A Deserter, a Knight (End, 8k)
Lion Aljonsen sat silently on his Throne, gazing down at everyone below.
The ivory armrests and obsidian base blended together, two completely different yet highly similar coldnesses that led him into a new realm. He began to view the knights in the hall with a more rational and ruthless eye.
Interestingly, what fueled this ruthlessness was the raging fury roaring within his heart at that moment.
He was furious, but he remained silent. Four hundred and thirty-one pairs of quiet eyes watched the Lion El'Jonson without uttering a word. They waited for the Lion El'Jonson's words or command, waiting without complaint.
Then Lion spoke.
"Honor," he uttered a single word, his tone icy. "How else can I pursue it?"
His words sent ripples of unease through the 431 knights. Admittedly, the words were without beginning or end, but they came from the mouth of Lion El'Jonson, and therefore deserved to be taken seriously.
Luther keenly sensed all of this, and the pain in his heart intensified.
He always was—the knights respected him not just because of his abilities. Lion Aljonson only showed his kindness and affability on rare occasions, but Luther was different.
He wasn't a smooth operator who could please everyone; he valued honor and principles just as much, but he was far more amiable than the Lion El'Jonson. If Lion himself had to choose one person to speak first at the banquet, he would probably choose Luther.
That's why he could almost foresee what would happen next.
And Lion Aldridge did not disappoint him.
"We are Dark Angels, we pursue honor and victory, we call ourselves watchmen in the darkness. We are not afraid to speak of sacrifice; in fact, we have sacrificed more than anyone else. But what about now?" he demanded sharply. "We swore to remember the name of every dead, and some of you have already broken your oath!"
He looked around, his eyes like flint striking metal, a pure rage burning within the great hall of the Invincible Reason. None of the knights spoke; they chose not to defend themselves.
"I don't know who that person is, but what he's been pursuing has changed from honor and victory to the Shadow of those two things! Isn't that ridiculous? A man chasing Shadow."
The Lion El'Jonson finally rose from his Throne, his waist empty, his sword not there. Corswain stood beside him, bowing his head, his hands raised, the blade and scabbard resting on his hands.
"We pursue victory, but we will never neglect sacrifice," the Lion El'Jonson said in a deep voice. He no longer looked at the knights, but turned his gaze to Corswain.
The knight, who did not belong to any wing, was not wearing a helmet. His face was expressionless, and he stared down at the ground in front of him. The distorted light cast by the stained glass shone on his back, and although he shouldn't have felt anything, he felt a prickling sensation on his back.
This was not because of the light, but because of the Lion El'Jonson's gaze.
Lion El-Jonson reached out to him and drew his sword. The clanging of metal was both captivating and chilling. With the sword in one hand, Lion strode down the steps and left the Throne.
Luther watched him leave, falling into a gloomy silence.
"Each of you has one more chance," Lion Aljonsen said calmly. "There are always some who need to hear wishes and confessions. I cannot grant the former, but the latter is still possible. Do you have anything else to say?"
"We have not broken our oath, Lion El'Jonson," a knight said somberly.
"We do remember every single name. I've served for twenty-seven years, and under my command, four hundred and sixty-six loyal soldiers have been executed. I remember each of their names, each of their ranks. I didn't make them suffer when I carried it out; they were recognized as fallen soldiers, honorably killed in action. I have never erased anyone's honor."
Lion looked over, his gaze striking the knight who had spoken like lightning, causing him to tremble involuntarily.
Luther also looked over, and he recognized who he was by the intricate emblems on the knight's right shoulder armor—it was Deathwing's sergeant, a former member of the Crown Heaven Army, and also one of the warriors of the Broken Crown Order.
His name was Steinus Attaler, and he was a stubborn man.
A stubborn, brave, and loyal person.
Luther began to pray for him, but to whom could he pray?
He had no answer.
The Lion El'Jonson walked over, its steps light and its paws barely touching the ground. This gait lacked any semblance of majesty; it was not the kind of gait one would use in a conversational setting.
He walked over, carrying the sword in one hand; the blade of the sword gleamed with a dazzling Radiance that was almost blinding.
"Atal'el."
"I am in the Primarch."
"I trust you," Lion said softly. "You've never lied to me, your past achievements prove it, you're an excellent warrior, a valiant knight, you have compassion, and you adhere to the code of conduct. But, by what right do you represent the rest?"
He raised the sword and gently placed it on Atal's left shoulder.
"What gives you the right to represent others?" Lion asked calmly.
"Look at these people. Do you know them, Atal'er? You've been with them day and night, but do you really know them? Don't give me answers so easily, don't blurt out certainties. Because you don't know them. If they were really as you think they are, then this wouldn't have happened."
He withdrew his sword, but the movement was disjointed; the blade rubbed against the armor, producing a grating sound.
Steinus Attalel silently endured it all, but Luther's brow began to furrow even more. He knew very well that this was only the beginning, and the Lion El'Jonson would not give up until he got the answers and the truth.
"Take off your helmets," Lion commanded. His words were immediately obeyed; the helmets were removed and tucked between arms. With a metallic scraping sound, 431 distinct faces were exposed to the cold air.
They all tilted their heads back, staring intently at the Lion El'Jonson. Lion returned their gazes without speaking. After a while, he smiled, a smile so cold it was like the embodiment of frost and storm.
"Brave."
The Lion El'Jonson strode into the crowd, sword lowered. He was taller than them all, but his figure disappeared into the jungle of black and dark green steel.
Luther tried his best to catch a glimpse of Lion, but could only see a golden Shadow.
"Honor."
Lion's voice rang out from the back of the hall, cold and clear. He had no vocal apparatus; his voice alone filled the hall with echoes.
"Humble."
The blade began to scrape against the ground, making a piercing sound.
"Justice, honesty, compassion, sacrifice. Seven virtues, seven virtues often talked about, but never required of everyone to truly practice—are you listening?"
The Lion El'Jonson suddenly roared, its roar merging with the sound of swords rubbing together to create an even more terrifying sound, like thunder.
"I know you're listening, you vile rat! You've been hiding in my legion, stealing the last treasures of our fallen, twisting our actions, and splattering our honor with cursed blood! Did you think I couldn't catch you?"
With his golden hair flowing and his beard bristling, the enraged Lion El'Jonson sprinted through the steel jungle like a real Caliban Lion, roaring, glaring, and threatening at the trees. He looked at each of their faces with hatred.
The raw hatred was even noticed by Luther on the steps, and his heart sank as he realized things were spiraling towards the most unacceptable outcome.
Lion El-Jonson's obsession with honor is driving him to uncover the truth by destroying the Legion's bonds and ties.
Will he get an answer? Luther didn't know, but he knew that today's events would inevitably create a crisis within the Legion. And this crisis would be the most terrible kind.
Once trust is broken, it can never be repaired.
Worse still, this trend is already forming. Luther has already seen the knights eyeing each other, observing one another, trying to figure out who the rat is.
"Come out!"
The Lion El'Jonson roared.
"You hide among my glorious knights, stealing their honor, their blood, and their camaraderie. You use these things you don't deserve to cloak yourself in the same light, yet you are unworthy to stand with them! Just minutes ago I tried to give you the respect you deserved, but you threw that respect to the ground with your own hands! Traitor, scum, rat!"
His anger and words sent tremors through the hall. The knights stared at each other, and a dangerous atmosphere was building. Past camaraderie was being replaced by a new kind of suspicion; they still valued each other and could still recall every detail of their time together.
However, the way they see each other has changed.
From brothers, partners, and like-minded comrades, they became potential traitors.
Luther closed his eyes in anguish; he could hear his own heart pounding. He didn't have two hearts; he only had one. Its sound was muffled, like the pendulum of an antique clock.
Listening to the tolling of the bell, Luther inevitably fell into thought.
The Lion El'Jonson continued to angrily interrogate everyone, his voice like the whistling of missiles and the sinking of warships.
Luther listened to them bitterly, his thoughts sinking to the bottom of the sea. He had become a complete bystander. Lion Aljonson's trust had allowed him to stand safely at the top of the steps, but he was not feeling well.
As the Legion's Grand Master, Luther had long considered this place his home. His family was gone; his only remaining bond was with Lion and the Legion.
Wait, a legion?
A flame suddenly ignited in Luther's chest.
For the Legion, Lion El-Jonson was different, Luther told himself. None of them could disobey him; their obedience was not only because of Lion El-Jonson's abilities and achievements, but also because of his blood, and because he was Lion El'Jonson.
But I can.
Luther thought again of the reservists, the modifications. Yes, blood.
They have Lion El-Jonson's blood in their bodies.
The bond of blood makes them obey him, obey him one hundred percent. If that's the case, then there's absolutely no way a traitor could emerge!
Luther opened his eyes, his pupils contracted sharply, and his teeth clenched.
He realized it, but the Lion El'Jonson did not.
Lion's mindset was still stuck in the era of the Order; he still believed that the respect he received was solely due to his achievements. He was unaware of what lay hidden behind that morbid obedience.
The Lion El'Jonson is desperately searching for an answer, an answer that can save the legion from even greater humiliation. But the answer he seeks probably doesn't even exist.
He couldn't find a traitor, because there was no traitor at all.
Luther tilted his head back.
No.
This can't go on. He absolutely cannot let this continue. What will the legion become? Will everyone be suspicious of each other, and will brotherhood vanish? No, it will probably be far more than that.
Those intricate organizational structures and layered security measures could become accomplices in pushing things along.
The more Luther thought about it, the more terrifying it became. His fingers even began to tremble, but his heart was gradually calming down.
The truth? The truth is there is no truth. Lion Al-Jonson is destined not to find what he wants, because it doesn't exist. Luther raised his eyes and began to gaze at the world before him.
The main hall was resplendent in gold, and traces of Caliban were everywhere. The floor was black bedrock, and the stone itself gave one a chill just by looking at it.
There were only two sources of light in the hall: a huge sixteen-sided chandelier hanging from overhead, and the stained glass above the Throne. The knights, their faces obscured by the light, wore expressions so sinister and eerie that they were almost unbearable to look at.
Lion El-Jonson walked among them, still pressing for the truth of his demands. He was questioning another knight, every battle, every name.
The former stared coldly, while the latter answered bitterly, recounting everything in detail. Luther knew the man wasn't lying, but the Lion El'Jonson clearly didn't think so.
He no longer trusts them.
Who brought this tragedy upon us?
Luther sighed, his lips parted slightly, and he uttered a sound.
He is no greater than anyone else, but at this moment he possesses courage and a vow.
"Lion," Luther called calmly, "Stop."
The enraged Lion El'Jonson suddenly turned its head.
Luther's fingers trembled as he descended the steps of the Throne. Corswain watched his retreating figure and suddenly felt a sense of estrangement.
"What is it?" the Lion El'Jonson asked coldly, his tone anything but friendly, filled with danger.
"I want you to stop," Luther said. "To interrogate them like this, to Judgment a group of innocent people, is not the way of a knight."
"I know you're soft-hearted, Luther, which is why I didn't put you in charge." The Lion El'Jonson slowly raised the sword, laid it flat against his chest. The blade obscured his left cheek, his golden hair fluttering. "But don't speak up for them either, especially not now. What makes you think they're innocent?"
He turned his head, his gaze sharper than a sword blade, piercing the faces of all the knights. His roar continued to erupt in the hall, "How do you know which of them are innocent and which are traitors?"
"If we follow your reasoning, I could even say there are many traitors, Lion." Luther clenched his fists, his tone still gentle. "A thousand sins, eternal torment."
The Lion El'Jonson narrowed his eyes and suddenly laughed, "Yes, how come I didn't think of that? Indeed, you're right, Grand Master, there could be many traitors. How could someone do something so deceptive, something that could be staged right under everyone's noses, by just one person?"
"No, that's not it, Lion."
As Luther spoke, he slowly walked up to the knights. He raised his hands and began to disassemble his armor with his bare hands—like the Lion El'Jonson, his armor was more ceremonial than practical.
Its main body was composed of Caliban's green, with silver as an embellishment, surrounding the breastplate and shoulder armor. He first took off his white knight's robe, then his shoulder armor, arm armor, and breastplate, and so on, with the sound of metal hitting the ground constantly ringing out.
Half a minute later, Luther, dressed only in a black ascetic robe, stood before everyone. His face was expressionless, as was the Lion El'Jonson staring at him.
"What does this mean?" the Lion El'Jonson asked in an extremely slow voice.
"I am the only sinner," Luther said. "Only I in the Legion could single-handedly deceive everyone. I have sown the curse upon you all, I have disgraced your honor. Sergeant Trinfu Radon's death was my doing, and I was there in that battle."
The Lion El'Jonson laid down its sword.
"What are you doing?" he asked, still seemingly dazed. "What are you talking about, Luther?"
"I am confessing my sins." Luther lied, a colossal lie, yet his expression remained calm. His back ached as he faced away from the light cast by the stained glass. "I stole your honors and the victories you won with your blood—"
"--Reason?" the Lion El'Jonson interrupted him roughly. He emerged from the steel forest, his eyes cold and his breath hot. In a daze, Luther almost saw the blood-stained beast from years ago.
Then he called him, just as he had in the past.
"Lion, oh Lion," Luther smiled. "Does something like this need a reason? Everyone thinks they're different, and I'm no exception."
"Before I met you, I was a hero, revered by all. After I met you, I became your vassal. In just a few years, you have surpassed me in every way. People only know Lion Aljonson, but they don't know who bestowed his name upon him. I resent this, Lion, I have not received the honor I deserve."
Oh, Luther, what are you doing? Your lies sound so convincing.
Luther burst into uncontrollable laughter, his wild, raucous laughter echoing throughout the entire hall.
"Perhaps it is true," he thought coldly. "Perhaps this is indeed my true thought."
"What are you talking about?" Lion Aljonsen asked, his sword lowered.
"I am telling the truth, my dear son," Luther said boldly.
After saying those words, he felt a pang of sadness. He had never actually uttered that name before; he had always thought it would be revealed at some important moment.
He hadn't expected it to happen today, nor in this way. Luther waited a moment longer, but Lion didn't berate him as he had imagined. Instead, Leon looked at him with a blank and unfamiliar gaze.
"You mean," he said softly, in a voice that didn't sound like his own, "That I took what you deserved?"
"Perhaps," Luther nodded. "People always change. My jealousy drove me to do these things. I'm a despicable person. It's a pity I only realized this now."
"But you joined the Legion," Lion said in a very soft voice.
"Yes. I can't resist the temptation of achievement and glory. I need honor, even if it's stolen. But you're only putting me in a commander's role, Lion, and I don't like that. I also want to go to the front lines to fight, to kill the enemy of humanity alongside others. That's where my jealousy started to turn sour. I started—"
Luther took a deep breath; he needed the courage to continue.
"--Doing those things," he said calmly. "I killed Sergeant Trinfu Radon, I faked and altered his manner of death."
"Why?" Lion Alderson asked for the last time.
"I didn't want to see you standing Radiance atop the mountain, looking down on me, Lion. You should stand with us, on the same level. You can't stand there, so I did these things, I made your legion suffer this humiliation today. Frankly, I'm glad."
A great murmur erupted among the knights, filled with curses, incredulous shouts, and vows of Vengeance. Luther was not surprised by any of this, but he was astonished that he still had supporters.
Dozens of people were trying to calm the others down; Sir Luther must have his reasons for doing so. Looking at their faces and listening to their voices, Luther felt a surge of satisfaction.
At least what I did was not in vain, so this sacrifice was worthwhile.
"Silence!" roared the Lion El'Jonson.
His sword was no longer lowered; he looked into Luther's eyes, staring at him with anguish.
"Is everything you're saying true?" the Lion El'Jonson asked.
"Every word is true."
"You swear?"
I swear to Caliban.
"No." The Lion El'Jonson raised its sword, pointing it at him. "Swear to your dead wife and daughters, swear to them that what you just said is not a lie."
Luther remained silent for a moment before speaking, even raising his left hand.
"I swear to my wife and my daughter that what I just said is absolutely true, without a single lie. I am a liar, a villain, a criminal, a dark monster, and I am not worthy to stand with you all."
The Lion El'Jonson let out a series of rapid breaths.
Luther obediently knelt down, his movements slow but decisive. Then, he lowered his head.
"Let's continue, Lion," he whispered. "To end this."
With his knights turned away, the Lion El'Jonson slowly raised his sword. What was in those eyes? No one knew. In a corner of the hall, two giants, neither of Caliban nor Terra, watched this scene without comment.
A third of a second later, accompanied by the roar of Lion El'Jonson, the blade slipped and blood splattered.
--
"From this day forward, Caliban Luther is no longer a member of the Dark Angels, nor the Caliban Order of Knights. He is stripped of all his posts, and all his honors are gone forever."
"We will erase his name, we will despise him. He deserves to die, but according to Imperium law, in the name of justice, he will return to Terra to stand trial and expose what he did to Sergeant Trinfu Radon, who served in the 439th Armored Division, thus clearing his name."
With only one arm remaining, Luther held the parchment scroll in his hand, looked at the few lines of text and the Lion El'Jonson's symbol of authority, and smiled slowly but with a sense of relief. His wound was still bleeding, but his expression showed no pain.
"You don't seem indignant about what happened to you, Sir Luther," a voice said from behind him.
"I no longer hold a title, sir. I am now merely a lowly criminal. You need not address me as such," Luther said, turning his head and unsurprisingly seeing the tall instructor.
"I didn't see a criminal, I only saw a hero who dared to step forward and take responsibility," Karyl said softly.
"Who?" Luther asked back.
"You," Karyl smiled. "Your acting skills were enough to fool most people here, but I could see much more, Sir Luther. It's a pity I couldn't speak up then."
Luther silently rose from the chair in his cell, his shackles clanking on the floor. Through the crackling, electrifying iron bars, he stared at the pale giant, then slowly bent down and bowed.
"Thank you," Luther said somberly. "Thank you for not exposing me."
Shouldn't you be angry at my silence?
"I may be stupid, only thinking of this way to solve the problem, but I'm not that stupid."
Luther raised his head, hissing as he laughed with great difficulty.
"The moment you arrived in Caliban with Terra's orders, some things became irreversible. Lion has to get this sorted out. If I don't step up, who knows how things will have turned out?"
"He has never been able to control his emotions well outside of battle, and I have no doubt that he would kill someone among the knights and condemn him as a traitor over the slightest suspicion."
"I cannot let this happen. The legion is owned by Lion El-Jonson, but it is also my life's work. I have only two treasures; how can I allow this incident to taint them both at once?"
Karyl sighed. "You are indeed a respectable man, Mr. Luther. But why are you so certain there are no traitors within the First Legion?"
"And why are you so sure I'm not a traitor?" Luther retorted. "The way you're acting doesn't seem like you're dealing with a despicable criminal; you're even willing to listen to my long-winded explanation."
Karyl fell silent, as did Luther. A few seconds later, they smiled at each other.
"There are some things I shouldn't have said," Karyl began slowly and in a low voice. "But I believe that as a victim, you have the right to know the truth."
"The truth?"
"Just as you suspected, there are no traitors within the First Legion," Karyl said, his eyes calm and deep, like black holes.
Luther stared at them, as if glimpsing in them the death and rebirth of the stars. His fingers began to tremble again, this time more violently than before, to the point of being uncontrollable.
He began to wait, silently, anxiously, and resentfully.
"Then, who was responsible for the death of Sergeant Trinfu Radon, and his humiliating manner of death?" Karyl asked seriously, and began pacing outside the cell.
Luther's eyes followed his movements, and suddenly he felt a wave of panic.
Something—no, some powerful force—had struck this place. Luther thought to himself, his remaining hand clutching his shoulder, trying to ward off the cold.
Outside the cell, Karyl slowly turned his head, a black and red flame flickering in his eyes.
"They can hide their tracks, they can completely detach themselves from the situation, but if they're going to kill someone, their hands will inevitably be stained with blood," he said in a low voice, his tone almost a declaration.
He raised his right hand, Luther's eyes widened—he discovered that something was writhing in the giant's Shadow.
Darkness swept in, engulfing Luther's sanity, yet he no longer felt cold or fear, only peace and a sense of having known this all along.
"Sergeant Trinfu Radon," Luther greeted the Shadow. "Are you alright?"
"As a Ghost, I'm doing alright." The long-dead sergeant grinned. "Hello, Grand Master Luther. I never thought I'd see you again. Hey, I heard about what you did. You're fucking brave."
Luther felt a lump in his throat, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He had personally abandoned his honor and the achievements of most of his life.
He was fully aware of the consequences of his actions, and while doing it, he never considered stopping. After finishing, he felt no regret whatsoever. However, at this moment, faced with a compliment that sounded almost joking, he found it difficult to maintain his composure.
"Oh, don't be like that, Grand Master." The sergeant's Ghost raised a hand and scratched his head. "I wasn't brought here to make you suffer. Listen to me, okay? That bastard who killed me, I remember his name and his face."
Luther took a deep breath, then exhaled it with a trembling motion. The low temperature turned it into a thin white mist, but Luther's vision remained unaffected. He stared intently at the sergeant's Ghost and nodded.
"His name is Damon Pritanis," Trinfu Radon said. "He's impersonating you, but he's not you. He's just like me, you understand?"
"He was the same height as me. He killed me, and while he was killing me, he kept reporting to someone. I couldn't understand the language he was speaking, but he talked a lot. He talked a lot before shooting me. That bastard said a bunch of nonsense, but I only remember one word."
"What word?" Luther asked softly.
"The Cabal," Sergeant Trinfu Radon said with hatred.
As soon as the words were spoken, the Ghost vanished, and the darkness receded.
Luther muttered the word to himself, his remaining right hand clenching tightly.
"The truth has come to light," Karyl said. "But it's still a regrettable matter. Trinfu Trimford Radon's soul wandered in the Sea of the Dead for many years, where time is different from the world we know. I only found him just now."
Luther looked up at the instructor. He knew perfectly well what the other man was talking about.
Express your apology
"No need," Luther replied somewhat curtly. "No need for that, Instructor Karyl. Even if you could summon his spirit, this couldn't possibly serve as legal evidence to clear the First Legion. Imperial Truth rejects such things."
"But I still feel guilty." Through the cell, Karyl gazed at him. "So, I'd like to extend an invitation to you, Mr. Luther."
What invitation?
"You'll know when we get back to Terra," Karyl said.
He turned and walked into the darkness. Luther watched him leave in silence, a calm feeling settling over him.
He had nothing but hatred.
I've updated 2k more; I'll update another 8k tomorrow.
Logically, I should write another 4k, but my fingers hurt so much.