40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 707 88. Belated Judgment (End)
Khalil raised his hand and held down his hat in the strong wind caused by landing. Two mute guards came forward on the left and right, making a series of gestures, ending with the Sky Eagle Salute, and he returned the gesture of thanks.

He won't say it, but he has to be honest, so if anyone asks, he'll admit that he enjoys this way of communicating. Sign language is a simple, direct language that doesn't accept any kind of euphemism, so anyone who uses it will be much more effective.

Caryl Lohals likes to be efficient.

The mute guards stopped where they were and bowed slightly to him. He strode into the dark cave.

There was no dust here. His movement did not raise any dust. Only the constant sound of footsteps proved that he was really moving. The muffled sound of his leather boots touching the ground was swallowed up by the surrounding rock walls, chewed and regurgitated. When they were spit out, the sounds had already gone to deeper places.

However, the darkness shrouding this cave is not an ordinary thing. Some power that does not belong to the material world is wandering here. Carril perceives it carefully, like a greedy painter gazing at a new landscape, and the conclusion he draws is quite intriguing.

First, the power belongs to Malcador.

Second, this power has been lingering here for at least thousands of years. It has been alienated by time. If it continues like this, it will soon undergo a transformation. However, as to what it will become, even Khalil cannot say for sure.

And the seal bearer will not do meaningless things.

He was a chess player who could not be more experienced. From the moment he put himself on the chessboard 10,000 years ago, every move he made was carefully considered. It was impossible for him not to consider the consequences of doing so, but he still did it.

This means that he would rather this spiritual energy become a huge wave that brings disaster one day or the next second in the future, than let this deep cave and everything inside it be completely covered up.

He had created a place in the material world that the gods could not penetrate - a remarkable feat, even with some tricks and extra help.
Khalil turned his head to look at the rock wall of the cave. He didn't know when the murals had occupied all the walls he could see. The brushstrokes were very rough, without any skills at all, and the only pigments were ashes, charcoal and blood.

The subjects of the paintings, on the other hand, vary greatly, from fighting off beasts to protecting young children, celebrating around fires at night, to burning the bodies of the dead and smearing their ashes.
Gradually, Khalil's pace slowed down. He had no appreciation for works of art, but these murals were not just any kind of art. They were the memories and thoughts of a group of primitive people after they had enough food and clothing for the first time, and the fire of humanity flashed in them.

It was just a tiny spark at that time, not even qualified to leave a trace, but it stayed after all. Millions of years later, humans will still do the same thing as their ancestors in the murals.

Kill harmful animals, protect the weak, celebrate victories, and commemorate the dead.

Khalil slowly turned his head and saw the seal holder's now too young face.

"how?"

"How about what?"

"How do you feel about what you see?"

Khalil smiled and answered in sign language: I don't want you to be too proud.

Malcador looked at him, turned around, and touched the ground heavily with the Eagle's staff. A buzzing sound immediately rose up, and endless light and heat burst out from the Eagle's eyes, turning into tiny sparks of fire, faintly illuminating the road ahead of them.

No, it is better to say that they form a brand new road.
The road was not long, only a few dozen steps, and there was no door at the end of the road, just an abrupt hole. Khalil looked up and saw a familiar relic.

The smile disappeared from his face.

"Come on." The Master of the Seal said in a low voice, as if he was trying to suppress the urge to sigh. "I hope there is something left in it that we can use."

They stepped onto the path and in the blink of an eye they arrived at the ruins.

The air was filled with the smell of decay, but the air was still, so things that should have become dust were still in the wreckage as they were ten thousand years ago. There was no light in the sky, but there was no night at all, and the dark light of a rainy afternoon enveloped everything.
Or rather, floating above it all.

Khalil squatted down and scooped up a handful of gray dust. There was no wind here to blow it, so each grain of white ash stayed quietly in his palm, and a stone brick was faintly visible where he scooped up the dust.

Khalil flipped his palm and poured out the dust, and wiped off the stone brick with his palm, finally seeing its original appearance. And it was not a precious building material, but just a fired blue-gray stone brick. The only thing that made it transcend the mundane world was the words on it.
It does not belong to any language, but its original meaning can be understood by all intelligent creatures.

It is a warning.

You are treading upon human territory. Leave, or be destroyed.

"Forward," Malcador said. He sounded tired, extremely tired.

This was not the voice of a seal holder who was at the center of the empire's political vortex. People had a fearful and illusory perception of him, thinking that he had no emotions at all. But that was just a disguise, and most of the time he was willing to let this disguise become his true self. Unfortunately, it didn't work here.

Here, his voice was tired and sad, and his eyes were old and helpless.

"Which direction?" Khalil asked softly.

"Just move forward," Malcador said stubbornly. "If I remember correctly, he's waiting for us up ahead. Hurry, Khalil, or they'll notice."

Khalil nodded silently, and the two sharp blades slipped out of the sleeves of the judge's coat and were held tightly in his hands. A boiling murderous intent immediately descended, and the rotten bricks and stones were naturally indifferent to this, but if there was anything in it, it would probably be dead now.

He strode forward, walked in front of the silver-haired young man who suddenly hunched over, and waved the sharp blades in his hands seemingly harmlessly, but his footsteps were as heavy as bullets hitting steel.
They kept walking, but how much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Months? Perhaps in the material world, it could still be calculated accurately as in the past, but not here.

Time is not one of the necessary laws here. Its builders did not envision this, and its successors and users simply do not have the leisure and ability to do so.

So they could only walk until they saw a bridge in front of them. Like the other buildings, it had long been destroyed, with large chunks of melted steel and charred wood, as if a fire had occurred here many years ago.

A white-haired man stood on the bridge, wearing a worn-out old armor, holding his sword on guard. Behind him stood a stone tablet, with a huge dried black snake corpse wrapped around it, its snout wide open, and only two empty holes where the eyes should be.

"Let me do it," Malcador said.

With these words, he stood up forcefully, holding his scepter like a crutch, walked up to Khalil, and shouted, "Leon!"

The white-haired man immediately looked over, his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, as if he couldn't see clearly who was calling him from the other side of the bridge.

"What's going on?" Khalil asked.

"He is in the webway of ten thousand years ago, so he can only vaguely hear our voices, but cannot see our figures." Malcador explained briefly. "Some external force must have intervened, Khalil."

"What kind of external force do you mean?"

Malcador's expression gradually became tense, and he was reluctant to give an answer, but Khalil knew him too well, and he had actually guessed the answer before the question was asked.

He smiled, the blade slid into his sleeve, and the illusory yet solid flames of anger began to boil and burn under his feet in the next second.
Despite this, the surrounding ruins did not collapse further. The white-haired man on the bridge seemed to have finally seen them and was running towards them.

The distance of hundreds of meters was covered in the blink of an eye. The same was true for the stone tablet and the dead snake. They were bound by a thick iron chain, wrapped around the man's left forearm and tied very tightly.

"Go!" he whispered through clenched teeth. "They are about to notice me!"

Malcador immediately raised his right hand and once again brought his staff down hard against the ground.

But this time, no light came out of the Sky Eagle's eyes, but the dark sky of the ruins changed. But the time it took to change was very short, so short that it could not even be called time - suddenly, a blazing golden beam of light appeared in the sky without any warning.

The sky was full of light, surging and vigorous. It was so dazzling and majestic that it could attract the attention of any living being. Even the four eternal beings could not escape the brightness of this moment.
But it was only for a moment.

The light went out, and darkness came in, covering everything. The grotto returned, and so did the murals depicting the distant past of mankind, which were now looming in the dim light.

Malcador closed his eyes wearily and let out a breath.

A few hours later, they met again in the Sigillite's Executive Council.

The white-haired lion had taken off his armor, changed into a new set of clothes, and shaved his beard cleanly, but he still looked very old, even older than before.

His eyes have become a calm and eternal deep green, which makes him look like a calm lake. You will never know what is hidden under the calm water until you throw a stone into it.
However, this also made him look completely different from before. Even if a Dark Angel came and stood in front of him to observe him carefully, it would probably take a while to confirm that this man was their Primarch.

What has he been through?
Long story.

Turning back the time to the moment when he was resurrected, he was once again in the ancient ice and snow land that had resurrected from the dead - he was called back and then awakened, but his consciousness could no longer be called clear. A strange and terrifying impulse seized his incomplete soul, shocking the wolves.

But it didn't matter, because it only lasted for a moment. After a second, he returned to normal.

He stood up from the stone platform, asked for weapons, armor and shields, and then began to tell the wolves and his son some necessary things, acting as if he had experienced unimaginable waves in that second.

And the fact is indeed so, he did not simply come back from the dead. The ancients said that things that crawl out of the coffin will always be covered with mud, and he is no exception - he came back with something, and this thing is the sum of two memories and power.

One from a lone hunter, the other from a proud king. They died, but their power remained. They were extraordinary in life, and they were also extraordinary in death. When ordinary humans die, they are dead, and nothing is left except flesh, blood and bones, but they can keep such precious treasures in the world.
But is this bad luck or good fortune? No one knows the answer, not even those who have inherited the memory and power.

He only knew that he had a new mission and something he had to do.

He put on his armor, took up his shield and sword, and summoned an ancient forest and stepped into it, leaving Fenris behind. He had something to do, something of great significance, even related to the survival of a race.
He walked forward and came to a river bank, then hid in the forest, letting the forest bury him completely. In the middle of the river, a boatman was paddling a small boat slowly forward, and soon he rowed to the other shore. A blond knight carried another bloody man on the boat, his face full of anger, but the details showed the fear and sadness that could not be concealed.
The time is now, he told himself.

As the conversation on the river bank continued, an extremely evil being arrived right behind the knight. It looked handsome and majestic, and like a god, it was worshiped. But in his eyes, it was just a bulging dead white skin.

Every time he spoke, the things beneath him began to surge. Countless threads emerged from his eye sockets, floated up into the sky, and entered a dark void, where four seemingly invisible eyes blinked.

It's now.

He suppressed his rage, tried his best to act like a speck of dust, and repeated through gritted teeth.

You have to succeed.

The conversation on the river bank ended, the river began to stir, and small boats appeared quietly under his will, connecting the two worlds. One was the burning Caliban, and the other was Terra, which was heading towards destruction.

Countless black-armored knights rode on it, heading towards their destination in a mighty procession. The blond knight was among them, hugging tightly the dying body of his brother.

He was so overwhelmed with grief that he did not notice the slight difference in his heart. He still thought that he could do this great power alone.

Lion El'Jonson smiled bitterly at that moment.

He had completed a task, but he did not feel the sense of accomplishment he usually did in the past. Perhaps it was because of the anguish of finally understanding the truth, or perhaps it was because of the difficulty of the next task.

He left the forest and stepped into Caliban - what he had to do was simple, just to search for and kill a monster called Ouroboros. However, everything is easier said than done.

The thing had told him that it was Caliban itself, and it was true. The Lion had to fight the thing at every turn in Caliban, and it was always a hard battle, but he had learned something new.

When the evil creature lurked with the cunning of a beast, he would use the skills of a hunter to track the traces it left. When it turned to face him in human form and tried to promise, lure and deceive, the king's pride would just surge in his heart, allowing him to unravel the mystery and get to the core.

He endured it all with unparalleled willpower, allowing the rage left by the king and the hunter to invade his mind as a side effect, but he never retreated.

Finally, he finished it.

He killed the Ouroboros, from the past to the future, once and for all. He brought it back so that it could take on another responsibility - to repair, build and maintain a new wonder, a pure hope.

But before that, he still had two things to do.

The first thing is judgment.

With a flash of golden light, a Dark Angel was brought before him. He was wearing a brand new set of Legion-era power armor, and his flaming red hair and freckled face showed his youth. He knew what he was about to face, but he was not afraid.

He lowered his head, waiting for death to come.

"As Primarch of the First Legion, I sentence you, Serafax, a traitor to humanity, the Imperium, and the Legion, to death. Do you object?"

"No, Primarch." The Dark Angel said, his head bowed. "The traitor Serafax pleads guilty."

"very good."

The Primarch of the First Legion raised his sword, a silver light flashed, blood splattered, and a head rolled down. The Grand Inquisitor standing by raised his hand to his chest to bear witness.

But the golden light shone again, bringing out a corrupt soul thoroughly stained with blood and evil from the body of the Dark Angel. In the blink of an eye, it was brought into the Star Torch and used as fuel. From then on, both the body and soul were destroyed.

There was a shriek of discontent and a loud laugh from the Warp.

Lion El'Jonson threw down his sword and walked aside, his face calm. He seemed to know that the body of the Dark Angel would become ashes, or maybe he simply didn't care.

However, interestingly, the administrative council of the seal holder is actually a world that has been forever changed by psychic energy, and its interior is not as well-behaved as the fortresses in other solar systems. Just like the ancient square they are in now, it is floating in the air, and even the railings have long been weathered.

The strong wind blew the lion's white hair backwards. The wind seemed to have magical power, it not only blew his hair, but also blew other things.
The Grand Inquisitor walked slowly up from behind him.

"I have witnessed it," he said calmly. "Your oath is now fulfilled."

The lion nodded gently without turning his head, still without saying a word. It was not until a long time later that he took off a small cloth bag from his waist and opened it.

"I want to ask you something, Khalil."

"I know everything."

The lion turned his head slightly, his profile still calm, but the lake was no longer still: "Do you know what the last mission Luther received was?"

"I do not know," said the Grand Inquisitor.

"I know." The lion turned back. "His last mission was to protect me."

He took two steps forward, holding the bag tightly with his left hand, and placed his right hand on the weathered railing and held it tightly. Ashes flew through his fingers, and the whistling wind continued to roar.

"He took on an impossible task, Khalil. The time limit of this task was from the beginning to the end of time. But he still completed it brilliantly. He stayed in his own history, whether unfamiliar or familiar, and never wavered."

"The nameless knight in the legend of Oduruk is him. The old and tired blindfolded knight is also him. He is the one pushing everything in secret, so that the former me can meet the former him, so that everything can run smoothly."

"He was like a line of code, doing his thing silently in a program that had been run tens of millions of times until he was killed, erased, and replaced. He knew it all, but he was willing."

The lion turned around again.

"Do you remember him?" the Calibanite asked, his eyes as bright as leaves stained with morning dew. "Do you remember Luther, the Knight of Caliban?"

"I remember."

"I remember it, too," the Calibanite said. "But we are the only ones who remember it. His legion, the people he saved, and his own homeland have forgotten him completely. And I can't even blame him for his folly."

He lowered his head and threw the bag in his hand into the wind. Gray dust fell from it, then flew up with the wind and disappeared.

The lion muttered to himself.

"Perhaps this can be considered as the fulfillment of his long-cherished wish. Didn't he always want to accomplish something great? You still remember, Khalil? He was so indignant back then, angrily scolding me for depriving him of the right to achieve great things and making him fall into mediocrity. Do you think that was his true thought?"

"Half truth, half lie."

"So, will he be satisfied now?"

"He will," said Caryl Rohals.

He walked forward, looking up at the embers in the wind. He thought of many things, such as the murals in the caves, such as courage, justice or perseverance. His thoughts were very chaotic, but he did not stop this chaos from affecting him.

On the contrary, he took advantage of the emotions generated by the chaos, raised his hand to take off his wide-brimmed hat, and slowly lowered his head.

He began to mourn.

And the lion turned and left.

"No," he said firmly. "I will not mourn his death. It was a good death, Khalil."

"There is no knight more qualified than him, no knight greater than him, he did what we all dream of - he saved everything, so I will never mourn him."

He suddenly stopped.

"Actually, I'm jealous of him."

The footsteps continued to sound, and the bloodless and tearless lion strode away. He would lick his wounds alone, always like this, always like this, and nothing would change.

The strong wind slowly died down.

Millions of years from now, humans will still do the same things as their ancestors did: they will kill vermin, protect the weak, celebrate victories, and honor the dead.

——Volume 9, end.

(End of this chapter)