12 Return to Perfect City (II)

Discovering the truth is a rather clandestine affair. It involves covert investigations, interviewing those in the know, using drugs, hypnosis, bribery, or even force, and sometimes threatening close relatives.

Even more unfortunately, a significant portion of humanity is extremely fascinated by these methods.

They were obsessively focused on investigating the matter itself, rather than the truth. For these people, the pleasure derived from investigation and torture far outweighed the discovery of the truth itself, and the power granted to them through investigation gave them a sense of superiority, as if they were looking down on the masses.

This is truly an absurd mistake, but isn't that human nature?

But Karyl did not intend to criticize them.

It didn't matter; he didn't care. After all, he was also a seeker of truth.

If necessary, he will still resort to any means necessary.

He walked coldly through the ruins, his figure elusive. Had it not been to accommodate the pace of the Word Bearers, he would likely have already vanished as a shadow. Yet, despite his deliberate slowing, the Word Bearers still appeared to move slowly behind him.

This is normal; the gap between him and the Astartes is far greater than the gap between the Astartes and mortals. This shouldn't be a comparison, but he couldn't help it.

His thoughts were like a monster baring its fangs in the darkness, countless bloody ideas that shouldn't have arisen swirling within its claws and teeth. If not for the solid ice binding it, the monster would probably have already broken free.

Fortunately, he was in the midst of eternal winter. The "blade" itself could represent many images, and its pale white color was derived from a fragment of the Master of Mankind's memory. Coupled with his own will, the monster was currently relatively well-behaved.

But it will eventually come out. The question is, when?

As always, the identity of the human named Karyl Lohars remains unknown.

He stopped, halting before the vanishing mountains. Hermot Russ continued chanting the scriptures, his tone fervent and hateful. They had walked and he had chanted, and witnessing the ruins of the Perfect City once more seemed to only strengthen his faith.

Karyl chuckled at this—what a fanatic. But hatred, yes, he should hate. And, in a way, he should also chant scriptures.

With a strange sense of humor, he slowly squatted down and picked up a wisp of white ash with his right hand.

The pale, withered bones and the claw-like handguards formed by pitch-black shadows were covered by them; there was nothing there but dust and death. A horrific sight, but that was exactly what he needed.

He clenched his right hand, the ashes gradually heating in his palm. He cautiously dismissed the surging power within him, rejecting their attempts to aid him, and continued to use the psychic energy that had grown increasingly powerful in recent years.

A fierce wind rose, summoned from the tides by a supernatural force that should not exist. It swept across the land with such force that it almost knocked the Word Bearers over, but Karyl stood firm amidst the storm.

He remained unaffected; even the Shadow Cloak did not flutter. It remained lazily behind him, hanging to the ground, waiting to be invoked.

The ashes surged up like the sea, forming grayish-white tidal waves that almost obscured his figure, leaving only two points of chilling blue light.

They coldly exuded the tide of ash, refusing any obstruction, and with some kind of will, they forcibly forced the ash to disperse. The ash that was unwilling to leave was forced by psionic energy to carry it to various parts of the ruins, and at this moment the tide finally dissipated completely.

As the ashes dissipated, the original surface was revealed, engraved with an indelible eight-pointed star.

Crystal clear, pure and flawless, reflecting the sunlight.

It may have originally been carved into rock or something, but it should have vanished after the Midnight Blade and the Ultramarines' ships rained fire from the sky. But it didn't; it remained.

It retained its original shape within the silicon dioxide formed by the high temperature and intense flame.

On what grounds?

Angron Tey's breathing became heavy; this counterintuitive scene snapped a string in his mind.

He angrily drew his Boltgun from his waist and began firing repeatedly at the star. Despite the deafening gunfire, it remained unscathed. The Word Bearers roared and unleashed a torrent of bullets.

Glass shards flew, the explosive rounds embedded themselves deep in the ground, and the spent cartridge cases landed with a crisp sound. The eight-pointed star remained standing, its light still shining, as if mocking him. So Angron Tei didn't hesitate to change the magazine, wanting to try again, but Batusa Narek stopped him.

"It's pointless, bro."

He whispered sadly and empathetically to Angron Tai, his right hand resting on the Boltgun. It was clear that if Angron Tai hadn't acted first, he would have been the one to fire.

"It might not even exist here; we can see it, but we can't touch it. And even if it does exist, what's the point of destroying it?"

"All illicit rituals shall be burned." The Anchorite coldly and forcefully entered their conversation, his hands forming the shape of the Imperium Eagle before his chest. "This is an ironclad rule, Batusa Narek, never forget it. If I ever hear you utter such words again, I will kill you."

Karyl neither commented on their conversation nor prevented the minor dispute that erupted between Batusa and the Anchorite; he had no time for such trivial matters.

He simply continued to clench his right hand, calmly maintaining the flow of psionic energy. Under his coercion, the psionic energy and the ashes were compressed to a certain limit. A few seconds later, he finally opened his hand, and the ashes had transformed into a murky, pale gem.

At this moment, Angron Tey also ended his anger. He came before him, head bowed, hesitant.

Karyl could see the emotions in his eyes, so he chose to speak himself, "Do you remember the trail I mentioned, Angron Tai?"

"I remember." The Word Bearers looked up at the gem. "So, this is the trail?"

"Not yet." Karyl shook his head. "Finding the person who sowed the seeds of this disaster will not be easy. He holds a high position in your legion and was at least involved in the construction of the Perfect City. But did you detect even the slightest trace of him before today?"

Batusa Narek murmured, his voice a mixture of hatred and lingering fear, "A Shadow."

"Yes, a Shadow." Karyl looked at him in agreement, the gem still resting in his hand.

"But he couldn't completely hide himself, nor could he completely erase all traces. That star represents many corrupt things, but one is definitely not enough; there must be many more hidden stars near the Perfect City."

"But back then—" Angron Tei swallowed a mouthful of saliva that was almost bloody, his mouth dry, and abandoned the honorific... "I mean, why didn't you point out this evidence back then?"

Karyl looked at him with a hint of pity, but did not answer the question.

The Anchorite let out that cruel laugh again, a sound remarkably similar to thunder.

"It was merely a test, and we failed it. It's that simple, Angron Tey. Your hopes were utterly useless in the face of the situation. Don't you agree, sir?"

Karyl did not respond. Hermot Russ was an extreme fanatic, and although his words could indeed be considered correct to some extent, he could not agree with them.

He simply clenched his right hand again, and a series of crisp sounds, like glass cracking, echoed through the air.

A chill ran down Angron Te's spine. He ignored the old pastor's words and began to stare intently at the tightly clenched hand, his emotions surging beyond simple description as "hope" or "despair."

He is far superior to them.

A moment later, light burst forth. Brilliant fragments shot out from between the fingers, transforming into countless blazing crimson meteors that quietly disappeared into the distance.

Karyl looked at them and slowly uttered a syllable, his voice ancient, like the whisper of the dead from eternity. The next second, whether it was the priest, Batusa, or Angron Tey, they all sensed that something was being born.

With these thoughts in mind, Angron Te saw a sudden wisp of mist appear.

They spread out, gathering and forming a cold, silent mass beneath their feet, almost as if the air itself were freezing. The shimmering mist stretched forward, following the crimson meteor in the sky, as if guided by some strange force.

Five minutes later, a route slowly unfolded. Complete, magnificent, a miracle.

The psionic spells that Malcador gave me are indeed very useful.

Watching this scene, Karyl offered his assessment and advice to someone on the other side of the galaxy.

+You should really let him take some time to write a book; at least some of the knowledge we old folks have in our heads could be passed down.+

"I'm not old," the man said. "I'm still quite young."

It would be more accurate to say that Malcador.

The man chuckled softly, and a knocking sound actually rang out in the illusory channel constructed from psionic energy.

He answered Karyl's little joke after a while, his voice becoming somewhat ethereal, as if he were doing something extremely demanding and had to be distracted.

Knowledge is not like ordinary inheritance, Karyl. Some knowledge should be buried, and even if it is to be passed down, it can only be passed on among a few. As for you, I wish you good luck.

Do you think I can't find him?

They will offer help, so why should you find him now?

Do you know who that person is?

If I knew.

The man gave a cold laugh and hung up the call.

"Let's go," Karyl said, looking at the Word Bearers. "If we follow this path, even if we don't get the truth, we can at least get some clues."

"But what if we can't get it?" Batusa Narek asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Let's go," Hermot Russ said. "Confusion is a shameful weakness. From now on, silently recite the name of the God-Emperor, Batusa. You will become strong under his gaze."

Having said that, he was the first to step onto the misty path. He strode forward, never looking back, head held high and chest out.

Yes, there is a code.

My update schedule is getting healthier and healthier, yay!