Chapter 302 Quill Sword
"Captain Markarian."
"Don't call me company commander, little Talos, now the tenth company and the eleventh company are still All living warriors are under your command. Although I am not considered alive, I am also one of them. The order of command cannot be confused at will."
"I am just... glad that you can come back and rejoin. Us. Why don't you become the leader again. You can definitely do better than me." Talos Valcolan, the current prophet of the Eighth Legion and the former pharmacist of the 10th Company, shook his head slightly. Always my company commander, sir."
There was a clicking sound deep in Macario's gorgeous adamantine coffin.
"Talos."
"Yes, Philosopher of War."
"No need to worry. Look at your exploits. The esteemed Primarch has told me much - you have learned from Abaddon Your men successfully escaped, you faced the solicitation of the Supreme Heaven, you recaptured the cursed Echo, you endured the pain of high fever and headache, guided and led our other brothers to successfully run here to welcome our father's new life- -Here, you have recovered the Lord of the Night of the Eighth Legion for all of us, our father, our highness. This miracle and luck are all due to you, and you should be proud of it. "
Ptolemion, who was quietly paying attention to this conversation, gradually became numb from the heretical and shocking content of every word he heard, and felt that, for a moment, The commander of the Night Lords, who looked the most cold-blooded, almost winced at this word of relief and praise.
Of course the (self-described) clever Chapter Champion did not foolishly show that he was eavesdropping: the tip of the quill in his right hand was on the parchment-er-he refused to speculate on what kind of leather-paper this might be. Moving on the slightly dirty but smooth paper, lines of summaries, reminders, calculation formulas, corrections, pending statistics, etc. were written in rigorous and beautiful High Gothic cursive characters, while the original data was being It was continuously fed into Astartes' super-mortal enhanced brain along the biological relays and cables connected to the black carapace interfaces on his wrists, back of his head and spine.
His left hand is efficiently ready to replace the pen tip and ink at any time, so that his writing work can keep up with the sorted and summarized data that is being frantically output in his mind smoothly and continuously, without being affected by the failure of the writing instrument. Consumed and often interrupted.
Ptolemion's neck, wrists and waist were fixed to a crude iron plate combination used as a chair by thick temporary welded iron bars and chains, and his ankles were also shackled with shackles. Chains - but for some reason there were no servo-skulls, mortal servants or Astartes watching him. Instead, the fearless elder Markarian had been patiently standing here watching his work, and was even kind-hearted. He had to help him out, letting some of the Night Lords who wandered over go away to do other things, or assign slaves or servitors for him in advance. More and more, Ptolemion began to feel desperate. Mountain of primary source documents.
——These damn traitors and heretics have never done any statistics, inventory or personnel maintenance on this ship in ten thousand years, have they? ! And judging from his current estimated reserves of food, fresh water and other daily necessities...how did he survive and even have enough energy to operate the ship's weapons and navigation system? ! Ah, Ptolemion, you can't worry about the heretics. They deserve to rot in the mud and burn in hell...! Wait, is this generational replacement number reasonable? ! And the uneven quality of this weapon and ammunition... there is no quality control at all, right? ! ! The extent of the miscellaneous brands and inconsistent specifications...the hellish warehouse distribution of random piles of overstocks——
Ahhhh, no! no! Emperor, please forgive me! Lord Guilliman! Help me...it's no longer possible...I...I...I can't help but do corrections and classification statistics! ! ! What a mess! ! ! I can't stand it at all! ! ! ! This is... this is a serious provocation to truth, accounting, order, coordination and logistics management! ! ! !
As more, more messy, and more obsessive-compulsive raw data were violently poured into Ptolemion's brain and onto his desktop at the same time, the champion unknowingly had mastered Tightening his quill sword, he began to immerse himself in the atmosphere of high-intensity training and fighting on weekdays, and launched a desperate charge towards this pile of things that looked like the fermented hometown of a serious garbage hoarder.
"This bastard of a false emperor who has the honor to serve my lord is quite sensible." Talos snorted coldly, "If he brings you any trouble or dares to resist, Markarian, I will randomly select one of his companions. Recording the sound of nerves being ripped out and skinned alive... Oh, the original body won't let us do that now, so either..."
"Or you can go to the cell and tell them triumphantly that their champion is He was forced to do hard labor by the evil Night Lord for their lives, and then asked them who would take his place and save the rest of them." Markarian tried to keep his booming voice as low as possible. , this is not easy, after all, he is using a loudspeaker originally designed for war cry and encouragement. The soul hunter looked at the fearless sarcophagus hesitantly for a while. There was no face or facial features there, only the powerful warrior who stood outside the Royal Palace of Terra tens of thousands of years ago, displaying his illustrious glory in eternal silence in the exquisite painting.
"I will give it a try, Philosopher of War," he promised at last, "after accompanying the Primarch back aboard our new ship."
"Go. Come on, Talos. The Primarch calls. I hear our father has more to do. I'm here to guard the Echo of the Damned."
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“So the Coronation is now completely in our hands.”
“Yes, my lord and my father,” Talos said, holding a A list with wet ink was reported to the original body on their latest progress. According to Lamizane's request, the soul hunter's power armor has also removed most of the organic decoration, allowing it to be pieced together with various power armor parts. And the armor that was repainted with midnight and lightning looked a little too worn and dim against the shining golden sword. In addition, looking at it this way, Talos, wearing a bone-white skull mask and helmet, looked a bit like - "The rest of the ship." The remaining team of puppet emperor's lackeys and their navigators, bridge officers, etc. have been transferred and guarded first, and Valier is injecting anesthesia into them one by one."
"He is busy alone. Come here?"
"He is a very good pharmacist, my lord, and he has taken care of us for a long time."
"Indeed." The King of Night stood up from the throne, "Are you ready? Talos."
"Everything is at your will, my lord."
"Okay. Great, let's head to the bathroom of the Coronation!"
(*Do you have to take this damn hot bath?!)
"Long live Avedominusnox! Lord of the Night!”
(End of this chapter)