44: A Deserter (II)

A king reclined calmly on his magnificent Throne, crafted from ivory and obsidian. He wore a white robe, the wide cloak flowing across the Throne like a crimson river.

Aside from ceremonial purposes, the magnificent armor awaited calmly beneath a white cloak, most of its splendor concealed except for the right arm guard, which remained exposed. Reliefs of ferocious beasts from mythology gleamed on the silver arm guard, their golden light shimmering.

The king's eyes were emerald green, beautiful, yet not gentle. They didn't blink, but stared ahead, as if waiting. After a long while, someone gently called his name.

"My lord, your brother has arrived."

How many people?

"There's only one person."

"He doesn't even have an honor guard?" The king frowned, a flash of anger crossing his face. "That's against etiquette. Let the five hundred men remain still for now; I don't want him to feel uncomfortable."

"Yes, my lord."

Hurried footsteps sounded, and the person who had spoken to him left the hall. Now, only the king remained.

He slowly shifted his posture and left the Throne. At that moment, the stained glass behind him suddenly emitted a hazy light, which was refracted and fell on his blond hair.

Such light would make even the finest dust particles in the air clearly visible, yet he seemed perfect, unaffected by anything. He stood on the steps, beside the Throne, arms folded, waiting calmly.

About two minutes later, the heavy doors of the main hall were opened. The darkness was swept away, and light, along with the sounds of machinery operating within the doors, spread in.

The king stared intently at the two figures in the light. His long-standing calm finally cracked slightly, revealing not any other emotion, but a look of astonishment that shouldn't have been there in him.

But he had no time to think any further. Lion Aljonson began to walk toward his brother—the gate was now slowly closing, his cloak dragging on the ground.

His brother and another man were also slowly approaching him. They stepped on the fur of forest beasts, their footsteps so light they were almost imperceptible.

"Brother," Lion called out, tilting his head back, his voice completely flat. "Upon meeting you for the first time, I must admit, you've surprised me somewhat."

"In what way?" one of his brothers responded, his voice soft and hoarse, spreading through the air.

They weren't standing close enough, but it was enough for Lion to catch his brother's scent. The scent didn't belong to the five-year-old he'd imagined; in fact, it reminded Lion of dangerous and peculiar beasts, noble predators.

His expression turned serious, and he responded afterward.

"In many ways," Lion said, suddenly reaching out and embracing Konrad Curze Curze with incredible speed and strength.

The embrace came without warning, like the sky suddenly changing color, unpredictable. Lion embraced his brother, his expression still calm, gathering information with strength and touch that might be helpful to him—he hoped to gain something from Konrad Curze Curze.

However, while he was embracing his brother, his gaze fell on someone else.

The person's lips curved slightly as they smiled at him.

The hug ended.

It's good to see you.

Lion nodded to his brother.

"Actually, it's very good. Few brothers come to visit me directly, and even if they do, it's not as simple as yours. They hide their purpose in the military parade and grand procession, and raise their opinions or demands at the banquet. Unlike you, who made everything clear through ship communications long before we even met."

Konrad Curze Curze smiled, bowed his head modestly, and answered the Caliban King in a tone that hardly sounded like his own, "You sound angry."

"Is that so?" Lion Aljonsen stared at him. "You can tell I'm angry? That's rare, brother, because I don't even know why I have anything to be angry about. You're here on Terra's orders, so why should I stop your investigation?"

Don't you think I'm meddling?

"If you haven't presented Terra's orders, I'll assume that," Lion said slowly, quoting Malcador. "As for now, let's start with the facts; other topics can wait."

"Fact?"

"The facts," the Primarch of Caliban said expressionlessly.

"For example, what is your purpose? For example, what kind of help do you need? Just say it, brother. The Hexagrammaton of the angels will provide you with any assistance. This involves the reputation of the Dark Angels, although we care more about other things than that. But if letting you investigate can bring the truth to light, why should I stop you?"

"You sound even angrier now, brother," Curze said gently. "If I could, I'd certainly jump right in and get to the investigation."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

I'd like to talk to you about something else before that.

I don't see the need for that.

"Yes," Curze insisted. "You're my brother, and I want to know more about you. Is that a problem? Although we've never met, I've heard many stories about you, Lion."

A cold smile suddenly appeared on the blond king's face.

"I guess it's probably nothing good," he said coldly. "I know what other people think of me, and I don't care about their opinions or the stories they tell me behind my back, but you'd better not bring them up in front of me."

Curze raised an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised, and remained silent for a moment.

After finally meeting Lion Aljonson, he discovered that his brother was indeed a somewhat unpredictable person—at least, from the beginning until now, every move Lion made had been outside his expectations.

At first, Lion was very mild-mannered and polite. However, half a minute later, a hint of anger crept into his voice. Now, he was even displaying a warning that went beyond mere anger.

Curze remained silent, pondering his next move. His brother, the Caliban, also thought for a moment, then carefully placed his right hand on Curze's shoulder and spoke again in a low voice.

"Forgive me for what I just said." Lion Aljonsen slowly shook his head, his emerald green eyes staring directly into the dark night.

"I should have been more forgiving. Emotions are the enemy, and I've fought them for a long time. Sometimes I'm the winner, sometimes I'm the loser. I hope that sentence didn't bother you, Konrad Curze."

"That sentence seems to bother you more than it does me."

"It does bother me." The Primarch, named after the Lion El'Jonson, narrowed his eyes slightly and changed his tone once again. Now, he sounded quite patient.

He controlled his true reaction with an inexplicable willpower, binding everything firmly to the deepest recesses of his mind, without letting a single word slip out.

"But that's not important, Konrad Curze. Since you don't want to start working right away, let's talk, just have a casual chat." He raised his left hand, pointing to an open side hall door.

Two massive pillars formed a circular archway there, and the heavy, dark green gate stood silently waiting. Reliefs of ferocious beasts roared silently upon it.

"How about we talk in my private lounge?" the Lion El'Jonson asked. "Also, I'd like to invite your foster father along."

"Perhaps my status is not suited to appear in such a setting." Karyl lowered his head humbly, a deliberate posture that made the Night Lords sigh inwardly.

Why pretend to be so similar, Karyl?

"You don't want to come?" The Lion El'Jonson frowned. "I have many things to do—ah, well, I guess so."

He nodded, as if suddenly understanding something. "Then perhaps you'd like to speak with my friend Luther. He shares some similarities with you in terms of identity, and I'm sure you'll have a pleasant conversation with him. I don't want you to be idle while I'm talking to my brother, Mr. Karyl."

"So, where can I find him?" Karyl looked up and asked with a smile.

"He should be busy in his own study; someone will show you the way outside."

"Then I shall accept your offer, thank you for your understanding, Your Highness." Karyl bowed slightly, performed an Aquila Salute, and left the hall.

The door closed again with the hum of machinery, and the Lion El'Jonson withdrew his gaze, his right hand on Konrad Curze Curze's shoulder tightening its grip.

"I hope you don't think I'm deliberately trying to get rid of him," he said.

"Of course not," Konrad Curze Curze replied with a flawless smile, a smile radiating kindness, warmth, and impeccable manners. "It's just that you seem to have a slightly different feeling towards him."

"Is there?" the Lion El'Jonson replied casually.

Curze chuckled silently, shook his head, and walked into the side hall with his brother. It looked just as magnificent, solemn, and serious as the outside, only much smaller.

The Throne has been replaced by a wooden chair, and the floor is dark wood, which Curze can tell was recently waxed. There is a lot of furniture and decorations, such as sofas, tables and chairs, coffee tables, and even ten heavy bookshelves in another corner of the annex, giving the place a very lived-in feel.

Curze took a deep breath, turned his head, and asked the Lion El'Jonson who was taking off his cloak, "Do you usually do your work here?"

"More or less," Lion El-Jonson replied somewhat somberly, his back to him. "Sometimes I choose to go to the Great Hall to handle work; that Throne is very uncomfortable, but sometimes I just need that discomfort."

The Lion El'Jonson turned around; he had completely removed his cloak, and the armor that followed was ten thousand times more magnificent than the cloak.

Its main colors are dark green and black, with silver appearing only on the limbs, and gold reliefs appearing throughout the armor. It is majestic and solemn, but its wearer does not actually need these things to proclaim his identity.

Some people need to wear a crown to be called kings, while others are born kings.

Curze laughed, praising his brother's armor. "It's magnificent."

"But it's useless," the Lion El'Jonson said solemnly. "Apart from occasions like this, it's of little help to me. Making it, however, was no easy task, brother."

"My subjects in Caliban poured their hearts and souls into creating this armor, a laborious and costly endeavor that consumed countless amounts of time and resources. Yet, the moment I saw it, I wanted to throw it in the trash. What use is it? To me, it's nothing but a shackle. But I must accept it, just as you must come here to investigate me."

There was a strong sense of confidence in his eyes, which surprised Curze —he didn't understand why Lion would think that way.

"Actually, brother." Curze sighed with a hint of regret. He was regretful because he knew that after he said those words, the intimacy shown by Lion Aljonson might disappear.

Even if it doesn't disappear, it will probably be significantly less valuable.

"It's not what you think," Konrad Curze Curze said. "Although Terra gave its permission, and the Emperor and the Sigillites both endorsed the Eighth Legion's actions, it was indeed my own will that drove it to this point. In other words, Lion, I came here of my own volition."

The Caliban's gaze gradually turned cold.

"But it's not just for the sake of an investigation."

"Is that so?" the Lion El'Jonson asked coldly.

"Yes."

"So, what else do you want?" the Lion El'Jonson asked, his voice as cold as ice. "You're practically insulting me, Konrad Curze Curze. You've thrown my goodwill to the ground more than once. Don't mistake my goodwill for cowardice, brother."

"I'd like to talk to you some more, like you said, just a casual chat. You and I are brothers, Lion."

"Brother? What kind of brother would do this to you?"

"I didn't do anything." Curze smiled slightly, but the smile quickly vanished.

"At least for now, nothing has been done, Lion. All I want to talk to you about is your story, Caliban, your the Order, your legion, and your views on us brothers. That's all I ask for."

"What? Is this part of the evidence gathering?" The Lion El'Jonson sneered dismissively.

"Do you think I can't see you're using a conciliatory approach? Let's get straight to the point, Konrad Curze Curze. I'll tell you everything you need, as long as you think you can handle it. I hope you'll still hold your current views after you've heard it all."

"What's my stance now?" Curze countered. "Do you think I'm already treating you and your legion as criminals?"

"Isn't that right?"

"That's absolutely not the case."

Konrad Curze Curze stepped forward and placed his right hand on the Lion El'Jonson's shoulder. He did this with obvious awkwardness, his posture stiff and his expression changed. Lion looked down at the pale hand and suddenly remembered a quote from Fulgrim.

"Our brother isn't one for physical contact, Lion."

His gaze sharpened slightly, and he looked up at Konrad Curze Curze. The latter was looking at him expectantly, his dark eyes full of pleading.

A few seconds later, Lion Aljonsen slowly nodded.

"Okay," he said calmly, his expression indifferent. "Sure, but I need to ask some questions first."

"Go ahead, brother," Curze said obediently.

This chapter is 4.2k words long, I owe 1.8k words, I'll pay it back when I'm better.

By the way, why is your back still aching even though you no longer have a fever?