40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 668 50. Belated Judgment (Nineteen, 9K chapter)

The lion opened his eyes, but saw only darkness.

It's funny that at this moment, the first thought that rushed out of his logical thinking was a question: Am I blind?

It wasn't until several seconds later that he realized that the answer was not so. He just lost a "specialty" brought by the gene editing project. However, even if he can no longer see the darkness as nothing as before, the helmet's eyepiece should provide help in this situation

The lion raised his hand and touched his cheek. It felt soft, flesh and blood, not steel.

This seemed to be a clever reminder-but he didn't care so much because his helmet was taken away.

After realizing this, some complex, boiling and huge sum of information rushed into his mind unceremoniously, and then the senses that had become very dull for the original body began to recover rapidly.

The lion's exposed face felt cold, and his sense of smell caught a faint forest moisture. Together, they began to provide more help to his intuition.

In just two seconds, Lion El'Jonson had deduced a general process of what happened - first, the constant numbness on the tip of his tongue meant that he had experienced a warp sorcery teleportation or psychic teleportation not long ago.

The experience of the past ten thousand years told him that he would only feel that unpleasant numbness when he experienced the above two situations. Secondly, his weapons and helmet were taken away, and even his belt was not left.

This means that someone could easily kill him, but chose not to do so.

Serafax. The lion immediately chewed the name.

Finally, and most importantly - a faint light was shining in front of him, hitting his feet, and forming a path.

In this situation, it was as if someone opened a door for him at the right moment, and behind that door was a very bright world. Even if it was only opened a little, it was enough to illuminate his way forward.

The lion was faintly angry.

He knew Serafax, and of course he could taste the little thoughts contained in this so-called "just right". Because of this, he was more murderous.

The lion stepped onto this so-called bright path expressionlessly. He was unarmed and fearless.

No matter what Serafax planned to do, his answer would only be "no" - no matter what his original intention was, no matter how excellent his qualities were, as long as he compromised with chaos once, he could not turn back.

Chaos would not look for so-called partners, it only needed slaves. Throughout the ages, anyone who tried to use it, understand it, analyze it, or even just wanted to look at it from a distance had met with misfortune.

The most famous victim among them, whose name is now worshiped as a god and savior by humans throughout the galaxy.

The lion walked into the end of the light.

He did not notice anything unusual, which brought many cold considerations. However, the world that appeared before his eyes at the end of the path was enough to be described as "beautiful" - he saw a lush forest.

The color was different from the unpleasant, diseased dark green of Caliban. Every tree was full of vitality. In the reflection of the morning dew, their leaves reflected the sunlight like thousands of gems, piercing the lion's eyes.

It did not bring any pain, only waves of anger that kept echoing.

"Come out." He said coldly. "Don't play any more witchcraft or conspiracy, Serafax, you know in your heart that it will not work for me. Come out and face me, and end it all."

No one answered, only the subtle sound of the breeze blowing through the leaves. The lion stood there expressionlessly, his gauntlets creaking suddenly.

He turned his head sharply and caught a glimpse of a translucent water curtain. In the center of the picture, Serafax, still represented by a charred corpse, was sitting on a dark stone chair.

His lost arms had grown back, and on his right hand were the lion's lost weapons and belts. An old man covered in wounds was lying motionless under the towering steps of the throne.

"No witchcraft, no conspiracy, primarch."

The corpse answered quietly. His voice was dry, and his pronunciation was like firewood that was suffering from the pain of being roasted, with the water in it constantly evaporating and crackling.

And he only said this sentence, and after the voice fell, the water curtain completely dissipated.

The lion frowned. He wanted to use the dialogue method that Serafax was very familiar with to get more information, but the traitor seemed to have other intentions - this was proved after a footstep sounded.

The footsteps were soft and crisp, and the pace was very clever. Each step landed on the interface of soil and soil in a way beyond the imagination of ordinary people. He walked about ten meters behind the lion, without stepping on any fallen leaves or brushing any grass.

He was familiar with the forest.

Just like me.

The lion's intuition gave him the answer before he observed, but he still turned around to take a look.

He had seen many things that could not be explained by common sense, and even this one - if it came true - he had experience. Ferrus Manus had told him more than once about the nightmarish repeated killings and the so-called "Fulgrim".

Lion El'Jonson finally turned around.

The passage of time in the real world may be less than half a second, but the series of lengthy considerations that occurred in his thinking world were enough to make this quick turn around a little impatient.

He wanted to prove something, and he had to prove it with his eyes. Then, as if to repay his ominous premonition, he saw a young man standing opposite him alive, as tall as himself.

No, he was taller. He stood very straight, that's why.

blond? Yes, blond hair, long enough to spill over her shoulders, but tied up securely and no longer hindering the fight in any way.

Broad shoulders, taut muscles, very strong, very strong. The muscles make the robe bulge, but the details are just right and soft. That's fat, and if some unexpected damage comes, it'll be better than just muscle.

The hands hang naturally, covered with calluses, from the fingers to the palms, and the right hand is particularly relaxed and rests on the waist.

"Have you seen enough?" the blond young man suddenly asked.

His voice was monotonous and direct. There was no politeness or threat in it, he was simply asking a question. However, the lion didn't know how to answer for a moment.

Faced with his silence, the young man shook his head and couldn't help complaining: "I didn't expect you to be so old."

The lion still said nothing.

He didn't know how he was going to handle the situation, and he didn't want to say anything - in fact, he felt really bad right now, like he was punching something ten thousand times softer than cotton. superior

A corner of his mind began to describe the embarrassment of the moment: You are discouraged, Leon El'Jonson. You thought there was going to be a big fight when you came here? And then bring in something noble like self-sacrifice so you can fix it all once and for all?

No, it won't go your way this time. You have saved many people in the past, but not this time. This time is different, this time

He took a deep breath of air, which smelled of the forest, but was extremely cold.

The young man was still looking at him.

There were two swords hanging on his waist in leather scabbards. They were without any decoration and were surprisingly simple. The straight handguard shines with the unique light of new steel. The hilt of the sword was wrapped with layers of brown cloth and was extremely clean, with no traces of sweat, blood or any bleeding from friction.

From these things, the Lion knew that the two long swords that fit the size of the Primarch had just been cast and bound not long ago.

The young man patted them and said, "I beat them with my own hands. What do you think? Serafax said that you may not necessarily accept fighting with a sword, but I think you will definitely accept it."

He was talking to himself, then took off his sword and threw one towards the lion.

He took it with one hand and drew the sword instinctively, with just the right center of gravity. The balance it brought could even be described as 'wonderful', and the lion couldn't help but be startled.

He raised his head and looked at the young man. The latter's eyes were extremely focused, staring straight into his face. The long sword had been unsheathed and was being held in his hand, reflecting the morning sunlight.

"Let's get started."

The young man said, and then suddenly shook his arm, and the sword blade stirred, turning the sunlight into a flying blade that stabbed the eyes, and threw it at the lion. The latter narrowed his eyes, indifferent to this dirty duel trick. He just raised his hand and rotated the long sword, cutting a graceful but murderous arc from top to bottom. Simple, direct, no skills involved, just pure power and speed.

Facing ordinary enemies, this is a sure-kill blow, but for others, it is just a test, and young people will naturally be classified as the latter.

While his blond hair was flying, he tightened his cheeks, exhaled deeply, and thrust out the sword with both hands, and then struck first, destroying the path of the lion's sword. He also didn't use any skills, but he held the sword with both hands, so the power and speed of this blow were far superior to the lion's slash.

But in an instant, his long sword had reached the lion's face.

So fast.

In the flash of sword light, at the moment of life and death, the lion only had this question-like exclamation in his mind. He didn't think about the rest - in fact, he didn't need to think about anything.

All he had to do was take a step back, and he dodged the stabbing attack perfectly. At the same time, he clenched his left fist and punched out, accurately hitting the center of the young man's sword.

He only exerted a small amount of force, but it was enough to completely destroy the balance of the sword itself. With a muffled sound, the long sword in the young man's hand inevitably lost its accuracy and fell crookedly downward.

A shadow of surprise flashed across the young man's face. The lion glanced at him, suddenly raised his right leg and kicked him hard on the shin. If this blow hits, the battle will no longer need to continue. But the lion never thought that his opponent would fall to such a move, so in the next second, when the kick was blocked by the long sword, he swung his left fist again.

"Bang!"

A heavy muffled sound echoed through the forest, shaking dew all over the ground. The grass swayed, happily accepting this generous gift born of brutal violence. If anyone wants to bleed in the future, they will happily accept it.

The young man slowly straightened up.

He was knocked back several meters by the lion's seemingly simple straight punch. The clothes on his left shoulder were torn, and the skin underneath was bruised and swollen. He probably didn't look too good on the inside.

The lion still stood there, not moving, but holding the sword in front of him, then holding it with both hands, performing a duel salute.

His eyes were calm - in fact, he could even be described as peaceful. It was as if he was not in a strange but extremely dangerous battle, but was educating the younger generation in his own mansion. The two of them were just holding wooden swords and fighting each other.

Seeing this scene, the young man's anger was finally ignited.

He frowned, and the face that had not yet been wrapped by the beard twisted little by little into a look that the lion had never seen with his own eyes, but was very familiar with. The anger flowed in every detail, making this face gradually become inhuman and weird, but those human characteristics did not disappear.

The lion sighed slightly in his heart, and something was stuck in his throat.

Once again, he reluctantly realized that he had changed. If it was in the past, he would not have any psychological fluctuations at this moment.

In fact, if it were in the past, this moment would not even come, because he would use the most horrible and cruel tactics at the very beginning to ensure that he could kill the young man in the shortest time, and then try to kill Serafax and any other possible enemies.

Yes, this is Lion El'Jonson-an efficient and harsh predator, who does not argue, waver, hesitate, and only kills.

Many people fell into deep confusion after knowing the true face hidden under the so-called identity of the King of Knights, but there are others who tried to convince him.

They failed and were consumed by the inhuman anger.

"I will be more careful." The young man spoke in a low and serious voice, ending the lion's thinking.

He did not argue "this is not a sword fight" or roar "you are using some tricks" and so on. He just emphasized that he would be more careful. He didn't even care that the lion was wearing armor and he was not. This meant that he accepted it all and understood that the sword fight was just a cover.

The real situation was that they were going to fight to the death here.

The lion sighed.

He didn't remember sighing before, and strangely, he didn't feel resentful about it, but rather relieved. Then he asked, "Before we really get started, do you have anything else to say?"

"What?" the young man asked.

"Anything." The lion showed a rare bit of patience. "You are obviously different from me, and I want to know where the difference comes from."

"Why do you care?"

The young man raised his eyebrows impatiently, his eyes glittering. He raised his sword and began to move his shoulders, looking like a bull ready to fight.

The lion placed his eyes lightly on his shoulder and calmly delivered the final blow.

"Because you're going to die soon, kid," he said gently.

The young man took a deep breath, closed his mouth, and rushed at him again, even faster than the last time.

The mud flew where he stepped, and the footprints were so deep that they looked like they had been bombarded with explosives. His golden hair was flying, his sword was raised high, and his emerald eyes were filled with only primitive and pure killing intent - but the lion only felt pathetic.

Why do you fight? Who do you swing your sword for? He wanted to ask these questions, but he didn't. He just held his sword horizontally and slapped, blocking the young man's first slash. Then he immediately stepped back and avoided the second horizontal slash that followed.

The whole process was as smooth as flowing water, his steel boots creaked, and the air was whistled and torn apart by the ridiculous explosive power of this seemingly old body, making a hollow crisp sound.

Seeing that his two swords missed, the young man immediately withdrew his hand and refused to chase. He regrouped, let the sword return to the center line, and then posed an extremely standard starting posture. He stood there solemnly, shook the tip of the sword, and invited the lion.

Although Leon couldn't remember how many years he hadn't done this, he still stood there in the same posture, holding the sword with both hands, and pressed the sword over. The two pieces of steel immediately collided with each other, making a dull sound.

The young man took a step forward with anger in his eyes, and swung his sword like a storm, slicing the air and the dust in it. In just two seconds, he slashed eleven swords in a row, and the force and arc of each sword were perfect.

And what did the lion do?

He blocked all these eleven swords.

He did not use his intuition, nor did he use any "outside tricks", just pure swordsmanship, pure crushing.

Facing the young man's first five swords, he controlled them with the "balance" method that has been circulated in Caliban swordsmanship for a long time. Each of these five swords was destroyed by his slapping or blocking, making it difficult to cause any damage.

As for the more dangerous last six swords, he used another completely different technique. It came from a swordsmanship book compiled by Fulgrim and his best swordsmen. It encourages and requires practitioners to anticipate the enemy's moves and understand the enemy's intentions.

In other words, it hopes that the practitioner can intercept the enemy's attack just before it is formed and before it arrives, and immediately counterattack according to the sword moves.

This sounds like a fantasy, even Fulgrim himself has considered whether to delete this actually irrelevant section from the book

Whether he finally did this, the lion is not sure, but he has mastered it thoroughly. The young man's last six swords were all intercepted by him in this way, and he didn't even counterattack.

And now, the young man's eleventh sword is over.

The lion raised his hand, and before Ka was able to sheath his sword or regroup his steps, he lightly slashed out his own sword.

That is the twelfth sword.

This sword is ordinary and ordinary, a forehand chop that is as basic as it gets. Launched with both hands, the sword blade drew a graceful arc from the back shoulder and slashed towards the young man. Its power even made his hair stand on end.

Blood splashed out, and several birds flew over the treetops, chirping hoarsely, and flew away little by little.

The young man gasped and took a few steps back, covering his shoulders as blood slipped from his fingers. He looked stunned, obviously not expecting things to develop in this direction.

The lion looked at him calmly and suddenly dropped the sword in his hand.

"What did Serafax do to you?" Leon El'Jonson asked sincerely.

"Why do you care?"

The young man asked again disdainfully. He let go and looked at his bloody shoulder.

The wound left by the lion was long, narrow and deep. The skin, fat layer and muscles of his left shoulder were all cut open, and the bloody tendons and miracles wrapped around the bones were clearly visible.

For ordinary people, this is a serious injury. For the Astartes, it will take some time to stop the bleeding. And what about the Primarch? In just two words, he had stopped the bleeding, and the flesh and blood at the wound had even begun to squirm.

"I'm not caring about you, I'm just pitying you. You're fighting for someone you don't know anything about, you don't know what he's done, in fact, I don't think you know anything about him at all. "

The lion said, his old face finally showing the majesty befitting his status. Of course, his words sounded extremely harsh because of this.

So, he got a sneer.

The young man straightened up and shook his head at him. He didn't say anything, but his figure suddenly disappeared from the place.

Before the lion had time to react, an extremely pungent smell rushed into his nose. It was extremely choking, as if hundreds of corpses had been fermenting under the rotting leaves for hundreds of days and nights.

And then——

——

——Luthor looked up at the water curtain in front of him and saw in disbelief that Leon El'Jonson had his arm pierced by a sword, along with his armor.

Serafax seemed to say something, but he didn't listen. He just stared at the water curtain intently, watching the battle, not daring to look away for a moment.

In this way, he watched how Leon El'Jonson went from being in control of the situation to being at a disadvantage in a short period of time.

Luther knew why, but he didn't understand it. He had to raise his head and look at the charred corpse sitting on the chair.

"Finally you are willing to give me some attention, Sir?" Serafax asked in a humorous tone.

Here, in this vast, dark space, his voice became soft. In fact, very softly, and almost too softly. He hardly sounded like he was in the same room as Luther;

A flash of inspiration flashed in Luther's mind.

"Another world——"

He struggled to spit out these words through the blood foam and pain, and then gasped. It wasn't until several minutes later that the old knight had the strength to say the remaining half of the sentence.

"——Right?" Luther asked angrily, extremely weak, but still daring to stir up anger.

Serafax didn't answer, just stared into the distance. But there is actually nothing in the distance, only darkness, endless darkness.

Luther turned his head with difficulty and saw many corpses clinging to the darkness with their hands, swaying, some fingers had been broken, and others began to melt and turn into blood. Their bodies were covered in bruises, exposing layers of sickly yellow fat or sticky entrails.

For some reason, Luther thought they were crying.

"They were crying," Serafax said. "The body is dead, but the soul cannot rest. I need energy, at least in the short term, inexhaustible energy, so they suffer here. This is why they cry, ser."

Luther gasped, sitting upright against the steps and forcing himself to calm down.

"What did you do to them?"

The scorched corpse looked down at him, his jaw opening and closing with a crunching sound.

"I killed them, along with their families, friends, and everyone else I knew and didn't know. Then I imprisoned them here together to provide huge amounts of energy for my rituals in the most evil way imaginable. "That's what I do, Jazz, so if you want to judge something, you can start now."

Luther didn't do what he wanted. The old knight even looked unusually calm at the moment, like a bloody and broken statue.

"A galaxy?" he whispered.

Serafax shook his head: "It's much more than that."

"A star sector?" Luther continued to throw out cold guesses.

Again, Serafax shook his head.

"You can't guess the correct answer, Sir. Planets, galaxies, sectors. If you want, I can even give you a holographic sandbox and let you take a moment to call up the galaxy map and identify them one by one. However, I can give you A reminder for you - no matter how many dead people you see, they are only Calibans."

Luther fell silent, as if he had suddenly fallen into numbness caused by illness. Those patients who have only a few days to live have such an attitude. They are extremely ill and are not awake like normal people, but they cannot really fall asleep. Half asleep and half awake, life becomes like a long corridor full of mirrors, and every face reflected in it is distorted.

The charred corpse looked down at him, waiting for an answer. After a long time, the old knight asked hoarsely.

"How many?"

The burnt corpse let out a hollow laugh, as if in approval.

"You are indeed well-informed, Sir. However, if you want to get a definite answer, I can only apologize - I did not calculate it carefully. I have done it before, but then gave up."

Luther closed his eyes in understanding.

He already understood, there was no way he could not understand. It is true that he can deceive himself and limit his answers to a regular quadrant for the sake of his own sanity, but unfortunately, he is not such a person.

Luther, the knight of Caliban, is a hero, upright and brave; Luther, the Grand Master of the First Legion, is a traitor, despicable and cowardly; Luther, the first agent of the Inquisition, is a madman, he knows why the world is so dark, and he You can even count how many kinds of man-eating monsters there are in the galaxy - these identities actually have nothing in common except their names and faces. What really connects them together makes them become 'Luthor'.

From beginning to end, there is only one quality.

Luther opened his eyes.

"Who allowed you to do this?" He suddenly asked, his voice still weak.

Before Leon El'Jonson's battle began, he had experienced a hard fight. Serafax summoned a wave of magic that surrounded him.

Luther used all his strength to fight his way out. He originally wanted to rush up the stairs and kill Serafax, pressing the eagle emblem in his hand into his head, so that he could be finished. But he had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he was pressed to the ground by an unspeakable force.

The eagle emblem fell into the darkness and disappeared. The demon tide also disappeared in an instant, and the demons' unwilling or furious roars eager to get his soul echoed in the darkness and lasted for a long, long time.

Therefore, no matter how you look at it from any perspective or definition, he has run out of ammunition and food and is in an impossible situation to win. But he still dared to ask this question, and he asked it without fear or hesitation.

Serafax looked at him, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded a little surprised.

"You - I must admit, Sir, you are not like the others."

"Who gave you such power?" Luther asked word for word. He was leaning on the steps, defenseless and bruised. He was clearly looking up at the charred corpse holding unparalleled power, but he acted as calmly as the blindfolded knight in the old Alduruk Monastery.

"You can't get them on your own, Serafax," the old knight said slowly. "So, among those four, there is indeed such an extremely shameless evil being supporting you, and he even doesn't hesitate to give you this kind of power."

The burnt corpse looked at him steadily and asked, "Do you want to tell His name?"

Luther shook his shoulders mockingly and laughed silently.

"Tzeentch," he said then. "I said, why not? Will He show up and take my soul? Whatever He does, and so do you, Serafax, do whatever you want."

"You and the so-called god behind you are the same thing. They are despicable and despicable. They only know how to hide in the stinking ditch and do a few tricks that cannot be performed on the stage. It is like squatting on the balcony of the second floor and throwing bricks downwards. , do you understand? If an unfortunate person is killed by you, you will immediately laugh loudly, as if there is great ingenuity hidden in the continuous throwing of bricks."

"Are you done, ser?" the corpse asked respectfully.

"Not yet," Luther gasped. "One last thing."

"What's up?"

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Erase you, replace you, and bring order to the chaos." Jiao Zhi said without hesitation or any other way to excuse himself. His sincerity was astonishing, as if Luther was still the Grand Master and he was still the knight's apprentice.

"In what way?" Luther asked. His eyes almost closed.

"In ways you have never imagined, never seen, ser." Serafax told him softly. "Caliban is where it all began, do you understand? What an honor we have enjoyed as the First Legion, the First Primarch, my lord. Have you ever recalled this in the endless years you have been here? "

"Our brothers are either too stubborn or too flighty. Some are too adaptable, and some just want to focus on killing. They have strayed from the duties established by the Emperor and gone astray. Only we are not, we are different."

"We are the original samples of all legions and the pioneer users of their systems and tactics. Even the taboos stored in our arsenal are enough to flood a thousand worlds——!"

His voice became more and more excited and high-pitched, as if he had been holding it in for a long time, and only today did he find someone to talk to.

Luther was still listening, but he had closed his eyes. He had no strength left and just wanted to hear Serafax's final confession.

At the same time, he continued to recite a prayer silently.

"But we failed." The Dark Angel said with hatred. "We were broken by the insurrection, we failed in our loyalty, we failed in our duty."

The charred corpse stood up and walked down the stairs. Blood gushed out of its rotten and dry skin, rolling down the gray-white stone, as hot as magma.

"But who should be blamed? I searched through time and every layer of history, and the conclusion I came to was nothing more than one sentence - Caliban's rebellion was inevitable."

"Is it me who pushed behind the scenes and formed a time paradox? No, it's not me, I'm just a pusher. Long before me, the cause of the disaster had been buried. Chaos pollution, the awakening of the rattlesnake, the concealment of the dark watchers, and even your birth, the landing of the primarch."

The charred corpse widened his eyes, the charcoal-like tendons shattered and rolled down his face, and the pair of eyes embedded in the eye sockets like glass beads began to spin rapidly.

"I can't change it, I can't start!" Serafax roared. "I just know that this shouldn't be the case!"

He took a step forward fiercely, and came to Luther's side in just one step. At this time, the old knight was already on the verge of death, but Serafax grabbed him without caring. He grabbed Luther's shoulders tightly with his melting fingers and yelled at him.

"We are the original Angels of Death. We were supposed to turn the tables when the catastrophe occurred. So should our Primarch."

"He is not Sanguinius. He is not weak. He is not a foolish megalomaniac like Horus. He is not overly cruel like Ferrus Manus, nor is he as slick as Fulgrim. He is Lion El'Jonson, do you understand? He can defeat the savage Leman Russ in hand-to-hand combat and Angron in military discipline. He has the willpower of Rogal Dorn, but he is not as stubborn. He can be as strong as steel as Perturabo, but he will never let himself become a laughing stock in the galaxy. I want him to defeat these Primarchs, Luther, I want-"

Serafax hadn't finished speaking, but his voice stopped abruptly.

"--Sir?" he asked cautiously after a few seconds.

The old knight did not answer him. His body stood limply, like a rag in the enemy's hands, barely standing upright, his face still showing pain, his lips slightly parted, his tongue stuck in the back of his jaw, extremely stiff.

Ten thousand years of perseverance, alone, past achievements.

All of these have vanished with his death. There is no tragic sacrifice, no feat of exchanging one life for another, only the little ashes left after a person has done everything he can.

Serafax slowly let go of his hand and let him fall to the ground.

It's over. He realized. Luther is dead, and now there is only one thing left to do.

He turned around and stepped onto the stone steps in ecstasy.

——

Khalil let go of his hand and let half of the body slip from his hand.

There were artillery fire flying above his head, and shouts, roars and screams were heard in his ears. The chaos on the surface of Kamas was beyond description. Everyone who stayed here was gradually falling into the madness brought by the war.

Only he remained calm.

He raised his head and looked at the red sky. At this time, it was not dawn in Kamas, at least not in this hemisphere. What could he see? No one knew.

"I heard it." Caryl Rohals said. "I got your message, Luther."