40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 858, Section 6: The Ring (Part Two)

For the fashionable and young Vitus Sable, this long, dreamless night was merely a fleeting corner of his memory. He would remember his conversation with Negui, but would soon forget the light and how soundly he had slept that night. Perhaps he would recall these things someday in the future, but that was a matter for the future.

For Negui, or rather, for this complex being who possessed Horus Lupecal, this night would forever change him. However, he didn't realize it when it arrived, nor did he even notice it when the golden light appeared.

His thoughts were still on the group of Kriegs that Vitus had encountered during the day.

He had some recollection of this world; when Vitus was still studying at the academy, their names had appeared three times in textbooks. This wasn't a great honor, but it did show that they were not to be underestimated. A mutiny of about two thousand soldiers? Even in an ordinary auxiliary force, this would be enough to make one frown, let alone a unit that had generally received commendations and attention from the Ministry of Military Affairs.

He instinctively felt that there was something hidden behind this, and he wanted to find out now, or get more information as soon as possible so that he could deduce the truth and prevent Vitus from suffering undue harm in the future because of this matter—interestingly, this kind of cautious concern did not actually belong to Horus Lupecal.

The Wolf God is a radiant idol; his shadow can protect many, but for this very reason, he does not look down upon those weaker than himself. Perhaps he will glance at them occasionally, but most of the time he pays no heed.

He couldn't do it; he would be letting them down. He didn't want to do it either; the image of Serrano van der Leyef's blood-soaked hands still haunted him.

He paced absentmindedly back and forth in the empty corridors of the Imperial Messenger. Ghosts don't need to make any noise when they walk, nor do they need to abide by any laws of physics, so he could easily wander around, even causing chaos and frightening people like a real ghost. But he didn't want to do that.
Of course, if it were someone else—or some other person—in this situation, things would probably be different.

As the thought crossed his mind, Horus smiled involuntarily, and the face of Riemann Russ appeared before his eyes.

If you were here... Oh, you stupid wolf.

He smiled nostalgically, completely unaware that a figure had quietly appeared behind him.

A few seconds later, he snapped out of his reverie, a gloom creeping onto his face, wiping away the last trace of warmth left by his gentle smile. He sighed softly, walked slowly to a porthole, and stared at a cluster of stars that flickered between light and shadow, solemnly admonishing himself.

You are not Horus; these things belong to him, not you. You stole his memories, his name—that's despicable enough; you must not go any further.
Otherwise, that would be too tragic.

He pondered for a moment, then withdrew his gaze, his body floating back to the young lieutenant's room. The latter was now fast asleep, breathing steadily, and even the wrinkles between his brows had disappeared. This surprised him somewhat: this was the young man's best night's sleep in recent days.

He walked past him silently, unaware that the suddenly appearing figure had followed him in.

He walked to Vitus's desk and casually swept his right hand across the new data panel. Without him making any move, it suddenly unlocked, the biometric device seemingly nonexistent, failing to provide any intended obstruction.

He sat down, raised his right hand, and waved it in the air. The contents of the data panel changed from Vitus's analysis and reflection on the previous battle to a series of news articles: "New policies related to demi-human species", "New drugs shine in the field of intractable diseases", "Standardized equipment innovation: light weapons", and "Heavy armored forces are about to be integrated".
He flipped through these news articles, which were exclusively for soldiers and could be considered 'insider information' to some extent. His expression was sometimes thoughtful, sometimes happy, but sometimes not so pleasant, such as when he came to the article about demi-humans.

The author of this article specifically mentions at the end that some noteworthy trends have emerged in many rapid reaction strike forces that are serving as pilot programs for demi-human service.

This person solemnly warned the soldiers and officers, hoping they would be careful not to get too close to the demi-humans.
After all, just over a decade ago, these sharp-eared, agile 'demi-humans' were a type of alien race known as the 'Elder Race.' Even though the Biological Sages discovered that their DNA was highly similar to that of humans, it didn't erase the past hatred. If they weren't also divided into different species, and if most of the crimes against the Empire's citizens weren't committed by the so-called Dark Elder Race, these so-called demi-humans should have been executed immediately.

This person also said that he believed these demi-humans should be required to wear masks when serving in the military.

In his own words, "Their unnecessary so-called beauty is the best evidence of these demi-humans as an inferior race."

Horus frowned, somewhat bewildered.

This is truly news. The Eldar of the Ark are actually willing to submit to the Empire as demi-humans? Why would they do this? Did one of their prophets make some decision that defied public opinion?
The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. He knew that most of the Elven race harbored extremely strong prejudices against humans. Their contempt and sense of superiority were blatantly excessive, and they had never concealed it. Yet now, they had actually lowered themselves and become a kind of demi-human?
He pondered, and in the end, he felt an urge to laugh. Though inappropriate, it was undeniably true.

"What are you laughing at?" a voice suddenly asked.

He inevitably froze for a second or two; time had never felt so long. His original perception of time was completely shattered during that moment, so much so that when he regained his senses, he felt as if several years had passed.
His thoughts raced, countless memories surging and resurfacing. They didn't belong to him, but the memories and emotions they contained were real—they made him immediately aware of the speaker's identity.

He took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands, intending to use it for support, but forgot that he was now just a wandering soul. His fingers slipped through his fingers, leaving him looking somewhat unprepared and embarrassed.

"Mocking?" the man asked thoughtfully. "Indeed, after all, you are well aware of our history of fighting and killing with the Eldar. But please don't reveal it, okay? We've put in a lot of effort to get this officially implemented. In the future, these Ark Eldar will contribute to the unification of the galaxy under strict supervision. Although this cannot atone for their past sins, at least, it won't happen again in the future."

He wanted to question them, but failed. In the end, he could only manage to stammer out, "How can you be sure they won't abandon us like they used to?"

"Because they swore an oath."

“Oaths mean nothing to them—wait.” He suddenly awoke. “You can’t just leave it like this.”

He turned abruptly, deliberately avoiding looking to the left where the voice had come from. He glanced at the bed where Vitus was lying and saw that the latter was still soundly asleep, showing no sign of waking up. Only then did he look like a twenty-year-old.

“I blurred his senses,” the man explained. “So you don’t need to worry about him overhearing our conversation.”

"You just said they swore an oath, is that what I think?"

"Yes."

"How could they... their gods? Don't they have any objections to this?"

"When you are powerful enough, the opinions of others become less important. Of course, we did communicate with them. The final result is as you can see: the Ark Eldar gained a huge sanctuary, and their souls are no longer constantly threatened. Compared to what they gained, what they lost was negligible."

The man patiently answered his questions, his tone calm and gentle, without concealing anything; the sincerity in his words was impossible to fake. But the more genuine he was, the more complex the emotions of the being who had stolen Horus Lupecal's name became.

He didn't know how to describe his feelings at that moment; he only felt as if his chest had been torn apart.
The culprits are countless complex emotions, the two largest being anger and sadness. But why is he angry, and why is he sad?
With a question in his mind, he slowly turned his head to look at Horus Lupecal's father.

He had expected to see a face as radiant and divine as the emperor of his memories, but he was wrong. He saw no emperor, only a man who looked like a farmer. He had broad shoulders and a dark complexion, relentlessly scorched by the sun.

He stood there quite peacefully, without any ornaments on his body, and dressed only in a set of coarse cloth clothes, looking like an old farmer waiting for darkness to fall asleep.

This is not the image Horus remembers. This is not his father.

“Hello.” The man nodded to him. “This should be our first meeting, but I don’t think I need to introduce myself again, since we know each other very well.”

He wanted to answer something, but only felt a tightness in his throat.

“That child—” the man suddenly changed the subject. “—You’ve raised him very well; you must have put in a lot of effort.”

Why do you say that?

"Because it is indeed true. You raised him into a trustworthy person, which is no easy feat. In my personal experience, raising children is an extremely arduous task. You don't get much in return for it; instead, you are tormented by endless worries, both physically and mentally. When they are not in your sight, you worry that something bad will happen to them; when they say they are going to participate in something, you can't help but imagine them lying in a pool of blood. But don't get me wrong, I'm not referring to the Primals. I haven't raised most of them like you have."

"And Horus?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he began to hate himself.

“Horus is an exception,” the man replied calmly. “He proved one thing: I’m a terrible father.”

He instinctively wanted to refute—at least for a moment. The emotions brought on by Horus Lupecal's memories were relentlessly eroding his reason like a storm, making him want to speak up and utter the word he must never utter.

But he didn't do that; he held back; he resisted them.

In the end, this was his answer to the man.

"Perhaps, but that's not something I should judge. I'm not qualified. This is between you and Horus. He's the only one qualified to judge whether what you just said was right or wrong, but he's dead, and I'm not him."

He paused for a moment, then, with a surge of courage he didn't know where it came from, he spoke faster and faster.

“I hope you understand this: I am not him. I am the echo of the warp and the fusion of Vulcan’s works. I should not exist. It is a mistake for me to be alive, Emperor, because everything I possess does not belong to me, including my name.”

The person who refused to revert to his imperial persona stared at him with an expression he couldn't understand at all. It wasn't painful, but it made his heart clench.

He suppressed this feeling and began to hate Horus.

If he could, he would love to confront him and ask: Why are you always like this? Isn't there anything better to do in this world? Think about humanity! Think about those who are still starving and freezing, living in misery because of mistakes made ten thousand years ago!

These thoughts raced through his mind. He took a deep breath and spoke again.

"Are you here to take his name back?"

The man's lips moved, and it took him a few seconds to answer the simple question.

“No,” he said slowly. “Actually, quite the opposite. I have no intention of taking anything back; they belong to you.”

"I am not Horus."

“Yes, you are not, but you deserve these things,” the man said with a strange, gentle expression. “You have all his love, all his hate, and things he didn’t have. You are not him, and I don’t want you to be him.”

He stepped forward, extended his right hand, and opened it. Amidst the calluses, grooves, and slight trembling, an old and unassuming gold ring lay quietly on it.

“I would like to ask you to accept it,” the man said.

He was struck dumb, then staggered back a step as if pricked by a needle, and suddenly roared, "Don't you understand?! I'm not him—"

"—I know, I understand, my child. Please allow me to call you that." The father, grieving for his son, answered with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "There is no one in this world who knows better than I what misfortune my son suffered. I watched him die, and I watched his soul be utterly destroyed. The reason I want to give you this ring is not because I want you to take his place. No, that would be too despicable, unfair to you, to him, and to me."

"Then why?" he asked in a very soft voice.

The father fell silent. After a while, he gave a somewhat sly smile. Tears welled in his eyes, yet his smile was so gentle, as if he had landed in Kosonia ten thousand years ago.

“Now that you have his name and memories, I would like to ask you to do something for him, is that alright?” the father said. “This ring will tell you my specific request.”

After saying this, he took a step back, placed the ring on the table, and it simply vanished from the spot, leaving Horus alone to stare at it in silence.

(End of this chapter)