pertwk Chapter 70 The Narrator of the Dawn, a Call for Help
Chapter 70 The Narrator of the Dawn, a Call for Help
"Company Commander Hall requests that you revoke his membership in the Five Kings Council."
After speaking, Paris secretly glanced at Hector's expression, hoping not to see anything that would make him uneasy.
Upon hearing this, Hector walked toward the giant model of the Trojan palace and took down the newly made model of Azir Hall.
He gently pushed the model in his hand and said, "What kind of expression do you want to see on my face, Paris? Anger at being disobeyed, or cunning, or just plain indifferent?"
Hector smiled, knowing that his brother's expression at that moment was inevitably one of shame.
He could also guess how Azir Hall and most people felt.
They must also believe that they deliberately elevated Azir Hall, the First Prophet and the Fifteenth Company Commander, to this prestigious position, a position he had long been away from the battlefield.
This is to make everyone think they can replace him at any time, making way for others and promoting healthy competition within the legion.
"Human nature is complex," Hector smiled. "When I ordered Azir Hall to become a member of the Council of the Five Kings, I had already considered this possibility, thinking that you might think I was doing this to give everyone a visible goal to pursue."
“But Paris,” Hector shook his head, “is not so. I appointed him to the Council of the Five Kings solely because of his contributions to the Legion, his reason, and his wisdom.”
"This is precious, even though many soldiers think it's not important."
Paris was confused, but he roughly understood that Hector's appointment of Azir to a high position was not for some unspeakable purpose.
He asked, somewhat pleased, "So, will you maintain his position and reject his request?"
"No." Hector hummed softly, his mood ambiguous as to whether he was pleased or dissatisfied.
His voice carried both laughter and helplessness.
Under Paris's puzzled gaze, Hector sat back down in his chair.
"Why, brother?"
"Because this is his wish, and he has refused the Legion Lord's offer, I will remove him from his position as the commander of the Fifteenth Company and assign him to manage the mortal recorders from other planets, as well as to serve as the Dawn Narrator and the First Librarian of the Library."
"Shut up, Paris."
"He deserves it. What you need to do is not argue with me, but give the order."
"I think he would gladly agree."
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"This is what my brother said." Paris sat cross-legged opposite Azir, his spirit restless.
Clearly, he disagreed with his brother's idea.
"Thank you for your kindness, Father," Azir said softly.
His eyes, which had seemed dull and lacking in spirit, narrowed as he smiled.
"I don't understand what's so great about this!" Paris said, dissatisfied.
He stretched his arms out in the air, raised them in front of him, and looked on incredulously: "The Great Expedition has only just begun, Azir. Are you willing to let your name be forgotten by the world?"
"No one will remember a librarian, a storyteller."
"No," Azir shook his head. "A good author can also be remembered for generations. His works will be studied, learned, and remembered."
"The Legion needs a figure like this, and at the same time, to prevent the Legion's image from being distorted by those people."
"The power of language and writing is formidable."
Paris didn't understand, but he respected Azir's choice, raising one hand above his head and waving it lightly: "Whatever, whatever. What are we learning today?"
Azir shook his head: "I'm afraid that won't work."
"Why?" Paris asked.
"Because someone has arrived."
Just as the words were spoken, a mortal servant stood at the doorway, his hands clasped over his chest, waiting devoutly.
The room was filled with incense that was fragrant enough for Astartes, but to mortals it was like burning smoke, making the mortal almost uneasy.
In order to avoid being perceived as disrespectful by Prince Paris and Company Commander Azir.
The mortal forced his eyes open, his nose twitching in pain as he endured the blocked and itchy feeling in his throat.
"Lord Paris."
"Lord Azir."
His voice was incredibly hoarse from the incense, but while his words were clear, there were a few very soft coughs hidden beneath.
"Azir, I told you we should get a different one," Paris said.
He handed the mortal servant a handkerchief.
Although it's a handkerchief, it's enough to completely cover the area above the collarbone.
"It cannot be replaced," Azir said.
"What is it?" Paris shrugged, looking at the servant who was almost buried in his handkerchief, and asked.
The servant hurriedly raised his face, tears still glistening in the corners of his eyes, and a few bloodshot veins visible beneath them.
"The King requests your presence in the operations room."
"Only you."
Paris walked into the operations room, a machine gunner carrying a drink passed by him, and all nineteen Dalian company commanders turned to look at him as he stepped into the room.
These gazes were so intense that most people looked on with confusion and bewilderment, as if they were wondering why the person who had come in was Paris.
This feeling made Paris somewhat uncomfortable.
Perhaps that mortal had misremembered. Paris wondered to himself.
The person they're looking for is probably Fifteenth Company Commander Azir Hall, not Junior Sergeant Paris.
"Is everyone here?" Hector spoke up in front of the star map, relieving his brother from the awkward silence.
"My lord, Azir Hall is absent," Holmes said.
"He won't be coming again," Hector replied. "He is no longer a member of the Council of Five Kings, nor is he the commander of the Fifteenth Company. The commander of the Fifteenth Company will be his deputy, Anhor Kara."
This decision caused a huge uproar, stirring up the ambitions of many, while others wondered what had happened that led Hector to dismiss the other person from his post.
Hector took in everyone's restrained expressions: Bach's worry, Hel Kavis's betrayal-like anger, and the overflowing ambition and belligerence of the other Dalian company commanders.
Moriarty was somewhat uneasy. He wanted to ask a question, but received a warning look from Holmes.
"The Legion has received a distress signal," Hector said.
He gestured for the Star Speaker behind him to step forward.
It was a woman, her body thin and frail, her eyes hazy and gloomy, her body wrapped in a gray robe, looking as if she was about to die.
"My lord," she said.
"We have received a request for assistance from the 1782nd Expeditionary Fleet, commanded by Lord Oshel Wardmaker of Space Wolf."