40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 661 43. Belated Judgment (Sixteen, three chapters in one)

In Zabril's memory, the Fortress Monastery of Oduruk is a magnificent and solemn building.

The flags of the Dark Angels' various companies and expeditionary fleets are hung all over the ceiling of the first floor hall. These battle flags are not just replicas for decoration, but bloody evidence brought back from the battlefield in the true sense.

The blood of enemies and fighting brothers soaks each flag, and the damage caused by bullets or bombings still exists on their surface. Without any repairs, it hangs above everyone's head. Under these flags, the new recruits of the Dark Angels will listen to the teachings and experience of their predecessors, and learn the price of victory and the meaning of honor.

For this reason, the new Caliban Dark Angels regard this place as a place of supreme glory. Although the Terran veterans have different opinions, they do agree with the view on honor.

But all this is gone. It's funny that he is clearly in the 'past', but he can't connect the fortress monastery in his memory with the one in front of him.

Bright lights, luxurious pure marble floors, and even gold inlaid on the floor-to-ceiling windows of the corridor raised a wave of crimson waves, ripples spread, and reflected a palpitating and rapid light on Lion El'Jonson's face.

The young Primarch stood there calmly, waiting for Zabril's answer in this primitive version of the monastery.

How to answer?

Behind the eyepiece, Zabril glanced at Midris. The latter was looking at him with a little doubt, which was good, after all, it was just doubt now, but there was only a wall between doubt and suspicion, and he couldn't let it continue to develop.

"Zabriel." He bowed slightly, raised his hands, crossed them in front of his chest, and simply introduced himself. "Skeleton Army."

Midris's brows relaxed slightly, and the suspicion that was still brewing dissipated, but the doubts still remained. Zabril even knew what he wanted to ask-why was a skeleton army here? Your main force should still be fighting on the other side of the galaxy.

Fortunately, Midris did not get the chance to ask the question. The young Primarch nodded slightly and hurried away. They obviously had more important things to deal with. Zabril could not help but feel a little relieved.

If the Primarch was a few years older, no, even if Lion El'Jonson only needed a few more months to familiarize himself with the specific structure of the First Legion, he would definitely notice the subtle suspiciousness of Zabril.

The Dark Angels themselves could even casually point out two doubts. One is that the armor itself is too simple and lacks the complex logos and emblems that a Skeleton Army should have. The second is that a Skeleton Army should not appear on Caliban at this time.

If he was a Fire Army, such a single action might be justified, but he was not one of those deadly infiltrators.

Zabriel turned slightly and watched the Primarch go away, and then continued to go deeper into the monastery.

There were not many soldiers of the First Legion inside this ancient brick and stone building, and they did not go deep into it like Zabril, which created considerable convenience for his actions.

It was difficult for a mortal to detect what was lurking in the darkness, especially for an experienced veteran of the First Legion.

Zabriel did not dare to say that he had the stealth skills of the Nightblades or Raven Guards, but if he could not move freely in such an environment, he might as well find a rock to hit himself to death, and he had to erase his identity as a Dark Angel before he died.

Zabriel spent ten minutes figuring out the structure of the entire monastery. There were six floors in total, and seven floors if the basement was included. During the day, he had already measured the specific height and width of the building through the eyepiece. Now, with the help of a field visit, he did not spend much effort to deduce that there must be many dark rooms in the monastery.

Three minutes after reaching this conclusion, Zabril found the first one. It was located in the east corridor of the second floor, and you could enter it by pushing open a door that was just right for concealment.

He saw some privately hidden books here, some of which were sensory stimulations, vulgar and boring. Others were poetry books, with unknown authors, but the materials of the books themselves made Zabril want to set them on fire.

But he didn't do it in the end, just tore up the leather-bound books that were particularly disgusting and threw them in the middle of the room, and then left.

I think the master's expression when he returns will be quite interesting.

In the next ten minutes, he visited eight new dark rooms in succession. Only one of them was a quiet place for retreat, and the master probably just used it as a meditation room.

The other seven were either full of contraband like the first one, or filled with moonshine from nowhere. Obviously, not every member of the Order of Order will always maintain strict retreat as they usually behave.

Small fights. Zabril frowned. He didn't expect to find evidence of rebellion directly, but these things were not a reason for him to go to such great lengths.

The dark angel stopped and dodged two drunken servants in the dark. After they left, he stepped onto the stairs and headed for the top floor of the monastery.

The noise outside was noisy, but it became quite faint here. After being transmitted through the layered space inside the monastery, these sounds became quite hollow and strange.

Zabriel listened for a few seconds and deduced that the banquet was about to end. Tomorrow's celebration was the highlight, and people could not party all night tonight.

He realized that he had to be faster.

With his own urging, Zabril quickly reached the top floor of the monastery and began to check the suspicious places one by one, with great efficiency. However, in just five minutes, there were four more dark rooms.

A meeting place and three private storage rooms, filled with paintings and gold and silver jewelry. Judging from the flags hanging on the wall, these three private storage rooms probably belonged to the same person.

Zabriel felt a little annoyed. He checked one floor at a time, but only found these disciplinary issues that were completely useless to him.

Fortunately, there was one last suspicious place in front of him-a council hall on the top floor. Judging from the seriousness of its layout and decoration, this should be a meeting place dedicated to the Rioduru knights on weekdays.

Zabril walked half a circle along the entire hall, and without much effort, he found the stone slab with a strange horizontal line behind the right side of the podium.

He reached out and lifted it up, and saw a huge hole, and underneath it was the spreading darkness, and the brick and stone stairs spiraling down. There was no smell of dust in the air that escaped, and this place must have been used frequently. Waves of small conversations floated up and entered Zabril's ears.

He narrowed his eyes, took two steps at a time, and walked down, and soon reached the bottom of the stairs. A one-way street appeared in front of him, and at the end of the road was a lighted room without a door. Some people wearing white robes and hoods were talking to each other inside.

The Dark Angel only listened to a few words and drew his combat dagger.

".I'm afraid we have to make a choice, men. We have no choice. The Empire will take Caliban from us. I'm not exaggerating. The signs are already there, aren't they?"

"You said it's okay, brother. Now everyone is talking about the Empire and those so-called Astartes monsters, ungrateful bastards, and they have forgotten how long we have protected them."

"Those Terrans said Caliban is a colony? Bullshit! Caliban is Caliban, I have lived for most of my life and have never heard of any bullshit Terra! They even plan to let those damn farmers participate in the war, Have you seen the auxiliary camps they set up? "

"I disagree with this, Brother Ridley. Although I am standing here, it does not mean that I agree with your Knights' theory of war bloodline. Time has proved that we are right. War is not a game for nobles, but a sacred and glorious cause. Anyone who is brave can participate. "

The man called Ridley sneered from under his robe: "Ha! Of course you would say that, great Knight of Order! Weren't you a mud-legged man before?"

"You are too presumptuous, Ridley!" Someone scolded. "Don't forget why we are gathered here today. The issue we are discussing now is not why your Knights failed and disbanded, but how we can take back Caliban from the Empire!"

Zaburiel couldn't stop anymore. He bent over and walked into the door. In just a moment, he interrupted all the conversations and attracted all the attention.

He didn't speak, but slowly straightened up, his winged helmet against the low ceiling, and the metal rubbed against the bricks, making bursts of sharp sounds.

Half a second later, the oil lamp hanging on the wall began to shake and quietly shattered with someone's scream. Six seconds later, he finished his work easily and began to confirm the identity of the dead.

According to his memory, he first found the faces that had been recorded. The traitors who had discussed how to assassinate the emperor on the city wall were all among the participants without exception. Following this, the body search followed.

Apart from irrelevant things such as money and private seals, several letters without anyone's signature caught his attention. These letters probably had been sent to different people many times, and each letter had five to eight different handwritings.

The discussion ranged from shallow to deep, from rational to extreme, and the development of the whole situation could even be inferred from these conversations. One of the letters mentioned that they would make the final decision at the meeting "tonight".

For this reason, the original writer hoped that a "sir" could think about what they said again. He spoke sincerely, but the replyer who used the same letter paper as him refuted it quite bluntly.

His handwriting made Zabril recognize it at a glance.

". Your actions and thoughts are undoubtedly very unwise. First of all, the Great Crusade is a glorious cause. Any true knight should join it without hesitation and fight for the liberation and freedom of all mankind."

"Secondly, the idea that you can fight the Empire with the armed forces of the Knights alone is, in my opinion, no different from hunting a behemoth alone - but you are not Lion El'Jonson."

"It is foreseeable that you will fail, and you will suffer an extremely tragic failure."

"I have said all. No more letters will be sent to me in the future. The friendship between colleagues has been completely exhausted. You should take care of yourself. I don't want to see any stupid behavior at tomorrow's celebration."

"Believe me, you will not have the opportunity to turn that ridiculous fantasy into reality. You don't know who you are against. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Luther was also involved in this.

Zabriel frowned, he hadn't expected this. But the words used by the old sergeant in his reply were unusually poignant. Judging from his style during the legion period, such words are almost equivalent to pointing his nose and calling these people idiots.

However, he did not think that Luther told Leon El'Jonson about this. Given the temper of the young Primarch, if he had known that there was such a group of people in his monastery plotting against the Imperium and assassinating the Emperor during the celebrations,

There was no way he could give up without executing and beheading these people in public.

In other words, Luther concealed the Primarch.

Zabriel's frown soon relaxed - people's hearts are fickle, and no matter what Luther decided in this matter, the final result proved his loyalty.

The Dark Angel sheathed her sword and returned to the hall. He closed the stone slab and planned to leave without burying the body. In the history he knew well, the idea that some of the Alduruk knights wanted to rebel had not been leaked.

etc.

Zabriel's steps suddenly stopped, and a kind of needle-like pain spread heavily from both ends of his temples, quickly spreading throughout his body in a very short period of time.

The pain caused adrenaline to start rushing, causing his muscles all over his body to tighten. He pulled out the sword from his waist like a reflex and blocked it with his backhand above his head.

It seemed funny, but just a few centimeters above his head, a heavy power halberd was suspended in mid-air. The hand holding it has a deep golden color, and its owner is standing quietly beside the podium, staring at Zabriel.

Custodes.

There was a buzzing sound in Dark Angel's mind.

"He wants to see you," the Custodes said, withdrawing their weapons.

He was far taller than Zabriel and didn't wear their trademark helmet. A white snake-shaped tattoo covered his dark face, and his eyes were scary and empty, like two peeking windows connecting to another world.

Zabriel's heart sank suddenly. This trait shared by the Forbidden Army could not be faked. He reluctantly accepted the fact that he had been discovered. However, he still carried out the mission with the last hope. Stupid knowingly asked.

"Who?" he asked.

The Imperial Guard glanced at him and said calmly: "Emperor."

Board the Emperor's Dream and meet the Emperor in person. There is no need to disarm, you can carry a sword and a gun, and you can even be alone in a room with him.

Such a great honor, but Zabriel would rather it never happened. Holding the helmet in his arms, he strained his cheeks hard and stood outside a heavy golden door. Even though I was mentally prepared, I still couldn't help but show some trembling and bitterness.

Meeting the Emperor - it took all his willpower to restrain himself from the horrific thought. But now, the emperor took the initiative to summon him.

Does he know what I'm doing here? The Dark Angel couldn't help but think so.

More, deeper, and more dangerous thoughts rushed along this thought, creating a man-made storm in his mind, every rotation of which sounded like a scream.

Zabriel was soon tormented by this terror and found it difficult to continue. He had to take the initiative to put down these things to avoid being completely crushed at this critical moment.

He took a deep breath, looked at the closed golden door, and told himself that this was just a matter of entering.

A few seconds later, as if to confirm his thoughts, the door was slowly opened amidst a buzzing sound coming from the wall. A burst of golden light spread out from it, stinging Zabriel's eyes.

At first his mouth felt dry and he thought the light came from the Emperor, but he soon discovered it was not.

This light actually comes from careful design, and its purpose is probably to create the same sting every time the door is opened, so that the people waiting outside the door cannot look directly at a golden throne in the center of the hall.

A real throne, not an instrument of torture upon which the Emperor and Queen came to sit. Its overall shape is majestic and square, and every detail can highlight the designer's painstaking efforts.

However, in Zabriel's sour eyes, this chair was not worth mentioning at all, because its only owner did not sit on it at all, but was standing on the right side of the throne.

There was a deliberate darkness, in which the outline of a man appeared vaguely.

A voice came slowly.

"Yeah, as you can imagine, I don't really like this chair," the man said. "Ultimately, it's a matter of design. The design of this chair and the hall forces ordinary people to close their eyes tightly when the door is opened. If they don't do this, they will go blind."

Zabriel resisted the urge to look at him and knelt down obediently.

"Stand up." The man's voice suddenly became a little annoyed. "They kneel, and you kneel too? Stand up, Zabriel of Stackholm!"

Does he remember...? !

Zabriel excitedly did as he was told, without hesitation, as if he were just a puppet or something. His behavior elicited a sigh, not reproachful, just plain tired.

"Please forgive me." The man spoke again. "I have to meet you here. The designer of this audience hall received a promise from me for his loyalty. Come here now, Zabriel."

Zabriel took a deep breath and walked towards the speaker. The door slowly closed behind him with a heavy thud. He walked until a white shadow appeared in his field of vision before stopping.

The speaker laughed helplessly: "Look up, Zabril. You killed them all, and the evidence is on their bodies. Now you still want to turn a blind eye to me and pretend that I don't exist?"

"I don't mean that, my lord." Zabril answered as quickly as possible.

He looked up and saw an ordinary man.

This man was neither tall nor short. He had neither the majesty of an emperor nor the handsomeness of legends. At first glance, he looked nothing special. He even wore a pair of glasses and looked tired, as if he had been studying hard late at night not long ago. He had to come here to meet Zabril.

He looked up at Zabril for a long time before he spoke: "You look much older, my knight."

"I--"

Zabriel was speechless. He had imagined this scene many times, enough to temporarily blur the boundary between imagination and reality, but he had never thought of this kind of opening remarks.

He never thought that the Emperor would care about him.

His master seemed to know nothing about this, but just continued to speak.

"When I created you based on the Primarch, I did not consider setting a limit on your lifespan. Therefore, an Astartes can actually live a very long time if he does not die on the battlefield."

"To be honest, Zabril, I know nothing about what you have experienced and why you came here. But I think it should not be a good thing, and it is even difficult to call it a bad thing."

"Ordinary bad things should not destroy one of my original angels into this gray-haired appearance."

At this moment, Zabril almost wanted to tell everything. Only genius knows how he held back, and even he himself was surprised at his self-control.

The man looked at him for a while, then simply took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and sighed again.

"You are wearing shackles and chains."

With a firm tone, he spoke again, and his tone was completely different from before. If he was still talking to Zabril in a private capacity before, then at this moment, the only one standing in front of the Dark Angel was the Emperor.

"I haven't seen anything like this in anyone since the end of the conflict on Terra. Your timeline is messed up, Zabril. Are you doing this voluntarily? Going back and forth into a past?"

"It's dangerous to do this. I've seen countless people try to change the past, present, and future, but none of them have succeeded. Those who play with time will eventually become slaves of time, and time treats everything equally, without any partiality."

How does he know everything? Zabril thought almost indignantly.

"Your Majesty." He said stiffly. "I'm sorry I can't answer."

The man smiled.

He approached Zabril, reached out and opened a small compartment on his belt, and took out the two emblems directly. The winged sword and the eagle emblem shone brightly on his dark, broad, and calloused hands.

He looked at them, then looked at Zabril, and suddenly made an expression that was almost sarcastic.

"So you didn't volunteer." He said. "I think I know who sent you here."

Zabrill took another deep breath and tightened his cheeks, fearing that he would give any reaction at this time.

He knew that it was actually stupid to do so, because the Emperor must know everything the moment he saw the eagle emblem, but he couldn't come up with a better choice for a while.

The man laughed again, he put the winged sword emblem back, leaving only the eagle emblem alone, and then closed his right hand tightly, holding it deeply in his palm.

Zabrill suddenly felt a shudder for no reason, and heard him say: "Don't worry, I won't get to the bottom of it."

"And since we can still stand here and talk to each other, it proves that the future will not change because of this conversation-" He shook his head meaningfully. "-What has happened will happen again."

He spread his palm, pulled Zabril's hand again, put the eagle emblem back, and then asked him to clench his right fist. Zabril did it in a daze, but suddenly a burning pain came from the palm of his hand. It was not that intense, but it lasted longer.

He looked at the man in confusion, who happened to be staring at him. His eyes were full of compassion, which instantly struck Zabril and evoked his memories.

In the ten thousand years after the Caliban Rebellion, he had seen many statues named after the Emperor's Mercy. Some were just a quick glance, while others had really wandered in front of them in the middle of the night, questioning or praying, hoping to get an answer.

Those stones and steel had never answered him once. This time was different. This time it was real flesh and blood, crying for him.

The Dark Angel opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but he felt something in his heart - he thought that these tears were probably not just for him.

"Your Majesty."

"Let's go." The Emperor said, his voice as hard as iron. "You don't have to tell me anything. I knew from the beginning how difficult this road would be. There are thousands of roads in front of me, and I must choose the most difficult one."

"I have walked halfway, and I must finish the remaining half no matter what. This is the only choice, there is no other way, and we cannot take shortcuts or turn back. Otherwise, all the sacrifices so far will be in vain."

"Do what you should do, Zabril. From ancient times to the present, I have never seen anyone defeat time, but since you are standing here--"

He stared at Zabril with lightning eyes. The Dark Angel was filled with a fiery heat, and felt that the Lord's eyes seemed to be staring through him at other people, or other things.

"--Does it mean that we have won?"

--

It was dawn.

When the first beam of light spread from the entrance of the cave, Lion El'Jonson stopped what he was doing and put away the magazine.

In the past four hours, he has been testing the durability of this magazine-yes, he has been loading bullets continuously and then unloading them one by one. In addition to being monotonous, this thing will also cause an obvious noise.

Considering that there was an old knight sleeping soundly not far from the fire, it was undoubtedly inappropriate to do so. The lion had no reason not to know this, so he did it knowingly.

So, what was the reason that drove him to spend four hours of hard work to add this blockage to Luther that was actually useless?

The answer was nothing more than half the story.

From ancient times to the present, no one could endure this torture. Even Lion El'Jonson was no exception. In fact, it was better to say that it was precisely because he was Lion El'Jonson that he could not endure this more than others.

"You should wake up." The lion urged coldly.

Strangely enough, the old knight who was snoring and sleeping comfortably with his sword in the warmth a few seconds ago opened his eyes quickly after this call, and he looked energetic and in great spirits.

He sat up, took out a small skinning knife from under his cloak, stood up the sword again, pulled out a small piece as a mirror, and began to shave himself.

The lion resisted some bad impulses and waited until he finished this matter before speaking again: "Last night-"

"-Get up quickly, Leon."

With a smile, the old knight interrupted him, jumped up lightly, kicked the long sword at the same time, swung the scabbard with the other hand, and naturally hung the sword and scabbard on his belt.

The skinning knife also disappeared without a trace in his hand. He looked the same as before, except that his hair and beard were completely white, which even made the lion feel a little trance.

The tone sounded just like yesterday to him.

"We are going hunting, kid, don't stay in bed." Luther said, winking at Leon El'Jonson, and still chattering. "A lazy person can't be a good hunter, remember my words."

The lion took a deep breath.

"What tricks are you playing?" He asked sincerely, frowning.

Luther did not answer, but turned and walked out of the cave. The lion followed him and stood up, holding the lion sword in his arms, and walked out without saying a word. However, the scene outside made his expression suddenly become extremely gloomy.

As a native of Caliban, the lion was naturally familiar with the primeval forest here. To him, only a small part of the forest in Caliban could be called beautiful, and the rest was like the works of a painter who was highly skilled but loved to use oil paintings with horrible and sticky colors.

There was no kindness in his paintings, and those things were all very gloomy, even rotten, and smelled like man-eating beasts.

This is why even experienced Caliban hunters would never choose to stay in the forest for too long. Everyone knows that there are giant beasts that eat people on Caliban, but how can the humans buried in their stomachs be compared to one-tenth of the forest?

And now, the gloomy, rotten, terrifying and disgusting oil painting was vividly placed in front of him, occupying every corner. The leaves of the towering trees, which were still green at sunset yesterday, now looked burnt yellow in the early morning. The forest was dark, without any light, and the distorted giant shadows walked patiently in it. Some opened their mouths, and saliva dripped from their mouths onto the ground, corroding the soil. The stench even made the lion feel uncomfortable. Some did not have a "mouth" at all, and had multiple eyes, either scarlet or dim, with no animal vitality in them, only rotten malice spreading. "Welcome to my daily morning exercise time." Luther said. "Which side do you choose?" "What?" The lion asked instinctively. "I choose the left side." Luther said. "You can follow me, or you can deal with those on the right first." Before he finished speaking, he had already walked to the left side of the flat land outside the cave. The evil beasts hiding in the forest finally couldn't hold back and roared, but the old knight was calm, as if he had experienced it countless times.

He pulled out the dagger from his waist, and Perturabo's personal emblem once again stung the lion's eyes, and this was just the beginning. Luther's free left hand stretched out the faded cloak like thunder, and a few flashes of silver light flew out along his fingertips and entered the forest before him.

Those lights flew very fast, even the lion had to pay some attention to them in order to capture the complete traces.

He wanted to observe what Luther was going to do, but he found that this old man, who didn't know how to live or die, rushed into the forest with his sword, without any tactics, and even laughed a few times, as if he couldn't wait.

So, Lion El'Jonson couldn't wait to curse a Caliban slang, and immediately followed Luther.

As soon as he stepped into the forest, he felt something unusually cold. In the past, he had felt uncomfortable for a short time when hunting giant beasts, but that was only because of the chaos pollution they carried. This time it was different.

The lion's extraordinary intuition made him clearly cross the line between reason and emotion. He didn't even have time to swing his sword before he "saw" a big snake with unusually smooth scales, hollow eyes, and long tongues.

It opened its mouth wide, which was full of fine teeth, and was chewing its tail.

"Ouroboros is waiting for you, lion." The snake spit out its tongue and hissed. "Ouroboros has been waiting for you for a long, long time."

The lion trembled all over, his muscles tensed, and he was suddenly pulled back to the real world. A burst of hot and smelly blood splashed on his side face, and a giant beast fell to the ground with a bang, causing waves of echoes.

Luther's voice came from the left side in front of him just right, still with the calmness that the old knight had when he first met him.

"Have you seen that damn snake?"

The lion finally woke up completely, and the first thing he did was to swing his sword to kill.

A twisted evil beast with a sheep's head, twisted tentacles on its back, and eyeballs was cut into two pieces from head to tail by him with a lion sword. In the aftermath of the killing, the profile of the King of Caliban looked extremely cold. His white hair was still fluttering, but it was no longer stained with blood.

He didn't say a word, just focused on killing. They killed from one end of the forest to the other, until the ground was covered with corpses and no more giant beasts stood in front of them, and then the lion sword was neatly sheathed.

At this moment, his expression also changed, and the majesty and indifference of the Lord of the First Army completely occupied his face. Luther didn't seem surprised by this. He slowly wiped the sword with the hem of his cloak and spoke without raising his head.

"Ouroboros, in the ancient language, this is its name, and we call it Ouroboros. In the definition of the Inquisition, the subspace entity named Ouroboros is an existence that is difficult to define specifically."

"Based on the existing information, we can only say that it has a very deep connection with Caliban. It can even be said that it is Caliban itself to a certain extent."

The Lord of the First Army narrowed his eyes and asked calmly: "Is this what you investigated after disappearing in the material world for 10,000 years?"

Luther shook his head: "No, of course it's more than that. I also established a solid connection with the Dark Watchers, which is really rare. They usually don't want to deal with other people. It can be regarded as your light. In short, Leon, the secret of Caliban is much larger and more important than you and I imagined."

"I only want to know one thing now." The lion said slowly.

"I will tell you everything I know."

"You said this is your daily morning exercise-" The lion stared at him. "-What have you been doing in the past ten thousand years?"

Luther smiled slightly.