40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 662 44. Belated Judgment (Seventeen)

Before the Dark Angels took over the responsibilities of the Knights and officially became the guardians of Caliban, the pollution of the behemoths had always been a thorny and difficult problem to deal with.

It takes at least five years for a child to grow from an apprentice to a reserve knight, and the war against the behemoths can easily cause dozens or even dozens of casualties. Caliban has many knights, each of which will regularly announce that they will launch a crusade against the behemoths. Unfortunately, before Lion El'Jonson became famous, they always lost more than they won.

Some old knights who survived the war would even self-deprecatingly tell the young people that the reason they survived had nothing to do with their superb martial arts, strong will, and excellent equipment.

The above three points are just the prerequisites for facing the monsters. The only reason they can survive to this day is just because of luck or cowardice.

Despite facing such a terrible situation, the Calibans still continue to throw themselves into this seemingly unwinnable war.

They are martial and not afraid of sacrifice. What's more, they are now fighting against evil-dying for this is simply the supreme honor.

However, no matter how much they despise death and how much they respect honor, they must admit one thing: before Lion El'Jonson appeared, even Luther, who was known as the "greatest" knight, could not turn the situation around.

At that time, the situation was already bad to a certain extent.

Let's take a very small example: the placement of corpses. A young man who went through untold hardships to become a knight died in a war to face evil and protect innocent people. For this, should he get a cemetery and a coffin?

This is of course a matter of course, but the Knights are simply unable to afford these two simple things. The beasts were contaminated, and the dead who were torn to pieces by their claws and fangs were naturally to blame.

In order to avoid more horrible things happening later, these heroic dead were often dismembered on the spot and then burned together with the corpses of the enemy. If the Knights in charge of this matter were lucky enough to have promethium, then this matter would be much faster.

But if not.

The lion had heard Luther say at the wine table that the flames burning the dead and the corpses of the beasts could last for half a month, and even the sky would change color. Even if the flames were extinguished, the charred smoke would not dissipate for a long time, like the last breath of the dead.

He stared at the sea of ​​fire in front of him expressionlessly, watching the twisted pieces of meat struggling and twisting in the flames, staring at their cursed forms, and remained silent for a long time.

On the contrary, Luther standing behind him was humming a happy ballad. The bad smell spreading from the terrible hellfire had already occupied every inch of air around him and the lion, but Luther seemed unaffected.

The lion couldn't help but spend a second or two to think about the difference: was he truly unaffected, or had he gotten used to it?

He looked at Luther deeply and found that the old knight actually looked very happy. This was not common. Luther was never a person who liked to show his emotions.

He once admired the grace and elegance of knights, but after some changes, he turned to the embrace of mysticism. To this day, how many secrets he carries, the lion is even too lazy to guess.

He turned around, faced Luther, and swung down the lion sword in his hand with the sword and scabbard. This weapon that had experienced many hardships penetrated deeply into the soil, and fine stones and dry soil splashed everywhere. The lion's cloak fell to the ground quietly in the firelight.

He looked at Luther, still without saying a word. The filthy flesh of the giant beasts was melting in the flames at an extremely slow speed, but the billowing smoke caused by the chain reaction had completely covered the sky at the top of the forest.

Soon, the stench of the burning corpses would penetrate to the back and drift into the depths of the forest.

Luther smiled and nodded to him gently, and finally gave an explanation in the face of silent questioning.

"We have to wait, Leon."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for two people and the appearance of something." Luther said slowly. "The first person is your son Zabril. If nothing unexpected happens, he will follow my footsteps and come here to find us."

"The second person is also your son, but unfortunately he has betrayed and is full of sins. He will come here to beg for your forgiveness. Of course, before that, he will tell you that he has done the job and he is not a fool."

"I will only give him death." The lion answered calmly.

"You can give him anything, even if it is really forgiveness." Luther said indifferently and blinked mysteriously. "The most important thing is not how you face him, but how he will arrive in front of you and me. Now let's talk about the last thing."

After the words fell, the old knight's smiling face turned cold without warning. This change happened in an instant, and even the lion couldn't help but feel a little surprised.

"Can you imagine what it is?" Luther asked without emotion.

That face. No matter who he was, what kind of feelings he had, what kind of identity he had, and who he had met, these things are irrelevant.

At the moment of asking this question, the identities of knight, great mentor, father, brother, friend, betrayer, spy, and everything they can represent completely disappeared.

His face was as deep and ruthless as stone, and the thing contained in those eyes was primitive and cruel, a deep malice.

Staring at them, the lion felt chilled all over.

His intuition suddenly broke free from the shackles of reason and easily took him back to a certain moment in human history. At that time, the first city-state had not even been established, but in the darkness a group of people had already raised their butcher knives and spears against the beasts.

They hunt them, not for food, not for clothing, not for fun, they just do it and they kill them until the continental shelves are covered in blood and at least thousands of animals are extinct.

At this moment, what was boiling in Luther's eyes was this kind of malice.

"The answer actually doesn't matter." Luther said slowly. "We only have to do two things to it: enslave it, or kill it."

"If it agrees to the former, then there is no need to proceed with the latter. If it refuses, then we must crush it to ashes at the end of this time. We must kill it until it can no longer be evoked or used in any form."

But why? the lion wanted to ask. This question was stuck in his throat, and it never dissipated for a long time, but it still could not break free from some kind of shackles that locked the question firmly.

The lion suddenly understood that he did not need to ask, because he already knew the answer - before the word history was invented, before those crazy primitive people gathered in groups lighting torches in the dark and hunting with spears. The answer to this question was already born when the beasts gathered together.

But what exactly is this problem?

The lion lowered his head, thick nosebleeds dripping slowly. The beard was dyed red and traced along the lines on the armor, leaving dark red traces. Wave after wave of needle-like pain surged from the depths of his mind. He gritted his teeth with all his strength, hearing rattling noises and indescribable vague shouts.

cry?

No.

In the dividing line between illusion and reality, Leon El'Jonson used his gradually sinking consciousness to distinguish the truth of this sound: it was not a shout, but a cry.

The cries of babies.

The cold wind was blowing everywhere, and his perception became sticky and filled with uneasiness and fear. His legs felt like lead, but that didn't stop him from running. In the dim wilderness, he ran to somewhere.

He used his hands to tear off some kind of animal skin covering the stones, wood and mud, with such strength that he couldn't believe it.

There was a roar, and a shape quickly passed by him, escaping into the night with a strong smell of blood.

But he had no time to care anymore, he just rushed into the bloody wreckage and carefully picked up a vague body that had been disembowelled with his hands.

Only after this did grief consume him.

Then, more shouts came, not just from one person, but from many people outside the tent. Full of anger, full of hatred, someone pulled him up, someone took away his child, someone stuffed a spear into him, someone smeared his cheek with blood.

Dozens of pairs of eyes were burning, and the malice flowing in them was exactly the same as Luther's.

This kind of malice is born from anger, hatred and sorrow, but it has gone far beyond the scope of what they can describe - these things alone cannot drive a tribe or an ethnic group to spend several generations to carry out racial extinct.

Only the noble quality of 'protection', which is completely opposite to them, can make it come into being.

In order to protect newborns and young offspring, primitive people could chase from the northernmost edge of the continent to the coast with spears, kill every beast they could see, and then pass on their habits from generation to generation, passing them on The bones hang from the top of the tent, inside and outside the territory.

If such creatures reappear one day in the future, their descendants will be able to lift the spear again.

How pure malice is this?

The lion pursed his lips tightly and finally made a few muffled sounds.

"Yes," Luther said. "That's what I'm here for."

He smiled with satisfaction, showing his white teeth. The wrinkles softened, the coldness melted away, leaving only pure and simple happiness. The flames were burning, and the corpses and pieces of flesh of the giant beasts were twisting in it, but the old knight was laughing so much that he even bent down.

"Ouroboros is a very powerful supernatural entity, Leon. It can do far more than you can imagine." Luthor said very gently. "Occultly speaking, it's no different than Caliban."

"We can even say this - it is Caliban itself. However, the relationship between it and Caliban cannot be inferred by common sense. There is no so-called connection between them that one will prosper and one will suffer. ”

"Even if Caliban is destroyed, Ouroboros will still exist, and this is its purpose. Caliban is like a prison, trapping it tightly. Of course it will not be willing to be a prisoner. Therefore, it will make Caliban bear some unbearable costs at all costs. The pollution of the giant beast and Caliban's civil strife are just one part of it."

"After the Terran Rebellion ended, it seized the opportunity, and it was just a little bit short of success. It's a pity that I am here."

Luther straightened up, took steps, walked past the lion, and stepped into the blazing flames.

"Here I am, Ouroboros!" he shouted. "And you only have two choices, kneel down or die. Choose!"

His voice could not cross the boundary set by the flames, and it was naturally impossible to enter the depths of the forest, but the lion could see it clearly.

He looked up and saw the layers of surging darkness rushing in from the other side of the sky dyed red by the fire, flapping its wings and opening its beaks. He instinctively drew his lion sword, but snakes began to rain from the sky. One after another, poisonous snakes spitting out their tongues slipped from the sharp claws of the birds and fell to the ground with dense thumps.

Luther's laughter turned into a wild laugh, as if he had achieved a certain goal and was very happy about it. Even when the lion put his hand on his shoulder, this wild laugh did not stop.

In the darkness created by the snake rain and the bird cloud, the lion slowly exhaled a breath of air with the smell of the decayed corpse of the giant beast.

Suddenly, he asked: "How do we kill it?"

——

The door of the shuttle slowly opened, and the smell of blood flowed into the fourth hangar of the Edge of Reason along with the high-temperature steam. Twelve dark angels filed out, silently carrying huge iron boxes wrapped with iron chains and walking away quickly.

Amid their footsteps, the people who had been waiting in the hangar early in the morning heard faint roars from those boxes that were not human.

The servants lowered their heads in fear and immediately began to silently recite the Emperor's prayer. Several old sword guards stared coldly at the iron box until it disappeared into the deepest darkness, and then they retracted their sight.

It was also at this time that Caril Rohals walked out of the hatch.

He was still holding the knife, with no intention of retracting it. His hands were stained with blood, and the hem of the Inquisitor's uniform was shining, already soaked with blood. Seeing this, the servants immediately stepped forward to tidy up his appearance, but only received a silent and firm refusal.

"All go down."

A cold voice ordered the servants, and a giant followed closely and walked out of the darkness. He was not wearing a knight's robe, and there were many scratches and welding marks on his armor.

He had a rather broad and ruthless chin, and his lips were tightly pursed, the lines of which were almost like sharp blades. He had an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and no flesh on his cheeks. His eyes were extremely gloomy, and his pupils were like two small dots without focus.

"Raphael."

Khalil greeted him as the servants left.

The Chapter Master of the First Army - no, the First Chapter, the 'Sword of Repentance' Raphael nodded to him with a complicated expression, as if he had made a brief greeting, and then immediately raised his hand and made a quick and complicated gesture.

The veterans standing around him immediately dispersed, as if they did not exist at all, and scattered into the shadows. For a moment, only Khalil and the Chapter Master himself were left in the fourth hangar.

The cold and pale light hit their heads, and the shuttle engine was still slowly dissipating heat and making a buzzing noise, but the air was as cold as ice.

Khalil didn't let the silence last too long. He shook his hand, slashed the blade across the edge of his coat, and asked, "What are the results of the analysis?"

"Very bad." Raphael said. "The ship has become a hotbed of chaos. The three priests I found almost died during the whole ceremony. The rosary and statues on their bodies were all broken. The think tank responsible for maintaining the ceremony told me that if it weren't for their devout faith, they would have been possessed by demons now."

Khalil shook his head and used a more serious tone, which was rare: "You should be more careful, Chapter Master."

Raphael did not respond to this sentence, but frowned, and his expression became more gloomy. It was not until a few seconds later that he spoke again: "I must admit that I made an empirical mistake in this matter. I should have listened to your advice."

"Now is not the time to talk about this, and I am not in a position to stand here and listen to your self-examination. Now I issue an order as the Grand Inquisitor of the Inquisition, Captain Raphael, I think the Blade of Truth must be destroyed immediately, and I will bear all the consequences caused by this."

Raphael nodded and said briefly and simply: "The artillery array has been preheated ten minutes ago."

"No one will be left alive." Khalil replied softly.

He turned around and boarded the shuttle again. There was no one on it. The machine soul had been set with program logic in advance so that the shuttle could fly forward all the time.

The starry sea was dim, and the hot beam passed by it soon, triggering the alarm of the instrument and creating a huge explosion on the blasphemous hull of the Blade of Truth, swallowing Khalil's face into a white mist.

No sound can be heard in the vacuum, but he seemed to be able to hear a wail and a calm and satisfied sigh.

The former came from the traitorous flagship of the Ten Thousand Eyes, the Blade of Truth, and the latter came from the warhound, named Mountains. Taken away, trampled, and twisted by chaos.

A revenge has been completed, just as he promised.

But this is just the beginning. The shuttle continues to fly, and the engine outputs steadily, unaffected by the outside world. Caril came to the rear of the cabin with a knife and turned to look at the display on the side. In the bright blue light, a scarlet light spot was flashing rapidly.

That was the Ten Thousand Eyes' large force, an entire fleet, the wealth accumulated by Serafax for ten thousand years. They were jumping out of Mandeville Point near Kamas one after another, breaking into this trap that had been set up at all costs.

From a tactical point of view, this was undoubtedly a suicidal act.

"I'm afraid I have to use some illegal means." Caril lowered his head and said to his shadow.

“You never followed the rules, father,” his shadow replied. “Do what you want. I just hope Lion El’Jonson doesn’t come back to see a burning Kamas.”