40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 192 17. Melted Steel (5)

"Are you trying to persuade me to arrange another private meeting between you and our Primarch?"

"Exactly."

"You know how much this request sounds to me." Fricks pursed his lips. ".Is it scary?"

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Captain Fricks." Khalil lowered his head slowly and withdrew his right hand. "But, like I said, we still have a war to fight."

"What exactly do you want to say?"

"I mean, I don't think we should spend our time waiting for your primarch to wake up and hope that he can mentally prepare himself and rejoin the war. Of course, I'm speaking hopefully. "Based on what you know about Perturabo, what do you think is the first thing he will do when he wakes up?"

The city breaker's lips trembled.

He sadly speculated in his mind that there were many results born out of the joint operation of his extraordinary mind and intelligence, and the final result was devastating to him.

He found that he had no way to refute Khalil Lohars's hints and his "hopeful" statements.

The one thing Perturabo is most likely to do after waking up is definitely not to drop everything and continue to regain Cordibo. Frix himself did not know what his primarch would do, but he knew well what he would not do.

It is true that it is not impossible to drop everything and join the war again, but the possibility is just outrageously low.

"...I understand." Fricks lowered his head, feeling extremely ashamed of his performance today.

He was almost in tears - he was a member of the Trident Council, he should have advised and stopped his Primarch, but he didn't. He doesn't even qualify as a failure because he didn't even try.

Moreover, it was clear to Fricks why he foolishly and stubbornly asked Van Cleef, an outsider, to join him in making suggestions.

Because he is afraid.

He knew that his primarch might attack him in anger, or inflict punishment on him - Frix did not care about these things, he was not even afraid of death, but he was afraid of disappointing Perturabo.

And this is the most important thing.

He didn't dare go because he knew Perturabo would be disappointed in him. Perturabo would roar at him so that he would never again be able to speak proudly of being a member of the Iron Warriors.

This is the source of Fricks' shame.

"Captain Fricks."

The city breaker raised his head in confusion, a surge of anger rising in his heart for no reason - why are you still here? And why do you say my name in a calm tone?

I have told you that I understand that Perturabo will definitely punish me for letting you enter the ward, but I will not back down anymore. I have suffered enough shame today!

"Thank you," Khalil said gently. "But you won't be punished in any way."

He looked away and looked at the surveillance screen. Lying on the hospital bed and instruments, still in a coma, Perturabo closed his eyes tightly. There was no one in the ward except him.

"What?" Fricks asked confused. "No, wait, what did you say?"

"Unless he is really hopeless." Khalil looked away and smiled, and the smile disappeared briefly.

——

Perturabo was dreaming.

In the dream, he returned to Olympia. He does his favorite work in his study.

His study was a loft, and it was anything but comfortable. Throughout the year, there are not many days with pleasant temperatures here. But Perturabo didn't care about this. He would carry out his work here regardless of the cold or heat.

He writes his thesis here. Mathematics, astronomy, architecture, history.

You might even find a dozen essays on literature here. He also does urban planning here, making machines with fantastic ideas and stunning designs.

He made them and then destroyed them.

Very few things survived the study and passed down, and Perturabo was not stingy about sharing his knowledge, but he stopped doing so after a few attempts.

The wise men in Olympia were completely unable to understand his design, and even showed fear. Several people also advertised in newspapers that his knowledge was 'cursed'.

Perturabo didn't need to think too much to understand what these people were thinking. They are just worried that the status they have spent half their life earning will be overturned because of a paper or a design drawing.

Remembering the past was a strange thing for Perturabo, who missed almost nothing about Olympia except Calliphon.

However, if the criterion of useless nostalgia is relaxed, then he actually thought of his insignificant adoptive father a few times.

Perturabo lost himself in these memories, trying to ignore what he had felt before falling into coma. But his perception would not let him fall into a peaceful sleep so easily. This had been proven by countless nights in his past life.

At the slightest sign of trouble, Perturabo would wake up immediately, and this time was no exception.

He opened his eyes suddenly and saw a black and white skeleton. Compared with the previous black and white, it has changed a bit. The armor seemed alive and constantly changing.

And Perturabo didn't care.

He coldly pulled off the needles and instruments on his body, ignoring the pain in his fingers and ribs, and forced himself to stand up little by little, standing straight.

"What are you doing here?" asked Perturabo in disgust. "Come and laugh at me a second time?"

"I suggest you sit down and talk," Khalil replied quietly, showing no emotion at Perturabo's tone or his words.

"Why?"

"Sit down, Perturabo," Khalil said, raising his eyes. "I don't like to use violence to force others, but if I have no choice, I will use worse means than violence."

Perturabo sneered and raised his hands, his fingers wrapped in thick bandages and fixation plates. Apparently, Khalil didn't just bend his fingers. "You mean this method?"

"No," Khalil said. "I can sing."

Perturabo's sneer turned into shock at a certain moment, and then anger and shame returned. They mingled together, distorting his features. He opened his mouth and made a sound from his throat. The anger he had prepared long ago was about to burst out.

Khalil sighed softly.

"-Shut up." He rubbed his brows and interrupted Perturabo before he could.

This was new to him, but he was not happy about it. Perturabo was stunned again, but not because his words were interrupted, but because of a golden eagle that was thrown at him.

Although his hand was injured, Perturabo still grabbed it before it fell to the ground. After three seconds of looking at it, the son of Olympia raised his head with an ugly expression.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asked.

"Your tone should be more respectful," Khalil replied deadpan. "I don't think the tone you're using right now is appropriate."

Perturabo clenched his right hand violently, the fixing plate shattered in an instant, and the bones of his fingers still creaked. The golden eagle stayed quietly in the palm of his hand without any deformation.

After a few seconds, Perturabo spoke again.

". Dear Khalil Lohars." He squeezed out these words through his teeth. "Is this enough?"

"That's enough for you." Khalil nodded noncommittally. "If it were someone else, maybe I would have higher demands. But, for you, I think this is enough."

"Not enough!" Perturabo growled and threw the Skyhawk back. He stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly. A few seconds later, he forced himself into a twisted smile.

His eyes were wide and unblinking. He lifted his cheeks upward, forcing the corners of his mouth to curve. This action caused the wound at the corner of his mouth to open again, and blood gushed out, but he himself didn't care.

He smiled without any trace of laughter or kindness.

"Is this enough?!"

"You don't have to push yourself like this, Perturabo." Khalil narrowed his eyes. "I'm not here to humiliate you or make you look bad. I'm here for the recovery of Cordibo. Whether you believe it or not, this is my true purpose."

"Yes, of course you can say that." Perturabo threw a sentence from his throat. "After all, you've already humiliated me."

"You brought it on yourself," Khalil replied calmly. "And my patience has its limits, Perturabo."

He slowly took a step forward, stretched out his right hand, and placed it steadily in the air. The fingers are straight and slightly bent. Perturabo saw at a glance what the gesture meant, and his cheek began to twitch again.

"What do you mean?" He took a deep breath and asked in a voice as low as steel.

"This gesture is called a handshake," Khalil said. "But I don't want to shake your hand, I only do it with those I respect. I do it because I have something to show you. I am a psyker, dear Petula Bo.”

"Don't call me with that prefix!"

"The great Perturabo."

"enough!"

The son of Olympia bared his teeth and took a step forward. Regardless of the injury to his fingers, he grasped Khalil's cold right hand.

He used a lot of force, and if it were an ordinary thing, it would probably have begun to distort by now, but Khalil was so calm as if nothing happened, and even smiled.

It seems that some purpose has been achieved.

There is one more chapter.