40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 657 39. Belated Judgment (XII) (Resumed Daily Update)

The cave was dark, and the fire was burning. The firewood surrounded by stones in the center was crackling in the flames. The sound was pleasant, and the warmth and light it brought could soothe the body and mind - but if you think about it, the firewood itself might not be willing to make this contribution.

But they had no choice. When Luther picked them from the dark forest with his calloused hands, their fate of becoming firewood was already determined. They were destined to use everything, sacrifice everything, and illuminate the darkness with their own death.
And the crackling sound of burning that brings warmth and comfort is actually just the last words of the firewood as it howls and screams in the fire.

Seen from this angle, the bonfire is pretty chilling.

Lion El'Jonson stared at the horror with an indifferent expression, his armored hands resting on his knees, his lion sword resting tightly in his arms. His shadow was twisting and turning on the wall, and there were gusts of wind sounds like wailing coming from outside the cave.

He was familiar with this sound; he had heard it many times long ago when he wandered naked in the forest, seeking a quiet place to rest every night.

Thinking about it now, it almost sounded like Caliban was growling at him.

Get out! Get out of here!

The lion raised his head indifferently.

The light and dark cleverly cut his face. The artist in charge of this work was obviously not a very careful person. His work was clever, but it was completely without any harmony.
The lion's face is like a majestic territory, being fought over by two completely opposite forces that can be symbolized.

However, I'm afraid no one will care about this little discordant sound - he only needs to sit here to be a king. Moreover, he is a king who can be extremely brutal and powerful when necessary, and truly has unstoppable power.

But Luther said, "You are old."

He laid it out quite bluntly, and the cave seemed to be helping him. The rocks, having traveled thousands of years to get here, absorbed Luther's rough voice, improved it, chewed it, and spit it out again.

His voice turned into an eternal whisper between the stones, colliding continuously and telling the fact of "aging" that is difficult for most people to accept.

When they finally stopped echoing, the old knight's voice had become like the sparks that fly between two flints colliding.

The lion frowned and chose to remain silent.

Of course, he was aware of his own old age and did not want to argue about it any further - although there was surprise in Luther's voice, the meaning behind it naturally needed no further explanation.

How can you get old?
A hand reached out from behind him, holding a leather waterskin, mottled and scratched, the emblem of a winged sword gleaming on the edge of a screw cap that had faded to bronze.

It inevitably attracted the lion's attention. He glanced at it and then took the water bag, which represented good intentions. His movements were not polite and even had an inappropriate rudeness.

Luther laughed it off, and walked past the lion without a care in the world, slowly heading deeper into the cave. His destination was a pile of dry wood, and unlike the wood in the fire, it had not yet been chopped.

A not-so-big stone axe with a wooden handle was casually leaning against the wall nearby. Several animal skin backpacks were piled up in another corner. They were empty and sunken, and there was probably nothing left inside.

The lion withdrew his gaze and slowly unscrewed the cap of the water bag. His nostrils twitched as he concealed his exploration behavior by drinking water - he knew that he could not hide this from Luther, but it was an old habit after all.

Once people get old, it is difficult to change anything about them, whether it is their shortcomings or strengths.

He swallowed the cold water mouthful by mouthful. At the same time, the lion confirmed one thing from the smell lingering in the air: those animal skin backpacks were used by Luther to store food.

He judged that it was probably something easy to store, such as pickled meat. As long as the temperature and environment were right, the dried meat itself could even be preserved for several years.
Any wanderer living alone in the wilderness should learn this skill, but the Lion really wants to know what kind of circumstances could have reduced a man like Luther to having to rely on such basic and primitive things to survive?

He knew Luther very well. The former Grand Master of the Knights was a disabled version of Astartes, but he was also one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy. But the man who appeared in front of him now was really as embarrassed as a tramp.

The many speculations triggered by this thought gradually took root in his mind, and in a very short time, they turned into a towering tree full of fruits. Each fruit was telling something, thousands of different ideas, most of which were full of doubts.

The lion suppressed his emotions and drank another sip of water, only to see Luther holding the axe and actually starting to chop wood. He was very focused and efficient, like an experienced lumberjack.

Not only that, he even chose to do this work with his back to the lion. On a large flat rock, he crushed piece of dry wood into pieces.

Soon, the trees were dismembered into small pieces and scattered all over the ground at his feet, with wood chips flying around, like pale yellow or pale white splashes of blood. Seeing this, the lion finally decided not to remain silent anymore, as he had already received enough gold these days.

"I have something to ask you." He spoke in a deep voice, still maintaining the aristocratic reserve that was both necessary and unnecessary.

"What's the matter?" the old knight asked without turning his head.

"You have ever hunted the Eldar?"

Luther bent down, picked out a small piece of wood from the pile, and put it on the workbench with one hand. He was still working, but he did not choose to avoid the lion's question.

"Yes, is this what the Sigillite revealed to you?"

"No." The lion put down the water bag and placed it not far from the fire.

Luther groaned in understanding, raised his axe, and brought it down heavily.

"Then you took the initiative to find him. It seems that our Master Seal Holder, who has worked so hard for a long time and is destined to continue to work hard, did not abide by some of the rules and regulations that he should abide by as one of the founders of the Tribunal."

He put down his axe, turned around and smiled, walked back to the fire, and sat down beside the lion without hesitation.

"What did he show you?"

"Your hunting records," the lion said. "I am particularly interested in those targeting the Eldar."

Luther seemed indifferent to the word "hunt" that was bitten very hard, and just continued to ask questions.

"why?"

The lion lowered his head and sneered. The light and darkness changed again, and his deep green eyes reflected two balls of blazing flames, the light was dazzling, like the light blue flames gushing out of the engine of a spaceship, enough to burn people's eye membranes.
Luther stared at them and gave them a perfectly calm smile.

"If you don't give me a reason, Leon..." The old knight shrugged. "I'm afraid I can only express my complete helplessness in answering your question."

The lion frowned and threw aside his reserve. He did not let his temper control him, nor did he let his past habits with Luther affect him at the moment. Lion El'Jonson asked back calmly.

"Do you need a reason for this?"

The old knight smiled gently.

"Everyone needs a reason to do anything, Leon, even those scum and thugs who can pull a bloody baby out of its mother's belly for a little money are no exception."

"What can money buy such depraved beasts? Nothing more than food, clothing, and the collision of pills, hallucinogens, and physical pleasures. So, if the lowest evil of our species still needs reasons to act, a noble lord like you will have more reasons."

The lion narrowed his eyes again.

"I want to know." He finally responded, though there was an obvious threat in his voice. "Here's the reason."

Luther smiled, treating his threat as a breeze blowing on his face: "This reason is not enough for me to violate some of the principles I must abide by, Leon. These are all I have left."

The second half of his words made the lion silent for a full half minute. After a long while, he finally spoke again.

"What have you been through?"

The old knight's face did not change at all. His smile was solidified. His face looked like a piece of rock that had existed for eternity, cold and rough. However, his answer truly made the lion feel annoyed for the first time in a long time.

"That's already your second question, Leon. I haven't answered the first one yet."

"Let those damned Eldar die, they deserve to die anyway." The lion said coldly. "Now tell me what you have been through, what time is it here, and why you are here. I want to know everything, Luther, I don't have the time and energy to waste on riddles with you anymore."

He raised his left hand, placed it on the scabbard of the Lion Sword, and growled quietly.

"I have someone else to kill."

Luther looked at him steadily for a few seconds, then nodded.

"Well, since you want to know, I'll start from the beginning."
-
The moment he stepped into the portal, Zabril felt an unspeakable shudder for the first time in a long time. He was no stranger to this feeling that surged from the depths of his bones and quickly spread. The Dark Angel's heart sank, and he realized that he had stepped into the subspace.

He didn't want to think about why this was possible, he didn't care about the fascinating and tempting secrets of reasons, causes or conditions. He had a mission, although the mission was vague, but he had made up his mind.
Zabril will do everything in his power to ensure that this mission is accomplished.

And now, he needs to think about a new problem.

Where is he?

Well, first of all, look around.

The analysis function built into the eyepiece told him a series of complex data including the air humidity. He used his instinct tempered by war to disassemble it all in just half a second, and then swallowed it in one gulp, like a man-eating monster that had not seen the taste of blood for a long time.

A familiar feeling was slowly coming upon him, causing him to instinctively grasp his sword.

A lush forest came into his sight, as well as an open space filled with evil things. Twisted monsters of indescribable shapes were having fun among countless corpses.

These corpses were all wearing what Zabril thought were very simple clothes. Long before he joined the Knights, the Calibans had stopped dressing like that.

A glass altar stood tall like a sword in the deepest part of hell, reflecting the dazzling sunlight, and flames that switched back and forth between brilliant and deep blue were burning at the top of the tower.

The forest thus surrendered and became a loyal slave, blowing the wind for its power, and the demons shouted a name under it like its subjects.
Serafax.

Zabril looked up and saw a familiar figure.

The man seemed to sense something and actually lowered his head to look at him. Then he stretched out his left hand towards him and made an ancient tactical gesture that was only used between Dark Angels.

It means: come to me.

Without a word, Zabriel drew his sword and strode into the group of demons.

This was undoubtedly an act of suicide. Any soldier with a clear mind and who had not received relevant orders would not make such a choice - to charge alone towards an enemy force that was hundreds of times larger than his own?

This was no longer something that could be described as courage or stupidity, only madness. But Zabril was sure that he was not crazy. On the contrary, he was now more sober than ever before.

The Primarch, the Legion... these precious things that he had lost and longed for for a long time were back, so he would never deliberately seek self-destruction in order to find relief as he did in the past.

But at this moment, how could he dare to face these hungry demons? What could he rely on?
The answer will be revealed at the edge of the sword.

The first demon that died at Zabril's hands was short in stature. Before the power sword completely chopped it into pieces, it was hunched over, with its four claws on the ground, running towards the dark angel.

Its claws are sharp, its desires are insatiable, the flesh and blood of mortals are not enough to soothe its mad body and mind, and the memories hidden in mortals' minds are not enough to quench its thirst.
But this hybrid could, it was so convinced.

This foolish, insane creature, born as an eternal slave from the evil star beneath its feet, would satisfy its hunger, but it did not. Zabril killed it easily, and the brilliant golden light bloomed without reservation under the point of the sword.

A winged sword emblem was held tightly in his palm.

The demons changed color. At the top of the glass tower, the wizard sighed without surprise. His voice floated down the wind and quietly drifted to the ears of the dark angel.

"Whatever you were trying to do, I'm afraid it's too late, my brother."

"For the Emperor and the Lion!" Zabril roared and charged with his sword raised.

Under his sword, the situation quietly reversed, but the flames on the glass spire never dimmed. It burned, pouring the power of an unspeakable evil god deep into the crust of Caliban.
There was one interesting thing, though Zabril didn't know it. In the 'now' he was in, Lion El'Jonson had not yet appeared on Caliban. Or rather, he had already appeared, but no one had discovered him yet.

(End of this chapter)