40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 667 49. Belated Judgment (XVIII) (I’m back, let’s start with a long chapter to whet your appetite)
As time went on, Lion El'Jonson became increasingly aware that the dimension they had once so firmly called 'reality' was fading away little by little.

Moreover, this process was irreversible. No matter how many times he and Luther came out of the cave in the early morning and killed the beast, it would not change at all.

"You're here, and it starts to make big bets. Time and space are no longer important, Leon, the only thing that matters is that we will fight with our swords here."

In the interval between killings, the increasingly aged Luther once made such an assertion. The lion was deeply impressed by that moment. He had never seen the old knight's eyes so calm, as if he had made up his mind.

Moreover, he said this with a smile.

The Lion agreed with him, but not quite.
Swing the sword with all your might?

From the moment he picked up the long sword until now, he has never held back every time he swings the weapon in his hand. As long as the lion sword is unsheathed, someone or something must bleed. He is not an executioner, nor does he regard killing as a creed in life, but he was raised in this way, raised and taught by Luther of Caliban himself.

At that time, the serious middle-aged man with black hair had told him earnestly in the training ground inside the fortress monastery: "When the sword is drawn, it means that you have chosen to use force instead of other softer means. If you are really forced to this point and have made up your mind, then do not hold back - either do not do it, or do it to the extreme, Leon."

Either you don't do it, or you do it completely. It's really interesting.

The lion raised his sword and slashed horizontally. The lion sword hummed and sent the deformed head of a giant beast flying several meters high. He killed, the blade in his hand cruelly devouring lives, but his mind was calmly chewing on memories. The violence outside could not affect his inner peace.

In the end, Lion El'Jonson realized with a little bit of surprise that Luther's teachings to him at that time had actually crossed certain boundaries - it was obvious, wasn't it?
Only politicians need to choose between "doing nothing" and "doing everything". Others usually don't realize that they are wandering between these two choices.

The lion swallowed this slightly cold thought, and more ripples appeared in his calm mind. He swallowed countless questions, and then swung his sword with more force. It was not until late at night, beside the fire in the cave, that he uttered a little bit of them.

"Did you already know who I was at that time?" Leon asked without any context.

Without even looking up, Luther used his metal hand to pick up a grilled fish, transforming his disability into a convenience that was not afraid of temperature. At the same time, he asked back as if he was answering casually: "Who is it?"

"I don't like this stupid game of asking questions when you already know the answer."

Luther raised his head, and his eyes, which were sunken in his eye sockets and covered by frost and fatigue, narrowed visibly - he smiled, a very happy smile.

Then he nodded.

“It’s a bit of a premonition.”

The old knight spoke vaguely and nodded as he spoke, just like an elderly man reminiscing about the past, and he even raised his other hand to gesture.

"You were already this tall when I ran into you in the jungle, Leon. But you were still very young. To be a little disrespectful, you looked dirty like a barbarian, but your skin had no scars or signs of time. To me, you were just a baby who had grown into a teenager."

"And how unnatural is that? I mean, we just met and you dropped from the sky and killed a giant beast right in front of us with a crude stone spear."

"Besides this, you were unarmored and wore no armor. You were wrapped in stinking animal fur and your own hair, and from a distance you looked indistinguishable from a human. Fortunately, I was close to you, child, or I would not have been able to tell my companions to stop firing in time."

The lion listened in rapt silence, his sword leaning against his shoulder, his cloak undone and spread out beneath him. He was old, almost as old as Luther, but still much taller than him.

No one would ever associate them with father and son.

Luther paused, his smile faded, and he suddenly spoke in a very cold tone.

"Leon - I almost blurted it out. Remember? I stood between you and them, and the situation was extremely tense. Then I called you Leon. I said, Leon, you won't attack? My tone was as if I had known you for many years. Looking back, isn't it ridiculous?"

The lion actually pondered for a moment as he said, and then slowly shook his head.

"I don't see the joke," Lion El'Jonson replied, in an eerily calm voice. "I only know that you stood in front of them and called me by a word of short, rapid syllables. It wasn't until a day and a half later that I learned that word was my name. And I accept it."

Luther smiled again, and the coldness from before had completely disappeared. This smile was very gentle, and also carried a kind of calmness.

"And by then you had learned the language of Caliban."

The fire burned, the wood rustled restlessly, and suddenly a strong wind blew outside the cave. Just like that, they fell into silence that lasted for several seconds.

"The wind is blowing," said the lion.

"Yes." Luther answered slowly. "Normally, there wouldn't be such a strong wind at night."

There was another moment of silence.

"So I'm afraid that as early as that time—" Luther suddenly started talking again. "—I already knew that you were not an ordinary person, at least not from our world."

The tone of his voice was very interesting, and could be described as a little sarcastic. The lion narrowed his eyes and immediately retorted.

"Why? Am I not even a human being in your eyes?"

"That's not what I meant." Luther shook his head. "However, a normal person probably wouldn't be as alert as you are right now. You smell something, right? This just proves my point."

The leader of the First Army ignored the chatter of the stupid old man, but just held the lion sword and stood up suddenly. At this moment, the sharp blade was already unsheathed.

He threw the scabbard on the ground, turned around without saying a word, and strode towards the entrance of the cave. The wind was howling outside the cave, and the only bit of moonlight was blocked by the thick clouds that came from nowhere, leaving no light.

Then, black as ink, thick as mud, rain fell from the sky, hitting the ground directly. It didn't look like rain, but more like a bombing or the "weapons falling from the sky" recorded in myths and legends, so strange that it was beyond description.
God?

The lion silently changed his definition in his heart: evil spirits were at work.

There is no God in this world, he thought, and then he was stunned for a moment by this outdated saying.

Perhaps it was because he was old, or perhaps he had been indulging too much in memories recently, his thoughts were inevitably pulled back to a very special time point at this moment. The special stench emitted by the orc corpses when they were burned by promethium passed through the heavy time and hit him accurately.

Ullanor.

It was raining that time, too. He remembered it clearly, and then he thought of the Emperor.

There is no God in this world, his father said. You must know that any power with a prefix such as "beyond imagination" can actually be decomposed by human wisdom, and then mastered and used. Remember this, Leon.

I remembered it, but.
The lion looked at the forest and slowly stood up, frowning as he put on his helmet.

Countless giant trees chose to turn into monsters at this moment. Their roots, which were originally deeply rooted in the ground, pushed through the soil, tied together, and turned into thick tentacles, and then formed a structure similar to human legs to support themselves to stand up.

The creepy creaking sounds continued, and countless corpses and bones were revealed one by one after the roots that had once entangled them chose to leave. Some were already extremely fragile, while others were still fresh.

The treetops swayed and moved, and the leaves expanded to form abstract human faces, screaming and falling to the ground, adding terrifying momentum to the whistling wind and rapidly falling raindrops around them, and also became a new part in this ominous ensemble.
Just like that, in the rain, they stood up and made way.

A figure staggered at the end of the road.

Behind him, Luther sighed quietly, "There was a mishap with the plan, Leon. Someone got to us before Zabril did. And this isn't Ouroboros' power."

Without even turning his head, the lion said, "I don't think the one who found us was human."

He jumped down the cave's exit with his sword in hand, and instead of taking the path, he fell straight down into the ground that had been turned into boiling mud by the black raindrops.

The shock wave was completely absorbed, and the filth couldn't wait to climb up, trying to penetrate through the cracks in the armor, gradually polluting the glory of this armor that had been in service for almost as long as the history of the empire.

But the lion only took a step, and their greed turned into wishful thinking - high-temperature steam gushed out from the reserved gaps, melting all the evil that dared to offend Lion El'Jonson in an instant.

A series of screams came faintly from under the mud and fell into his ears. The lion stared down, and the face behind the helmet showed even more disgust.

Just some rain gave birth to this thing.

The lion quickened his pace. This time, the dark mud did not try to stop him. Wherever he went, the ground was just bare and uneven stones.

The soil and vegetation have been irrigated by the rain, but the stones buried deep underground seem to have different opinions. Under the night, they still maintain their original appearance. This similar tenacity and stubbornness makes the lion inevitably smile, even though he shouldn't smile at this moment.

"Assemble," he said.

The voice was deep and penetrated the dark rain curtain without any hindrance. The mud stood up as if threatened by him and blew out bubbles one after another, showing its threat to him like a wild beast, but no mud dared to rush forward and stain a piece of metal.

The leader of the First Army slowly raised his sword and stood in front of him. A blue light flashed, illuminating his black armor. The roaring lion head on his right shoulder armor was so conspicuous.
Logically speaking, such a king should have his own lion group. At this moment, there should be an unstoppable army of black armor standing behind him.

However, reality is always quite absurd. Now there is only one person standing behind the lion, and he is even an old, tired, white-haired old man with oily cloak.

He stood breathlessly behind the man he swore allegiance to, and after several seconds he stood up straight, raised his left hand, and pressed a winged sword emblem to his right chest.

"Attack." Lion El'Jonson ordered coldly.

Yes, after the assembly, it was always an attack. The First Army never dragged its feet - but the question was, who to attack? What to attack? The mud?

The lion did not think about these questions. He just waved his arms and took a step forward, with a lightness that should not have appeared.

His arm drove his wrist, breaking up the rain curtain with the force field. The dark blue light drew a beautiful arc, and actually smashed the mud wall that had been completely erected after being driven. But he still didn't stop. After the first strike, he continued to strike like a stream, and the arc of each strike was just right and extremely accurate.

Looking at this scene, Luther stood behind him with his gun pressed, an inappropriate expression of emotion appearing on his face.

In the past, so long ago that only the two of them could remember, he had taught Lion El'Jonson many different sword techniques. Some focused on offense, some focused on defense, and some even took a different approach, completely abandoning defense and advocating speed and one-hit kills.
These sword techniques are derived from the ancient Caliban Knights, who were the best swordsmen and greatest heroes of their time.

Only in this way, they would be qualified to write what they have learned into a book that is not too thick and put it in the library of Oduruk for later generations to learn. But now, right in front of him, the swordsmanship displayed by the lion has gone far away from the sword itself.

He wasn't swinging his sword, it was more like...
"Leon!" Luther laughed and aimed his gun. "Are you doing math with your swords? Every strike must follow a calculated arc?"

There was a sudden flash of huge red light, and the lion turned calmly and made a tactical gesture to him - meaning silence - and he immediately refuted it.

"You've been here for who knows how many years, so you better not dictate my battle strategy." He growled impatiently. But he still gave an explanation. "That sword technique comes from the sons of Mortarion, and it has been proven effective in many battles."

“It works?”

Accompanied by some strange swelling sound and gradually rising screams coming from the mud, Luther shrugged and put his hands back into his cloak.

No one knew what he did, but he miraculously pulled out another gun from his empty belt. It looked like an exquisite revolver cannon, huge in size, with a sealed magazine and a very long barrel, and it was shining with a beautiful silver light.

He aimed his gun again, and the lion came to his side, sword raised to guard him.

"Mind telling me the story of how this worked?" Luther asked.

He was squinting his eyes, looking at his results. Not far from him and the lion, a huge gap had been created in the surging black mud tide, which was roughly enough for at least two poison blade tanks to enter side by side.

It looked horrifying, but Luther knew very well that for a new demon based on the trait of "mud", physical damage was actually nothing. Fortunately, although he had been busy going back and forth in history over the years, he did not forget to pray a few words in his spare time. When he fired just now, the prayer he silently recited obviously hurt this thing badly, so much so that it even dared to ignore someone's orders for a short time and hesitated in place.

As for what the prayer is, it is better not to care.

"There's nothing much to say," the lion said calmly. "It's just a story of evil, great evil, great threats, and the same old story."

"It can be summed up in one sentence - Mortarion's stolen body destroyed six worlds in a row with six different plagues. The Death Guard was mobilized, determined to destroy it before it destroyed the seventh world."

"This set of swordsmanship was created by Olm, the then-Captain of the Death Guard, during the war. In the twelve centuries that followed, it has spread to hundreds of warbands and saved countless lives."

"But it doesn't look like a sword technique to me, Leon. You seemed to pause when you called it by this word. Did I hear it correctly?"

Luther asked briskly, with a hint of teasing, but he did not forget to do his job. He closed his left eye and began to calibrate the target.

He had seen through the gap a twisted figure approaching slowly. Wherever he went, the treetops drooped and the faces wailed, as if the forests of Caliban were bowing down.
But don't get me wrong, he was not asking casually, he was really very interested in this matter.

He was well aware that he was too old and perhaps quite useless, but there was one thing he could say with pride - he, Luther of Caliban, had seen a lot.

When the lion raised his sword, Luther saw the essence of that sword technique at a glance.

"This involves an ancient theory." The lion was silent for a few seconds before answering reluctantly. "You should know its name."

Luther pulled the corner of his mouth, pretending that he was not laughing, and then asked: "Numerology?"

"Yes."

"It seems that the offspring of Lord Mortarion..." Luther pondered for a moment, and finally managed a compliment that was not so meaningful. "The disciple is better than the master."

"You don't need to flatter him," the lion said indifferently. "You are in charge here, sir."

Luther smiled slightly and immediately pulled the trigger, and a deep death light burst out from the barrel of the gun.

This is definitely not human technology. Realizing this, the lion couldn't help but take a closer look, and then felt a little confused - the weapon style of the Necrons is very different from the gun Luther is holding now.
Could it be that he had persuaded a certain undead to forge a weapon for him?
With questions in mind, the suspicious Caliban savage roared and rushed towards the gap, even continuing to swing his sword along the way.

The muds, which were already in extreme pain due to Luther's prayers, were hit hard again, and the decomposition field began to break up the mud piece by piece in a serious manner.

It looks terrifying, but what really makes the mud tide feel painful is not the blade or the position itself, but the angle deliberately chosen by the person holding them when swinging his arm.
Individually, they were nothing, but when combined, they became its natural enemy, causing it to instinctively feel pain and fear. Even though it already had a life form far beyond that of ordinary creatures, this newly born powerful demon could not endure this pain.

Finally, when the lion's charge reached the fourth second, it retreated in fear. But the man who summoned and shaped it didn't care at all, he just raised his left hand at the end of the road to block the green death light.

Normally, he should say something at this point - but not this time.

His enemies wouldn't allow it.

More death rays swarmed in, but in this man's eyes they were not just the technological power of the Necrons, but also some real power of faith.

He saw it clearly, so he took it seriously. A few wisps of ashes suddenly fell from between his fingers, dispelling all the power of faith that was very difficult for the great demon.
No, not dissolution, but assimilation.

Seeing this, Luther's face finally showed some shock.

"Those are ashes, and they must have been donated voluntarily by people of extremely devout faith." He whispered very quickly, as if the lion that was about to rush in front of the enemy could hear what he was saying - and that was indeed the case.

Lion El'Jonson grasped this valuable information and immediately changed his battle strategy.

The sword, which was originally intended to cut out an arc, suddenly stopped in mid-air. Behind the scarlet eyepiece of the winged helmet, the lion's pupils suddenly shrank to the size of a needle tip.

The lion sword slashed across, sinking deep into a man's rotten chest. But no blood spurted out, only dust. In a short time that could not be called a "second", the man pressed his hands on the lion's shoulders.

"Primarch."

A whisper came out with the wind, and behind the helmet, the lion clenched his teeth unsurprisingly.

He pulled back, almost wanting to use his unique power to kill the rebel on the spot. But he did not forget why he came to this chaotic time, and in order to avoid being used again, he did not summon the forest after all - and this gave Serafax an opportunity.

Yes, Serafax, who else could the attacker be if not him?

However, the Thousand-Eyed Wizard looked extremely miserable at this moment. His gorgeous robes were gone, and even his body had turned into charred charcoal, just like those poor people who were burned to death.

He just stared at his Primarch, and the pair of eyes embedded in the eye sockets like glass balls reflected the appearance of Lion El'Jonson when he was young - a tall blond giant, with wildness and majesty in his every move, making people want to kneel down and surrender.

The lion naturally saw him, and so did Luther.

At this moment, before Serafax's charred hands pressed into the lion's armor and touched his flesh, they attacked at the same time.

The lion raised his hands and pressed down on the outstretched hands of Serafax, intending to break them and then tear off the head of the charred corpse. Luther summoned the five silver lights again, which tore through the air as soon as they appeared, and roared towards Serafax's crystal eyes, determined to smash the glass balls into pieces.
Their attacks were successful. The handless and headless corpses stood staggering in place, unable to resist, awaiting the final judgment.

The lion let go of the arms and pulled out the lion sword from his chest. Several sword lights whizzed past, and he chopped the corpse of the wizard into pieces without mercy.

It seemed to be very effective, but even if they didn't look at the black rain that had not stopped in the sky, based on their intuition alone, Lion and Luther would never think that this was the end.

They had fought against Chaos too many times before, and the experience gained through blood and tears could not be erased by a little bit of victory. However, what happened next was beyond the expectations of any of them.

No one could have predicted this, there was no possibility. Thinking about this precious thing that only exists in a few intelligent species requires the thinker to have rationality and the most basic intelligence, and must have a certain degree of understanding of the problem he is thinking about - even if it is minimal, imagination and intuition can naturally play their advantages.

But what if there is no understanding, no preparation, and no room to use your imagination?

In the highest heaven, the Lord of All Changes exclaimed in joy.

"I told you, little sister - this paranoid, crazy, yet still innocent human being will bring us a very interesting drama."

He stretched out his 'finger' and touched Serafax's corpse through the shimmering mist. His laughter became more sincere, but he began to chatter.

"Human beings are so complex that two opposing things can coexist harmoniously in them. Look, didn't Serafax do that? He was obviously a madman, but he naively thought he could really save everyone."

Beside Him, the wanton mist lazily gave a rebuttal.

"His innocence is built on your madness. You gave him the door, the key, and the lock, and even helped him sneak into another world. Did he bring something back? Huh? Tell me the truth."

The Lord of Change turned into a smiling man, bowed towards the mist with his feet on the starry sky, and politely rejected the request.

"That won't do. You and I have waited so long, and finally waited for the climax. How can we let this supreme enjoyment be reduced to a boring level just because of a moment of impatience? Please wait a little longer, little sister. I promise you that what's coming next will definitely be exciting."

A bland laugh came from the mist: "You can keep it a secret as much as you want. I don't mind you making fun of me. But I want to guess."

"Three chances?" The man transformed by the Lord of Change asked carefully.

"Five times." Mist retorted immediately, but her tone changed strangely, becoming very high-pitched and very charming. "I want five chances!"

The smile on the man's face froze for a moment, then returned to its full glory. "How about I give you nine chances?"

"No, I want five times."

"Eighteen times, no more."

"Five times."

".The stupid thing you are doing now will affect our plan to a certain extent. Do you understand, Slaanesh?" the man asked with a bad look.

A snort of laughter came from the mist: "Of course I know - but, this is what makes it fun. Five chances, it's a deal, how about it?"

The man sighed and took it as his agreement.

"Very good. I guess you are going to play your old trick again, and make him lose everything and be crushed to pieces at the last moment?"

"I'm not going to really control the direction of everything." The man shook his head seriously. "Besides, like you said, this is already an old trick - if he really succeeds, it will be a good thing for me."

"Interesting." The mist laughed softly, with some panting and seductive singing in between. "So, second guess: You don't know what he wants to do now, right?"

"Yes." The man said, his brows furrowed and his jaw twitching nervously, as if he was enduring extreme pain.

"Very good, third guess—" Mist stretched out his voice, and his panting became more obvious. The singing became louder and longer, and there was also the cruel sound of a sharp blade entering the body. "—Are you ready to bear the price of time reversal?"

".No." The man said with difficulty.

Before he finished speaking, his face began to bulge out one after another. They were clearly wrapped in human skin, but they seemed to be not in the flesh. The bulges protruded from the teeth or eyeballs, making a perfectly normal face look as abstract as a sponge held in someone's hand.

Seeing him like this, the being in the mist finally burst into a loud roar, followed by a satisfied hum and the sound of the lascivious music.

"Very good, very good." He said with satisfaction, and then shut up, not intending to continue this speculation.

The man immediately clenched his fists, and the huge body hidden under the human skin tore apart the disguise. The sound was so powerful that it almost set off a tsunami in the sky.

"Keep asking!" the Lord of Change screamed the order.

"Don't be impatient." The mist said in a relatively normal tone, in which a smile had secretly taken root, and a certain malicious desire was rolling endlessly.

"What I know now is enough to satisfy myself. You gave him authority but did not define the boundaries. You allowed a crazy mortal to hold power that he absolutely should not have."

“As a result, you lose control of the future. You don’t know if your existence will be torn apart by time in the next second and then replaced. This feeling of emptiness and confusion about the uncertain future almost tears you apart.”

"Isn't that right, brother?"

An arm stretched out from the mist, bloody, with wounds rolling up the flesh, not yet healed, as if it had just been injured. This hand gently held up the nebula that the Lord of Change had transformed into, and squeezed it sadly.

"Delicious." Slaanesh whispered. "We are a pair of crazy bastards who will do anything to satisfy ourselves. What would we do if they knew?"

The nebula did not answer, but just spun. In the water curtain, countless giant trees had completely buried the figures of the Calibans.

Even the gods don't know what will happen next.

(End of this chapter)