40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 673 55. Interlude: Overcoming Self (Two-in-One)

He was going to die.

He knew in his heart that he was going to die. But how many days? How long had this been going on? Weeks, months, years?

He was not sure of the answer. He only felt that he had rarely had those moments of complete clarity recently, and this was wrong - deep in his heart, he vaguely knew this.

This was wrong. He said it to himself over and over again, constantly denying it, repeating this simple conclusion, solidifying his mind into a castle. He stayed at the top of the castle without emotion or perception, his eyes like two polished green agates, staring at the endless void below.

But this was just his imagination. In reality, he was walking hard in a world of ice and snow.

The snow was deep and solid. He had to pull his legs out completely every time he took a step, otherwise he would not be able to move at all. There was a vast expanse of white in all directions, and there was no scenery to identify the direction. What was worse was that it was snowing now.

Oh, this was not a good thing, this was the worst thing. Because snow doesn't just come by itself, it also comes with the wind. Snow and wind, a good pair of killers.

Even hungry beasts won't move in such weather, they will freeze to death before finding prey.

Really smart, isn't it? Animals are always smart when it comes to survival. They know where to go and where not to go, how to stay alert while eating, and how to move quietly.

He used to know these things, didn't he?

He asked himself - I used to know these things, didn't I? I know how to tell time by the position of the sun, I know how to forage, how to deal with corpses, how to skin fur.

I know how to kill.

Just like this snowstorm, I know how to kill quickly and well. Killing people is one thing, killing other things is another, but I know all of them.

Do I still know these things now?

He stopped, and his thoughts stopped with him, and he inevitably felt tired.

It's always like this, as long as he thinks too much, his energy will be consumed rapidly. He could hardly stand. If it weren't for the stick in his hand, he would have fallen headfirst into the snow.

He barely stood up and wiped his face. The ice on his beard broke into stars on his tattered wool gloves. He exerted a little force, clenched his fingers, and began to wait patiently. After a few minutes, he used his remaining body temperature to melt the broken ice into snow water, and then immediately raised his head to drink it.

This is certainly not a good choice, but he has no choice.

I used to have many choices, right?

Once again, he asked himself in a trance-but where did this question come from? Damn, who is asking the question?

Sometimes, he would feel confused because he didn't think that these completely "stupid" words would not come out of his mind, but it did appear, and he even had to answer

It was an extremely strong weird feeling, as if another person was staying in his body, borrowing his thinking, throwing out one stupid question after another.

Yes. In the end, he couldn't help but answer in his heart. I used to have many choices, and I always have many choices.

The person in his body asked again: So, what choice?

I don't know. He thought.

In the snow, a pair of green agates blinked and finally became a little angry. He pursed his lips and set off again. This time, he walked for a long time before the next question came.

Do you remember the group of aliens in Kolo Dakor?

What?

He was a little confused and couldn't understand what this difficult word was describing. But the word that followed it, the short and powerful word that aroused his real anger.

Ah, aliens. He suddenly realized.

Yes, of course I remember. A group of white-skinned bastards who looked like albino lizards. The level of technology is very high, but the social atmosphere is very barbaric and extremely martial.

A family usually has two children. These young ones have to undergo cruel training from birth and are not recognized as members of society until they complete their coming-of-age ceremony - winning the fight with their brothers and sisters. Only those who survive can truly become their parents' children.

In addition, their social system is relatively scattered and hates each other. Fourteen different political systems, large and small, have been in endless wars. This has provided us with great help.

Did you kill them all? The voice asked again.

Of course.

Don't you think genocide is too cruel?

He was stunned for a moment, and then twisted his eyebrows unbearably.

What are you talking about? He scolded the voice. This group of aliens betrayed humans in the old night and enslaved our compatriots for eleven centuries in the next dozen centuries. They deserved to die, do you understand?

What do you think ended those eleven centuries of slavery? Their sudden kindness? No, I have read their own written history, which clearly records their atrocities against humans. They even record these things just for fun, so that they can use the same way to abuse us when they meet humans again in the future!

So, you killed them all?

No, it's more than that. He said, and suddenly became a little proud - or satisfied.

What else have you done? the voice asked softly.

destroy.

He said the word and heard a sigh. The wind and snow suddenly weakened, and a blond man wearing a fur cloak broke through the snow curtain and stood in front of him tiredly.

"You are much stronger than me." The man said. "I was held back there."

He frowned and stared at the man without speaking. It wasn't that he didn't want to communicate with him, it was just that he simply didn't know what to say - those words about aliens, betrayal and killing made him very confused.

Is that really what I experienced? he thought to himself.

The man ignored him, sighed again, and said: "We fought very hard in that battle, and most of the legion fell into it. We had just gained a foothold, and the aliens of Colo Dacol came from We are attacked from every angle in the galaxy."

"We were held back and could not be replenished for a long time. The system was blocked and logistically difficult to access. Three years after the war began, I had to take the remaining warships into the asteroid belt to evade and then rob Their battle satellites are therefore only a matter of time before they fail."

The more he listened, the more he couldn't help it. He finally spoke, and finally officially entered the conversation, playing another role.

"Didn't you send out destroyers for reconnaissance before launching the attack?"

The man shook his head, looking very depressed.

"Of course I have. But most of them are hidden deep. The spies I sent out only brought back information about two political systems in total. It was still the early days of the Great Crusade, and I had just returned to the legion. I had to lead them to establish a An achievement was needed to stabilize the morale of the army, so I immediately launched an attack."

"Stupid!" Hearing this, he couldn't help but yell angrily. "The entire galaxy is so huge. How can we attack rashly without conducting a complete exploration? The most important thing to avoid in a void naval battle is errors in intelligence. A single mistake can affect the whole system. A single mistake can plunge the entire battle into a state of irreversible disaster!"

The man looked up at him, clenched his fists again and again, and finally let them go. A bitter smile that seemed unfamiliar to this face slowly bloomed.

"You're right." He actually nodded and admitted. "So I'm dead and you're still standing here."

The man turned aside to make way for him.

"Go over." The man said softly. "You are much stronger than me, but that may not be the case next."

What? What's the meaning? He felt confused again, but his intuition controlled his body and took steps ahead of his mind.

As he walked past the dejected man, the fatigue he had been feeling was actually lessening. The wind and snow slowly subsided. He raised his eyes and looked into the distance, and suddenly saw a piece of scorched earth. This made him frown, and he stopped temporarily, intending to take a closer look.

And the man's voice came from behind him. It was obviously a few steps away, but now it sounded very far away.

"Do you still remember your name?" the man asked.

He turned around and saw that it was snowing again. The blond man fell to the ground for some reason, and the blood pouring out of his body stained the surrounding ground red.

He was startled, and when he was about to turn around and go back to provide help, the man raised his hand to stop him.

"Don't look back," the man whispered. As he spoke, blood poured out of his mouth, nose and ears.

"Do you still remember your name?"

He shook his head.

"Leon El'Jonson." The man told him in a very calm tone. "Be sure to remember it."

The wind and snow howled, and the white snowflakes densely occupied every inch of space in front of him, falling from the sky like bullets, covering the man's body, completely burying him, and making no more noise.

Leon Al'Jonson

He turned back thoughtfully, chanting the name, and walked towards the scorched earth step by step.

This journey was also not easy, and the ground was full of shell craters. Every time he walked for a while, he had to keep climbing up and down, which was undoubtedly a great challenge for his current physical condition. Fortunately, the wooden stick was still in his hand, and it faithfully provided help.

When its tail was firmly wrapped in soil, he finally officially entered the scorched earth. A strong smell of blood immediately rushed into his nose, passively lifting his spirits. He subconsciously clenched the wooden stick in his hand, and his muscles tightened unconsciously.

Something slowly surfaced, a wild intuition. It led him to turn his head and look at a mound on the right.

There was an empty and deserted position. The damaged personnel carriers and tanks lay pitifully with their bellies exposed, their mechanical components hissing, and the ground was covered with blood, craters and traces of bombing.

Strangely, he didn't see half of the body.

After hesitating for a moment, he walked over there. The closer he got to the position, the stronger the smell of blood became. His temples began to beat, and his gait became lighter and lighter little by little, no longer making any sound.

He suddenly fell into a state of intense concentration, his eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly. At the same time, a question inevitably arises: How many people have died here?

To get answers, he started walking around. From trenches to safety holes, from foxholes to command rooms that have been opened wide

He walked through the entire position, but still didn't see a single person, not even a weapon. This was unreasonable and contrary to logic - unless someone had swept the battlefield long before he came here, taking away all the dead and their weapons.

With doubt, he walked to a half-broken stone and sat down gently, looking up at the sky.

Compared with the scorching pale white in the snowfield, the sky here is a sticky blood color. The smoke and dust that have not yet dissipated filled the sky, wantonly invading every corner. No matter what color it was originally, it can no longer be seen now.

This incident inexplicably made him a little unhappy, and he couldn't help but sigh. In the next few minutes, he didn't go anywhere, just picked up a stone and knocked the end of the stick, knocking off the half-solidified soil one by one.

They clump together and break into pieces, and the turbid charred black and blood color bring an increasingly pungent smell of blood. He frowned, and suddenly he didn't want to continue working. He had to raise the stick in his hand and knock the stone a few times with it, and finish the job hastily, just as if the work was done.

This small knocking sound echoed and spread in the empty position, gradually turning into a hollow echo. He stood up and looked into the distance, and found that there was fog on the battlefield.

The temperature began to drop. Although it still could not penetrate his heavy cotton clothes, it brought a chill different from the wind and snow. He frowned again, suddenly took a step, and walked into the depths of the mist without fear.

In just a few hundred meters, the battlefield was left behind by him, and what came into his sight was a mass grave.

A hunched back was working here.

He was wearing a tattered armor, and the dull red flattened every original detail. He did not wear a helmet, and his hair, which was also dyed dark red, was draped behind his head in a mess. He held a long sword covered with mud in his hand and swung it like a hoe.

As if he had noticed his arrival, the man paused and put down his raised hands. He turned around, his face hidden behind the wound, blood and mud, and his eyes were as drowsy as dusk.

"He said you would come." The man said hoarsely. "But I didn't expect you to come so soon."

What do you mean? He wanted to ask this question, but he remained silent cautiously and did not give any response. The man didn't seem to care, just turned around and continued his work.

Not long after, a deep pit was dug out. He stood up, threw the sword in his hand aside, walked into the mist, and carried out a corpse.

It was a black-armored warrior who was shorter than him, missing a hand, half of his body was cut open by something, and his internal organs were exposed bloody.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

The man jumped into the deep pit without looking back, and answered in a very faint and deep voice: "Be the last thing a failed commander can do for his soldiers."

Soldiers?

He involuntarily took a few steps closer and looked at the corpse, feeling a tingling familiarity. For no reason, he thought: These people are not soldiers or not just soldiers.

The man ignored him, but bent down, put down the body, and began to tidy up his remains.

The helmet was taken off and placed on his chest, with his only remaining left hand resting on its side. The belt around his waist was buckled again, and an assault shield that had been waiting at the bottom of the pit for a long time was covered on his body from the right side, covering the hideous wound and making him look as if he was just falling asleep, not dying. After doing all this, the man climbed out of the deep pit. He was panting exhaustedly, as if he had experienced an unparalleled battle. He couldn't even stand up, so he could only half-kneel on the ground, barely grabbing the sword, and using it to support himself to stand up.

Then, he began to swing the sword - or swing the hoe, it made no difference. The soil splashed, and handfuls of blood-stained soil flew and fell on the warrior's body, making a slight friction sound.

After a few minutes, the pit was filled. The man threw down the sword again, walked into the mist, and took out a spotless power sword with both hands. He knelt on the grave, touched it with his forehead, then raised his hands and poured the weapon, sword and sheath, into the soil.

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

"I" He hesitated, not knowing how to answer, after all, the tone of this question was not good anyway. He didn't want to rush into a conflict with this man.

"If you haven't seen enough--" The man stood up little by little. His tone was still calm, without any hostility, as if it was really just an invitation. "--You can continue to watch, I still have many people to bury."

"Who are they?" Finally, he couldn't help asking.

"My soldiers." The man said. "Died because of me."

What did you do? He wanted to ask. However, considering the clenched and unclenched fists of the previous man when facing the same situation, he didn't ask this question after all. But the man seemed to see what he wanted to ask, and he took the initiative to speak.

"I was sent on a mission to target my brother and his legion. My orders were to kill them all and wipe out all traces of their existence."

"My brother knew I was coming. Before the war began, he found me and begged me to spare his offspring with his life. He thought that was enough, after all-"

The man paused and didn't say anything else. Time suddenly slowed down, and the stabbing pain came again, making the listener almost dizzy.

He clenched his fists tightly to remind himself where he was, but once the disaster box containing something was opened, it would never be closed again by human power.

The painful aura filled his mind, making him speechless. He fell to the ground with red eyes and almost fainted. At the critical moment, it was the name told to him by the man he met on the snowfield that helped him.

Lion El'Jonson.

This name made him suddenly remember many things. More things.

"- He committed suicide? In front of you?" He raised his head and asked the man.

"Yes." The man said. "He thought our father only wanted his death. After all, he was the only one who crossed the taboo line. His sons were innocent. He begged me to take them back and let them continue to fight for the Empire and humans."

"Do you agree?"

"I"

"Do you agree?!" He almost roared.

"No." The man took a breath and his voice finally changed. "But I didn't stop him, and his sons couldn't accept his death, thinking that I must have done something. They didn't even intend to listen to the self-recorded suicide note of their Gene Father, and the entire legion fell into madness."

"They accuse you of killing their Gene Father?"

"Yes."

He stood up little by little, his expression had become cold, and he didn't even notice the change: "When they accuse you of something that doesn't exist, you'd better have done it."

The man stared at him and said, "But I didn't do it, I didn't kill my brother."

"Then , you should have killed him. "

The man's face twitched visibly, as if he was enraged, his face twisted in an instant, his expression became extremely terrifying: "I am not an executioner."

"The debate between yes and no is meaningless in this conversation. Whether you want it or not, the order has been sent to you. You have only one choice except to execute it, which is to disobey. But you accepted the order, and still hoped to solve the matter in another way. So, as I said, you should kill him with your own hands. "

The man slowly tightened his long sword in his hand, and the bloody mud was crushed, like dust, falling through the gaps in his gauntlet. He was gritting his teeth, and this was seen very clearly by the listener.

After a long time, the man took a deep breath, tried to restrain himself, and spoke little by little.

"Then what should I do? When he came to me alone by boat, I blasted him and his boat into slag in the universe? He is my brother-"

"-It doesn't matter. "The listener interrupted coldly. "He crossed the line. He was studying something he shouldn't have touched. The Emperor had said it before, and repeatedly warned him not to try to touch those taboos, but he didn't listen."

"The Emperor was tolerant enough to him, and he didn't give the order until he was sure that he had really crossed the line. Do you understand what this means?"

"Traitors must die. There is no need to reason or talk about feelings. He is your brother, so what? Even if he is really as close to you as a brother and grew up with you, he has lost the right to live."

"In the final analysis, this has nothing to do with the so-called family conflict you know. The Emperor ordered him to be killed not because he disobeyed him, but because he is a Primarch. Being a Primarch means that he must be responsible for countless humans, but he crossed the line. If one day he makes a big mistake, have you ever thought about how many people will die from his mistakes?"

The man stared at the listener in a daze, and the long sword in his hand subconsciously tightened. He was dizzy and swollen by this series of words like artillery bombardment, and couldn't say a word. He still wanted to argue, but deep down, he knew the Listener was right.

If the Listener wasn't right, then this mass grave wouldn't exist.

".You win," the man said with difficulty. "But I have one last question."

"Ask it," the Listener said calmly, as if giving an order.

"Did you kill him yourself?"

"Yes," said Lion El'Jonson. "I killed him myself."

The man lowered his head and stopped talking. A heart-wrenching cry came faintly from the mist rolling in, covering him and the mass grave. The lion watched the scene expressionlessly, without any thoughts in his mind.

He had remembered many things.

He turned around and continued to walk forward, much faster than before. The crazy words that Serafax had said when he knelt in front of him came to his mind, and one of them made him care about it in particular - prove it to them.

They

These people?

The lion snorted coldly and stabbed the stick into the sand, standing firm on a hot sand dune. He was not surprised by the new scene in front of him, and even felt a little annoyed.

If those who had the same name as him, Leon El'Jonson, were all idiots like the first two, then he was too lazy to argue any more. It would be better to find a place to rest for a few days, recover his body, and make plans for the battle.

He didn't have time to waste here any longer. What Serafax did had already surpassed his understanding of the word "crazy". The lion could never have imagined that a senior Chaos wizard would have such a crazy dream of changing the timeline.

That eternal day was not something that human power could hope to break. The empire had made such a huge effort, but it could only barely maintain the scope of this day. Why did Serafax think that he could play a key role in it?

The more the lion thought about it, the angrier he became. He wished he had the power to do whatever he wanted so that he could go back in time and strangle that red-haired idiot with his own hands.

He walked forward with a gloomy face, inserted the wooden stick into his waist, and began to take off his cotton-padded jacket. Although heat and cold should not be an obstacle to him, his current physical condition is different. He must conserve every bit of energy to deal with what may happen next

anything. Well, naturally it includes this kind of thing.

The lion stopped.

"You came quickly," one said to him. "It seems that you are much stronger than those two weak-willed men."

The lion raised his head and looked at him coldly. The desert sun was dazzling and huge. The man stood on a sand dune with his back to the sun and looked down at him. He was wearing a white robe and his blond hair was tied into a warrior braid and tied behind his head.

This man stepped, bent his knees, and slid down the hill. There was an unimaginable arrogance in his voice: "And I am different from them."

"What's the difference? You're here too."

The man smiled and said: "They all died on the way, but I am different. I have done everything. In the Great Crusade, my legion had the most honors and the most extensive conquests. Even Horus Luperkar agreed, I should be the war commander."

The lion looked at him coldly and remained silent - he didn't like this kind of excessive arrogance and arrogance. Although he had indeed been immersed in arrogance for a certain period of time in the past, it was only a temporary thing and he never thought about it. I will turn into this disgusting look.

"Of course, I still didn't become the war master in the end." The man said, slowly fading his smile. "My father did not agree that I should hold this position that was tailor-made for me. He actually gave it to Ferrus Manus. So I invited him to a duel."

The lion finally frowned.

"What did you do?"

"Don't you understand? I demand a duel with him."

The lion shouted sternly: "If the Emperor makes a decree, you should obey it!"

"Why?" the man asked immediately.

"During the Great Crusade, I fought from beginning to end without resting for a day. While Robert Guilliman was busy building universities and libraries in the colonies, I expanded my territories in the far reaches of the galaxy. Lorgar Or While Rilian was preaching to those foolish people, I was fighting the orcs. Ferrus Manus returned so much earlier than me. Can his achievements be half as good as mine? Every legion of the Primarch has suffered? My support, and I have never asked anyone for help from the beginning to the end. I have contributed the most and made the most achievements, so why am I not the war commander?"

The lion looked at him intently, and his thoughts were as precise as a scalpel, cutting through the arguments and dissatisfaction in those words, and popping open a sore.

"Are you doing these things just because you want to be a Warmaster?"

The man slowly showed a smile and changed the subject: "Selafax told me that your way of thinking is very different from mine. It seems true, but you are too old. I really don't know. Know how you can beat me."

The lion shook his head.

"What? Are you going to admit defeat?"

"I won't fight with retards." The lion said calmly, imitating that arrogance. "Now, get lost."

After saying this, a terrifying smile appeared on the familiar and unpleasant face of the lion.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you, old man."

——

Zabreel struggled to his feet.

How long had he been trapped? By the Emperor, this is awesome. He still remembered how his power armor was completely destroyed, but why did he lose the strength to stand up? It was unimaginable for an Astartes to be so weak.

He raised his hand and touched his face. The unfamiliar arc made the corners of his eyes twitch.

Serafax, you piece of shit who deserves to have your bones broken by a giant beast.

Furious, he crawled on his hands and knees towards the lion's sleeping throne.

He thought that Serafax was wrong about everything, but only one thing was right. He was indeed loyal.

He had been declared a traitor and had been on the run for so many years. Zabriel never thought that one day he would describe himself this way, but that was the fact.

As Leon El'Jonson said -

He raised his head and looked at the sleeping Primarch.

——“Loyalty is its own reward.”

Gritting his teeth, Dark Angel climbed up bit by bit. He still had a emblem in his hand. At this moment, he had no other way to break the situation but to try his best.