Lionheart, Invitation

Lion Aljonson found it difficult to concentrate. He remained seated on his Throne, light streaming down from above. A pool of blood lay nearby, untouched by his guards, and Luther's left hand still lay there.

Amidst this bloody and horrific scene, for some reason, Lion began to recall the past.

He thought of Caliban, of the Order, of the walls, of the forests and the giant beasts. He had been taught how to speak in the town behind the walls, and then how to wield a sword and a shield.

He should have learned how to ride a horse again, but there weren't any horses of his size in Caliban. Later, someone did create one using genetic technology, but that was a later development.

He once followed someone on foot, step by step, deep into the forest with him, slaying giant beasts.

Since when did things become like this?

He rested one hand on the armrest of the Throne, silent. The ivory grain brushed against his arm, the clear sensation making everything crystal clear.

He was no longer wearing armor; its ornate wreckage lay scattered before the Throne, resembling a dismembered corpse. His sword, however, still rested beside the armrest, the blood on its blade dried, forming some kind of bloody pattern.

Lion turned his head and glanced at it, then suddenly spoke.

"Akao, he's lying."

The knight in the darkness nodded silently, not surprised by Lion's address—his Primarch often addressed him that way when no one was around.

"He Deceit me," Lion Aljonsen said thoughtfully. "I'm looking for the reason, Arkaw, little brother, can you tell?"

Corswain removed his helmet again, emerged from the darkness, approached Lion, and knelt on one knee.

His armor was entirely black, with only the insignia of the Dark Angels on his right shoulder plate. Beast pelts, strung together with white ropes, hung on his body and trembled slightly in the light cast by the stained glass.

"Because of loyalty," the Wingless Knight said slowly. "Sir Luther made his sacrifice."

"His sacrifice is utterly ridiculous," Lion replied coldly. "The problem remains unresolved; in fact, new problems have arisen."

His right hand suddenly gripped the ivory armrest.

Suspicion.

He exhaled the cold air little by little.

"The way they looked at each other just now wasn't the way brothers should look, nor was it the way comrades should look. I saw them glaring at each other, searching for suspicious evidence on each other. And this matter..."

Lion remained silent for a moment.

"It's my fault," he said. "I pushed them too far, but why didn't they speak up for themselves? I said everyone has one chance to defend themselves. But apart from Asleta, nobody exercised that right. What were they thinking?"

"Because they dare not, my lord," Corswain said, bowing his head.

"You dare not?"

"If you speak up, you'll become suspicious. Even if you don't actually consider him a suspect, they'll still think so. Disappointing you is an absolute taboo within the legion, let alone being suspected of being a traitor."

"Which of the Legion's rules states that disappointing me will be punished?" Lion Eljonsson frowned sharply. "And which of their oaths mentions that I should not be disappointed?"

"No."

"Then why are they afraid?"

"Because you are the one asking the question." Corswain raised his head and looked at his Primarch.

"They certainly knew that silence would provoke even greater anger, but they had no choice but to remain silent. Because they dared not defend themselves, and besides, even though Asleta did defend himself, you did not believe him."

"But I never doubted him."

"That's not important, my lord," Corswain said quietly. "The point is, Sir Luther has been taken away, and our shame will soon be washed away. After that, what do you intend to do?"

"The truth still hasn't seen the light of day," Lion replied thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming.

All sorts of clues came to mind at that moment, and he connected them one by one. Some guesses surfaced in his mind, and he discarded the ones that were too outrageous, keeping only the convincing ones. After a long time, he broke the silence himself.

"Prepare the boat," he said. "I'm going to Terra."

What are you going to do?

"Isn't it worth the trip for a Caliban to be Judgment in Terra?"

--

Luther slowly began to move his new left hand, a hand unlike the one he was familiar with. Its palm was unmarked; the blade of the oath had never made it bleed.

It is silver with a smooth surface. The artificial muscle fibers are intertwined like thick cables, giving this metal arm a grotesque quality that is almost indistinguishable from a real arm.

Staring at it, Luther's expression was quite complicated. Although the nerve connections in his upper arm were still throbbing, this was not the main reason for his complicated expression.

"How are you feeling?" Karyl asked.

"It's amazing," Luther said. "I've seen many soldiers use bionic organs, but I never imagined I'd be using them myself one day."

"Didn't you consider the possibility of getting injured on the battlefield?"

"No, I've only imagined the scene of my death." Luther gave a bitter laugh. "To die covering the retreat of the troops, or to fall into an enemy trap as part of the vanguard and die. I know it's morbid, but a glorious death is indeed something I crave."

Karyl watched him quietly, offering no comment, and the exchange was completed in silence.

Luther nodded gratefully to him and stepped down from the operating table. The enormous mechanical tentacles that had been hovering above his head and performed the surgery slowly retracted into the ceiling.

A dreamlike sense of unreality still lingered in his mind, making his steps somewhat unsteady. He still couldn't believe that he was now in Holy Terra and was not being treated like a prisoner.

What kind of prisoner would be given such a bionic arm?

They stepped out of the door and began to walk in the dark underground. The air was thick with the smell of dust, the ground was decaying, and the floor tiles looked as ancient as if they were thousands of years old.

Spiderwebs piled up in the corners, and occasionally, scattered bones could be seen. Strangely, despite the absence of torches or any other light source, the place was as bright as day.

"Where are we going, Lord Karyl?" Luther asked.

"We're now colleagues, Sir Luther," Karyl replied without looking at me. "Therefore, there's no need to address me as 'Sir' anymore. As for where we're going, we're obviously going to see our superior."

Boss?

Luther couldn't help but ponder the meaning behind the word; he couldn't understand who could possibly be Karyl Lohars's boss.

Although this instructor from the Eighth Legion was not well-known, he clearly had many secrets. Putting aside his terrifying ability to summon the dead, his height and his striking resemblance to Konrad Curze Curze were enough to fuel the imagination.

Putting all these factors together, plus the fact that he possesses the Terra Order, Luther already has dozens of theories about his true identity.

He kept thinking, trying to forget what had happened on the Invincible Reason, and a few minutes later he arrived at a cave. There was no smell of dust here, but it was just as ancient.

The walls and floor were made of stone, the most primitive kind, yet they were incredibly smooth, as if they had been meticulously polished. A person draped in a dark green robe stood with their back to them in the cave, holding a heavy scepter.

Luther immediately spotted the golden Aquila at the top of the scepter, and his pupils contracted instantly.

The man slowly turned around.

"Too slow, Karyl," he said, with a hint of reproach. "Besides, does a surgery really need to take several hours? My time is very valuable."

Why don't you say that to Sir Luther's surgeon?

The man didn't answer, but instead cast his stern gaze at Luther. Beneath the hood of his robe, a pair of deep, dark eyes slowly flashed with a lightning-like blue light. Luther froze on the spot as if struck by lightning, his body trembling, and it took him several minutes to recover.

"Brave, but also foolish," Malcador said with a hint of criticism.

"Your self-sacrifice has not solved Luther First Legion's problems. In fact, your departure may have created more. Without someone like you mediating, the conflict between the Terra veterans and the Caliban will only escalate."

He raised his hand, letting the scepter slam heavily on the ground. In an instant, the smooth stone transformed, replaced by silver metal, with fine patterns covering the ceiling, radiating a hazy light.

A golden round table waited quietly not far away, its chairs shimmering like light. Aquila poised to take flight on the table's surface, while another "I" pierced by three horizontal lines glowed crimson below Aquila.

"You are...?" Luther asked in surprise. He had recovered from the shock, but his thinking ability had not yet fully returned.

"The Sigillites, Malcador," Karyl's voice came from above him. "A stubborn old man, not a very good conversationalist because he complains too much."

The Sigillites removed his hood, ignoring Karyl's words, and simply gestured with his free left hand for them to sit at the round table. Luther took a deep breath and walked over with Karyl.

Malcador sat in the first seat on the left, while Karyl sat in the first seat on the right, leaving the main seat deliberately empty. Following Malcador's gesture, Luther sat behind Karyl and immediately felt an intense chill permeate his entire body.

"First, let's talk about your injustice, Sir Luther." Malcador gazed at him, his voice calm and wise, his words highly organized. "The Cabal is not an unfamiliar organization to me, but it remains a mystery to both you and Karyl."

The Sigillites released his hand, and his scepter vanished into light. The golden table then began to emit an even stronger golden Radiance, and after a few seconds, images emerged from it, mostly blurry and unclear, looking almost like silhouettes.

Luther stared at them, feeling a chill rise from the depths of his bones and rush into his brain.

He felt no anger, only extreme rationality.

"The members of this organization are unclear; the only certainty is that it includes both Xenos and humans. They rarely stay in one place for long, and their methods of movement across the galaxy are unknown to us. However, they began attempting to influence humanity long ago; their earliest history can be traced back to before humans even left the Sol System."

Malcador narrated without emotion; his voice contained no hatred, no feeling, nothing at all.

"Their purpose remains a mystery, but no Xenos can be trusted, especially not one like them. We can make an assumption, Sir Luther, that if you hadn't chosen to sacrifice yourself, or if the Eighth Legion had decided to deal with this matter immediately and ruthlessly on the Invincible Reason, you can imagine how things would have turned out."

Luther clenched his fists in silence.

"In other words, they are harmful to humans," Malcador said calmly.

"And now they've started trying to extend their claws into the Legiones Astartes, which no one can tolerate. But the Great Crusade cannot be delayed; the legions cannot stop and return to Terra to be examined one by one. So, I've reactivated this place."

He spread his arms, his fingers tracing patterns in the air, creating intricate and ornate ripples. The air rippled, and the world changed once more. In the blink of an eye, the smooth silver metal and the golden table vanished, replaced by the stone floor once more.

Luther discovered that he was sitting on a stone table with many names engraved on its surface.

"His words are hard to understand, aren't they?" Karyl asked Luther with a smile. "Are you wondering what the Sigillites is trying to say? It's actually quite simple, Sir Luther. Remember the invitation I gave you not long ago?"

". I remember."

"We would like to invite you to join this organization, Sir Luther," Malcador said solemnly. "You are intelligent and powerful. Most importantly, you are filled with hatred. And that is exactly what we need."

"What kind of organization is this?" Luther asked, somewhat bewildered.

"It doesn't have a name yet," Karyl said, his smile fading.

"Many things lurk within the Imperium, Ser Luther. The Cabal, Xenos, wizards. The galaxy is so vast that humanity faces enemies that don't only reveal themselves in war. Much more destruction arises from the smallest things. For example, the death of Sergeant Trinfu Radon—who would have thought his death would cause such a storm? How the Cabal did this, we don't know, but we have ways to deal with them. And perhaps not only them."

He opened his palm, and a ring gleamed against the pale white background. It was entirely black, yet its interior shone with a scarlet luster. It was sculpted in the shape of a human skull, but it was not ostentatious; in fact, it could be described as simple.

Luther stared at it and discovered that the red light was actually pulsating.

"They can do evil, they can kill the loyal and harm the innocent, but their hands will be stained with blood, and so will their accomplices," Karyl said in a low voice. "And this ring will help you see that bloodstained hand."

Luther silently raised his head.

"What do I need to do?" he asked briefly.

"The hunt," Malcador replied softly. "I will inform you of the specific procedures later. I have spies throughout the galaxy; you can obtain information about secret matters from them. The Cabal never leaves a trace, but nothing stays hidden forever."

Without a word, Luther reached out and took the ring. His hand was trembling.

"There's no honor in this job, Sir Luther," Karyl cautioned. "You should think it through."

"No need to think about it," Luther said softly. "I've already abandoned honor."

He put on the ring.

One more chapter.