40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 661 43. Belated Judgment (Sixteen, three chapters in one)

In Zabril's memory, the Oduruk Fortress Monastery was a magnificent and solemn building.

The flags of the Dark Angels' various companies and expeditionary fleets hung across the ceiling of the entire first floor hall. These battle flags were not just decorative replicas, but real bloody evidence brought back from the battlefield.

The blood of enemies and brothers in battle soaks each flag, and the damage caused by bullets or bombings still remains on their surface. Without any repair, they hang above everyone's head. Under these flags, the new recruits of the Dark Angels will listen to the teachings and experience of their predecessors, and learn the price of victory and the meaning of honor.
For this reason, the newly born Caliban Dark Angels regard this place as a place of supreme glory. Although the Terran veterans have different opinions, they do agree with the view on honor.

But all of this was gone. It was funny that he was clearly in the 'past', but he had no way of connecting the fortress monastery in his memory with the one in front of him.

The bright lights, the luxurious pure marble floor, and even the floor-to-ceiling windows inlaid with gold set off a wave of crimson waves, the ripples spread, and a heart-pounding and rapid light was reflected on Lion El'Jonson's face.

The young Primarch stood calmly, waiting for Zabril's answer in this primitive version of the monastery.

How to answer?

Behind the eyepiece, Zabril glanced at Midris, who was looking at him with a little doubt, which was good, after all, it was just doubt now, but there was only a thin wall between doubt and suspicion, and he couldn't let it continue to develop.

"Zabriel." He bowed slightly, raised his hands, crossed them in front of his chest, and simply introduced himself. "Skeleton Sky Army."

Midris's brow relaxed slightly, and the suspicion that was still brewing dissipated, but the doubts still remained. Zabril even knew what he wanted to ask - how could a skeleton soldier be here? Your main force should still be fighting on the other side of the galaxy.
Fortunately, Midris did not get the chance to ask the question. The young Primarch nodded slightly and hurried away. They obviously had more important things to deal with. Zabril could not help but feel a little relieved.

If the Primarch was a few years older, no, if Lion El'Jonson was even given a few more months to familiarize himself with the specific structure of the First Legion, he would definitely notice the subtle suspicious things about Zabril.

The Dark Angels themselves could even casually point out two doubts. One was that the armor itself was too simple, lacking the complex markings and emblems that a Skeleton Army should have. The other was that a Skeleton Army should not appear on Caliban at this point in time.

If he was a member of the Fire Sky Army, such a solo action might be justified, but he was not one of those deadly infiltrators.
Zabril turned slightly and watched the Primarch walk away before continuing deeper into the monastery.

There were not many soldiers of the First Legion inside this ancient brick and stone building, and they did not go deep into it like Zabril did, which made his actions quite convenient.

It is difficult for a mortal to detect what is lurking in the darkness, especially for an experienced veteran of the First Legion.
Although Zabril didn't dare to say that he possessed the stealth skills of the Nightblades or Raven Guards, if he couldn't move freely in such an environment, he might as well find a rock to hit his head against and die, and he had to erase his identity as a Dark Angel before he died.

It took Zabril ten minutes to figure out the structure of the entire monastery. There were six floors in total, and seven floors if the basement was included. During the day, he had already measured the specific height and width of the building through the eyepiece. Now, combined with the on-site visit, he did not spend much effort to infer that there must be many dark rooms in the monastery.

Three minutes after coming to this conclusion, Zabril found the first one. It was located in the east corridor of the second floor, and he only needed to push open a door that was just right for the secret.

He saw a collection of private books here, some of them sensual, vulgar and boring, others were collections of poetry by unknown authors, but the very material of the books made Zabril want to set them on fire.

But he didn't do that in the end. He just tore up the particularly disgusting leather-covered books and threw them in the middle of the room before leaving.

I think it would be quite interesting to see this messy look when the owner comes back.

In the next ten minutes, he visited eight new dark rooms in succession. Only one of them was a quiet place for retreat, and the owner probably just used it as a meditation room.

The other seven were either filled with contraband like the first one, or filled with moonshine that was obtained from who knows where. Apparently, not every member of the Order of Order was as strict as they usually appeared to be.
Small slaps. Zabril frowned. He hadn't expected to find evidence of treason directly, but these were no reason to go to such great lengths.

The Dark Angel stopped and dodged two drunken servants in the dark. After they were far away, he stepped onto the stairs and walked towards the top floor of the monastery.

The noise outside was bustling, but it became quite faint here. After being transmitted through the layered spaces inside the monastery, the sounds became quite hollow and strange.

Zabril listened attentively for a few seconds and deduced that the party was about to end. Tomorrow's celebration was the highlight, and people could not party all night.
He realized he had to go faster.

With his own urging in mind, Zabril quickly reached the top floor of the monastery and began to check the suspicious places one by one, with amazing efficiency. However, in just five minutes, there were four more dark rooms.

A meeting place and three private storage rooms filled with paintings, gold, silver and jewelry. Judging from the flags hanging on the walls, these three private storage rooms probably belonged to the same person.

Zabril couldn't help feeling a little annoyed. He checked layer by layer, but only found these disciplinary issues that were completely useless to him.

Fortunately, there was one last suspicious location in front of him - a council hall on the top floor. Judging from the solemnity of its layout and decoration, this should be the meeting place for the Rioduru knights on weekdays.

Zabril walked half a circle around the hall and found the stone slab with an odd horizontal line to the right rear of the podium without much effort.

He reached out and lifted it up, and saw a huge hole, with darkness spreading underneath and a spiral brick staircase leading down. There was no smell of dust in the air, so this place must have been used frequently. Waves of small conversations floated up and reached Zabril's ears.

He narrowed his eyes, took two steps at a time, and soon reached the bottom of the stairs. A one-way street appeared in front of him, and at the end of the road was a lighted room without a door. Some people wearing white robes and hoods were talking to each other inside.

The Dark Angel only listened to a few words before drawing his combat dagger.

".I am afraid we must make a choice, gentlemen. We have no choice. The Empire will take Caliban from us. I am not exaggerating. The signs are already there, aren't they?"

"You said it was okay, brother. Now everyone is talking about the Imperium and those so-called Astartes monsters, ungrateful bastards, and they suddenly forget how long we have protected them."

"Those Terrans said Caliban was a colony? Bullshit! Caliban is Caliban. I've lived for most of my life and never heard of any bullshit Terra! They even plan to let those damn farmers participate in the war. Have you seen those auxiliary military camps they set up?"

"I have a different opinion on this, Brother Ridley. Although I am standing here, this does not mean that I agree with your Knights' theory of war bloodline. Time has proved that we are right. War is not a game for nobles, but a sacred and glorious cause. Any brave person can participate."

The man called Ridley sneered from beneath his robes: "Ha! Of course you would say that, great Knight of Order! Weren't you a peasant yourself in the past?"

"You are too presumptuous, Ridley!" someone scolded. "Don't forget why we are gathered here today. The issue we are discussing now is not why your Knights failed and disbanded, but how we can take back Caliban from the Imperials!"

Zabril couldn't stop any longer, he bent over and walked through the door. In just a moment, he interrupted all conversations and attracted all attention.

He did not speak, but slowly straightened up, his winged helmet pressed against the low ceiling, and the metal rubbed against the bricks, making a series of sharp sounds.

Half a second later, the oil lamp hanging on the wall began to shake, and then quietly shattered amid someone's screams. Six seconds later, he easily finished his work and began to identify the deceased.

According to his memory, he first found the faces that had been recorded. All the traitors who had discussed how to assassinate the Emperor on the city wall were among the participants. Immediately following this was the search for corpses.

Apart from the insignificant items such as money and personal seals, several letters without any signature caught his attention. These letters were probably sent and received many times between different people, and each letter had five to eight different handwritings.

The discussion ranged from shallow to deep, from rational to extreme, and the development of the whole situation could even be speculated through these conversations. One of the letters mentioned that they would make the final decision at the meeting "tonight".

Therefore, the original writer hoped that a "sir" would reconsider what they said. He was sincere in his words, but the replyer who shared the same letter with him refuted it quite bluntly.

His handwriting was instantly recognizable to Zabril.

".Your actions and thoughts are undoubtedly very unwise. First of all, the Great Crusade is a glorious cause. Any true knight should join it without hesitation and fight for the liberation and freedom of all mankind."

"Secondly, your idea that the Knights alone can fight the Empire is, in my opinion, like hunting a behemoth alone - but you are not Lion El'Jonson."

"It is foreseeable that you will fail, and you will suffer an extremely tragic failure."

"That's all I have to say. No more letters need to be sent to me. The camaraderie has been exhausted. Please take care of yourself. I don't want to see any stupid behavior at tomorrow's celebration."

"Believe me, you will never have the chance to turn that ridiculous fantasy into reality. You don't even know who you are up against. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Luther was also involved.
Zabril frowned. He had not expected this. However, the words used by the old knight in his answer were extremely sharp. Judging from his style during the Legion, such words were almost equivalent to pointing at the nose and calling these people fools.

However, he did not think that Luther had informed Lion El'Jonson of this. Given the young Primarch's temper, if he knew that there was such a group of people in his monastery who were plotting to rebel against the Empire and assassinate the Emperor at the celebration, he would be very worried.
He would never let it go unless he executed these people in public by beheading them.

In other words, Luther concealed the truth from the Primarch.

Zabril's frown soon relaxed again - people's hearts are fickle, and no matter what Luther decided in this matter, the final result proved his loyalty.

The Dark Angel sheathed his sword and returned to the hall. He closed the stone slab and planned to leave without burying the body. In the history he knew, some of the knights of Oduruk had wanted to rebel but did not leak the idea.
and many more.

Zabril's steps suddenly paused, and a kind of needle-like pain spread heavily from both ends of his temples, quickly spreading to his whole body in a very short time.

The pain caused his adrenaline to start rushing, driving his muscles to tense. He drew the sword from his waist reflexively and blocked it above his head with his backhand.

It looked funny, but just a few centimeters above his head, a heavy power halberd was suspended in mid-air, undecided. The hand holding it had a deep golden color, and its owner was standing quietly beside the podium, staring at Zabril.

Custodes.

There was a buzzing sound in the Dark Angel's head.

"He wants to see you," the Custodian said, drawing back his weapon.

He was much taller than Zabril, and he didn't wear their iconic helmet. A white snake tattoo covered his dark face, and his eyes were scary and empty, like two peepholes connected to another world.

Zabril's heart sank suddenly. This common trait of the Imperial Guards could not be disguised. He reluctantly accepted the fact that he was discovered. However, he still held on to the last bit of hope and asked a foolish question even though he knew the answer.

"Who?" he asked.

The Imperial Guard looked at him and said calmly, "Emperor."

Go aboard the Emperor's Fantasy and meet the Emperor in person. No need to disarm, you can wear a sword or a gun, and even be alone with him in a room.
Such a great honor, but Zabril would rather it had never happened. Holding the helmet in his arms, he tried to tighten his face and stood outside a heavy golden door. Although he had prepared himself mentally, he still couldn't help showing some trembling and bitterness.

Meeting with the Emperor - He used up all his willpower to restrain himself from this horrible thought. But now, the Emperor took the initiative to summon him.

Does he know what I'm doing here? The Dark Angel couldn't help but wonder.

More, deeper, more dangerous thoughts raced after this one, creating an artificial storm in his mind in which every whirl sounded like a scream.

Zabriel was soon tortured by this terror and could no longer continue. He had to take the initiative to put these things down in order not to be completely crushed at this critical moment.

He took a deep breath, looked at the tightly closed golden door, and told himself that it was just a matter of entering a door.

A few seconds later, as if to confirm his thoughts, the door slowly opened with a buzzing sound coming from the wall. A golden light spread out from it, stinging Zabril's eyes.

At first his mouth went dry and he thought the light came from the Emperor, but he soon discovered it was not.

The light was actually a carefully designed light, probably to create the same sting every time the door opened, which would prevent those waiting outside from looking directly at the golden throne in the center of the hall.

A real throne, not a torture device that the emperor would later sit on. Its overall shape is majestic and square, and every detail shows the designer's painstaking efforts.

However, in Zabril's sour eyes, this chair was not worth mentioning at all, because its only owner did not sit on it, but was standing on the right side of the throne.

There was a deliberately left dark area, in which the outline of a man was vaguely visible.

A voice came slowly.

"Yes, as you can imagine, I don't like this chair very much," the man said. "It all comes down to design. This chair and the design of the hall force ordinary people to close their eyes when the door opens. If they don't do this, they will go blind."

Zabriel resisted the urge to look at him and knelt down obediently.

"Stand up." The man's voice suddenly became a little annoyed. "They kneel, and you kneel too? Stand up, Zabril of Starkholm!"

He remembers.?!
Zabril did as he was told, excitedly, without hesitation, as if he were a puppet or something else, and his action elicited a sigh of relief, not one of reproach, but of obvious exhaustion.

"I beg your pardon," the man said again. "I am obliged to meet you here. The architect of this audience chamber has earned a promise from me in exchange for his loyalty. Now come here, Zabril."

Zabril took a deep breath and walked towards the speaker. The door slowly closed behind him, making a heavy thud. He walked until a white shadow appeared in his field of vision before stopping. The speaker laughed helplessly: "Look up, Zabril. You killed everyone and the evidence is on their bodies, and now you still want to turn a blind eye to me and pretend that I don't exist?"

"Not at all, my Lord," Zabriel replied as quickly as possible.

He looked up and saw an ordinary man.

This man was neither tall nor short. He had neither the majesty of an emperor nor the handsomeness of legends. At first glance, he looked nothing special. He even wore a pair of glasses and looked tired, as if he had been studying hard late at night not long ago. He had no choice but to come here to meet Zabril.
He looked up at Zabril for a long time before he spoke: "You look much older, my knight."

"I--"

Zabril was speechless. He had imagined this scene many times, enough times that the boundary between imagination and reality blurred briefly, but he had never thought of this kind of opening line.

He had never thought that the Emperor would care about him.

His lord seemed to know nothing about this and just continued to speak.

"When I created you based on the Primarch, I did not consider setting a limit on your lifespan. Therefore, an Astartes can actually live a very long time if he does not die on the battlefield."

"To be honest, Zabril, I have no idea what you have been through and why you came here. But I think it should not be a good thing, and it can hardly be called a bad thing."

"Ordinary bad things shouldn't be enough to destroy one of my original angels into this gray-haired state."

At this moment, Zabril almost wanted to tell everything. Only genius knows how he held back, and even he himself was surprised at his self-control.

The man looked at him for a while, then took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and sighed again.

"You are in chains and shackles."

With a firm tone, he spoke again, his tone was completely different from before. If he was still talking to Zabril in a private capacity before, then at this moment, only the Emperor was standing in front of the Dark Angel.

"I haven't seen anything like this in anyone since the end of the conflict on Terra. The timelines are mixed up in you, Zabril. Are you doing this willingly? Going back and forth into the past?"

"It is very dangerous to do so. I have seen countless people try to change the past, present and future, but no one has succeeded. Those who play with time will eventually become slaves of time, and time treats everything equally and will never show any partiality."

How does he know everything? Zabril thought almost indignantly.

"Your Majesty," he said stiffly. "I'm sorry I can't answer that."

The man smiled.

He approached Zabril, opened a small compartment on his belt, and took out the two emblems directly. The winged sword and the eagle emblem shone brightly in his dark, broad, calloused hands.

He looked at them, then at Zabriel, and suddenly put on an expression that was almost sarcastic.

"So you didn't come here voluntarily," he said. "I think I know who sent you here."

Zabriel took another deep breath and tightened his cheeks, fearing that he would give any reaction at this moment.

He knew that doing so was actually stupid, because the Emperor would know everything the moment he saw the eagle emblem, but he couldn't come up with a better choice for the time being.

The man laughed again. He put the winged sword emblem back, leaving only the eagle emblem. Then he closed his right hand tightly and grasped it deeply in his palm.

Zabril felt a sudden shudder for no apparent reason and heard him say, "Don't worry, I won't get to the bottom of it."

"And since we can still stand here and talk to each other, it proves that the future will not change because of this conversation—" He shook his head meaningfully. "—What has happened before will happen again."

He spread out his palm, took Zabril's hand, put the eagle emblem back, and asked him to clench his right fist. Zabril did as he was told, but suddenly he felt a burning pain in his palm. It wasn't very intense, but it lasted for a long time.

He looked at the man in confusion, who happened to be staring at him. His eyes were full of compassion, which instantly struck Zabriel and brought back his memories.

In the ten thousand years since the Caliban Heresy, he had seen many statues named after the Emperor's Mercy. Some he had only seen briefly, while others had actually wandered before them in the middle of the night, questioning or praying pleadingly, hoping to get an answer.

Those stones and steel had never answered him before. But this time was different. This time it was real flesh and blood that was crying for him.

The dark angel opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but he felt something in his heart - he thought, these tears were probably not just shed for him.

"His Majesty."

"Let us go," the Emperor said, his voice as hard as iron. "You need not tell me anything. I knew from the beginning how difficult this path would be. There were thousands of paths before me, and I had to choose the most difficult one."

"I have already walked half of the way. I must grit my teeth and finish the remaining half no matter what. This is the only choice. There is no other way. We cannot take shortcuts or turn back. If we do that, all the sacrifices we have made so far will be in vain."

"Do what you have to do, Zabril. I have never seen anyone defeat time, but you are standing here -"

His eyes were like lightning, staring at Zabril. The Dark Angel felt a burning sensation all over his body, and he felt as if his master's eyes were staring through him at other people, or other things.

"——Does this mean that we have won?"
-
Its daybreak.

When the first beam of light spread in from the entrance of the cave, Lion El'Jonson stopped what he was doing and put away the magazine.

For the past four hours, he had been testing the magazine's durability—yes, he was loading and unloading it continuously, which was not only tedious but also made a noticeable noise.

Considering that there was an old knight sleeping soundly not far from the fire, this was undoubtedly very inappropriate. The lion had no reason not to know this, so he did it knowingly.

So, what exactly was the reason that drove him to spend four hours of hard work to add this blockage to Luther that actually had no effect at all?
The answer is simply half the story.

No one in history could endure this torture, not even Lion El'Jonson. In fact, it was precisely because he was Lion El'Jonson that he could not endure it more than anyone else.

"You should wake up." The lion urged coldly.

Oddly enough, the old knight, who had been snoring and sleeping comfortably with his sword as his pillow a few seconds ago, suddenly opened his eyes quickly after hearing the call, looking energetic and in great spirits.

He sat up, took a small skinning knife from under his cloak, stood up his sword, pulled out a small piece to use as a mirror, and began to shave himself.

The lion resisted an impulse that was not good, and waited until he finished the matter before speaking again: "Last night -"

"—Get up, Leon."

With a smile, the old knight interrupted him, jumped up lightly, kicked up the sword, swung the scabbard with his other hand, drew an arc, and naturally hung the sword and scabbard on his belt.

The skinning knife also disappeared without a trace in his hand. He looked the same as before, except that his hair and beard were completely white. Even the lion felt a little dazed.
That tone sounded just like yesterday to him.

"We're going hunting, boy, don't lie in bed." Luther said, winking at Lion El'Jonson, but still chattering. "A lazy man can't be a good hunter, remember my words."

The lion took a deep breath.

"What on earth are you playing at?" he asked sincerely, frowning.

Luther did not answer, but turned and walked out of the cave. The lion stood up right behind him, holding the lion sword in his arms, and walked out without saying a word. However, the scene outside made his expression suddenly become extremely gloomy.

As a native of Caliban, the lion was no stranger to the primeval forests here. To him, only a small part of the forests of Caliban could be called beautiful, while the rest looked like the work of a skilled painter who loved to use horrible and sticky colors to paint oil paintings.

There is no kindness in his paintings. Everything is gloomy, even rotten, and stinks like man-eating beasts.
This is why even experienced hunters from Caliban would never choose to stay in the forest for too long. Everyone knows that there are giant beasts that eat people on Caliban, but how can the number of people buried in their stomachs be even one-tenth of the number of people in the forest?

And now, the gloomy, rotten, horrible and disgusting oil painting was vividly placed in front of him, occupying every corner. The leaves of the towering trees, which were still green at sunset yesterday, now looked burnt yellow in the early morning. The forest was dark, without any light, and distorted giant shadows moved patiently in it.

Some of them opened their mouths, drool dripping onto the ground, corroding the soil, and the stench they emitted even made the lions feel uncomfortable. Some of them had no mouth at all, and had multiple eyes on their bodies, some scarlet or dim, with no trace of animal life in them, only a rotten maliciousness spreading.
"Welcome to my daily morning exercise." Luther said. "Which side do you choose?"

"What?" the lion asked instinctively.

"I choose the left side," Luther said. "You can follow me, or you can deal with the ones on the right first."

Before he finished speaking, he had already walked to the left side of the flat land outside the cave. The evil beasts hiding in the forest finally couldn't hold back and let out a series of low roars, but the old knight remained calm, as if he had experienced it countless times.

He drew the dagger from his waist with his backhand, and Perturabo's personal emblem once again pierced the lion's eyes, and this was just the beginning. Luther's free left hand stretched out the faded cloak like lightning, and a few gleaming silver lights flew out along his fingertips and entered the forest before him.

Those lights were flying so fast that even a lion had to pay some attention to them in order to catch the complete traces.
He wanted to observe what Luther was going to do, but he found that this old man, who didn't know how to live or die, rushed into the forest waving his sword without any tactics. He even laughed a few times, as if he couldn't wait.

So, Lion El'Jonson couldn't wait to curse out a Caliban slang and immediately followed Luther.

As soon as he stepped into the forest, he felt an unusual chill. In the past, he had briefly felt uncomfortable when hunting giant beasts, but that was only because of the Chaos pollution they carried. But this time was different.

The lion's extraordinary intuition allowed him to clearly cross the line between rationality and sensibility. Before he could even swing his sword, he "saw" a huge snake with extremely smooth scales, hollow eyes, and a long tongue.

It opened its mouth wide, with fine teeth all over it, and was chewing its own tail.
"Ouroboros is waiting for you, lion." The snake hissed, spitting out its tongue. "Ouroboros has been waiting for you for a long, long time."

The lion trembled all over, his muscles tensed, and he was suddenly pulled back to the real world. A burst of hot and smelly blood splashed on his side face, and a giant beast fell to the ground with a bang, causing waves of echoes.

Luther's voice came from the left side in front of him, just in time, still with the same calmness that the old knight had when he first met him.

"Have you seen that damn snake?"

The lion finally woke up completely, and the first thing he did was to swing his sword and kill.

A twisted beast with a goat's head, twisted tentacles on its back, and eyeballs was cut in half from head to tail by him with a lion sword. In the aftermath of the killing, the profile of the King of Caliban looked extremely cold. His white hair was still fluttering, but it was no longer stained with blood.

He said nothing, just focused on killing. He killed from one end of the forest to the other, until the ground was full of corpses and there was no longer any giant beast standing in front of them, and then he put the lion sword back into its sheath.

At this moment, his expression also changed, and the majesty and indifference of the Lord of the First Army completely occupied his face. Luther didn't seem surprised by this. He slowly wiped the sword with the hem of his cloak and spoke without raising his head.

"Ouroboros, in the ancient language, this is its name, and we call it Ouroboros. In the definition of the Inquisition, the Warp Entity named Ouroboros is an existence that is difficult to define specifically."

"Based on the existing information, we can only say that it has a very deep connection with Caliban. We can even say that it is Caliban itself to a certain extent."

The Lord of the First Army narrowed his eyes and asked calmly, "Is this what you found out after being missing in the material world for ten thousand years?"

Luther shook his head. "No, of course it's more than that. I also established a solid relationship with the Dark Watchers, which is really rare. They usually don't want to deal with other people. It's also because of you. In short, Leon, the secret of Caliban is much bigger and more important than you and I can imagine."

"I just want to know one thing now." The lion said slowly.

"I will tell you everything I know."

"You said this was your daily morning exercise—" The lion stared at him. "—What on earth have you been doing for the past ten thousand years?"

Luther smiled.

(End of this chapter)