190: Interlude: Across Ten Thousand Years (Part One)

Cassidorius Ciunas had read many books, most of which were contraband officially classified as "dangerous" by the Imperium. ☮♕ 💘ඏ

In the distant fortieth millennium, knowledge was poisonous, and ignorance became a form of protection. Cassidorius was well aware of this, but he was studying by imperial decree, so no one bothered him about it.

He read a total of more than 12,000 books, all of which were delivered to him by "official personnel." They covered all kinds of knowledge in various fields, from biological atlases to seemingly ordinary fictional novels, encompassing everything imaginable.

At that time, Cassidorius didn't understand why he had to read so many books. Did an officially certified Terra explorer really need so much knowledge? Or was it that the Imperium was giving him preferential treatment because he was a descendant of the del Kunas Family?

He had once thought those books were merely a political privilege, or that someone considered the license in their family's treasury too sacred. Now, however, he seemed to vaguely realize something.

Those gifts came at a price, didn't they?

"That's a mammoth."

He shook off these thoughts, patted the remains behind him, and began to explain for his only companion. Hollow echoes spread from the empty ribs of the corpse, creating a rhythmic murmur.

"These terrifying creatures are said to typically live in groups, reaching eight meters in length and five and a half meters in height. Therefore, I think the remains we are seeing are most likely those of a young mammoth."

His companion remained unmoved; his crimson spectacles didn't even glance at Cassidorius's right hand, which was brazenly resting on the Long Fang, attempting to leave a mark. He stared silently in the direction they had come from, as if the dense, lush forest possessed some kind of magic.

Cassidorius coughed, and a heavy sound came from the respirator.

He tried to speak again.

"You know what, Van Cleef? These enormous creatures were once a staple food of our ancestors. I really want to know how they did it. Just imagine, a group of primitive people wielding stone spears and torches were able to hunt creatures of that size and even casually bring them to their dinner table?"

Van Cleef remained silent, unmoved by Cassidorius's description of the barbaric feat. He stared intently at the forest, the Power Armour's worn surface dull and lifeless, the lightning bolt patterns extinguished.

His silence was unusual; they had been traveling together for some time, six years and eleven months—though the time was constantly changing, Cassidorius could still keep track of how long they had been traveling using the timer inside his helmet.

He was unfamiliar with Astartes' concept of time, but for a mortal like him, nearly seven years was a long time.

He already knew Night Lords's First Company quite well, and knew what kind of person he was. Although Van Cleef didn't like to talk most of the time, he was definitely a very good listener.

Whatever Cassidorius said or complained about, Van Cleef would have responded, instead of remaining unsettlingly silent as he is now.

The descendant licked his dry lips inside the respirator and gripped his gun tightly. He slowly moved away from the remains of the baby mammoth and came to Van Cleef's side, where they began to gaze at the forest together.

As far as the eye could see, there was only a vast, lush forest. The trees were terrifyingly tall, and even the weeds were half a person's height. All these plants had grown into a completely different appearance from those in the books.

But that makes sense. Animals might be able to reconstruct their appearance before birth through fossils and the like, but how can plants be replicated? Are we supposed to rely on imagination?

Cassidorius pondered these things, yet remained somewhat focused, gazing with Van Cleef at the forest they had left behind.

Then, he suddenly—or rather, finally—realized something.

It's too quiet.

Absolute silence, complete stillness, not a sound could be heard.

There were no cries of wild beasts, no chirping of insects or birds, not even the sound of a breeze rustling through the treetops. The leaves didn't sway, the vegetation remained still. This forest, with which they had shared sixteen days, seemed to have suddenly died. It was lush and green, even unsettlingly so, making one feel nauseous.

A chill ran down Cassidorius's spine as he silently issued a command to his weapon via neural connection. He heard a soft click; the safety had been disengaged, and the firing mode had been switched to full automatic.

Then, in that instant, an idea suddenly formed in Cassidorius's mind.

Something—he thought—was something watching us from the forest, hiding among the lush foliage?

The idea appeared very suddenly and at an inopportune time, yet it took deep root in his mind, becoming a haunting presence that was difficult to erase.

The ghost began scratching at his brain with its claws.

Passively, Cassidorius conjured up the image of that thing in his mind. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop. He gripped his gun tightly, hoping for the God-Emperor's protection, and hoping Van Cleef would discover this and kill him with a single shot. He already knew what was causing the trouble.

Then he continued to imagine.

Does it have eyes? Probably. They're probably orange-yellow, and like two Lantern —no, perhaps more than two, but four, eight, sixteen eyes nested within each other, like a vortex.

It mostly has black fur, with short, coarse, and needle-like hair. Its head shape is somewhere between a cow's head and a sheep's head. But it doesn't look like either; instead, it looks like a person with a tumor on their face and four long horns on top.

It was not strong; its limbs were slender, and its hands were like two shaped planks of wood. Its sharp claws were bent and pressed tightly against the ground, sinking deep into the soil and burying their cold gleam.

Finally, there's its breathing.

Cassidorius suddenly widened his eyes.

He smelled a strange odor, a mixture of the stench of wild animals, the strong smell of blood, and a terrible stench from a barbaric era—the stench of people who ate raw meat and drank blood, and who didn't care about dental hygiene.

Then there were sixteen orange-yellow eyes.

They stared at him intently, full of expectation.

Cassidorius found the creature very close to him, extremely close, close enough to completely bury him in its fur. It stared intently at him, then grinned, revealing a mouthful of fine human teeth, as if in approval. Its beastly eyes shone with enthusiasm.

Van Cleef drew his sword, and the motor of the Chainsword began to roar.

This was the first time Cassidorius Ciunas had encountered it.

--

They walked slowly, sinking deep into the mud. A torrential downpour was falling rapidly, crashing into the mud beneath their feet like bullets hitting an object, each drop creating a dent.

"What era are we living in?" Van Cleef asked, unusually.

"I don't know," Cassidorius said.

He wasn't sure if his companion genuinely wanted to know, but he didn't really care. They had been silent for too long and definitely needed an excuse to talk. Humans would surely go mad if they didn't communicate for an extended period.

"You have things you don't know, know-it-all?" Van Cleef chuckled gently.

The last descendant smiled.

The nickname was born twenty-two years ago, at midnight. They sneaked into a simple barn and barely managed to rest there for the night.

Van Cleef certainly didn't need such shelter, but Cassidorius did. Although he wore specially made Power Armour provided by the Mechanicum, he was still a mortal. He needed at least five hours of rest each day to have the energy to continue his long journey.

That evening, they chatted and reminisced about the past, and the extensive knowledge that Cassidorius displayed in the conversation led Van Cleef to give him this nickname.

Of course, his erudition was riddled with errors. The knowledge he gained from books was completely contrary to the truth, which, it must be said, was a strange and interesting kind of mistake.

"My lord, we are now in a muddy mess. How can I possibly find anything in this desolate place to help us identify the era we live in?"

Van Cleef didn't answer, but simply raised his right hand and pointed in a direction. Cassidorius looked in that direction and saw a wooden sign hanging crookedly on a tree. The sign wasn't the point; the point was the tree.

It is at least five meters in diameter, a true miracle of nature. They have lived long since left behind the primitive era, and such a giant tree is extremely rare.

Unfortunately, it had completely withered. Not a single leaf remained on its bare, withered branches, leaving only its menacing trunks baring their fangs and claws as they attacked the gloomy sky, silently venting their resentment in the torrential rain.

They approached slowly. Cassidorius took the wooden sign off and began to try to make out the small characters written in soot through the grime, which had been washed away by the torrential rain.

"Crow's Nest?"

He could barely recognize the two ancient words, and then he couldn't figure out what the rest of the words meant.

"Has your erudition run into trouble again?" Van Cleef asked.

"No, not this time, my lord," Cassidorius sighed. "I don't think it's my fault this time."

He waved the wooden board in his hand at Van Cleef nodded knowingly, took it, and pried out the nail stuck in the top of the board. The nail was made of wood, and although it had been there for many years, it was still very sturdy.

He pressed the wooden sign firmly against the bark, then pressed the nail back in by hand. The dead tree emitted a dull echo; its interior was probably hollow, hence the sound.

"Raven's Nest? Raven's Nest?" Van Cleef asked again, facing the tree trunk.

"Perhaps we should use a more rustic term, sir," Cassidorius continued, joking with a title Van Cleef didn't like. "How about we call this place Raven's Nest?"

"Not so great," Van Cleef replied calmly. "This place might not even be inhabited anymore; whether it's rural or not is meaningless. Even if we use the formal term 'Crow's Nest,' what's wrong with that? I'm more concerned with something else."

"What, sir?"

Van Cleef turned to look at him; ash drifted slowly from the gaps in the neck guard, and the goggles remained crimson.

"Ciunas, when was the last time we met anyone else?"

"Perhaps you should say, 'I see—'" Cassidorius shrugged. "The Sigillites said that unless absolutely necessary, we'd better not have any communication with anyone."

"When was it?" Van Cleef pressed.

Cassidorius had to admit he was a little nervous about Van Cleef's unusual attitude. Was it because they had been navigating this muddy ground for too long?

No, he didn't think the gloomy skies and frequent downpours could have any effect on an Astartes; it was just another long journey, so what if the scenery was terrifying?

He paused for a few seconds, then suddenly recalled their experience in the primordial era. That wasn't their first encounter with Daemon; for many years afterward, they frequently dealt with all sorts of monsters.

But that Daemon was definitely the one that left the deepest impression on Cassidorius.

And back then, when it appeared, Van Cleef's reaction was exactly the same as it is now.

Cassidorius opened his mouth, trying to speak, but his attention was drawn to a black feather that drifted down, landing at his feet and being quickly swallowed by the suddenly boiling swamp. He quickly raised his head and looked upwards.

He saw a flock of crows, or to be more precise, countless crows—densely covering the branches of the withered tree, unusually silent, scrutinizing them with an all-encompassing coldness in the downpour.

Meanwhile, blood began to seep from behind the plank Van Cleef had nailed on. It trickled from the dry, cracked bark, starting slowly but soon forming a stream.

The viscous blood was unaffected by the torrential rain; instead of being washed away, it slowly covered the mud beneath their feet, forming a scarlet curtain.

Cassidorius stared silently at the flock of crows, their bright yellow eyes piercing the midnight Lantern. Each one was—

He took a deep breath, raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. Van Cleef drew his sword again, coldly surveying the crows.

--shake.

This was the second time they had encountered it.

--

"My name is Arthur, Arthur Pendragon," the young man said with a smile.

Cassidorius remained silent, handing over the right to speak to Van Cleef, who was cloaked in black. The First Company Commander completely concealed his face under his hood and even managed to stop the ashes from hanging upside down.

The fire flickered, and the firewood crackled. Night had fallen, and the wilderness where they stood was utterly silent.

In other words, the First Company still had no intention of responding.

Cassidorius sighed.

"Why the sigh, sir?" the young man asked politely, his striking blond hair and emerald-green eyes like jade. "Was it because my late-night intrusion bothered you? I'm so sorry, if that's the case, I'll leave immediately."

"No, it's nothing," Cassidorius said stiffly in his newly learned language. "It's just that we're not used to being with other people."

To be precise, it shouldn't be. The descendant silently added in his heart.

The young man frowned, then immediately relaxed his brow, giving a wry smile, "Indeed, we should be wary of strangers and see what those Saxon bandits have turned our country into! Oh, by the way, are you two from France?"

"No," Van Cleef spoke suddenly, his voice calm, without using his breathing grille. "It's from a much more distant place."

"The East?" The young man's eyes widened. "No way—that's way too far! Did you come by boat?"

"They came on foot," Cassidorius said.

He had sensed something from Van Cleef's attitude, and thus relaxed his guard slightly. He hadn't spoken to anyone other than the First Company Commander in a long time—at least 130 years. The last person to speak to him was a villager who screamed and called them devils.

"My God." The young man looked at them with awe, without a doubt that they might be lying. "From the east all the way here? Without using horses?"

Cassidorius laughed, pulled his cloak tighter, and shifted his posture. "No, we basically have to walk."

"That's truly a remarkable feat," the young man said. "You two must be extraordinary knights, traveling together, attempting to accomplish a great deed? Is that so? You must be slaying demons and righting wrongs along the way!"

He leaned closer to Cassidorius, slightly excited, trying to get the answer to his question.

The descendant was about to answer, but then suddenly froze. He carefully observed the young man's appearance: the dazzling blond hair and emerald green eyes.

His eyes widened.

"No."

Van Cleef spoke again in a calm voice, the word clearly addressed to Cassidorius. The descendant composed himself briefly, then turned his head away and remained silent.

The young man looked at him, puzzled, then at Van Cleef. The First Company, head bowed, began to speak slowly.

"We're not knights, nor are we traveling together. But we do have something very important to do, and as for slaying demons and upholding justice, we have indeed killed quite a few monsters."

"Since you are indeed doing what is right, why can't you call yourself a knight?" the young man insisted. "Besides, you are so tall and clad in armor. Even through your cloak, I can feel its coldness and extraordinary nature; you must have worn it in countless battles."

"I haven't done anything righteous," Van Cleef said. "But I have fought many wars and killed many people."

The young man became even more excited, and Cassidorius could tell that he clearly had a lot more to say. But in the next second, he suddenly closed his eyes, leaned back, and was supported by a pair of aged hands that emerged from his white robe.

It was an old man, very old, with white hair but no beard, his chin bald, like a forest that had been completely cleared. Without a word, he dragged the young man off the ground, placed him on the soft grass behind him, and then strode over to the fire.

"My name is Merlin," he introduced himself, then slowly sat down, seemingly without any regard for manners. "And you are?"

"Van Cleef," the First Company looked up and said. "This is Cassidorius Ciunas."

"A nobleman?"

"More or less," Van Cleef nodded. "Bigger than the largest nobleman you've ever seen."

The descendant silently shook his head, expressing his protest through silence. The old man turned and looked at him.

His skin looked very rough, but also very resilient. The eyes between his white eyebrows and wrinkles suddenly turned stern at that moment. He stood up and walked toward Cassidorius, his steps leaving no room for refusal.

The descendant stared at the old man, bewildered, momentarily forgetting where he was, until he felt a strange pull. He looked down and saw that the old man had actually grasped a gemstone in his hand.

If it wasn't the one he wore around his neck, then what else could it be? But how exactly did he manage to reach into his armor with his bare hands and retrieve that gem?

Cassidorius had no answer; he hadn't even considered the matter. He simply stood up abruptly and snatched back his jewel.

He glared at the old man, his heart filled with a mixture of shock and anger. The old man, who called himself Merlin, remained calm. He looked up at Cassidorius, reached out and grabbed his hands, pulling him down with a force that, though not strong, left Cassidolius with no way to refuse.

"How long have you been gone?" the old man asked, his tone revealing nothing else.

"Tell him," Van Cleef said. "There's nothing to hide."

Cassidorius, both confused and shocked, turned to look at the First Company, just in time to see him slowly removing his helmet. At that moment, the old man reached out and turned his face back to him.

"How long have you been walking, young man?" he asked again.

Cassidorius obtained a number through neural connections.

"Three hundred and seventy-nine years," he said nervously, even swallowing hard.

The old man stared at him silently, seemingly deep in thought, but in that instant, Cassidorius heard a sound. It was like a whisper, or perhaps a scream. He couldn't quite place which side the sound belonged to, but he certainly heard it.

And this is the most important thing.

Merlin released his grip and whirled around with a speed far beyond his years; however, before that, his expression had already completely changed.

From calm to rage, a terrifying rage. Cassidorius could swear to the Emperor that he had never seen anyone possess such clear-eyed anger—but what happened next truly left him speechless.

A golden light rose from the distant horizon—not the sun, absolutely not. It was still midnight; the sun couldn't possibly appear in the dark other half of Terra, defying all logic. Yet, a Radiance appeared.

The sky was bathed in its light, turning a pale white, and all the surrounding darkness vanished. Then Cassidorius saw—in fact, they all saw.

It.

Crouching in the darkness, its wet footprints were everywhere. The footprints had formed a circle, completely enveloping the area around the fire.

How long had it been circling them? How long had it been waiting hungry in the darkness? Had it been staring intently at them with its bright yellow eyes, waiting for its next chance to appear?

Cassidorius dared not think any further.

Merlin walked toward it, and it looked up at him, who was growing taller and taller.

"This is not the end," the monster said clearly. "You cannot kill me at this point, the Accursed. You cannot even remember this after tonight. You must forget all of this, or this future will not come to pass."

Merlin coldly raised his hand, and the radiance of the sky immediately descended, responding to his call, and a violent golden lightning bolt appeared in his hand.

He pierced its chest completely, and it turned to ashes with a scream.

Cassidorius knelt down.

He managed to utter half a word: "Emperor."

Merlin turned around, his face, no longer aged, still serene.

"I am not the person you know," he said. "I have not yet experienced the thousands of betrayals that followed, nor have I become disheartened and retreated into seclusion."

"But you--"

"--Rise, Cassidorius Ciunas!" A thunderous voice suddenly descended, two golden glints flashing in the man's eyes as he rebuked him mercilessly. "No need for kneeling, kneeling is useless! Piety and prayer will not help you in the slightest what you are doing!"

"He'll find out," Van Cleef said from the side. He stood up slowly, helmet tucked under his arm. "He'll learn it sooner or later."

"And what about you?" The man looked at him, his words still merciless. "Why have you made yourself into this foolish state? How much longer can you endure this torture?"

"That depends on how much longer I need to endure," Van Cleef replied nonchalantly. "As for you, have you seen Ciunas's memories?"

"Of course." He nodded sternly, his expression shifting once more, reverting to Merlin's appearance. "I know everything, but I will soon forget it all—you have questions for me, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," the First Company said softly. "I want to know, what exactly is that thing?"

"Don't you already have the answer?" the future monarch said, now an old man. "Could an ordinary Daemon have done what it has? It has been searching for your traces throughout endless history and the past; this is a hunt destined to last tens of thousands of years."

"It cannot be killed, cannot be driven away, cannot be sealed away until this hunt is over. You will need to kill it millions more times, Van Cleef."

"I'm very good at killing."

"Yes, that is true of you. I have seen your life. But it will evolve," the old man said sternly. "The longer you go, the stronger it becomes. The more you collect, the larger its form grows."

"The gem you are escorting will gradually become clearer, but it will also reappear again and again until it all comes to an end. It is a reflection, a mirror. Everything in the darkness has a completely opposite mirror image, even hope."

Cassidorius stared at them, listening to their conversation. He was still in a state of profound shock, unable to think clearly. Unlike Van Cleef, he came from an era where people had to be devout.

Now, the object of his faith stands before him; how can a devout believer remain calm?

He even began to doubt whether it was a dream or reality—I never actually left Terra, did I? I've been with that colonel the whole time, I'm fighting alongside the fallen heroes, I...

"You are already a hero," the old man said.

He crouched down without anyone noticing, and whispered to him in an unprecedentedly gentle tone. He placed his right hand on Cassidorius's shoulder, lightly and effortlessly, his white robe fluttering in the night breeze.

"Tens of thousands of years from now, people will sing your name, Cassidorius Ciunas," he said slowly, his face full of pity.

But Cassidorius saw more, at least in that instant, he saw more.

In those golden eyes, he saw the past and the future. He saw a scarred barbarian waving a torch to drive away monsters in the darkness, and a golden-armored giant burning himself on his Throne.

His armor was melting, his skin had long since turned into scalding blood, mingling with shimmering golden liquefied metal as it slowly fell to the ground like tears. The flames spared nothing, not even his bones; his teeth shattered one by one in the inferno.

However, he was not dead yet, and he still stubbornly sat on it.

He stared directly at Cassidorius.

"It is your reflection."

The Dying King spoke these words in the old man's eyes.

"It is all the suffering you are about to face, the ten thousand years you are about to traverse, everything you have poured out to try and save. It is you, Cassidorius Ciunas. There is only one way to kill it."

"My the Emperor," the last descendant murmured, his voice ringing out. "Our shield, our sword."

I beg you to hang in there.

The figure in the pupils whispered, panting, enduring torment. His voice began to tremble, and even his words became incoherent. He ignored Cassidorius's words, speaking only to himself.

It was as if he could no longer see.

"They tried everything to test me, to find out my final plan, to figure out how I would win. The answer is you, Cassidorius. It is you, and all the brilliant souls in human history. Humanity must win on its own. I cannot help, he cannot help, no one can do it, only humanity itself can."

He slowly, very slowly, began to laugh in the fire.

"Actually, I have two gems," he said. "One from the past, one from the present. I always like to have a backup plan, Cassidorius. We can use them to forge the future."

With a blink of his eyes, he vanished.

As dawn broke, the old man turned around without a word, hoisted the still-sleeping Arthur Pendragon onto his back, and whistled again.

The sound of hooves suddenly emerged from the woods behind them, and a gleaming white horse appeared, galloping towards them. The old man placed the young man on the horse's back, and then mounted himself.

He nodded to Cassidorius and Van Cleef as a farewell, without saying a word more.

The First Company called him back at that moment.

"I have one last question, sir."

"I'm not your adult." The old man looked at him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But ask, Van Cleef."

A smile suddenly appeared on the usually gloomy face of the First Company.

"That one—" He pointed to the young man. "—is he related to the other blond knight we know? Or did you refer to your own memories when you created him?"

The old man closed his eyes and pondered for a moment before slowly answering.

"They're not related, but I did refer to my own memories. Virtue can be Legacy, Van Cleef. Like courage, if one person musters courage, another will be inspired. United we stand, don't you think?"

Van Cleef remained silent, only bowing. When he rose, the white horse had vanished.

"Let's go." The First Company put on his helmet. "It's time to set off, it's dawn, Cassidorius."

The descendant stood up, his eyes glistening. He wiped his face, pulled up his hood, stomped out the fire, picked up two stones and weighed them down, then turned and left with Van Cleef.

Their figures were gradually obscured by the morning mist.