Josef slowly emerged from the house.
Stepping over the threshold of the open door, he suddenly felt a tremor.
He didn't know where this feeling came from, and he didn't even bother to grasp at the fleeting question. When the acid rain touched his skin, the burning pain made him forget everything else.
He walked through the slums. On the roadside, dying bodies stared at the night sky, and coughing could be heard incessantly. Every time he walked this path, Josef felt a suffocating melancholy.
Li had said that it was normal, as no one wanted to hear another's cough, especially the cough of those sick with black pneumonia. Once you see them cough up black dust with blood, you never forget it.
Memory is good, but Josef didn't want to remember such things.
He raised his head to avoid looking at them.
Chin up, he walked down the dark, foul-smelling street and reached the other end of the slums where Li lived. But, as he had expected, many had already come here before him.
Li's house had no door. In fact, he lived under a wall with a protruding cornice—that wall was his home.
Now it was covered in black symbols. Gaunt, spectral figures loomed in the darkness, staring at them.
Seeing this, Josef realized that he didn't need to push through the crowd to find Li.
At such a time, he was most likely not at home. The worker turned and went into an alley so narrow that he had to walk sideways.
Rough burrs on the metal sheathing scraped against his jacket, making a sharp sound. Josef swore mentally but paid it no particular attention and just kept going.
A few minutes later, he found Li in a small clearing. He was lying under a newly built canopy—a piece of scavenged plastic stretched over poles, and beneath it, a board propped up on something. Li was lying on it.
"Li," Josef called quietly. "Shall we go?"
"Tonight?"
Li opened his eyes and sat up. Several fresh bruises appeared on his dirty face.
Ever since he decided to pursue the shadow of that ghost, injuries had become commonplace for him. Sometimes he fell, not knowing the terrain, sometimes he was attacked by bandits—although "attacked" was not quite the right word, more like "chased away."
They treated the workers from the slums like machines. At the factory, a broken machine is also beaten. In their eyes, Li was just such a machine.
"And what about today?" Josef asked. He didn't understand what was special about this night. Li grinned.
He crawled out from under the plastic, picked up his "bed," and pulled out a dark red rag, wet from the rain, from underneath it. He held it up, unfolded it, and showed it to Josef.
"See?"
"What?"
"Look at this symbol," Li said. "The largest gang in the West City, see?"
Josef looked closely and finally noticed the symbol.
It was inconspicuous, only half of it visible. But Josef recognized it immediately. From the day he saw the flames on the ruins with his own eyes, he had come to Li every night, and they had gone out together in search of traces of the ghost.
In these days, they had seen many things they couldn't have imagined before.
For example, this symbol.
"'Blood Ravens'?" Josef asked, lowering his voice. "Where did you get that?"
"Took it from their corpses," Li grinned. "I went out today, Josef."
"Were you in their lair?"
"No. I found it on the roadside. They…"
Li pursed his lips.
"I don't know how to explain it to you, Josef, but today I really saw that ghost. And he wasn't alone."
His eyes gleamed, his speech was disjointed.
"There were many of them."
…
Justice.
Anrek had done this before. He had judged many who were mired in sin.
But, frankly, the sinners of Nostramo were the weakest of them.
They had no organized army, no weapons capable of burning the earth to ashes. They had almost nothing.
That was why Anrek couldn't understand.
They were the weakest, but also the most terrible.
"Captain of the Eighth Company," a voice said over the vox. "Are you not going to let the civilians watch the death of these scum?"
"Don't ask me, Tanglian. I am not your captain."
"You are the highest-ranking officer in Quintus."
"There are no ranks now."
"The Primarch said he is not going to revoke your ranks," Tanglian said.
"So, please, give me a precise answer and an order. Should we bring civilians from the slums to witness the death of these sinners?"
Anrek Barbatus paused before answering.
"No," he said dully. "There's no point. They won't understand now."
"Allow me to repeat, I didn't hear what you said."
"I am sure my communication system is working fine. So, yes, there's no need to bring them."
Anrek raised his head and almost sighed, saying, "The point of justice is for sinners to realize their sins, and for victims to see the triumph of justice. But do you think these sinners will repent? They will not change. And there is no justice on Nostramo."
"Aren't we justice?" Tanglian of the First Company asked quietly.
"We are not," Anrek replied. "We cannot represent justice."
"Then who are we, Captain Anrek?"
"We are judges. And that's all."
Anrek broke the connection. He turned, removed his helmet, and exposed his face to the dirty, foul air of Nostramo's Underhive.
He looked down silently. He saw his brothers leading the sinners to the place of execution and knew what would happen next. But would it change Nostramo?
Thus, a second question and deep anxiety were born in his soul.
Will we really be able to make the Primarch's homeworld better? We are only judges and executioners; we only know how to kill…
But killing had never truly solved problems.
Sighing, Anrek Barbatus put his helmet back on.
The night would be long.
He jumped off the tower and stepped into the darkness.
…
"How did they do?" Night Haunter hissed. He was clearly excited, his smile radiating pride and self-satisfaction.
"What do you think, how did they do?" Kariel asked in return with a slight smirk. "I am not the lord of the Eighth Legion, nor their Primarch."
"But I want to know your opinion," the Haunter said stubbornly and, switching to High Gothic, added a short phrase:
"As a partner."
He blinked, his eyes full of anticipation.
"So? How do you think they did?"
My opinion…
What opinion can I have, Haunter? What can I say other than praise? In one night, they accomplished what I couldn't do for so many years…
"This is just the beginning, Konrad," Kariel said calmly.
"The beginning?"
"Justice is only the first step," Kariel shook his head. "If you want Nostramo to change, justice alone will never be enough."
"Tonight, the Eighth Legion has almost completely exterminated the aristocrats in five hives of Nostramo, and the gangs will soon be just a concept wiped from the face of the earth. But what about the workers, Konrad? What will you do with them?"
Night Haunter smiled and answered Kariel's question almost impatiently.
"Feed and clothe them, teach them to read and write, turn the factories into normal workplaces. Change the environment, establish laws so they understand that crimes are punished… I've thought about all of this, Kariel. I've read Fulgrim's notes."
"And how are you going to do it?" Kariel asked calmly.
"Feed and clothe them?"
"Yes, that's your goal. But how are you going to do it?"
Looking into eyes craving praise, Kariel, in one of the rooms of the 'Night Haunter,' spoke icy words impassively.
Never before had he been so strict with Konrad Curze, so indifferent to his feelings, asking such sharp questions.
But now he had to.
This matter could not tolerate the slightest carelessness.
"How are you going to do it, Konrad Curze?" he asked. "Feed and clothe them—where will you start? Will you drive around the streets in a vehicle and shout through a loudspeaker that the aristocrats are dead and everyone can start a new life?"
"They won't understand, Konrad. They don't even know what a 'new life' is. In their perception, only big people from the Upper Hive ride in vehicles, so they will take you for a new aristocrat."
"I am not like that!" the Night Haunter suddenly roared, his hands clenching into fists.
"I know you are not. But do they know?"
"They will know!"
"No, they won't. Because you are an aristocrat."
"No!"
"You are not an aristocrat of Nostramo; you are an aristocrat of the Imperium of Man. You are one of the most noble people in this vast, galaxy-spanning empire. You are one of the Emperor's sons."
"And for these workers, you are a god. When you appear, how do you think they will look at you, a giant nearly three meters tall?"
Lowering his head, Night Haunter whispered in Nostramian in a trembling voice, "I am not a god."
Kariel, shaking his head, did not switch to Nostramian as before.
"Feed and clothe them, teach them to read and write… As whom will you do this, Konrad? And in what way?"
"The workers of Nostramo will not understand what a Primarch is, what the Eighth Legion is, and what stands behind it. They will see you only as a larger aristocrat leading a larger gang—and that's all."
"No… it's not like that, Kariel, it's not."
"It is, Konrad. And what's more…"
Kariel smirked coldly.
"They will go to great lengths to join this gang," he said softly. "This is the nature of Nostramans, shaped by their lives. You cannot change it."
"I can," the Night Haunter hissed. He raised his head and now looked at Kariel with hurt and disappointment.
And Kariel calmly met his gaze.
"You can?" Kariel asked, suppressing all emotion, almost indifferently.
"I can!" the Haunter shouted. "I can change them!"
"You can't. You are even speaking to me in Nostramian now… Look in the mirror, Konrad, look at your offended face."
"Your Legion has carried out your order, and you, after boarding the 'Night Haunter,' came to me first. Why did you come? To get my approval?"
"You ask me how they did… This is your Legion, Konrad; they have nothing to do with me, so you shouldn't have asked me about it at all."
Kariel looked at him calmly, reached out, and wiped two tears from the face of the dejected giant.
"You are the lord of the Eighth Legion," he whispered.
"Learn to think for yourself, learn to do everything your own way, as Konrad Curze. You can no longer be Night Haunter, do you understand?"
"But…"
Hiss.
"Speak in High Gothic. Remember what I told you before we boarded?"
Silence.
A moment later, Konrad Curze quietly replied in High Gothic:
"After boarding, do not speak in Nostramian."
"So, who are you now?"
"Konrad Curze."
"And you are the lord of the Eighth Legion," Kariel smiled slightly and ushered the pale giant out of the room. "Go, talk to your Legion."
Standing at the door, Konrad Curze pursed his lips.
"And you?" he asked quietly.
"I do not belong to your Legion."
"But you…"
"What me?"
"I have no position, Konrad," Kariel said calmly. "And I shouldn't. Would you allow an outsider to enter your Legion and become an officer? Don't do that, or you will offend everyone."
"Behind these ranks is advancement paid for in blood; it is proof of their honor. You cannot simply give this honor to me. I have done nothing for it."
Konrad Curze remained silent, not understanding how everything had turned out this way. The cold touch on his right wrist was still stable, trying to calm his heartbeat, but in vain.
"Then… what should I do?"
"Ask yourself, lord of the Eighth Legion," Kariel replied calmly.
He closed the door.
***
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