Mud Idol

Angron Tei felt like he was suffocating, but no one was choking him; the feeling of death was caused only by an indifferent gaze.

The air was cruelly robbed from his three lungs, and the chill began to creep up, transforming into the sharp claws of a monster that gripped his spine. His internal organs trembled, his bones shattered, and in Angron Te's perception, the world had crumbled in an instant.

Darkness replaced everything he could see, leaving only Karyl Lohars, only this man standing before him.

The pale man, his body covered in bones, had a cold light in his eyes that was as dazzling as a shooting star, but unlike a shooting star, it was not illusory; instead, it carried an unstoppable chill.

The dead surged in the shadows behind him, the cloak howling as it revealed its true form. The black faded, replaced by a crimson hue, churning like a river of blood. Countless corpses screamed and wailed within, chanting the names of their enemies.

The Word Bearers opened his mouth, barely breathing, as if trying to say something—the next second he heard a sob coming from his own throat, and then the world suddenly brightened.

One hand grasped his right hand.

"Hello," Karyl said. "No need for honorifics, Angron Tey."

The Word Bearers was momentarily speechless, but his companions did not share his sentiment and did not wish to remain silent for the time being. He then heard the reverent chanting of Hermot Russ and the heavy breathing of Batusa Narek.

It took a full half minute for Angron Tai to recover from the chill.

He looked down and realized he was still holding the other person's hand. He awkwardly pulled his arm away, head down, and although still somewhat hesitant, he resolutely chose to begin the conversation.

"My Primarch, Lorgar Aurelian, sent me to find you. But as you may have noticed, Instructor Karyl, our numbers were very small at yesterday's triumph. My Primarch instructed me to take only those I trusted, and so I did as he said."

Angron Tai readily removed the honorifics and gradually revealed what he wanted to say, maintaining a steady pace.

This wasn't because he wanted to take control of the conversation; it was simply because he couldn't speak quickly enough, his language skills hadn't fully recovered from that chill. As he spoke, he raised his head and carefully observed the listener's reaction.

However, in response to his words, Karyl simply nodded noncommittally and raised his right hand in a gesture, indicating that Angron Tey should continue.

He gave no positive or negative answer, remaining as silent as a statue in the middle of the night.

"Lorgar has changed." Angron Tai took a deep breath before uttering the word.

The word escaped his throat, and with a trembling breath, it became proof of weakness. Only heaven knew how much Angron Tey hated himself at this moment, but he couldn't help it—just saying it was enough to drive him mad.

He gritted his teeth and spoke the next words with a distorted expression.

"I know I shouldn't be reporting this to you. In fact, if my Primarch were still mentally sound, I would have persuaded him to give up this idea. But he's not normal anymore; he acts like..."

Angron Tey fell silent involuntarily.

"Like what?" Karyl asked softly.

He gave the Word Bearers no time to breathe. Cruel, real, cold-blooded—but his eyes held a hint of pity.

The old pastor witnessed this scene, and the chanting suddenly grew louder. He began to continuously recite hymns of praise to the God-Emperor and Son of God, and the name of the Lord of Blades appeared five times in his short verse.

Batusa raised his hands in annoyance and put on his helmet, trying to block out any noise. He was getting impatient with Hermot.

Many within the Word Bearers lost their faith; few believers could remain devout after being publicly rebuked by the gods—at least Batusa himself could not. But Hermot Russ was different; he was a different kind of person.

A person so devout that he believed even if the Perfect City were destroyed again, it would only be another test—undoubtedly, he was insane.

But who doesn't have one? Inside the helmet, Batusa thought to himself with a self-deprecating smile.

He was like a clay figure on an altar.

Angron Tai lowered his head and murmured.

At this moment, he was weak and blind. He was not the armored Astartes, but rather more like a climber terminally ill. He had spent his entire life climbing upwards, with his hands, his feet, and his devout heart. And then, one day, he suddenly went blind.

He could no longer feel any sunlight.

Only darkness, nothing but darkness.

He was trapped inside.

Angron Tey continued his story with a wry smile.

"He preached his faith, urging people to believe in God. His face was full of fanaticism. I had seen his zeal before, but that was completely different from his current fanaticism. He was changing, gradually becoming a stranger to me."

"Stranger?" Karyl repeated the word. "You use that word to describe your Primarch?"

"That's the truth, Instructor Karyl. He doesn't even call us by our names anymore; he just addresses us simply and distantly as soldiers. He spends more time with the believers than with us, and I've seen him kneel down and explain scriptures to them more than once."

Karyl nodded again.

"It sounds like he's simply acting as a priest. Hasn't he done this before? Lorgar Aurelian's devotion and fanaticism are no secret throughout the Imperium, Angron Tai. The way you describe your Primarch is derogatory; that's not a good sign."

The Word Bearers blushed. He knew perfectly well what trick Karyl Lohars was playing, but he couldn't help feeling angry—his heart didn't even offer the option of being angry or not.

His bloodline, inherited from Lorgar Aurelian, wouldn't allow him to remain indifferent to this matter.

"If you saw him with your own eyes, you would understand what I'm saying," Angron Te retorted rapidly, his voice barely audible. The crimson armor was silent and devoid of any inscriptions, and even the shoulder armor was bare.

He was angry, Karyl thought. But his anger was unreal, merely the final cry of a desperate man.

I need to get him back on his feet first.

"Primarch are inspiring beings; even a fleeting glimpse is enough to fill us with courage. All Primarch are like that— Horus, Jaghatai Khan, Dorn. I have seen them with my own eyes, and I feel only awe."

"But standing before my own Gene-Father is a different story. Karyl Lohars. Lorgar Aurelian used to inspire warmth, not the warmth it evokes now."

"How are things now?" Karyl asked him calmly. "You should carefully consider what you're about to say, Angron Te."

Of course I know I need to be careful.

The Word Bearers spoke in a cold voice, "Now, he is broken."

The chanting stopped abruptly, Hermot Russ slowly shifted his gaze. He looked at Angron Te, while Batusa Narek stared back at him, his fists clenched as he held no weapon.

For a fleeting moment, as Angron Tei finished speaking, Batusa was certain he saw an undisguised murderous intent on the old priest's face. However, just half a second later, it vanished.

"It wasn't his own choice to break, Angron Tey." Hermot shook his head, entering their conversation with practiced ease and naturalness, as if breathing, his previous emotions completely gone.

His face was not covered with scriptures, except for a small passage from the opening of the Lectitio Divinitatus by Lorgar, which was engraved below his right eye. His features did not resemble Lorgar Aurelian's, but he spoke with a certain enthusiasm.

This was an irresistible passion that compelled one to trust, and it was one of the most prominent characteristics of Lorgar Aurelian in the past. Lorgar was an orator, a natural orator, brilliant and extremely skilled at it.

The Word Bearers conquered few worlds, but many were won over by the Imperium. Lorgar played a crucial role in this, always managing to spread the gospel to everyone through debate and preaching.

"You've got one thing wrong. His downfall wasn't self-inflicted; someone was manipulating things behind the scenes."

The old pastor spoke slowly, emphasizing his words to make them sound more convincing, "No one can break Lorgar Aurelian's faith in the God-Emperor, no one can, unless someone sabotages him."

"Hermot!" Angron Te turned around angrily and stared at him, furious that he had revealed part of the truth they had uncovered ahead of time.

The old pastor completely ignored his anger. He stepped forward, raised his black gauntlet, and slammed it into his own chest. The sound wasn't loud, but it was extremely deep and muffled, like distant Thunder.

"As a follower of the God-Emperor, and as a devout ascetic, I must report this matter to you, Karyl Lohars."

"What's up?"

"Enough, Hermot, I swear to Colchis, if you dare—"

"--The beliefs within the Word Bearers have changed."

With a cruel smile, the old priest Hermot Russ, known as "The Anchorite," spoke softly, completely ignoring Angron Te's attempts to stop him.

"Heretical beliefs are rampant on what was once a sacred Fidelitas Lex; despicable heretics dwell in the shadows cast by clay idols, loudly chanting the names of blasphemous gods. This is not what I wish to see. There can only be one God under heaven, and if that God is not the God-Emperor, then he is nothing but a false god."

Batusa Narek slowly closed his eyes; he didn't want to know what would happen next. Angron Tai stared at Hermot with clenched fists, completely baffled as to why he had revealed all his cards at the very beginning of the conversation.

The old pastor didn't even look at them; his bright, fanatical eyes were fixed on only one thing: Karyl's dark eyes, which were gleaming with a cold light.

"I understand." Karyl nodded slightly. "I think I understand what you've suffered, Angron Tai. You said that Lorgar Aurelian's transformation began after the destruction of the Perfect City?"

"Yes," the Word Bearers quickly replied. "Only this one moment is important enough to cause such a drastic change in him."

"Then let's go to the Perfect City again," Karyl said calmly. "The accusations you've made are appalling."

"Do you, like those incompetent Hive City guards, also need evidence?" the old pastor asked, looking at him with a hint of longing.

"I don't need evidence, Hermot Russ, but I need traces." Karyl uttered his name instinctively, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Enough to find someone's trail."

This was the first time he had smiled at the three Word Bearers; it was not gentle, and could even be described as cold. However, for no reason, Angron Te felt a sense of certainty and a strange sense of relief.

Yes, there is a code.