40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 627 10. Sovet’s Past (2, Memory Fragments, 8k)

The lion never enters another's memory.

Admittedly, he has heard of similar things - a psyker takes the consciousness of others to his own memory, and talks, teaches, and solves puzzles there. This person can even do this at any time and anywhere, and there will be no sequelae. , without taking any risks.

He was called the Emperor.

The Emperor had already done this as early as ten thousand years ago. But today, if this kind of thing happened again, it would probably only be called a 'miracle', and in the past ten thousand years, no psyker has ever set foot in this field.

The Lion had lamented this, realizing that the Imperium had become a petrified corpse, stagnant in many ways, even among the psykers.

The gears in this huge machine are difficult to rotate and must be lubricated with oil made from crushed corpses before they can continue to rotate bloody for a while.

There was only one aspect in which the empire had made progress.

Violence.

"Take a deep breath," Khalil said, interrupting his thoughts.

The lion looked at him and suddenly blurted out: "Do you often do this kind of thing?"

"What kind of thing?"

"Solving problems that others can't solve."

Khalil raised his head in surprise. The blue light in his eyes was still strong, making his pale skin seem transparent, and his blue blood vessels and bones were clearly visible.

The lion stared at him. There was nothing polite about this gaze. He was completely forcing Khalil to answer. However, just when he was about to get the answer, he gave up on his own initiative.

The lion crossed his hands, pulled the incandescent lamp that was still shining on Hayid, pushed it to the other side, and asked: "So, how do we get into his memory?"

Khalil put his hands on Hayid's temples, and the blue light continued to spread. He didn't answer, but the lion felt a sudden sleepiness.

This was strange, he almost never felt like this.

The knights of Caliban believe in meditation. As early as the apprenticeship period, they will be taught how to enter a deep meditative state to examine their own soul and body, so as to gain true peace and wield their swords like water.

The Lion learned to meditate on the third day he joined the Knights, but never entered a deep state of meditation. Luther asked why, but he never got an answer.

Thinking about it now, it was probably just because he was worried that he would be alienated at that time - other people meditated to get peace, but he meditated to outline the picture of killing in his mind, so as to better deal with the next battle.

How can he be called a noble knight for such a reason?

However, to this day, Leon El'Jonson has long accepted this matter, and he is relieved: if his nature is related to killing and violence, then so be it. Hold your sword with both hands and kill your enemies before they can harm innocents.

However, he did not expect that he would enter this state at this time - before he even had time to speak, he was led into a green hell by the burst of blue light in a deep sleepiness.

——

Flies buzz.

Green leaves hang high above the head, and a few rays of sunlight shine through the gaps between the dense and thick leaves with a charitable attitude. Birds were chirping and flies were everywhere, along with a few other brightly colored insects.

The air is hot and humid, and the water vapor is steaming. The jungle is like a steamer, burning the human body. What is discharged with the sweat is not only the water, but also the willpower to resist the harsh environment.

Leon El'Jonson suddenly woke up.

Where am I?

Before he could ask the question, someone pushed him into the dirt with great force. This time it even made him feel pain, and it was so painful that he could hardly breathe.

At this time, Leon became calmer. He propped himself up on his elbows and saw a stone under his belly. That strange pain probably came from this.

Anger suddenly surged up, causing him to jump up - Leon was furious and wanted to find someone to settle the score with, but was pushed to the ground again by that person. This push seemed different from before. Leon didn't feel pain, but some complex sounds suddenly exploded in his ears.

There were roars, cannon fire, gunshots, and laughter, and he heard them all with certainty. These sounds were like a key from another world, easily opening a door that was tightly closed in his mind.

The force used by the person who pushed the door was very strong, enough to give Leon El'Jonson a splitting headache.

He raised his hand to touch his forehead and saw bright red blood on the tips of his fingers. He was stunned, and for a moment he didn't understand how he was injured, but the world around him suddenly changed drastically after the blood came into view.

Flames redder than blood burned brightly, and the bugs died, fell into the fire and turned into ashes. The sultry heat turned into blazing heat, and the ubiquitous flames burned people's skin.

The most critical thing was that he heard the roar of the orcs.

Leon El'Jonson stood up quickly—or rather, he tried to get up quickly.

He failed to do so because somehow his strength and speed were now very slow, and the orcs seemed to have grown in size. At least, that was the case with the green-skinned beast that was lunging at him just a few steps away.

It was so huge and so fast that Leon suddenly felt a creepy feeling: What is going on? Is there a curse placed on me? Khalil?

Khalil Lohars did not respond to him. What responded to him was another person, or rather, a red beam of light.

This beam of light shot from the side, knocking off half of the orc's head, and then two other shots hit the remaining half of the skull and chest respectively. Immediately afterwards, a strong big hand pulled Leon behind him.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" someone yelled at him. "Standing still waiting for the greenskins to chop you into pieces? Shoot, idiot! Fire!"

Fire.?

Leon El'Jonson looked down at his hand and found that a light gun had been hung on a rough canvas strap around his neck.

He instinctively raised the gun and took aim. Some instinct immediately surged up and helped him complete the shot. It felt strange to him because it wasn't his instinct, absolutely not.

An orc who was wielding a rough machete over the corpse of his companion was knocked to the ground by him. There was already a smoking mouth on his chest, but Leon knew that this was not a fatal injury to them.

He raised his gun again and was about to take aim, but the man who pulled him over suddenly roared: "Retreat! Retreat!"

Retreat from what? Isn't this an opportunity to counterattack? They are attacking through the promethium flames, and it only takes a few rounds of shooting to make this group of desperate orcs suffer. Why would you issue such an order?

Leon El'Jonson frowned in annoyance and confusion, but received a heavy slap on the back, and then, the man roared at him again.

"Tiers, you stinky piece of Grax shit! Did you spit out your brain when you were smoking this morning? Get out of here!"

Leon was furious: "You——"

Before he could finish speaking, the man pulled him back quickly. He wanted to resist, but found that his strength was unable to compete with this person.

There were constant low roars coming from all around. In the flames and burning jungle, the violent nature of the orcs got a hearty opportunity to be released.

They laughed loudly and went about killing each other without listening. And Leon also realized the real reason why the 'retreat' order was issued in such a complicated battle situation: there was a faint whistling sound in the sky.

He subconsciously looked up and saw several shadows flashing across the horizon, as well as howling and falling artillery shells.

One of them fell not far behind him, and the devastating explosion turned them into flying fragments. The violent shock that followed caused him and the person who was pulling him to fall to the ground.

Leon felt the pain again in disbelief——

"--what happened?!"

he roared, and got another roar: "Fire, Tiers!"

Tiers? Who is Tiers? Before he had time to think, Leon found that his arm was raised on his own, the butt of the gun was pressed against his shoulder, his finger spontaneously pulled the trigger, and he started firing continuously.

One after another, the mutilated orcs who ran out from the place where the shell exploded were knocked to the ground by the red beam. Their bodies were burning with blazing flames, and their limbs were mutilated. Most of them even dragged their own internal organs while running, but They showed no fear.

Only the desire for killing remained on those vicious and ugly green faces. Leon was different. He could hardly breathe. He didn't know whether it was because of the high temperature or the smoke. In short, he felt dizzy.

This is simply a shame. he thought angrily. I'm actually in the middle of a fight.

"Run, Tiers!" the man shouted again.

Instinctively, he stood up and ran with the man, gun in hand.

Dozens of meters, hundreds of meters, passed through bushes after bushes, and blood marks were scratched on his body by branches. The soles of my feet were sore, my knees were numb, my ribs were burning, my respiratory tract was burning, and sweat was dripping from my eyes.

Leon was almost exhausted by all this, no, not almost, he was just exhausted. His legs seemed to be filled with lead, and the gun hanging around his neck was as heavy as a piece of fine gold.

But he still ran, kept running.

He didn't allow himself to stop, he wanted to figure out what was going on. However, amid the sweat, pounding heartbeat, and pain caused by exhaustion, he stumbled and fell.

For several seconds, he tried to stand up, but his trembling legs refused to obey orders.

Leon felt a real sense of shame: How could this be? Am I really that weak?

He cursed himself angrily and wanted to stand up, but the shouts of the orcs came from behind him, so he grabbed the gun and turned around, intending to kill them, but how could he do this?

His hands were shaking, completely different from before. There was no way to aim in this situation.

His breathing was extremely rapid, and his vision was somehow damaged. The world in front of him became extremely blurry, and he could not tell who was the enemy among the moving blocks of color.

But he still firmly pulled the trigger.

However, this time, the light gun did not give a weak echo, only an awkward hollow sound.

Leon was stunned, what does this mean? It took two or three seconds for a voice to flash through his mind that had become very dull for some reason: There are no bullets, and you didn't change the magazine. This is a light gun and there will be no ammunition prompt for connecting to power armor.

"Damn it! Tiles is falling behind! Nails, stumps, cover me!"

An anxious curse came from behind him, followed by a sudden gunshot. It seemed that some people were firing, and Leon saw several blurry red shadows passing in front of him.

Then, a pair of hands pulled him up from the ground, and the instigator groaned and carried him on his shoulders, running while panting.

"Hold on, Tiles! We will be fine, and we are just a few steps away from the defense line!"

What defense line.?

Leon wanted to speak, but the words came out of his mouth with only a few vague coughs, and his throat was still very painful. The burning feeling and the attempt to speak combined with each other, causing him to cough violently.

The pain intensified, and he began to cough heartbreakingly, gasping for breath, and his limbs danced instinctively. But the man who was carrying him ignored all these struggles without saying a word, and just continued to run with him.

More sounds came into his ears, including the roar of engines, the sound of tracks and wheels rolling over mud and grass, different gunshots, and the sound of many people talking to each other.

Leon coughed and tried to open his eyes. He tried to wipe his eyelids with the back of his hand. A burning pain passed in an instant. He realized that it was the blood from his forehead that flowed into his eyes and stuck to his eyelids with sweat, which caused his vision to be damaged.

"Doctor! A doctor!"

A pair of hands put him on the ground, and then shook him unceremoniously. Leon gasped and coughed out bloody saliva, looked up at the person who saved him, but suddenly froze.

The faces surrounded by blood and sweat like his now made him feel very familiar.

He wanted to say something, but the man patted his forehead with concern: "In the name of the Emperor, cheer up, Tils."

Damn it.

Leon gritted his teeth and pulled him, and a cough broke out from his throat-who is Tils? But the man misunderstood his meaning and began to call for doctors in a louder voice.

And they did come.

Soon, Leon saw two military doctors in dirty green uniforms. One of them cut open his clothes and began to check whether the blood on his body was a wound. The other one injected an unknown medicine into his forearm without saying anything.

The strong sleepiness came again, Leon El'Jonson opened his mouth, and his eyelids began to tremble.

After all, he couldn't say what he wanted to say, and fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up again, the world had changed.

It was raining, and the humid air could prove it. He felt very heavy, and the clothes became an obstacle at this time, and the jungle became very quiet, at least the jungle he was in now.

Leon looked around and found that he was squatting in a bush with dozens of people. For some reason, he felt cold and hungry, and his feet could feel water in his shoes, but he had lost most of his consciousness.

The rain streaked across his cheeks, bringing a stronger chill.

This time, he learned a lesson from his previous experience. He did not shout or act rashly, but just stayed as he was and began to check himself.

First, the weapon, a light gun, the specific model could not be seen, only that it was a short assault type with six replacement magazines.

A combat dagger, well maintained, with dark blue waterproof cloth wrapped around the grip, and a comfortable grip. But he did not have any armor, only a dark green camouflage uniform and a helmet with little protection.

"Tils." A voice called softly.

Lion turned his head and saw a wet face full of fatigue.

This is a middle-aged man, no longer young. He has a pair of gray eyes, deep eye sockets, a hooked nose, and lips that habitually bend down. He looks like the kind of person who will refute anyone's opinion.

Lion El'Jonson knows him, or rather, he knows his future self.

"What's the matter?" Leon answered calmly.

The questioner did not answer, but just raised a finger to his ear, indicating that he should listen.

Leon frowned and did it. At first, he wanted to do it in an instant like in the past, but now, it became very difficult.

Cold and hunger are the number one enemy, wet clothes are the number two enemy, and the whistling wind and continuous rain around are very annoying. He had to take a few deep breaths to relieve himself from irritation and calm down.

After several minutes of trying, he succeeded. From the sound of wind and rain, he heard a different sound, a vague shouting sound that seemed to come from afar. It was quite barbaric, but it aroused Leon's anger while being disgusting.

Orc.

He was very clear about this matter, and subconsciously, he raised the light gun. But a hand reached out from the side and pressed down the muzzle.

Leon looked up and found that the middle-aged man was smiling. There were several soldiers around him who were cheering: "The corporal won, Tils, and now you owe him a whole pack of cigarettes."

Laughter immediately broke out, and many people laughed at this. Suddenly, the torture that the jungle had inflicted on them disappeared, and a simple joy spread among these dirty dogs.

What win or lose? Leon frowned again and wanted to say something, but the corporal raised his hand to signal them to be silent.

Instantly, the soldiers' faint laughter completely dissipated. At the same time, he also retracted his right hand that was holding down the light gun in Leon's hand, and instead grasped a semi-automatic style light gun that pretended to have a scope.

He raised it, and a soldier immediately crawled over and squatted in front, using his shoulder to put the gun on it. Everything was done naturally without any communication.

Leon watched the corporal put his right eye close to the scope and narrowed his eyes. After a full half minute, the muzzle was suddenly raised, and a beam of light flew out.

The soldiers stood up in tacit understanding, raised their weapons and fired wildly at the place where the beam flew. Leon originally refused this waste of ammunition, but he has realized that he is different now.

He is not the original body Leon El'Jonson, the Lord of the First Army, the Knight King of Caliban. Now, he is just a tired, hungry and cold mortal soldier named Tyrs, serving in the 23rd Company of the 77th Regiment of the Doomsday Guard.

Therefore, he should do what Tiles's comrades did.

This decision made him hesitate for only a second before he raised his laser gun and started shooting. The red beams flew into the depths of the seemingly motionless jungle, one after another, like flying raindrops.

The soldiers were shouting. Their actions would not bring any benefits except exposing their positions more obviously, but Leon could miraculously understand the purpose of their doing so: venting.

Yes, venting.

Cold, hungry, uncomfortable, and fear were finally relieved in the shouting and the slight recoil after pulling the trigger, but Leon just wanted to sigh.

He thought he had understood the terrible situation of mortals in the past, but now, after he really experienced it once, he understood why Vulcan and Robert Guilliman attached so much importance to the joys and sorrows of mortals.

It was not just because of the goodness in nature, or the enlightenment gained after being a true politician who sympathized with the people. They did this simply because they understood what mortals were.

They are not genetically modified supermen with two hearts and three lungs. In most cases, they don't have bolt guns to use, and don't even think about the power armor. They will feel cold, hot, tired and afraid, but no matter what, they still stand here, standing at the forefront of danger.

Leon squatted down and changed the magazine. Raindrops dripped onto the barrel, emitting white smoke and hissing. His hands stopped shaking, and he changed a brand new magazine steadily and quickly.

When he leaned out of the bushes again, the orcs had already roared and rushed over.

Their number is unknown, and their green skin can get a natural camouflage effect in the jungle, making it difficult to distinguish the enemy. The soldiers did not choose to distinguish, they just kept firing.

It doesn't matter whether the shooting is accurate or not, as long as the firepower is strong enough, the orcs can't rush over.

This is a very simple strategy, but Leon rarely used it in the past, both he and his descendants did.

Fire suppression for the Astartes only meant firing one or two rounds of explosives, and their accuracy and the fire control system directly connected to the helmet eyepiece would allow these two rounds to hit the enemy directly in most cases.

If only a small amount of ammunition could achieve the tactical goal, why should we pour out firepower?

But now, the situation is different. In just a few minutes, Leon had used up four magazines, and there was no intention of stopping.

The orcs were charging under the firepower of the soldiers, holding the bodies of their dead companions and using them as shields. The thick muscles and shoddy armor prevented the light guns from exerting their original power. Obviously, they had recovered from the sudden attack.

The situation became tense for a while. After all, the orcs also had guns. Their guns might look ridiculous, but their power was by no means so. Although the accuracy was extremely poor, bullets were bullets after all.

Casualties began to appear, and Leon's magazine had been used up to the last one. Unconsciously, he even forgot that he was just in a memory of the past.

"Retreat, corporal!" he suddenly shouted. "We can't hold on!"

"You all heard it!" The corporal responded immediately, and took out three stun grenades from his waist and threw them into the jungle.

The flames shot up into the sky, the ground trembled, and the swirling flames splashed in the rain along with the bodies of the orcs. The wind howled, Leon turned around with his gun, and started running with his completely unconscious feet.

It was another long-distance raid, and this time, he gritted his teeth and persisted to the end without falling. The orcs did not catch up like last time, and it seemed difficult for them to find the traces of these few dozen people in the rainy jungle.

However, things did not end so simply. They did not return to the camp, but returned to a position surrounded by promethium flames and in a state of war.

The artillery fire shook the earth. Leon spat out the rain that had slipped into his mouth and watched the corporal walk up to an officer and saluted.

They stood in a deep trench, not far away from the firepower team that was urgently cooling the machine gun. Everything was so noisy and dirty.

"The breakout plan can be thrown aside for the time being, Captain!"

Amid the sound of falling shells, the corporal yelled at the officer.

"The damn green bastards are everywhere, and we can't find a way around them in the jungle!"

The officer nodded and said something, but Leon could hardly hear it. The shell exploded, and he had to hold on to the mud to keep his footing. No matter what the officer said to the corporal, Leon could only hear a few words.

"Hold on to the armored company. Dark Angels"

Hold on for a while, the armored company and the dark angels will arrive? Leon guessed secretly, but his brows frowned again. He did not forget what Hayd said. If the armored company and the dark angels are about to arrive, then-

Lion raised his head and looked at the sky in the drizzle. His sudden gaze was soon imitated by more people. They did not know what Leon El'Jonson knew. They just heard a strange and terrible sound.

A few seconds later, a large group of orc aircraft painted red suddenly appeared from both ends of the forest, blocking their heads, and then swooped down, dropping bombs, lifting the soil, and igniting flames

Lion felt a sharp pain, and then he knew nothing.

——

The lion woke up slowly, sweating profusely, his fists clenched. He instinctively took a deep breath and felt a strange sense of abundance. The familiar sense of power returned and surged in his body. He became the lion again, the Lord of the Dark Angels

But the first words he said were quite strange.

"Send me back." The lion said so, his face was pale, and his deep green eyes seemed to burn with fire.

"I want-"

"-You can't do anything." Khalil said so.

He folded his hands and leaned against the wall, with a thoughtful look on his pale face.

The lion was almost stung by that expression, he understood what it meant, it meant that Khalil Rohals knew something he didn't know, and was about to use these things to teach him.

God knows how he did it, this pale bastard always seems to have a way to let him and his brothers learn something new.

The lion took another deep breath, suppressed his emotions, and tried to argue: "No, you don't understand, Khalil. I have to go back. I'm almost there, and I'll be close to the truth."

"Do you remember what Hayd said? He fainted before the armored company and my sons arrived, and I was just at that point. We-no, they were attacked by orc aircraft on the position. You have to send me back."

Khalil looked at him and shook his head again. Not only that, the blue light in his eyes gradually went out.

He spoke slowly: "Yes, but that means Haid's death."

"What?"

"He is just an ordinary person, Leon. There is a limit to what he can bear, from every angle."

"And what you just experienced, I call it memory replay. In other words, I first let him recall the memory he was most reluctant to face, and then you can enter it and experience this memory with him again."

"Unfortunately, his limit is here. He doesn't want to remember the next thing. His subconscious is resisting. If he is forced, the result will probably be very bad."

The lion clenched his teeth and exhaled a breath of cold air. He seemed to have not walked out of the jungle of Sowet yet. Everything was too real, so real that he even really hoped to reverse it.

No.

The lion suddenly loosened his hands and felt unexpectedly calm.

Didn't he leave the jungle of Sowet? Of course he left. What he really didn't leave was another jungle. So, what did he hope to reverse? Was it the bombing of the orc aircraft, or the civil strife in Caliban?

Was he doing this to seek justice for Hayd, or was he doing it for his own selfish reasons, wanting to use this similar incident to erase some regrets from the past?

The lion laughed, shook his head, closed his eyes, and sighed softly. The flowing water state of mind that the Caliban knights obtained through meditation flowed into his heart at this moment, and an answer emerged.

That was the virtue of the knights, one of which was called upholding justice.

The lion opened his eyes and looked at Khalil. For some reason, he always felt that Khalil seemed to know his answer.

"Leon."

"What is it?"

Khalil smiled at him, and his smile was full of approval that made him want to bite his teeth.

"In fact, I am not completely unaware of the monster that Hayd mentioned. He doesn't want to recall it, but people often think of it unconsciously the more they avoid something. I saw it, although it was just a quick glance."

The lion narrowed his eyes.

Khalil stopped smiling and said seriously, "I think we shouldn't call it a monster. But what exactly is the situation--"

He looked down at Hayd who was still in a coma.

"--Wait." The lion said without question. "Wait until the inquisitor comes to visit, and everything will be clear."