Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

After the Primarchs were seated again, the atmosphere in the conference room became somewhat different. From the surface alone, it seems that everything is peaceful. But therein lies the problem.

It's so peaceful.

They shouldn't have been so calm.

The Emperor was sitting on the throne, flipping through the heavy tome that Robert Guilliman had once again materialized. The Primarchs wondered what he was doing, but the Emperor simply said he was also curious about the mage's magic.

It is worth mentioning that the knowledge did not refuse him to read it, which made Magnus feel very puzzled.

"I'm glad to see that you all came back on time, because I have to finish this matter before 11:21:33 in the evening. I need this part of the energy to maintain the projection."

The center said so, and complained in a standard mechanical voice. Corax frowned, instinctively wanting to ask what it was going to do with the energy, but someone preempted it.

"You need energy?" Leman Russ asked.

"I need this energy."

The center spoke very quickly. "Don't get me wrong, my energy conversion channel is running at full power, so even if we don't get any supplements in the next five hundred years, I can still ensure the normal operation of the Vengeance by means that I can't explain clearly to you. run."

Sanguinius decided to open up another thing: "So, who's next? No, wait, is Rogue's chapter over? What's next?"

"It depends on Rogge Dorn's own wishes." The center said calmly.

"I'd rather have the next things alone, please send them to my personal terminal. I'll read everything tonight." Dawn replied blankly.

He didn't seem to want his brothers to know about the follow-up, that kind of resistance, even if he threw out that unwavering expression, could be clearly noticed by others. After receiving his answer, the primarchs fell silent again.

Who's next?

Leon El'jonson's eyes twinkled, and just as he was about to speak, an annoying (to him) voice sounded ahead of him.

"Looks like you've all learned your father's tricks—even I'm starting to wonder, is silence really that funny?"

It's Conrad Coates.

The Night Lord casually observed his nails. They were neatly trimmed, which was not like his previous style—the midnight spirit always needed nails as strong as alloy to tear flesh.

Unfortunately, he is now the Lord of the Night.

"Are you going to be next?" Fulgrim asked.

"No...I'm not that interested." Conrad Koz yawned. "I don't think it's going to do anything for me. I've been 'helped', thrown into another world, and been there for almost three hundred years... says Really, what more do I need?"

He raised the corners of his mouth, and his facial expression suddenly became happy again. This made many people secretly vigilant, and they all knew Conrad Koz's current character.

"But... I can't deny the possible help of these things to you just because I don't need them. What I mean is, why don't we give this opportunity to those who really need it?"

He looked at Mortarion, whose face under the bandage tightened, his throat rolled, and he wanted to speak, but Curze was a step ahead of him.

"Don't be shy, bro." Curz laughed. "I know you're interested in this."

"Don't guess what I think, you don't know anything about it."

Mortarion warned, his voice hoarse. The Emperor looked over, which made all his muscles tense, but, interestingly enough, Mortarion didn't even look at the Emperor.

"Really? Then why don't you refuse?"

Curz sat up happily, then left the chair, jumped slightly, and jumped onto the comfortable armchair. He squatted on it, spreading his hands, looking extremely frivolous: "If you don't want to see it, you can refuse it, Mortarion."

"..."

Mortarion sighed after a few seconds.

"Your mind is as narrow as before." He complained. "You said that you spent nearly three hundred years in that world, but I didn't see it at all."

"If you are free, you can come and participate in one of our simulation games, and then you will know. As for now... Dear Central, can you start playing? Our Mortarion is By default he wants to see it."

The Night Lord laughed out loud.

The center did not respond verbally to his words, but the projection started again.

-----------------

A tall man, wrapped in a cloak, was walking with difficulty among the mud. His weight made it difficult for him to walk, and the mud nearly touched his knees, but he was able to bear it all.

He was wearing a simple mask, and the little exposed skin was terribly pale. Especially those eyes, at first glance, gloomy and ominous, with deep-set eye sockets, like some kind of terrible monster.

But if you have the courage to look closely, you will find that the emotion in those eyes is actually the same as that of ordinary people.

Going into a little more detail—this giant with a scythe is longing to go home. Yes, this is the strongest desire in his eyes.

He was looking forward to this event, and this event gave him a moment of solace from his long days of trekking. He didn't want to leave his village so far, but the new monster was a terrible threat to the rest of the village.

Worse, it seemed to know it couldn't defeat him, so it kept running away.

It took the giant a while to catch up and kill it, which wasn't really difficult except for the chase. It can even be said that the ease surprised him a little, the beast was so fragile.

As for now, he really just wants to go back to the village, eat a simple meal, sleep well, and get up the next morning to do farm work.

It may seem absurd to say it, but he actually enjoyed doing farm work, which made him feel more alive than being forced to learn terrible knowledge in a cold fortress.

yes people.

He chewed the word, and a smile appeared on his face under the mask—it turns out, I'm human.

go home.

As he was approaching, he walked through a gloomy bush that seemed to be possessed by ghosts in the dark with a smile, and his eyes fell on a plain in the distance. There is his home, a newly established village.

No......

wait a minute.

He suddenly stopped in place, his face under the mask became dazed.

He did not see the walls of the village, the simple wooden walls were gone. It was made by himself, and there was a watchtower...it should have stood on the plain. He had looked back once before leaving, and there was nothing wrong with that.

what happened?

Just in time, there was a gust of wind. It was a pungent stench and a smell of death--a smell that the giant knew, all too well. He had seen many monsters with such a smell trying to kill him.

They can't.

But...the villagers are not him.

The giant started to run, very fast. The boots bound by the dried dirt could not slow him down, his cloak rattled behind him, and just running, his speed created a gust of wind out of thin air on the plain.

As he got closer, his superhuman senses began to pick up the messages more clearly. He began to smell more fetid, rotten, dark, twisted—he even began to hear small grunts, like dead men whispering.

Half a minute later, he stopped at the gate of the village, pulled off his mask, and revealed a ghostly face.

"No," he said.

What appeared before his eyes was ruins.

Walls have crumbled and watchtowers are crumbled logs. Behind the wall, the traps that had been set were filled with corpses of monsters. He set up these traps himself, and the villagers didn't know how to protect themselves.

Yes, they don't understand.

The giant slowly clenched the scythe in his hand. His self-taught way of holding it made the mortal thing not damaged, but it was held firmly because of his strength.

He walked in.

He walked through the remains and ashes of the flames under the night. Past crumbling houses, dried blood and scattered human limbs. Then, he stopped in front of a corpse that staggered to its feet. The eyes of the corpse were gleaming with witchcraft.

"Ulver," said the giant in a low voice.

He knows him.

He was the first to speak to the giant after he fled from the poison-clouded mountaintop. People, not monsters, or anything else.

people.

He was also the one who imparted all the knowledge after the giant tried to help them with the farm work. Farming is not complicated, Ulf said, it's just a matter of being careful.

It's nothing more than being careful.

There is nothing else to do, Mortarion, but the care of life, of seeds, of every soil from which a seed may be born.

The giant raised his hand and swung his scythe. The corpse that was rushing towards him was split in half in the blink of an eye, putrid ashes poured out of the body, and the light of witchcraft disappeared from his eyes.

He continued to move forward and saw the back of a woman wearing a dark red dress stained with blood. She was standing in front of the cowshed, her right hand was missing, and there was a horrible **** on her back, as if she had been pierced by something.

Please, don't turn your head away. he thinks.

The woman turned her head, and the light of witchcraft appeared in her eye sockets.

The Giant had been taught this in the fort on the top of the hill, and he knew a great deal of these dark and twisted things, so he knew that the woman was long dead.

Standing and moving in front of him now is a monster with a mad desire for the flesh and blood of the living.

But she was human.

Her name was Thurn, and she was the first to give food to the giant when he came to the village, a bowl of rough porridge, which to him was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten .

He didn't actually eat anything else.

The woman staggered towards him.

The giant closed his eyes, then opened them again. He didn't speak, and he had nothing to say. He waved his arms for her to rest in peace.

Then he moved on.

He passed ruined wheat fields, past warehouses burned by flames. He made the men lie down, the women to lie down, the children to lie down. He couldn't keep them alive, but at least he could let them enjoy peace after death.

After finishing all this, he dropped the scythe, and it fell to the ground with a clatter, reflecting the faint moonlight heavily. There was not a drop of blood on his cloak or clothes, only ashes.

Then, he heard crying.

-----------------

Mortarion held a short knife thoughtfully, but said nothing. The runes were no longer bright. In fact, it was a miracle that they were still on the knife.

The knife killed him.

He held it and stroked the blade with his left hand. He didn't speak, the bandage covered all his expressions, and the information revealed in the only exposed eye was completely unreadable.

No one can understand his current feelings. There is no real empathy in the world unless the mind is connected. The complexity of the human heart is beyond the reach of the most intelligent people. The truth of the world may be simpler than this.

"Another—or something slightly different," someone said softly. "Does that mean they're nothing like us?"

The speaker was Corus Corax.

Fulgrim answered his question: "Yes, just look at that man over there, he has no nails in his head."

Angron snorted coldly: "The person I know would not describe other people's appearance like this."

"I'm not calling you names, or belittling you."

"But you're comparing me to him — and I don't like that."

Fulgrim sighed. "Believe me, I don't like it either. There was a time when I only had to deal with Angron."

"...One day, I will pass this sentence on to him."

Phoenix smiled: "I wish you success."

"I must admit, I sympathize with his experience..." Robert Guilliman began softly. "But I still want to know what happened next, Center, can you not stop next time? I think we can finish it in one go."

"This is not your chapter ~www.novelmt.com ~Robert Guilliman. So, I understand why you feel you can take it. You are just a bystander, so you can look at this with a lighter mind. Pity, I remember your reaction when you heard about the great rebel Robert Guilliman."

"...I just want you to go on!"

"I just want to mention something that I will not forget. I hate intelligence, His Royal Highness the Regent of the Empire. By the way, your backlog of government affairs has reached a terrible level. Since the war is not over immediately, it is still wartime alert situation, I will still use various extensions to help you deal with it."

The mechanical sound of the center seemed to carry some terrible meaning: "...Of course, if you are willing to help unlock part of the computing power, that would be great."

Guilliman's silence said it all.

"Looks like you're not going to help me, which is a pity. Well, who told you to be Robert Guilliman? I'll go ahead, please stop pushing."

Vulcan couldn't help smiling, and got an incredulous gaze from Guilliman.

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