40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 658 40. Belated Judgment (Thirteen)

"Do you remember the legend of the lone knight?" Luther asked.

The warmth and light from the bonfire were invading his face, and the smile had long since disappeared. The firelight did not make him look healthier, and the old age and frost were still there, carving the stone.

Under their influence, every scar and every wrinkle was clearly visible. But the lion's main concern at the moment was no longer Luther's abnormal old age, but something else he had never seen on the old knight before.

"Yes," said Lion El'Jonson calmly.

He was hiding his thoughts at the moment, and he believed that Luther was too. They may have had hundreds of thousands of conversations, and similar situations like this have naturally occurred many times. Luther was probably covering up based on experience, but for the lion, this was a completely instinctive reaction.

Sometimes, he would find this matter a little ridiculous, but more often, he would just follow it silently, just like animals in nature following the law of natural selection.

But he didn't lie, of course he remembered - how could he forget?

The origin of the Order of the Lone Knight, protector of the defenseless.

While other knights, big and small, were busy building castles, taming civilians, and preparing for war, the Lone Knight chose to patrol outside his cave day and night. He did not ask for anything in return and protected the defenseless people equally.

It was he who endowed the Knights of Order with a unique spirit, which has been expanded into various virtues flowing through the Dark Angels today.

However, until now, no definite evidence has been found to prove that he really exists.

The academic community of Caliban has even reached a consensus - the Lone Knight does not actually exist. It is just an image invented by the Knights of Order at that time in order to show their own uniqueness.

Throughout history, this is not an uncommon thing. Everyone who first raises the flag will always become the most special person, either actively or passively, and then step by step become the flag itself.

Luther smiled.

"I still remember that I brought you some books that day."

He spoke slowly and relaxedly, as if he were chatting with the lion in a comfortable armchair. His words seemed to have a magical power, and they quickly made the lion see some pictures.

He saw a blond boy with his clothes crookedly on, and a knight in shining silver armor. The knight did not hold a sword, but a pile of heavy books.

At his urging, the boy reluctantly sat down at a desk, his eyes fixed on the knight's armor and the long sword at his waist. Obviously, he was more interested in these two things than reading.

The knight probably noticed this, so he took off his helmet and promised with a smile on his face -

"——As long as you finish reading these books, I will find you a sword, how about that?" Luther said softly.

The campfire crackled, the wood still howled, and the lion unconsciously clenched his teeth.

"I finished reading it." He also spoke slowly. "But you didn't keep that promise."

The old knight shook his head apologetically. "No, I didn't. You looked no more than ten years old at that time, Leon."

"Ten years old? I had just killed a seven-clawed warbeast when I met you!" Lion El'Jonson retorted sharply. "And you treat me like a child? You shouldn't give a child a sword, is that what you think? You broke your promise, Ser Luther!"

After a long moment, Luther let out a sigh.

"Never mind what you're accusing me of. We're getting off topic, Leon."

The lion was silent for a moment and nodded.

"Anyway, you finished reading those books. And for at least a week afterwards, you kept asking me about the Lone Knight. You were very interested in him, or you admired him - if you'll excuse my expression."

"That's true," the lion replied in a muffled voice. "Every knight's apprentice will do the same."

Luther seemed to want to smile, but he restrained himself and changed his tone to a gentler one.

"Yes, every apprentice is like this. We were all apprentices once. Everyone knows his legend, and everyone wants to be like him. I am no exception. When I was young, I even wanted to imitate his statue and buy myself a set of armor."

"But my mentor at the time, Esmir, told me that doing so was nonsense, because no one had ever seen the Lone Knight. He was just a legend. The existing books, statues and paintings in the Knights Templar are actually just our imagination and yearning for him, nothing more."

The lion patiently listened to his words, and then immediately asked: "So what? What is the connection between the legend of the lone knight and your experience?"

Luther did not answer the question, but continued to speak: "But I still want to be a hero like him."

His eyes were extremely complicated at this moment, and even a lion could not understand them. But this was enough, he really knew Luther too well, they had experienced too many things together, and they had an amazing tacit understanding with each other.
Luther's abnormal behavior at this time was enough to arouse suspicion. All kinds of speculations arose as his thoughts spread, passing through his mind like dense electric currents, and finally turned into irrational lightning, fiercely striking the dark giant tree that brought shadows.

Those chattering fruits suddenly shut up and could no longer make any sound. A raging fire began to burn in the lion's mind.

The giant beast that shouldn't have appeared, that small path, the old Luther and the dark and deserted cave. And the legend of the lone knight.

He looked at Luther in astonishment, but the old knight just lowered his head, immersed his face completely in the water of memories, allowing himself to be submerged, and then let out a slight sigh.

His voice became very soft and very vague, a sound that every old man would make when he recalled the past, and he was no exception. The pain slowly intertwined on his face, and then distorted in the firelight, becoming a mottled shadow.

After a moment, he finally raised his head and looked at the lion. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, to confide something.

The lion could see his hesitation, he understood that Luther wanted to tell everything but, for some reason, he didn't do it until the end.

He remained completely silent, which was also a kind of answer. The lion took a deep breath and hugged the lion sword in his arms without saying anything.
-
Zabril slowly pulled his power sword out of the body of the last demon and wiped the eyepiece.

The filthy blood slid down like sticky glue, and a lot of it still remained in the cracks of the steel structure, unwilling to leave, smearing his armor in a disgusting way.

Although Zabril was used to being stained with blood during battle, the situation at this moment was different. He could clearly feel that the power armor was becoming "slow", and the smooth feeling of the past was quietly disappearing without him noticing.
Even if he was dead, could he still cause trouble for him over such trivial matters?

Dark Angel tightly grasped the power sword and looked up at the glass tower. The flames on the top were still burning, but Serafax was nowhere to be seen. He felt something and immediately turned around alertly. Sure enough, the wizard was standing weakly behind him.

He looked completely different from the energetic and enthusiastic young man he used to be. Zabril didn't even know how to describe his feelings at the moment. It was probably a mixture of fear and disgust.

He stared at the wizard's pale face, then without any hesitation he drew out his bolter, raised the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Twelve explosive shells, packed with unquestionable cold murderous intent, rammed into Serafax's body frantically, failing to tear his flesh and blood or break his bones. Instead, they sank deeply into his body as if he had ingested a ball of gel.

Serafax's face was filled with pain. He took a deep breath, coughed and said, "You shouldn't be here, Zabril. Who is helping you?"

The Dark Angel looked at him coldly, threw down his bolter, and rushed towards him as a violent black shadow.

This charge was filled with anger, but the power sword failed to hit Serafax like the bomb, but was blocked by the light blue prismatic shield.

Silver liquid flowed from the corners of the wizard's mouth, but his eyes were fixed on Zabril's clenched hands, as if he could see the winged sword emblem through the tiny gap.

Zabril ignored it and simply put his left hand on the hilt of the sword, exerting more force.

Under the helmet, he was almost gritting his teeth. With a flash of golden light, Serafax's shield began to shatter bit by bit, and the entire prism was covered with cracks like glass about to break.

Behind the glass, Serafax's expression changed rapidly. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and he looked so terrified, as if he had walked out of an abstract painting. He flashed and disappeared without hesitation.

Zabril immediately raised his sword and became alert, and everything around him turned blood red.

The corpses of the civilians who had been slaughtered by the demons for their own pleasure were blooming in the soil like flowers, scarlet and dark red mixed together, rotten flesh and faded bones piled up and entangled with each other.

The tree trunks were full of eyeless heads, men and women, old and young, swaying slightly in the wind. The intestines used to hang them up instead of ropes seemed to be stretched to the extreme, as if they would break in the next second, spewing out filth and causing the heads to fall to the ground.
In such a hell, Zabril stood alone. He had no fear of these things, because the instigators had already been slaughtered by him.

Looking behind him, you will find a bloody road shining with light, with countless demon corpses lying on both sides of the road. Their miserable state is no less than that of the civilians.

"brother."

Serafax's voice came from far above his head. Zabril raised his head cautiously and glanced, but did not see the wizard.

He knew that the situation was moving in a direction that was not favorable to him, but there was no good way to reverse it. But Serafax didn't seem to have any hostility towards him, at least not now.

The wizard spoke slowly.

"You single-handedly killed all the demons I summoned."

"Although they are weak, they are not opponents that you can defeat alone. Moreover, you are completely immune to the magic here. I guess you don't know this at all, right?"

"You don't feel anything because those curse spells have no effect on you. This is not a power you should master, Zabril, do you understand? It is a complete mistake for you to come here, and you will die."

Zabril frowned behind his helmet.

He could sense a sadness in Serafax's voice that shouldn't have been there. The wizard seemed to be crazy, still thinking of himself as the knight captain of the past, about to regret witnessing the death of a battle brother.
"You're crazy." He made a simple judgment. "Come out and die."

"I will die. My death is inevitable. No one in the galaxy can save me from death. After all, I chose to jump into it. But you are different, Zabril. You shouldn't come here. You shouldn't."

Serafax's voice gradually faded away, and when it sounded again, it was filled with despair and rage, as if he was really crazy.

"He is helping you!" the wizard roared. "My inference was correct. He was really forced to sit on the throne!"

"For the love of Leon, Zabril, don't you understand? You are just an ordinary Astartes. You don't have the power to travel through time to come to the timeline I am in. You don't have the power to fight one against ten thousand. You have become a carrier of His power! It is He who is pushing, so He sent you here. Can't you feel it yourself?"

The wizard sobbed crazily, and Zabriel held the grenade at his waist with disgust, wondering whether he should blow up the glass tower.

"——Never mind, you just don't understand."

"I know what I'm doing," Zabril said. "And I know you're crazy."

Serafax laughed bitterly.

"I am afraid I must go mad, brother, and if you knew what I know, you would go mad too. Everything I have done has been to save Caliban, to save the Legion, the Primarch, and the Imperium. And yet, the Emperor sent you."

"He is the one driving all this. He has become a god, no different from those other evil gods. Everything he does is just to maintain his own existence. That's what gods are like."

Amid Zabril's silent rage, Serafax took a deep breath and whispered the last words softly from the forest thousands of meters away.

"The Emperor is dead, Zabril, and a God rules us now."

After these words, the glass tower shattered and collapsed, burying Zabril instantly, and Serafax disappeared into the depths of the forest.

He was not familiar with this forest, but it did not matter. The target had been locked, and he could clearly see the person he was looking for from dozens of kilometers away.
Or rather, a child. He was fast asleep, with a mane of blond hair.

(End of this chapter)