40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 668 50. Belated Judgment (Chapter 9, K)

The lion opened his eyes, but saw only darkness.

It’s funny to say that at this moment, the first thought that rushed out of his logical thinking was a question: Am I blind?

It took him several seconds to realize that the answer was not that. He had simply lost a 'specialty' that the genetic editing had given him. However, even if he could no longer see the darkness as he had in the past, the helmet's eyepiece should still help him in this situation.
The lion raised his hand and touched his cheek. It felt soft, like flesh and blood, not steel.

It seemed a subtle reminder - one he didn't mind so much, since his helmet had been taken away.

After realizing this, some complex, boiling and huge sum of information rushed into his mind unceremoniously, and then, the senses that had become very dull for the Primarch began to revive rapidly.

The lion's exposed face felt the cold, and his sense of smell picked up a faint scent of forest moisture. Together, they began to provide more assistance to his intuition.

In just two seconds, Lion El'Jonson had deduced a general idea of ​​what had happened - first, the constant numbness on the tip of his tongue meant that he had recently experienced a warp sorcery teleportation, or psychic teleportation.

The experience of the past ten thousand years told him that he would only feel that unpleasant numbness when he experienced the above two situations. Secondly, his weapons and helmet were taken away, and even his belt was not left.

This means that someone could have easily killed him, but chose not to.

Serafax. The lion chewed the name immediately.

The last and most important point is that there was a faint light appearing in front of him, shining under his feet and forming a path.

In this situation, it was as if someone opened a door for him at the right moment, and behind that door was a very bright world. Even if it was only opened a little, it was enough to illuminate his way forward.
A hint of anger rose in the lion.

He knew Serafax well, and could certainly tell what was hidden in this so-called "just right". Because of this, he was even more determined to kill.

The lion walked on this so-called bright path with a blank expression on his face. He was unarmed and fearless.

No matter what Serafax planned to do, his answer would only be 'no' - no matter what his original intention was, no matter how good his qualities were, once he had compromised with Chaos, there was no turning back.

Chaos doesn't seek so-called partners, it only seeks slaves. Throughout history, anyone who has tried to use it, understand it, analyze it, or even just want to look at it from a distance has met with misfortune.

The most famous victim among them is now worshipped as a god and savior by humans throughout the galaxy.
The lion walked into the bright end.

He didn't notice anything unusual, which brought him a lot of cold considerations. However, the world that appeared before his eyes at the end of the path was enough to be described as "beautiful" - he saw a lush forest.

The color was different from the sickly, dark green of Caliban, but every tree was full of life, and in the morning dew its leaves reflected the sunlight like a thousand gems, stinging the lion's eyes.

It brought no pain, only waves of rage that kept reverberating.

"Come out," he said coldly. "Stop all your witchcraft and trickery, Serafax. You know it won't work with me. Come out and face me. Once and for all."

No one answered, only the slight sound of the breeze disturbing the leaves. The lion stood there expressionlessly, and his gauntlets suddenly creaked.

He turned his head sharply and caught a glimpse of a translucent water curtain. In the center of the picture, Serafax, still represented by a charred corpse, was sitting on a dark stone chair.

His lost arms had grown back, and on his right hand were the lion's lost weapons and belts. An old man, covered in wounds, lay motionless at the foot of the high steps of the throne.

"No more sorcery, no more machinations, Primarch."

The corpse answered quietly. His voice was dry, and his pronunciation was like firewood being roasted, with the moisture in it evaporating and crackling.
He only said this one sentence, and after he finished speaking, the water curtain completely dissipated.

The lion frowned. He wanted to use the conversation method that Serafax was very familiar with to get more information, but the traitor seemed to have other intentions - this was confirmed when the sound of footsteps was heard.

The footsteps were soft and crisp, and the pace was very clever, with each step landing on the interface of soil in a way beyond the imagination of ordinary people. He walked about ten meters behind the lion, without stepping on any fallen leaves or brushing any green grass.

He knew the forest intimately.

Just like. me.

The lion's intuition gave him the answer before he even looked, but he still turned around to take a look.

He had seen many things that could not be explained by common sense, and even this one - if it was true - he had already experienced it. Ferrus Manus had told him more than once about the nightmarish repetitive killings and the so-called 'Fulgrim'.
Lion El'Jonson finally turned around.

The time that passed in the real world might be less than half a second, but the series of lengthy considerations that took place in his mind were enough to make this quick turn seem a little impatient.

He wanted to prove something, and he had to prove it with his eyes. Then, as if to repay his ominous premonition, he saw a young man standing opposite him in real life, as tall as he was.

No, he's taller than that. He stands very straight, that's why.

Blonde? Yes, blonde, long enough to fall on her shoulders, but tied up so that it wouldn't hinder her in any way.

Broad shoulders, tight muscles, very strong, very strong. The muscles make the robe bulge, but the details are just the right softness. Those are fats, if some unexpected injuries come, they will be more useful than pure muscles.

Both hands hang naturally, with calluses all over them, from fingers to palms, and the right hand rests on the waist in an extremely relaxed manner.
"Have you seen enough?" the blond young man suddenly asked.

His voice was monotonous and direct, without any politeness or threats, just a simple question. However, the lion didn't know how to answer for a moment.

Faced with his silence, the young man shook his head and couldn't help complaining: "I didn't expect you to be so old."

The lion still didn't speak.

He didn't know how he should deal with the current situation, and he didn't want to say anything - in fact, he felt very bad now, as if he had punched hard and hit something that was ten thousand times softer than cotton.
A corner of his mind began to describe the embarrassment of the moment: You're frustrated, Lion El'Jonson. You thought you came here to have a big fight? And to bring about self-sacrifice and something noble so that you can solve this once and for all?
No, it won't work this time. You have saved many people in the past, but not this time. This time is different.
He exhaled deeply, the air carrying the scent of the forest but extremely cold.

The young man still looked at him.

He had two swords hanging from his waist, with leather sheaths, without any decoration, surprisingly plain. The straight guards shone with the luster of new steel. The hilts were wrapped with layers of brown cloth, and were exceptionally clean, with no sweat stains, blood stains, or any signs of bleeding from friction.

From these things, the Lion knew that the two long swords that fit the Primarch's size had just been cast and bound not long ago.

The young man patted them and said, "I made them myself. What do you think? Serafax said you might not accept fighting with a sword, but I think you would."

As he spoke to himself, he took off his swords and threw one of them at the lion.

He took it with one hand and drew the sword instinctively. His center of gravity was just right, and the sense of balance he felt could even be described as 'wonderful'. The lion could not help but be stunned.

He raised his head and looked at the young man. The latter's eyes were extremely focused and fixed on his face. The long sword was already unsheathed and was held in his hand, reflecting the morning sunlight.

"let's start."

The young man said, and then he suddenly shook his arm, the blade swung, and turned the sunlight into a flying blade that pierced the lion's eyes, and threw it at the lion. The lion narrowed his eyes, indifferent to this dirty duel trick. He just raised his hand, and the long sword rotated, cutting a graceful but murderous arc from top to bottom. Simple, direct, there is no skill in it, just pure strength and speed.

Facing ordinary enemies, this is undoubtedly a fatal blow, but for others, it is just a test, and the young man will naturally be classified as the latter.

With his blond hair flying, he tightened his cheeks, exhaled in a deep voice, and thrust out with both hands holding the sword, disrupting the lion's downward slash with a stabbing blow. He also did not use any skills, but he held the sword with both hands, so this blow was far superior to the lion's slash in terms of power and speed.

But in an instant, his sword had reached the lion's face.

That's really fast.
As the sword flashed and life and death were at stake, only this questioning sigh came to the lion's mind. He didn't think of anything else - in fact, he didn't need to think of anything.

He only needed to take a step back to perfectly avoid the thrust. At the same time, he clenched his left fist and punched out, hitting the center of the young man's sword accurately.

He only exerted a little force, but it was enough to completely destroy the balance of the sword. With a dull sound, the long sword in the young man's hand inevitably lost its accuracy and fell crookedly downwards.

A shadow of surprise flashed across the young man's face. The lion glanced at him, suddenly raised his right leg, and kicked him fiercely in the shin. If this hit, the fight would not have to continue. But the lion never thought that his opponent would fall under this trick, so in the next second, when the kick was blocked by the long sword, he swung his left fist again.

"boom!"

A heavy, muffled sound echoed through the forest, shaking off the dew on the ground. The grass swayed, happily accepting this generous gift born from cruel violence. If someone was to shed blood in the future, they would surely accept it with pleasure.

The young man straightened up slowly.

He was knocked back several meters by the lion's seemingly simple straight punch. The clothes on his left shoulder were torn and the skin underneath was bruised and swollen. I guess the inside would not look good either.

The lion remained standing in the same place without moving, but held the sword in front of him, then held it with both hands in a duel salute.

His eyes were calm—in fact, they could even be described as peaceful. It was as if he was not in the middle of a strange but extremely dangerous battle, but rather teaching his juniors in his own mansion. The two were just holding wooden swords and fighting each other.

Seeing this scene, the young man's anger was finally ignited.

He frowned, and the face that had not yet been covered by the beard gradually twisted into a look that the lion had never seen before, but was very familiar with. The anger flowed through every detail, making the face gradually become inhuman and weird, but those human characteristics did not disappear.
The lion sighed slightly in his heart, as if something was stuck in his throat.

Once again, he reluctantly realized that he had changed. If it were in the past, he would not have any psychological fluctuations at this moment.

In fact, if it were in the past, 'this moment' would not even come, because he would use the most horrific and cruel tactics at the very beginning to ensure that he could kill the young man in the shortest time possible, and then try to kill Serafax and any other possible enemies.

Yes, this is Lion El'Jonson - an efficient and harsh predator who does not argue, waver, or hesitate, but kills.

Many people fell into deep confusion after learning the true face of the so-called Knight King. However, there were others who tried to convince him.
They failed to succeed, and were instead consumed by that inhuman rage.

"I'll be more careful," the young man said in a low and serious voice, ending the lion's thoughts.

He didn't argue 'this wasn't a sword fight' or roar 'you were using some tricks' or anything like that. He just stressed that he would be more careful. He didn't even care that the lion was wearing armor and he wasn't. That meant he accepted it all and understood that the sword fight was just a cover.

The truth is, they are going to fight to the death here.

The lion sighed.

He didn't remember sighing before, but strangely, he didn't feel resentful about it, but rather relieved. Then he asked, "Before we really get started, do you have anything else to say?"

"What?" the young man asked.

"Anything is fine." The lion showed a rare bit of patience. "You are obviously different from me. I want to know where this difference comes from."

"Why do you care?"

The young man raised his eyebrows impatiently, his eyes gleaming, raised his sword, and began to move his shoulders, looking like a bull ready to fight.

The lion placed his gaze lightly on his shoulder and calmly delivered the final blow.

"Because you're going to die, child," he said gently.

The young man took a deep breath, closed his mouth, and rushed towards him again, this time even faster than last time.

The dirt flew everywhere he stepped on, and his footprints were so deep that it looked like someone had bombarded him with explosives. His golden hair was flying, his sword was raised high, and his emerald eyes were filled with only primitive and pure killing intent - but the lion only felt pathetic.

Why do you fight? For whom do you swing your sword? He wanted to ask these questions, but he didn't. He just held his sword horizontally and slapped, blocking the young man's first slash. Then he immediately stepped back and avoided the second slash that followed.

The whole process was as smooth as flowing water. His steel boots creaked, and the air was torn apart by the ridiculous explosive power of this seemingly old body, making a hollow crisp sound.

Seeing that his two sword strikes missed, the young man immediately withdrew his sword and refused to chase. He regrouped, returned the sword to the center line, and then made a very standard starting posture. He stood there solemnly, shook the tip of the sword, and invited the lion.

Although Leon couldn't remember how many years he hadn't done this, he still stood there in the same posture, holding the sword with both hands, and put the sword forward. The two pieces of steel immediately collided with each other, making a dull sound.

The young man took a step forward with anger in his eyes, and swung his sword like a storm, slicing the air and the dust in it. In just two seconds, he slashed eleven times in a row, and the power and arc of each sword were perfect.

And what did the lion do?

He blocked all eleven swords.

He didn't use his intuition, nor did he use any 'out-of-the-box tricks', just pure swordsmanship, pure crushing.

Facing the young man's first five swords, he controlled them with the long-standing "balance" method in Caliban swordsmanship. Each of the five swords was disrupted by his slapping or blocking, making it difficult to cause any damage.

As for the more dangerous last six swords, he used a completely different technique. It came from a sword manual compiled by Fulgrim and his best swordsmen, which encouraged and required practitioners to anticipate the enemy's moves and understand the enemy's intentions.

In other words, it hopes that the practitioner can intercept the enemy's attack just before it is formed and before it arrives, and immediately counterattack according to the sword moves. This sounds like a fantasy, and even Fulgrim himself has considered whether to delete this actually irrelevant section from the book.
The lion didn't know whether he actually did this in the end, but he had mastered it thoroughly. He intercepted the young man's last six swords in this way, and he didn't even fight back.

And now, the eleventh sword belonging to the young man is over.

The lion raised his hand, and before he could put away his sword or regroup, he casually slashed out with his own sword.

That is the twelfth sword.

This sword strike was ordinary, commonplace, a basic forehand strike that couldn't be more basic. Launched with both hands, the blade drew a graceful arc from the back of the shoulder and slashed towards the young man. The momentum was so sharp that it even made him feel creepy.

Blood splattered everywhere, and a few birds flew over the treetops, chirping hoarsely, and then flew away little by little.

The young man took a few steps back, panting, and covered his shoulder, blood dripping from his fingers. He looked very surprised, and obviously did not expect things to develop in this direction.

The lion looked at him calmly and suddenly dropped the sword in his hand.

"What did Serafax do to you?" Lion El'Jonson asked sincerely.

"Why do you care?"

The young man asked again with disdain, he let go of his hand and looked at his bloody shoulder.

The wound left by the lion was long and deep. The skin, fat and muscles on his left shoulder were all cut open, and the bloody tendons and muscles wrapped around the bones were clearly visible.

For ordinary people, this is a serious injury. For the Astartes, they need some time to stop the bleeding. But for the Primarch? In just two sentences, he has stopped the bleeding, and the flesh at the wound has even begun to wriggle.
"I'm not concerned about you, I'm just pitying you. You're fighting for someone you don't know at all, you don't know what he's done, in fact, I think you know nothing about him at all."

As the lion spoke, his old face finally revealed the dignity that was in line with his status. Of course, his words also sounded extremely harsh because of this.

Then he got a sneer.

The young man stood up and shook his head. He said nothing, but suddenly disappeared from where he was.

Before the lion could react, an extremely pungent smell rushed into its nostrils, which was extremely choking, like a corpse that had been fermenting under rotten leaves for hundreds of days and nights.

And then--
-
——Luther looked up at the water curtain in front of him and saw in disbelief that Lion El'Jonson had been pierced through the arm by a sword, along with his armor.

Serafax seemed to say something, but he didn't listen. He just stared at the water curtain intently, watching the battle, not daring to look away for a moment.

He watched how Lion El'Jonson went from being in control to being at a disadvantage in a short period of time.

Luther knew the reason, but he didn't understand it. He had to look up at the charred corpse sitting on the chair.

"Are you finally willing to give me some of your attention, sir?" Serafax asked humorously.

Here, in this vast, dark space, his voice became very soft. Very soft, in fact, almost too soft. He didn't sound like he was in the same room with Luther, but
A flash of inspiration came to Luther's mind.

"Another world—"

He spat out these words with difficulty amidst the blood foam and pain, and then gasped for breath. It was not until several minutes later that the old knight had the strength to utter the rest of the sentence.

"——Isn't that right?" Luther asked angrily, extremely weak, but still daring enough to stir up his anger.

Serafax did not answer, but just stared into the distance. But there was nothing in the distance, only darkness, endless darkness.

Luther turned his head with difficulty and saw many corpses stretching their hands and clinging to the darkness, swaying, some fingers were broken, and others began to melt and turn into blood. They were covered with wounds, exposing sickly yellow fat layers or sticky internal organs.

For some reason, Luther felt that they were crying.

"They are crying," Serafax said. "The body is dead, but the soul is restless. I need energy, at least in the short term, so they suffer here. That's why they cry, ser."

Luther panted, leaned against the stairs and sat up little by little, forcing himself to calm down.

"What did you do to them?"

The charred corpse looked down at him, its jaw opening and closing with a creaking sound.

"I killed them, along with their families, friends, and everyone they knew or didn't know. Then, I imprisoned them all here, to power my ritual in the most evil way imaginable. That's what I did, ser. So, if you want to judge, you can start now."

Luther did not get what he wished. The old knight even looked unusually calm at this moment, like a bloody and broken statue.

"A galaxy?" he murmured.

Serafax shook his head. "It's more than that."

"A star sector?" Luther persistently threw out his cold guess.

Again, Serafax shook his head.

"You can't guess the right answer, sir. Planets, galaxies, sectors. If you want, I can even give you a holographic sandbox and let you take a moment to pull up the galactic map and identify them one by one. However, I can give you a hint - no matter how many dead people you see, they are just Calibans."

Luther fell silent, as if he had suddenly fallen into numbness brought on by the illness. Those patients who were dying looked like this, terminally ill, not awake like normal people, but also unable to really sleep. Between half dreaming and half awake, life became like a long corridor full of mirrors, and every face reflected in it was abnormally distorted.

The charred corpse looked down at him, waiting for an answer. After a long moment, the old knight finally asked in a hoarse voice.

"how many?"

The charred corpse let out a hollow laugh, as if in approval.

"You are very well-informed, sir. But if you want a definite answer, I have to apologize - I have not calculated it carefully. I once tried, but then gave up."

Luther closed his eyes in understanding.

He had understood it, there was no way he could not understand it. Of course, he could deceive himself into limiting the answer to a regular quadrant for the sake of his own sanity, but unfortunately, he was not that kind of person.

The Knight of Caliban, Luther, is a hero, upright and brave; the Grand Master of the First Legion, Luther, is a traitor, mean and cowardly; the first agent of the Inquisition, Luther, is a madman, who knows why the world is so dark, and he can even count how many man-eating monsters there are in the galaxy - these identities actually have nothing in common except their names and faces. What really connects them is to make them all "Luther".
From beginning to end, there is only one quality.

Luther opened his eyes.

"Who allowed you to do this?" he suddenly asked, his voice still weak.

Before Lion El'Jonson's battle began, he had also had a hard fight. Serafax summoned a wave of magic to surround him.

Luther used all his strength to fight his way out. He wanted to rush up the stairs to kill Serafax and press the eagle emblem in his hand into his head, so that he could put an end to it. But he had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he was pressed to the ground by an unspeakable force.

The eagle emblem fell into the darkness and disappeared. The demonic tide also disappeared in an instant, and the demons' roars of unwillingness or anger, longing for his soul, echoed in the darkness for a long, long time.
So, no matter how you look at it, no matter how you define it, he has run out of ammunition and is in a situation where he cannot win. But he still dares to ask this question, and he asks it without fear or hesitation.

Serafax looked at him, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded a little surprised.

"You—I must admit, sir, you are not like the rest."

"Who gave you such power?" Luther asked word by word. He leaned against the steps, unarmed and covered in wounds. He was looking up at the charred corpse with unparalleled power, but he acted as calm as a blindfolded knight in the old Oduruk Monastery.

"You can't get them by yourself, Serafax." The old knight said slowly. "So, among those four, there is indeed such a shameless evil creature supporting you, even willing to give you this power."

The charred corpse looked at him steadily and asked, "Do you want to tell me His name?"

Luther shook his shoulders mockingly and laughed silently.

"Tzeentch," he said then. "I said, why not? Will He show up and take my soul? It's up to Him, and it's up to you, Serafax."

"You and the so-called gods behind you are all the same kind of people, lowly and mean, only knowing how to hide in the stinking ditch and perform some small tricks that are not presentable. It's like squatting on the second-floor balcony and throwing bricks down, do you understand? If an unfortunate person is killed by you, you will immediately laugh out loud, as if there is some great ingenuity hidden in the continuous throwing of bricks."

"Are you done, ser?" the charred corpse asked respectfully.

"Not yet." Luther gasped. "One last thing."

"what's up?"

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Eradicate you, replace you, and restore order," said the charred corpse, without hesitation or other evasions. His sincerity was shocking, as if Luther was still the great mentor, and he was still the knight's apprentice.

"In what way?" Luther asked. His eyes almost closed.

"In ways you have never imagined, never seen, ser," Serafax told him gently. "Caliban is where it all began, do you understand? What an honor we had as the First Legion, the First Primarch, my lord. Do you ever think about this in the endless years you have been here?"

"Our brothers are either too stubborn or too frivolous. Some are too good at adapting, while others only want to focus on killing. They stray from the duties established by the Emperor and go astray. Only we are not like that. We are different."

"We are the original samples of all the legions, the first users of their systems and tactics. Even the taboos stored in our arsenal are enough to drown a thousand worlds--!"

His voice became more and more excited and louder, as if he had been holding it in for a very long time and only today found someone to talk to.

Luther was still listening, but he had closed his eyes. He had no strength left, and only wanted to hear Serafax's final confession.
At the same time, he continued to silently recite a prayer.

"But we failed," the Dark Angel said bitterly. "We were broken by the rebellion, we failed in our loyalty, we failed in our duty."

The charred corpse stood up and walked down the stairs. Blood gushed out from its rotten and dry skin, rolling down the gray-white stones, as hot as magma.

"But who should be blamed? I have searched through time and every layer of history, and the conclusion I came to is nothing more than one sentence - the rebellion of Caliban is inevitable."

"Was it me who pushed the time paradox from behind? No, it wasn't me. I was just a pusher. The cause of the disaster had already been laid long before me. Chaos pollution, the awakening of the rattlesnake, the concealment of the dark watchers, and even your birth and the landing of the primarch."

The charred corpse's eyes widened, its charred tendons shattered and rolled off its face, and the pair of eyes embedded in its eye sockets like glass beads actually began to spin rapidly.

"I can't change it, I can't do it!" Serafax roared. "I just know that this shouldn't be the way it is now!"

He took a step forward fiercely, and in just one step he came to Luther's side. At this time, the old knight was already on the verge of death, but Serafax grabbed him without caring. He grabbed Luther's shoulders tightly with his melting fingers and yelled at him.

"We are the original Angels of Death. We were supposed to reverse everything when the catastrophe occurred. So should our Primarch."

"He is not Sanguinius, he is not weak. Nor is he a foolish megalomaniac like Horus. He is not overly cruel like Ferrus Manus, nor is he slicked up like Fulgrim. He is Lion El'Jonson, do you understand? He can outfight the savage Leman Russ, outmaneuver Angron. He has the will of Rogal Dorn, but not his stubbornness. He can be as steely as Perturabo, but he will not allow himself to become a laughing stock in the galaxy. I will give him victory over these Primarchs, Luther, I will—"

Serafax hadn't finished speaking yet, but his voice suddenly stopped.

"——Sir?" he asked cautiously after a few seconds.

The old knight did not answer him. His body stood limply, like a rag in the enemy's hands, barely standing upright, his face still showing pain, his lips slightly parted, his tongue stuck in the back of his jaw, extremely stiff.

Ten thousand years of perseverance, alone, past achievements.
All of this had vanished with his death. There was no tragic sacrifice, no heroic act of exchanging one life for another, only the little ashes left after a man had done everything he could.

Serafax slowly loosened his grip, letting him fall to the ground.

It's over, he realized. Luther was dead, and now there was only one thing left to do.

He turned around and walked up the stone steps in ecstasy.
-
Khalil loosened his grip, letting half the body slip from his grasp.

There were artillery fire flying above his head, shouting, roaring and screaming in his ears. The chaos on the surface of Kamas was beyond description. Everyone who stayed here was gradually falling into the madness brought by the war.
Only he remained calm.

He raised his head and looked at the red sky. At this time, it was not dawn in Kamas, at least not in this hemisphere. What could he see? No one knew.

"I heard you," Caryl Rohals said. "I got your message, Luther."

(End of this chapter)