novelraw Chapter 67 The Gift
Chapter 67 The Gift
As Moriarty watched as Hel Kavis effortlessly dodged the swords swung by the training sergeant once again, he leaned down and punched the sergeant's wrist, knocking the longsword away.
He then swiftly unleashed a series of punches, delivering a rapid and powerful blow.
Under this incredibly fierce, relentless, and tireless attack, the servant's chest shattered, its flesh caved in, and its bones and steel emitted a series of teeth-grinding cracking sounds.
"The twelfth." Moriarty methodically wiped the parts of the bomb gun that had been removed with an oilcloth.
He slightly raised his eyes to count for Hel Kavis, whose battle had already ended.
This was the twelfth expensive training machine servant that Hel Kavis had destroyed in three days, and the Martian mechanical god technicians and technical sergeants accompanying him had already protested to him.
"Aren't you worried at all, Moriarty?" Her Kavis took a towel hanging nearby and draped it around his neck.
He breathed heavily, feeling both delighted and terrified by the Primarch's anger and the way out he was offered.
It seems that this irritable and gloomy company commander of the Eighth Company had nowhere to vent his frustration and could only release his panic and despair through his fists.
"I've already made up my mind," Moriarty said confidently.
As he spoke, he reassembled the bomb gun in his hand and performed meticulous maintenance and upkeep.
His hands were already covered with a thick layer of grease that smelled of engine oil.
"Tell me your conclusion, Moriarty." Her Calvis stepped out of the training cage, panting, his question tinged with a hint of secret expectation.
"It's been a long time since you've called me 'sir,' Hel Kavis," Moriarty teased.
"Sir," Hel Kavis replied bluntly.
This caught Moriarty off guard, and he glanced at the seemingly ordinary Hercules a couple more times.
This is the highest-ranking company commander in the Dalian legion.
"I thought you would get angry and say that we are already in the same grade."
"Stereotypical prejudice, Moriarty," Herkal Cavis said. "In fact, I've always had respect for you."
"Do you remember how many Terran years it was when we last spoke face-to-face, like we are now?"
Moriarty fell into thought.
"Thirty-nine years ago, sir," Hel Kavis replied directly.
"At that time, under the great guidance of the Emperor and His Highness Horus, we were divided into different expeditionary fleets and fought in various parts of the galaxy, along with our brothers in the Legion."
"I left your Dalian, received a promotion, and then left the Legion to fight alongside the Eighth Legion in the Star Sea."
"Some revered the Emperor, some worshipped Horus, and some were obsessed with the cultures of other Legions until the Primarch returned."
Hel Kavis slapped his thigh hard: "The legion has been able to regroup, and we can all feel the closeness and bond in our blood, which makes us even stronger."
"And now, the true master of the legion is questioning and expressing dissatisfaction with his warriors..."
Upon hearing this, even though Moriarty already had a conclusion in his mind, he couldn't help but start disassembling the weapon in his hands again, feeling the over-maintained parts slide in his hands.
Some people counted how many training servitudes Hel Calvis had destroyed, but no one counted how many times the stubborn Moriarty had disassembled his own weapons and carried out meticulous and methodical maintenance.
"The Lord of the Legion will surely forgive our dereliction of duty," Moriarty assured him. "Adjust your emotions; losing your composure is not a good thing. We all know that our Lord has already forgiven us."
"I know." Hel Kavis sat down dejectedly. "Since our lord has conveyed this to everyone through Paris, the decision has been made."
"But Moriarty, my heart is still in turmoil and I can't sit still for even a second. Even if the possibility is extremely small, I can't help but think about it."
"I can't help but feel afraid."
As he spoke, Hel Calvis got up from his seat, circled around in place, and finally walked to the training cage once again.
"We have to do something!" Her Carvis strode in.
"Combat Training Omega-9!" Her Kavis shouted. "Highest lethality level."
As his shout faded, a combat servant, extremely dangerous even to Astartes, was delivered to the ground beneath his feet.
It hums and starts up, giving challengers time to make final changes and regrets, as well as time to launch their attack.
Hel Kavis did not choose to launch an attack; his eyes were fixed on the sharp blades carried on the arms of the combat servant, as well as the sharp spikes and spinning daggers surrounding his body.
"Would you like me to hand you a sword?" Moriarty asked.
Hel Calvis did not respond.
He clenched his fists, intently watching the threat that was right in front of him.
Looking at this combat servitor, a thought appeared in his mind.
Seven days after the incident, the Spear of Sanctions had completely departed, and the Second Company Commander, Valentine, was urgently recalled from the surface of Iron Seven.
The order was given by Hector.
"Holmes," Valentine said uncertainly, holding a gift box in his hands, "Will my lord like it?"
"I think... I'm not sure," Holmes said after much hesitation.
The twenty large-scale company commanders from Dalian gathered together, making the originally spacious room feel cramped, but no one complained. Instead, they each found their old friends and discussed things in hushed tones.
Many of the company commanders in Dalian frequently cast grateful glances at Herkal Kavis.
They were all holding the same small box in their hands.
"There's no point in thinking about it so much." Moriarty stepped forward. "Do you have a better plan?"
The answer is no. The longing for the original at the genetic level makes these wise and powerful warriors incapable of rational thinking. They will always question whether the gift they give can be more perfect.
They waited anxiously until Hector emerged from his room for the first time, a cart covered by a pure black cloth behind him.
Paris carefully pushed it towards him.
The atmosphere, filled with unease and whispers, instantly fell silent, and all eyes turned to Hector.
He was as handsome as ever, with a serene face.
"Is everyone here?" Hector asked.
"I don't think anyone would choose to be absent at this time, brother." Paris breathed a sigh of relief after delivering the items, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
He glared at Paris until the latter dared not utter another witty remark.
Hector looked back at his company commanders.
"My son."
Two words brought smiles to the faces of the soldiers who were filled with anxiety.
Hector did not choose to use a speech, a suppression, or a strategy of first suppressing and then elevating to stir up everyone's emotions.
His voice was neither too low nor too high, just like the most ordinary conversation, dispelling the lingering suffocation and bringing them closer together.
"My lord."
The company commanders saluted in unison, respectfully punching each other in the chest.
Hector opened his mouth in response.
It wasn't because he lacked words that were pleasing enough to make each of his offspring feel honored.
On the contrary, decades of oratory experience allowed the Trojan king to instinctively launch into a grand speech without any preparation or script.
He could easily manipulate the hearts of those soldiers, promising them glory, rewards, and status.
But this time, Hector hesitated.
He turned to look at his younger brother, Paris, who was watching all this with great excitement, secretly regretting that he hadn't brought his camera.
He grew to love the Legion more and more, enjoying the atmosphere of mutual trust and the sense of glory within it.
This is far better than the luxurious and comfortable royal life, which is subject to constant constraints and supervision.
"Brother?" Paris felt Hector's gaze and instinctively shrank back.
Upon seeing Hector's calm yet slightly pleading gaze, and the sudden silence of the scene, Paris's manners, honed over years by the palace etiquette instructors, resurfaced perfectly.
"Commendations, sirs." He bowed respectfully to all the company commanders, showing no arrogance despite his status: "My brother, Lord of the Second Legion, King of Troy, Primarch of Dawn, Sovereign of the Realm of Irios, Liberator of Mortals, War..."
Paris spoke eloquently, and the company commanders nodded frequently, their eyes growing brighter. Meanwhile, the owners of the various titles mentioned in his words were already considering whether to order the royal etiquette instructor to be sent to the warship.
"He has prepared gifts for you."
"As a father, not as the leader of a legion."
Paris emphasized the last sentence loudly, then cast a fawning look at Hector.
The breathing in the room became heavy, and many company commanders looked at their colleagues with menacing and dangerous eyes.
"Everyone has it," Hector confirmed at the opportune moment.
When he finished speaking, the previously subtly confrontational gazes instantly became friendly. They subtly raised their wine glasses, smiled, and turned their heads back to look at the face of the father of genes.
Their father speaks less today, but he is more approachable.
No one wants to be less connected to the father of genes, and the bond between Paris and Hector is something they greatly admire.
Hector took the black cloth from Paris and lifted it forcefully, revealing a marble base and twenty-two ivory sculptures on it, which Hector himself had painted by hand.
Clad in armor and wielding their most proficient weapons, they stood in orderly rows, like a pyramid, protecting Hector at the top, who wore specially made power armor and held a protective shield and a spear of cleansing.
Everyone stared in fascination at this perfect masterpiece, their figures perfectly replicated according to the proportions of the real world.
"I can understand why Holmes is positioned so far forward, but why Bach?" A company commander from Dalian muttered to his friend in a jealous whisper.
"Hel Carvis, Moriarty, Holmes, Valentine, Bach, Azir Hall," a company commander silently called out the names of each of the second-tier company commanders.
They are the company commanders from the 8th, 9th, 1st, 2nd, 16th and 15th companies, respectively.
Holmes's position was several steps higher than the other company commanders, which seemed to be a kind of foreshadowing.
Many people waited with great joy and speculation, looking at Hector with anticipation.
The father of genes carefully removed the statue belonging to Paris from the base and handed it to his brother amidst his astonished gaze.
"Brother," Paris said absentmindedly. He knew what was under the black cloth, for it contained his advice.
But what Paris didn't expect was that the warrior beside Hector, who looked almost exactly like an ordinary dawn messenger, was himself.
"Of course, it's for you," Hector replied with a smile, making no attempt to hide his favoritism. "The helmet can be removed, but be careful."
Paris was overjoyed. He nodded and eagerly used two fingers to remove the helmet from the statue, revealing his own handsome face.
His eyes were also carefully colored, making his sky-blue pupils seem almost alive.
This made Paris love it, and the other company commanders waited anxiously. These tough guys who would kill aliens without batting an eye showed a bit of pity at this moment.
"Sherlock Holmes," Hector said.
Holmes straightened his back, striding forward with powerful steps as if in triumph, ignoring the murderous gaze directed at him from behind, and walked solemnly and seriously to Hector.
"My lord," he said.
Hector took Holmes's portion and asked, "I hope you will like my gift, Holmes."
"I will defend it as I would my own life, my lord," Holmes solemnly swore. "If it suffers damage or injustice, I will fight to the death with those who harm it, and only death will end it."
Upon hearing this, a very faint, inconspicuous smile appeared on Hector's face.
"Very well, I bear witness to your oath, Holmes. Never forget it," he said.
A resolute, resounding thud of a chest echoed back to Hector.
Next, Hector witnessed the oaths of all the company commanders, and even Paris couldn't resist taking an oath before Hector.
Attended by mortal servants and machine-wielders, Hector raised his goblet, ready to begin the second matter of the day.
He was about to call out the names of the six company commanders.
Valentine took out the hidden box and walked towards Hector, becoming the first of all the company commanders to reach Hector.
"What is it, my son?" Hector asked.
After a brief struggle on Valentine's grotesque cyborg face, he presented the box with both hands, making sure Hector could see it.
"My lord, we also have gifts to offer."
As soon as he finished speaking, the company commanders took out all the hidden gifts.
While the company commanders waited anxiously, Hector smiled and took the gift from Valentine's hands. His voice was not loud, but loud enough for everyone to hear: "Would you mind if I opened it here, my son?"
"This truly brings me joy. If I didn't know what was inside, my curiosity would have made it difficult for me to enjoy this rare feast."
At this point, Hector glanced at Paris out of the corner of his eye.
No wonder this lad advised me that the best gift I should prepare was a sculpted statue, Hector thought to himself.
"It is my honor, Father," Valentine said excitedly.
The boxes of the twenty company commanders were opened, and each of the statues depicted two figures: Hector standing and the company commander kneeling on one knee, holding a sword in both hands in submission.
"Father and child were of the same mind," Hector said proudly. "I am very pleased with this gift."
"Like you, I swear that they will never be harmed. I will fight to the last enemy who seeks to destroy them."