After talking about the original body, the stone room fell into dead silence again, with only the occasional crackle of the oil lamp and the groan of the being bound by the iron rope.
Finally, it was Savita who broke the silence.
"Getting back to the subject, although the original body is dead, his ability to predict has continued in the legion's bloodline with a very low probability. For example, I only partially inherited the ability of the original body, but that is far from being called a prediction, it is just a prophecy.
Just let me be one step ahead in the battle."
Then, he raised his hand, and the chain in mid-air lowered as if alive, sending the grimoire into his hand.
"I promised you that I would find a prophet for you."
As he said that, he actually opened the grimoire.
Soshyan glanced over, only to find that there was nothing inside.
"The prophet is the only person who has completely inherited the ability of the original body, but he also inherited the pain caused by that prophecy. You have to be mentally prepared, that guy may not be so easy to talk to... but at least he is not rigid."
"he?"
Soshyan blinked.
"Where and when can we find him?"
"I don't know either. I just interfered with his prediction and led him here. As for when... you have to ask the subspace."
With that said, Sevita handed the grimoire to Soshyan.
"It's no use to me now."
Soshyan was stunned for a moment, and then took the grimoire. For a moment, he felt that the heavy book in his hand was like a beating heart.
There was also an iron lock engraved with a secret seal tied to it. Soshyan wanted to untie it and check the inside carefully, but Sevatar immediately stopped him.
"Don't do it unless you plan on using it now."
"use it?"
Soshyan stopped what he was doing.
"Is it possible that you plan to throw it somewhere casually?"
"But... maybe it should be handed over to the Inquisition."
"Do not be silly."
Sevatar waved his hand, as if to ward off flies or some stupid idea.
"You think the Inquisition will find a place to bury it? Let me tell you, they may hide it for a while, but they will eventually use this thing, and they will let it slip away without any surprise."
"Slip away."
Soshyan lowered his head and glanced at the grimoire.
"You mean, it will run on its own?"
"Nonsense, it is conscious. Part of the guy you killed is still inside, and it is ready to escape at any time."
"But here..."
"It can't escape from your place."
Savita was losing his patience.
"Believe me, there is no place in the galaxy more suitable to preserve it than around you."
Soshyan was silent for a moment, then carefully hung the grimoire around his waist and stuffed it under his burqa.
"Remember, if you plan to use it, you must stay as far away from your friendly forces as possible, especially mortals, and it is best to cooperate with the power of your gray marrow."
"What does it do?"
"Its song, that deadly sound, you only need to command it to sing after you unchain it. It cannot disobey your request because it is afraid of being destroyed."
"Can I destroy it?"
Sosh raised his eyebrows.
"Don't think about it now, there may be an opportunity in the future, not to mention such a powerful weapon, it would be a pity to destroy it... When necessary, you can hand it over to a trustworthy psyker, and it will become an enemy of all
nightmare."
"I wouldn't do something so dangerous."
Soshyan shook his head, not interested in Sevita's proposal.
"What's its name."
"The Movement of Malavia."
Nodding thoughtfully, Soshyan stood up immediately.
"Is there anything else?"
"temporarily unavailable."
"There will be a triumphal banquet later. You can come to it too."
The Prince of Crows snorted but didn't reply.
Soshyan was already used to the other party's attitude, so he turned around and walked out the door.
But after walking a few steps, he suddenly stopped, turned around and asked:
"I almost forgot, who is the prophet?"
"His name is Talos Valcolan, he is known as the Soul Hunter. He was once an apothecary and later a sergeant of the Tenth Company's First Talon."
"Talos..."
Soshyan carved this name into his mind, and at the same time imagined, what kind of traitor is this?
"Taros!"
Marcushen said loudly:
"You shouldn't change course suddenly."
Talos opened and closed his fist, and the smooth servo system immediately produced a soft ensemble.
"What on earth shouldn't I do?"
he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"No one respects a weak leader. You are too considerate and too introspective. They take your words as a joke, but that makes up for it... Believe me, brother, no one in the Talon will do it just for the sake of it."
You pursue your soul's desires and plunge headlong into the unknown void."
Talos nodded, agreeing easily as he inspected his collection of Imperial emblems.
"So, their only purpose of fighting is to spread terror among the crowd, isn't it? These shallow and useless souls have no deeper emotions."
First Talon looked at his leader in silence for a moment.
"What's wrong with you?"
Makuchen asked softly:
"What pain has enveloped you these nights since Charles died? You said this before you fell into a long dream, and it was twice as bad when you woke up. You can't scream into the air."
The prophet sighed and turned to play with the winged golden sword.
"I'm just tired of escaping. I want to win it. I also want to know the meaning of fighting for it."
"What is it? What nonsense are you talking about?"
"We have to get better, we have to change and evolve, there is no value in stagnation."
"You sound like Reuven who hasn't left us yet."
The prophet's lips curved into a sarcastic sneer.
"I have been suffering from this pain for a long time. The only difference is that I am talking about it now! I have no regrets. Talking about these shortcomings is like opening a cyst. I feel the venom flowing from my body and let it go. Our lives are sinless, but we are meant to fight the war and spread the fear in the name of my father to which we all swore.
Ma Kuchen did not hide the confusion on his pale face.
"Are you crazy? How many in the Legion would heed the long-standing boasts of the mad Primarch?"
"I'm not saying the Legion would heed these words."
Talos narrowed his eyes.
"I'm saying we should be aware that if we do this, our lives will be more valuable."
"The Legion's teachings were taught, and they were proven when he died. What still makes sense now is to survive as best we can, and then wait for the day when the Empire falls."
"When will it fall? And then?"
Markusen looked at Talos for a while and shrugged.
"Who cares?"
"No, that's not enough, not enough for me."
Suddenly, the prophet's muscles tensed as he gritted his teeth.
This detail was immediately captured by Serion who was silent on the side.
"Calm down, brother!"
Talos's body suddenly leaned forward, and Selion and Markusen immediately rushed forward to hug him.
"That's not enough!"
"Talos..."
Cerion paused for a moment, intending to stretch out his hands to drag the prophet back.
Marcusen watched all this with wide eyes, unsure whether to grab his weapon.
Talos was still focused on throwing his brothers away, fire dancing in his black eyes.
"Not enough! We are burdened with so many centuries of senseless sin and endless failure! The Legion was poisoned, we sacrificed the world to cleanse it, but we too failed! We are the only Legion hated by our own Primarch !Here we failed again! We swore revenge on the Empire, but we escaped every battle in which we did not have the upper hand! We failed again and again! Even once, you tried your best without the hope of escape. Have you fought? Have any of us? Have you ever drawn your weapons since the siege of Terra with the belief that you might die?"
Suddenly, Talos's body softened and he slumped back onto the chair again.
"No, never..."
Just as he was mumbling to himself, the alarm bell suddenly sounded on the bridge.
"Emergency report! A warship with unknown signal is approaching!"