37 Judgment Day (6)

Malcador old.

When he saw the Sigillites in real life again, the idea arose spontaneously in Karyl's mind in that instant.

Malcador, as always, leaned on his scepter, his figure appearing very thin beneath his long, black robe. Karyl could see through the fabric of his robes his bony shoulders, and his white hair had changed color. It was no longer the white of old age, but a pale, almost faded white.

These details combined caused Karyl's smile to vanish. The Sigillites looked up at him, his eyes beneath the hood still sharp, but his expression held a hint of warning.

"I'll explain later, don't bring it up now, I don't want to waste my breath on them." The frail old man said through psychic powers.

Karyl agreed to the proposal, but carefully concealed his emotions. Konrad Curze Curze was more perceptive than before, and besides, the Night Lords had been keeping a close eye on him. He didn't want Curze to discover these emotions at this time.

Not at least not now.

"Now that you're here, does that mean my father's will cannot be changed?" Roboute Guilliman asked.

The Thirteenth Legion Commander's expression was far from pleasant. He had been cheerful when speaking with Konrad Curze Curze earlier, but now he resembled a prisoner trapped in a cage. He looked at Malcador with longing, as if awaiting an announcement of acquittal.

But Malcador didn't say that; as a jailer, the only statement he could give was a single sentence.

"Yes."

The Sigillites answered with authority, his eyes gleaming, a powerful and unyielding will boiling within them. "The Perfect City must be destroyed."

"And what about the believers? What about the residents?" Konrad Curze Curze continued, his brows furrowed, his eyes sharp to an almost unfamiliar degree. Karyl was slightly taken aback; only now did the passage of eighteen years begin to feel real.

In his perception, he had only been gone for a few minutes. But what about for others?

"Execute them all, leave no one alive."

The Sigillites's cold reply echoed through the room, a room that, like most on the Nightfall, possessed a quiet, dark atmosphere. Now, that atmosphere had been shattered.

Roboute Guilliman's eyes widened in disbelief.

"This is blatant atrocity, Malcador." The Macragge man's body language clearly demonstrated his resistance, and his expression was so complex it was hard to describe.

"I can't believe what Lorgar will think after hearing this."

"His thoughts are none of your business." The Sigillites remained cold, ignoring Guilliman's protests.

"The veil placed before you was torn away long ago, Roboute Guilliman. You know what's lurking in the darkness, and your actions over the years prove it. So, do I need to explain to you why your father would issue such an order?"

"."

Roboute Guilliman fell silent.

Yes, he didn't need to explain—he knew what was lurking in the darkness; otherwise, he wouldn't have been actively communicating with the Untouchables all these years, even quietly pushing for and supporting the Astropathic Court's proposal to form an anti-psychic force.

However, the current situation is quite different.

"You must tell me and Konrad Curze, Malcador, the whole story."

The Lord of Ultramar's azure eyes were now extremely somber, his voice low and thunderous, his gaze like the sea before a storm—calm, yet terrifyingly profound.

"If my father ordered the Ultramarines and Midnight Blade to commit such atrocities, we have the right to know the truth."

Malcador calmly moved his neck, keeping his eyes fixed like a machine, as he looked at Konrad Curze Curze.

"And you, Lord of the Blades?" the Sigillites asked calmly. "Do you share the same thoughts as your brothers?"

"Slaughtering enemies and slaughtering a city completely loyal to the Imperium are two entirely different concepts, Malcador." The Night Lords slowly shook his head.

"I don't care how many atrocities we committed during the Great Crusade, nor how many rumors people spread because of them. In any case, there are people like Bellros among them who know the truth. But this is different, completely different. The Midnight Blade can bear the name of executioner, but it can never slaughter the people of the Imperium without a conscience."

". All right."

After a long silence, Malcador finally relented. His reaction inevitably relieved Roboute Guilliman —he knew very well what would have happened if Malcador had remained adamant.

When that time comes, they will have no choice but to ask Karyl to communicate with the Sigillites. However, Karyl may not necessarily be on their side, even though he is currently remaining silent.

"You want the truth, don't you?" Malcador asked slowly, his fingers moving slowly across the scepter, the golden Aquila at the top suddenly flashing a cold, shimmering blue light.

A chilling will began to spread throughout the room, and both Roboute Guilliman and Konrad Curze Curze felt immense pressure at that moment.

Karyl narrowed his eyes, and as if sensing something, looked up at the ceiling, a fleeting glint of psychic energy flashing in his eyes as well.

A few seconds later, after the room was completely filled with this pressure, Malcador finally spoke again.

"Lorgar Aurelian is a fanatical believer," the Sigillites said calmly, without any hint of belittling.

"He knelt and wept when he first saw his father. He had seen his father in his dreams long ago, and even foresaw the moment of his birth."

"His faith in his father was pure and spotless; even if the foundation was tainted, his spirit remained untainted. But the Perfect City was different; this exemplary symbol, built by him and his legion, was a complete lie from the very beginning."

"Someone has muddied its clarity with their bloodstained hands. Its faith is flawed, and so are its inhabitants; it must be destroyed, and so must they."

Roboute Guilliman got an explanation. The explanation he wanted, a complete explanation, was his question resolved?

No.

His worries did not lessen in the slightest; in fact, they seemed to be increasing. He fell into silent thought, while Konrad Curze Curze stood beside him, his right hand instinctively rubbing his palm together.

After a long silence, Karyl broke it.

"Where is Lorgar Aurelian now?" he asked softly.

"From the other side of the Milky Way, it would take him at least nine weeks to get back," Malcador replied coldly. "More than enough time for you to do whatever you want to this city."

Roboute Guilliman clenched his fists in exasperation at his description, and even Konrad Curze Curze showed a slight hint of displeasure. Karyl, however, laughed.

"Sometimes the way you talk makes me wonder whether he influenced you, or you influenced him? Or perhaps you're influencing and imitating each other?"

Malcador didn't answer, he just looked at him disapprovingly.

"Don't look at me like that, old friend. You know very well that I don't like your description either," Karyl said. "Word Bearers' fleet? Aren't they here either?"

"They were transferred four months ago."

"So, this was premeditated?" Karyl sighed regretfully.

"You should know that all of this will eventually be pieced together by Lorgar Aurelian, right? Whether you like it or not, his Primarch -level mind will piece together the truth for him. How are we supposed to face a Primarch who's gone mad?"

"By then, you will have already left."

"And then never see him again for the rest of your life? No, forget it," Karyl smiled gently.

Curze looked at him and suddenly felt a strange sense of familiarity.

He felt unfamiliar with Karyl because he hadn't seen him like this in a long time; yet he felt familiar with him because he had seen him many times before.

Karyl stood there, relaxed, arms crossed, a smile on his face. His pale face was devoid of anything but that soft, cold smile, and unconsciously, Konrad Curze Curze hunched over.

"He'll find out, and then he'll go mad. Whether he's a false believer or a fanatic, he'll go mad when he sees the very proof of his faith burned to ashes. So, just tell me, Malcador, what does he want you to do?"

The Sigillites silently stroked his scepter.

"Don't tell me you came all the way from Terra just to deliver one of his decrees in person," Karyl continued with a smile.

Now, even Roboute Guilliman, who had never seen him like this before, sensed something was wrong.

What else does he want you to do?

"I will subdue Lorgar Aurelian when he goes berserk; I will take care of it."

"Then what?"

"Relay his father's message to him, and punish him for his laxity during the Great Crusade."

"More than that, right?"

Malcador finally frowned.

+You know what's going to happen; his tolerance for Lorgar has reached its limit. He can let Lorgar preach, ignore Imperial Truth, and even play a foolish religious game with him, but this is no longer some so-called father-son game.+

+ Lorgar Aurelian's folly contributed to the destruction of the Perfect City. If he had been fully aware of his beliefs, instead of choosing to be a puppet, this would never have happened.+

Ultimately, it was his own foolishness and laxity that forced his father to make this decision, and he must be punished for it, as must his legion.

+I won't comment on your defense of him. According to you, after the Word Bearers return to find the ruins of the Perfect City, they're going to be publicly humiliated again by the Emperor they worship?+

They do not worship the Emperor.

Karyl narrowed his eyes.

"Let's end the conversation here." He turned and walked to the door. "How much more time do we have to prepare?"

"Three hours," Malcador said, gripping his scepter tightly.

--

Konrad Curze Curze donned his armor. Normally, this task was accomplished by dozens of servants aided by mechanical arms, who would methodically cover the Night Lords's body with the midnight blue armor one by one. But this time, he chose to do it himself.

He squinted, standing beneath the stars, moving his right hand slightly, the Adamantium gauntlets adorned with gold and crimson slightly open. His sharp fingers sliced through the air, as sharp as the Primarch's own fingernails.

The place where he wore his armor was a viewing platform resembling an observatory, with fifteen huge stained-glass portholes forming the ceiling and walls. Mechanical arms moved below the viewing platform, transporting the other parts of the armor piece by piece.

The air was so cold it felt like it was frozen, and the light was dazzling, refracted by the stained glass to an almost inappropriate degree. He was already used to this place; before each battle, he would spend some time here alone.

Gazing at the stars, or observing the stained glass windows. Thinking of nothing, simply waiting for the armor to be donned. A low, melodious song rises all around. It is the work of Terra artist Taroni, "Night," that is its name.

Konrad Curze Curze loved it and played it often. In the past, he would even hum along softly at this time, but not today.

Not today.

"You've grown a lot, Konrad Curze," Karyl said.

"What? Aren't you happy for me?" Curze said without turning his head.

"I don't know whether to be happy or regretful right now. How are Corax and his legion doing?"

The Night Lords paused for a moment.

"Why are you suddenly asking this?" he asked casually.

"I need to know if my lost eighteen years have led to a good outcome." Karyl gave a bitter smile.

"Excellent. There's been a very good chemistry between the Deliverance and the Terra who stayed behind Raven Guard often cooperate with us, and their tactics and style of operation are quite compatible with ours."

Konrad Curze Curze turned around, and the Power Armour's servo systems began to hum. Now, all that was missing was his helmet. A seemingly smiling expression bloomed on his pale face.

Karyl sighed. "Don't do that, Konrad Curze."

"He felt guilty, after I explained things to him," Konrad Curze Curze continued, ignoring Karyl's words. "He thought it was because of him that you, well, changed. I told him he didn't need to care about that."

"My father, Karyl Lohars, was that kind of person. He would help others but never mention the price he would pay. He always liked to put himself in danger and always liked to hurt me with his absence."

"I'm not the kind of person who would use absence to gain attention, Konrad Curze."

"You certainly aren't," Konrad Curze Curze nodded. "You don't need to use absence to make your presence felt."

"I apologize for this, Konrad Curze," Karyl said. "I lost my former caution and abused my power. I'm sorry, I didn't expect the backlash to come so quickly."

Konrad Curze Curze stood there, staring at him for a moment, then suddenly chuckled.

"Whatever," the Night Lords said listlessly, though he was genuinely smiling. But Karyl saw something deeper.

He saw some tears as red as blood, tears that had been hidden away.

"You will apologize, comfort me, and genuinely feel sadness and remorse. But you won't change. If next time you see injustice and hear the cries of a group of innocent victims, you will still use your power without hesitation."

"Just like what we are about to do, Father. We will personally kill hundreds of millions of Imperium citizens. They too died unjustly, and they will call upon you."

"I won't use it this time," Karyl replied in an extremely soft voice.

"Yes, you won't." Konrad Curze Curze nodded, echoing Karyl's words with considerable certainty. As the gentle melody of "Night" and the singer's soft humming filled the air, his smile gradually became genuine.

"The power of prophecy should be a curse, Father," the Night Haunter hissed. "To fall to Nostramo is a curse within a curse. I don't believe in fate, but if it truly exists, then the path it has prepared for me is to become a monster. I am absolutely certain of that."

"I've thought about this many times over the past eighteen years. Sometimes, I can even smell a stench. It comes from Quintus back then, from another version of myself."

He was ragged and emaciated. He lived in the city's sewers, feeding on rotting, diseased corpses. He was a cruel and ruthless monster, a schizophrenic serial killer. Without you, he would be me. Or rather, he would be who I am.

The Midnight Haunt spreads its arms wide.

"But now look at me," he said with a smile. "You kept the curse out, Father, and you taught me how to use it."

Karyl's expression gradually became complicated. Meanwhile, elsewhere, in a land of broken glaciers, dark water was freezing into ice.

"I haven't let you down; I've used it well. I've seen many futures, many partial views, which should have hindered my progress, made me spend the rest of my life in fear, and driven me to madness, but I haven't."

He raised his left hand, and a sharp blade sprang from the lining of his armored wrist, which he grasped in his hand. A burst of blue light flashed, spreading through the air like a trail. A long, narrow blade was now in Konrad Curze Curze's grasp.

He raised it and pressed it against his forehead.

"Look at me, Father," the Night Lords said softly. "What do you see?"

Karyl did not answer; he did not know how to answer.

"Do you know what people call me? Hero, Lord of Blades, Savior, Judgment, Embodiment of Justice."

Listening to them, sometimes I wonder if I'm dreaming. I feel like none of this is real, until I see you now, and I realize how real it all is. You've paved a path for me, a path I can walk on with my head held high without having to look back.

"You turned a monster into a hero. Every foolish thing you did made me who I am today, made everything I am today. So keep going, Father. Do whatever you want. Be Karyl Lohars."

The Night Lords chuckled, lowered his blade, and put on his helmet.

This chapter is 5k words, plus the 3k words from 1 AM, making a total of 8k words. I owe 2k words, which I will pay back tomorrow.