more carefully before speaking again.
As he opened his lips, an extremely ominous premonition began to emerge in the heart of a certain Primarch who shared the line of sight - what Konrad Curze could see and hear now was the present. What this body sees and hears, he has no eyes to close and no ears to plug. All external stimulation comes from some mystical resonance transmission, reaching directly to its extraordinary soul essence, regardless of whether he does it or not. Be prepared to accept it. (*Could it be...)
"Good evening. We're lost, I think. Can you be of some help?" (*Wha... (suspicious, prolonged pause) What are you talking about? )
Veins bulged in the opponent's thin neck, and the mortal's eyes were wide open due to fright, which could be seen through his polished goggles.
A loud gasping sound suddenly passed through the warband's communicator. It was made by an impatient guy, and Talos responded with a threatening gesture.
"Lost, lost?" The poor man repeated in disbelief and stammering, his lips trembling.
"Yes." The Eighth Primarch (body) said with a beggar-like appearance (only rags) and an elegant tone that was extremely inconsistent with his clothes, "That's it, our ship is lost in the subspace. So far. "
The panicked mortals could not help but listen to the almost poetic voice of the original body. The end of each word would have a deep and subtle upward twist, "No one is nearby. Found other inhabited worlds, so we landed here to see what could be done to help us - so do you know how or where to contact the stewards of this planet?" (*I don't understand, you? Why bother talking to a mortal? There are eighty-one descendants of the Eighth Legion around you. That’s enough.)
The word "Trek" obviously touched something. Because everyone has observed that after hearing this word, a mortal's body and tone immediately surged with a lot of understanding and sympathy.
"It's also a subspace trek... What a pity, sir, our manager...?" The man who was initially led into serious thinking because of his sympathy for the same problem, the poetic and soft tone of the other party, and the too normal content of the conversation gradually changed. Gotta be a little more calm.
"Ah, with all due respect, sir," he swallowed, "as for the manager, the regent is in the temple city. If you contact me... I can. I just talked to you Eruko," the man said as he glanced at his unconscious companion, "We have just repaired the 12th Eastern Communication Tower... I mean, my name is Reval, I am a storm divination I happen to be in charge of communications."
"Oh, an excellent title, your job sounds very important, Reval" (*You are complimenting a weakling...you will be dismissed soon. His descendants, those scum and criminals tore him apart)
"Ah, yes, yes sir." Although this outsider and his group of tall men are terrifying in appearance and menacing, The noble superior temperament, elegant words, and friendly attitude made the technician's words gradually become smoother - but he did not dare to look closely at the surface of the thick dark armor, but only dared to stare at the slender and pale face of the person in front of him. Calf - a strange thought came to him: He is so thin, thinner than a child who lacks food to grow.
Reval liked the other person's voice, it was kind and patient, as if he really cared about what the person he was talking to said. "Actually, in an older way, according to my father, I am a technician. Weather forecasting is only a small part of the work. I am also responsible for maintenance and exploration."
"I see," the tall, thin and pale ghost replied, "then we are so lucky to meet you. Before we start contacting you, would you like to tell me about your temple city and regent?"
"Of course, of course, my sir, after all we haven't seen anyone else here for many years...since the day of the collapse."
"The day of the collapse?"
< br>"Yes, according to records, it was four hundred and seventy years ago when our ancestors landed here..."
(End of this chapter)