Interlude 43: Knight and Knight King (Part 1)

Yellow sand filled the sky, and the light was distorted by the temperature. A man wearing a cloak walked slowly through the desert. He looked injured and walked with a limp, but there was no blood on him.

He would occasionally look back, as if searching for pursuers. But in the scorching desert, no one was chasing him; only a monotonous and boundless sea of sand cast a cold gaze upon him.

The man grunted, then lowered his head thoughtfully. A silver arm emerged from his cloak and pulled a water jug from his belt.

He slowly unscrewed the cap, tilted his head back, and watched as the cool, clean drinking water touched his lips, only to have a blade pierce the kettle a second later.

Luther was not surprised by this, or rather, he was prepared. His free right hand slammed into the attacker's face. The attacker tried to dodge, but Luther smashed his face hard with the broken water bottle as he retreated.

Immediately afterward, a surge of electricity shot out from the surface of the kettle, and the attacker collapsed. Luther pounced on him, pinning his jaw with his left hand, pressing his right knee into his chest, and then striking his nose hard with his right hand.

Blood gushed out, and the intense pain and physical reaction blurred the man's vision, causing tears to stream down his face. He struggled, trying to escape, but Luther took a deep breath, and at that moment, his right knee unleashed a burst of power.

With a snap, the attacker stopped moving, only his fingers still twitching.

His mouth opened and closed, and blood, frothy with white foam, gushed from the corner of his mouth.

Luther sighed, casually pulled a silver needle with a mechanical timer embedded in its end from his belt, and plunged it into the attacker's temple. Then, he pressed the timer.

A countdown of one minute and thirty seconds began to tick. Luther wasted no time. Amidst the attacker's sudden, violent convulsions, he asked, "Who sent you?"

The attacker made muffled sounds from his throat.

Luther frowned, switched back to the local language, and asked again, but the attacker still didn't respond. He seemed to understand something, so he began to imitate phrases like "papa" or "mama" in a primitive tone.

Ironically, the terms for parents are quite similar across different languages. This time, the attacker reacted to this and gave a somewhat naive smile.

Luther shook his head, pulled a short knife from his belt, and plunged it into the attacker's skull through his jaw.

Blood and brain matter trickled out from the gaping hole in his jaw, but Luther didn't immediately pull out the blade, or start running like he had done in the ninety-nine previous attacks.

This was the last assassin to kill him; there was no need to expend any more energy. He sat beside the corpse and dug his left hand deep into the sand. After a few seconds, he got a reading.

"Forty-eight kilometers to go," the Caliban sighed. "This isn't a good mission, Agent Twenty-One."

A voice came through his implanted headset. "Why? Don't you like this desert trip?"

"You call assassinating a king, escaping the city in the chaos, and then being hunted down in the desert by his hundred most elite hounds? You call that a trip?"

"At least the view from Loperigor is nice."

"I don't like the desert."

"Do you prefer the forest?"

Luther didn't answer the question; he simply drew his dagger and stood up. He took a few more steps and retrieved the water bottle. The attacker's knife, its tip protruding, reflected the bright sunlight off the side of the bottle.

Luther squinted and casually pulled the knife out as well. With an unsettling metallic scraping sound, he flipped the dagger over and saw the insignia on the hilt.

An eight-pointed star.

As expected, the old knight calmed himself down, shook his hand in disgust, and sent the dagger back into the attacker's chest.

"I hear you sigh," Agent Twenty-One spoke again on the other end of the call channel. "What happened?"

"It's not good news," Luther replied coldly, turning and leaving the desert. "You know what I mean."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the communication channel.

"Understood," Agent Twenty-One said. "The cleansing process began according to procedure the moment you reported the first attacker; we just need to wait for the Sigillites's approval."

"Are you still sending him the application using Psyker, just like before?"

"Otherwise what? We're separated by half a galaxy. Am I supposed to board a Warp jump ship, run back to Terra, hand him the documents, and then come back to inform you?"

"That method is rather inhumane, isn't it?" Luther skillfully changed the subject, trying to shift his attention away from Loperigor's future fate.

He'd done similar things many times before, but he wasn't numb to it. Luther himself couldn't say whether it was good or bad; he just thought of Caliban at times.

To be precise, it reminded me of the forests of Caliban.

"We weren't fighting for humanitarianism, Luther," Agent Twenty-One laughed. "Humanitarianism doesn't allow people like you and me to abandon our lives and wander aimlessly in the vast galaxy. We're already Ghost, Luther, and you're still talking about humanitarianism?"

"I am a knight," Luther said. "I swore an oath to protect civilians and fight for the innocent. This is my past, and it is inseparable from me."

"Like Lion Alderson?"

"You'd better not mention him," Luther warned. "I don't have time to talk about these things right now. The Lion El'Jonson has his own will, and what he wants to do is none of my business."

"I need to remind you, Luther. In the past sixteen Terra months, several different forces of the Dark Angels have tracked you down to places you've been. Do you believe this is the Lion El'Jonson's will?"

"Perhaps."

"But perhaps not." Agent Twenty-One paused for a moment, and a hoarse shout came from the other end of the voice channel. It was the scream of Psyker forced to "overclock" because they were transmitting information too far.

Luther witnessed the scene once, and he was so horrified that he never wanted to see it again. Among the Sigillites' agents, his behavior was jokingly referred to as weakness.

"You'd better get straight to the point," Luther warned. "I don't want to hear you hinting that something might be wrong with the Dark Angels. I've spoken to the Sigillites about this at least a dozen times; I know more than you do."

"I agree with you on that point, but I hope you can get to the evacuation point as soon as possible."

"Why?"

"Because the Lion El'Jonson is right beside me," Agent Twenty-One said. "Actually, he has a knight with a gun pointed at my head. You'd better hurry up, Luther, I don't want to die for this, I'll curse you."

The old knight hung up the communication, stood still for more than ten seconds, and then continued walking.

--

"Put down your gun, Corswain," Lion Aljonson said. "This is a Seal of the Sigillites. I don't like them, but they must be treated with the respect due to them."

"Then I am truly grateful, sir."

Agent Twenty-One answered, her face deathly pale. She was sitting in a chair, her legs disappearing cleanly from the thighs down. There were signs of prosthetics attached to the severed limbs. As for where they were now, you could try asking the Lion El'Jonson, if he was willing to answer.

"So, what was his answer?" Lion Aljonsen asked calmly.

"He didn't answer; I thought you could hear me," Agent Twenty-One said. "I hope you won't be angry about it."

The Lion El'Jonson glanced at her, a dark glint in his emerald eyes. "Interesting. Why do you think I would be angry about this?"

"Uh, because--"

"You'd better not do anything you shouldn't," the Lion El'Jonson warned. "Stop pretending to be a weak, ignorant fool, Agent Twenty-One. Take your hands off the armrests of that chair. You're losing my respect."

As the voice spoke, Corswain raised the gun in his hand again and pressed it against her forehead.

"."

In silence, Agent Twenty-One raised his hands.

"Very well, now tell me, what is Luther doing on this planet?"

"That's confidential, sir. I'm not authorized to tell you."

Agent Twenty-One was no longer as tense as before. She answered the Lion El'Jonson's questions with remarkable calmness, even having the leisure to observe Corswain. The latter remained unmoved by her observation, still silent, only raising his gun.

"You can choose to remain silent on this matter, but I have the right to know other things," the Lion El'Jonson said, narrowing his eyes. "For example, how much has Luther Caliban done for you all these years?"

"Your wording is problematic. Luther isn't 'working for us,' he's one of us."

"He is a knight of the Order, the Grand Master of the First Legion."

"Not anymore." Agent Twenty-One smiled at him. "Or rather, not for a long time. Respected Lion El'Jonson, I notice you seem a little confused."

"Then," the Lion El'Jonson told her, "I will allow you a moment of disrespect."

Agent Twenty-One gave a flamboyant, slight bow. "Luther is one of the Sigillites's agents; in fact, he's now the most outstanding one among us. Are you aware that your pursuit of him has, to some extent, violated Imperium law?"

"Once everything has settled, I will return to Terra myself to stand trial with my father," Lion Aljonsen said calmly. "You don't need to try to intimidate me with legal arguments. Even if Konrad Curze Curze were standing here today, I would still want to know the truth."

Agent Twenty-One slowly lowered her hands and shrugged. She said nothing more, placing her hands neatly in front of her. Corswain put his gun away again, but pushed her and her chair away from the control panel on the bridge.

The Servitor watched this scene in bewilderment, making no response. Thirty minutes later, a boarding signal began flashing on the control panel.

Lion Alderson personally approved it.

One more chapter.