40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 807, Section 4. Horus Lupecal

Sunlight streamed through the stone house windows, gently illuminating the interior—plain tables, chairs, and benches. A pile of wood for winter was stacked in the corner, and a sickle and hoe leaned against the wall behind the door. The stove in the southeast corner burned quietly, filling the entire house with the aroma of tea.

Horus Lupecal, the greatest traitor in human history, was steadily carrying two cups of tea.

His face was very similar to the people in those portraits that had long since been burned, yet somewhat different.
Perhaps it was a collective decision by the painters, or perhaps it was because that person was indeed like that; in any case, in those paintings, there was always something indescribable flowing between the eyes and brows of the warlord Horus—power, honor, and authority. These three things bowed down at his feet, ultimately shaping this undeniably regal face.

He himself was aware of this, so he always wore a smile in his paintings in an attempt to diminish his imposing presence, which attracted almost everyone.

But this person who is putting down his teacup is different.

“You must try it,” he said.

Kalil picked up the cup of tea and took a small sip. He didn't know much about this drink that had been popular in the empire for thousands of years, but he could still easily draw a conclusion from its mellow aroma and the sweet aftertaste after the slight bitterness.

He nodded and said softly, "It's delicious."

Vulcan tilted his head back, picked up the small bucket that was much larger than the wooden cup in Caril's hand, and then drank it all in one gulp. The scalding temperature meant nothing to the Lord of Fire Dragons; he even chewed and swallowed the tea leaves along with it, not wasting a single drop.

This scene made him smile involuntarily, but as if he was mindful of something, he immediately regained his composure.

Khalil observed this but did not point it out, only saying, "Things in memory can be this real."

The man's eyes dimmed for a moment, but he still answered, "After all, he is the best craftsman in the world."

Vulcan shook his head: "You grew these tea leaves yourself, harvested them yourself, and dried them yourself. It has nothing to do with me."

But what if it weren't for you—

“You don’t have to suffer all this,” Vulcan interrupted him.

These words seemed to reveal something, instantly freezing the atmosphere in the stone house. They shattered a tacit understanding among the three, but the other two were unprepared for it, not even Kalil.

He glanced at the tall blacksmith with some surprise, but the latter remained calm.

“You didn’t come to Nocturne in a private capacity, Kalil.” He turned his head, his crimson eyes as still as still water. “You come representing the Sealholder and the Inquisition, don’t you?”

The judge neither affirmed nor denied it, and the Lord of Fire Dragons continued slowly.

“Many years ago, the State Church also sent people to Nocturne, but unlike you, they didn't come empty-handed. They brought a plan, the purpose of which was to resurrect Horus Lupecal.” I was puzzled. I asked them why they would do this, what the point was. If he returned to the world of the living and was still the person I knew, the immense sin and grief would undoubtedly crush him. And if it went wrong, and something else returned, what then?

He clenched his hands coldly, the flesh and bones making a heavy, dull thud.

“I’ve fought it face to face, I know what it is. It’s powerful enough to defeat an emperor, but it’s nothing more than a puppet. If it’s a puppet, then Chaos can create countless more. Frankly, I think this plan is bound to fail, but I still want to know why they came to me—what does this whole thing have to do with me?”

Vulcan raised his head and looked at the person across the stone table.

The man was a little shorter than him, with a resolute and simple face, and an undisguised torrent of emotion was surging in his eyes.

“They finally gave their answer,” the world’s finest craftsman said, meeting those eyes. “They came to me because this plan requires Horus Lupecal from my memory, the wolf god of the empire, not the leader of the rebellion.”

At the other end of the stone table, the craftsman's brother, as he remembered him, clenched his fists in anguish.

“But you refused,” the judge finally spoke. “However, it didn’t stop after you refused. In fact, it started many years ago.”

He leaned back and habitually rubbed the court insignia pinned to his collar with his right index and middle fingers.

“There are countless factions within the state religion. Although they worship only two gods, the ‘ultimate goals’ of different factions are vastly different.”

"Some firmly believe that revenge is the right path, the embodiment of justice and human rage. Some believe that the God-Emperor must be freed before he can leave his throne. There are even some who believe that everything in this galaxy can be sacrificed for the continuation of humanity. Fanaticism, Vulcan, fanaticism is a strong shield brought by faith, but also a double-edged sword."

“I have a lot of things to deal with after I came back, and this is one of them. Unfortunately, some things, once started, cannot be stopped halfway through, no matter how hard one tries.”

He paused briefly, still expressionless, but his right hand squeezed the emblem so hard it made a cracking sound.

Vulcan spoke up at the opportune moment: "What exactly did they do?"

"Didn't you read the proposal?"

“I have seen it, but I don’t think they haven’t hidden something.”

The judge smiled. "Indeed."

"This plan was already taking shape in the thirty-seventh millennium. The sect whose name had been erased presented it to each pope time and time again, and although it was rejected every time, they did not give up. In the end, they even found the seal bearer himself to tell him about their plan."

"Their faction was highly decorated, so Macardo gave them some face, listened to the plan, and then formally rejected it. When the Pope heard about it, he was furious and immediately launched a faith trial against the sect within the state church. In this way, everything the sect had done in the past was put on the scales and weighed in the light of the star."

"Finally, they were banished to a desolate world, never to leave, nor to preach. Moreover, each of them swore an oath to their respective gods that they would never use the power of faith as before unless facing the great enemy of Chaos. Everything needed to carry out that plan was also confiscated, and the state church even sent a team of priests to accompany them for surveillance. Unfortunately, the pope still underestimated them."

"More than two thousand years later, in 400.M39, a boy named Elias was born on Elodo, a planet far in the Misty Starfield. He was born into a family with military merit and could have received a good education, but in the very year of his birth, a plague broke out on Elodo."

"His parents died in the plague, leaving him as an infant. An old soldier found him in the ruins and handed him over to a nurse in the camp's infirmary. Soon after, the old soldier was killed in action due to the invasion of the Nurgle army, and the nurse and the surviving soldiers retreated to underground caves. They resisted there for more than four years until the demons finally broke through their defenses." "The boy was only five years old at the time. He didn't know his original parents' names, only that the old soldier who found him was called Silas, and the nurse was called Shem. He wore a tattered uniform that had been altered from a dead body, and his hands, shoulders, and neck were calloused from delivering supplies to the soldiers every day."

"He got along well with the soldiers, and everyone liked him. Even the notorious bastards wouldn't do anything to him. But then the demons breached the defenses, his second mother died, and most of the people he knew, whether friends or not, were killed. Under this extreme pressure, the boy seemed to suddenly become a different person."

"According to the Herodo soldiers who survived that war, Elias led them for the next two years. No demon could stand before this boy; they would melt simply by looking at him. They also said that his eyes were as golden as the morning sun."

"After the war, the news spread like wildfire. Soon, the Church of the Misty Starfield sent people to verify its authenticity. In 410.M39, Elias, only ten years old, was made a living saint of the state church. Everything he did in that war was believed to be the work of the divine emperor's manifestation and possession. However, he did not live to adulthood. Just one year later, Elias died of illness due to long-term malnutrition and the wounds left by the war."

"However, this is not the end. Fifty years after his birth, in 450.M39, a similar event occurred in the Storm Starfield, which is an unknown distance away from the Misty Starfield. By the beginning of the fortieth millennium, there were as many as twelve boys who had been given the title of living saint because of similar miraculous events."

His narration finally ended, and the Fire Dragon Lord's expression had become extremely terrifying. A scorching heat emanated from his body, making his breath sound like the flames at the very center of a furnace. Kalil looked at him and shook his head.

“I know what you want to ask, Vulcan—but those men did not break their vows, and in fact, they did not use any power of faith for the rest of their lives. According to the notes of the priests who accompanied them, they spent their days praying, apart from working, eating, and resting, and they remained devout.”

He spread his hands and sighed, "And that's the problem."

"What exactly did they do?" the Lord of Fire Dragons asked.

"They prayed."

"what?"

“They prayed,” Khalil repeated. “With the rest of their lives, their prayers, and their devotion, they sculpted a shadow in the Warp. It had no flesh and blood, no memory, not even a name. It was meant to be a phantom reflection, but because of their faith, it solidified for a brief moment.”

"There is no concept of time in the subspace; a moment is eternity. Thus, it was officially born, transforming from a reflection into a physical entity—and, because of their excessive obsession, it seemed to truly believe itself to be Horus Lupecal, the wolf god Horus, the son of the Emperor."

The person across the stone table was deathly pale and clenched their teeth.

Khalil glanced at him subtly and lowered his voice: "And so, the plan that had been rejected and utterly destroyed began to proceed in another form."

Inside the stone house, there was a moment of silence. After a while, the person with the face of Horus spoke, his voice trembling.

"So, what brings you here?"

The judge slowly stood up and told a joke.

"To kill you."

He waited a moment, blinked, but no one in the room laughed, so he immediately said the second half of his sentence, with a hint of regret for not succeeding.

"I was just kidding. Did you guys realize that?"

Still no one paid him any attention. The judge sighed and continued helplessly.

"To be precise, it's for you."

"Names possess power, a fact that this blacksmith likely understands better than any of us. In the Prometheusian Way he passed down to his descendants, there is a very serious rule—any weapon must be named carefully, for once it possesses a true name, it is no longer merely a weapon. And you and that entity happen to share the same name: Horus Lupecal."

“So?” Vulcan asked. “What are you going to do, Karil?”

“It’s not what I want to do, but what they want to do,” the Inquisitor calmly corrected. “That entity has already been noticed. Can you imagine how many eyes in the galaxy and the warp are watching it? And then there are rituals performed for it, powers invoked for it, and a search conducted everywhere? And, as I said, names possess power.”

He looked at the person whose face was still pale, but who had calmed down.

"Therefore, those greedy eyes are likely to see you first."

Vulcan slowly stood up, the surrounding scenery receding in an instant, the intense heat from the earth's core returning. He strode to the anvil, reached down and took a warhammer from above, holding it in his hand.

“Then let them come,” he said.

Khalil smiled regretfully.

"There is no concept of time in the warp. Vulcan, do you think those demons have been tirelessly traversing the depths of Nocturne for the past ten thousand years in search of you?"

The Lord of Fire Dragons' face was tense, and his hands were trembling slightly from exerting too much force.

“I know all this,” he said hoarsely. “But I won’t let them get near him again.”

"He is not the real Horus."

"But at least he's the Horus I know!"

Is that so? If that's the case, then he's probably already...
Looking into Vulcan's eyes, which were trying hard to remain calm but still couldn't hide his grief, he ultimately didn't hand over the knife of truth and stab him until he bled profusely.

“I’ll come again tomorrow,” Khalil said.

(End of this chapter)