Observations from the Era of the 42nd Chapter (III)

"I think Jago Sevatarion has finally gone mad. 👍☺ 🌷★"

--Excerpt from a speech given by Roboute Guilliman, the Primarch, at a postwar conference.

Karyl looked at the words and silently swiped his finger. The blood had finally stopped seeping through the bandage, but he still had some difficulties to deal with, such as the issue of biosignals.

This latest technological marvel could not detect his biological signals, as if it were not being held by a living person, but rather stuffed into the stiff, dirt-covered fingers of a corpse.

If Karyl hadn't painstakingly retrieved his access key from the depths of his memory, he wouldn't even have been able to use it.

With a swipe of his finger, a brand new page appeared. He quickly scanned the large amount of text, mostly battle reports and data overviews. Karyl quickly flipped through it and found the full version of this sentence at the end.

Since the Hunter left, he had read many reports. Most of the document types were very detailed, while the Dataslate was a different experience altogether, becoming very fragmented, and sometimes requiring multiple searches to read an entire battle report.

Sevatar seems to really enjoy making these meaningless excerpts on the Dataslate. He often places quotes from other people on the unlockable side of the Dataslate, even if it consumes more battery power, just to keep these quotes displayed in the center of the screen.

However, Karyl had to admit that those words were very appealing to him.

He frowned as he looked at the line of text that belonged to Roboute Guilliman.

"Based on the battle reports, I think Jago Sevatarion has finally gone mad, and that's probably a good thing for him."

"For ten thousand years, we have fought alongside the Night Lords. We know how much they have sacrificed, just as they know how much blood and tears we have buried. But what I really want to say is that none of this has been fair to him."

"We have the right to die generously, he doesn't. We can sacrifice ourselves in crucial moments, he can't. We can briefly go mad, letting the hatred deep in our blood lead us to slaughter the enemies of humanity, but he still can't."

"He had no right to escape, not even the right to face death with his head held high like a warrior. He had to be cold and inhuman at all times, so as not to betray his Gene-Father."

"Therefore, Company Commander Cyrus, I hope you will forgive his breach of orders for now. In any case, in the end, he managed to get the enemy to retreat."

Karyl frowned, scrolled up again, and located a certain passage.

[Recorder: Abeks Buff, Witness: HS-207 Tech-Priest]

[Lord Sevatar left his fortress, number twenty-seven, at some point. Based on the surveillance footage and the biometric lock data at the gate, I am certain the time should be 127:45:47 on the war timer.]

[Given their renowned stealth capabilities within the Imperium, I don't believe it was carelessness; he deliberately let us discover him. Meanwhile, the Night Lords stationed with him inside the fortress failed to follow.]

[Therefore, I have concluded, and used, in my testimony that Lord Jago Sevatarion deliberately left and had informed his brothers in advance.]

Karyl scrolled down again and finally saw the speech by Company Commander Celeres.

"I understand, Primarch."

Is that all? Such a brief reply in just one line?

Karyl raised an eyebrow and saw a small blue light symbol at the end of the text. He clicked it with his index finger, and the page changed again, revealing a whole new row of text.

The writer did not sign their name, but judging from the pronouns and description, who else could it be but Sevatar?

Celeres Proximir doesn't understand why I left the safety of the fortress and the position alone; he'll never know the reason. And I will pray for him, so that he never has to know.

Knowing too much is a painful punishment for anyone, especially for me.

[For many years, I have been able to sense every fluctuation of psionic or Chaos energy in the air, and thus the torment caused by this punishment began to increase exponentially.]

My talent cries out, bound within my body, unable to be released. I understand its torment, but I will not let it wreak havoc. However, only on rare occasions does its remaining spark of activity offer me some assistance.

[For example, this time, although in the aftermath meeting I was jointly requested by the Ultramarines to operate alongside them in future joint operations, as Roboute Guilliman said, I ordered them to retreat. And that was enough.]

How did I do it? The answer is simple: the wind.

[A scream, and something else, was hidden in the wind. I could tell whose scream it was, just as they knew.]

[The woman watched helplessly as her family was murdered; her husband and daughter were stabbed and lifted up by the same cruel hand, their flesh and blood flying everywhere. Everything she had vanished in that instant, leaving only her pain.]

[The Daemon feed on humans—souls, pain, joy. They want everything. But we are different; we only want one thing. She personally handed that thing to me, though she doesn't know it yet, which makes it impossible for me to wait any longer.]

[Twenty minutes remain until the final assault set by the Ultramarines, but Vengeance waits for no one. Her prayers went unanswered, but the gods would, at least the one I knew would.]

[So He sent me, and they retreated.]

The price I paid was a 25-year-long slumber.

[Without the mask, I would probably have already ascended to demonhood. I understand what it can offer, but I'm more curious about what it takes to possess it. And now, I sit before my sarcophagus, writing this battle report.]

[In the years I slept, Erebus reappeared near us. He still seemed to have a great interest in the remains of Macragge. I heard that Roboute Guilliman had slain the pathetic body of Lorgar Aurelian, but failed to capture Erebus, instead allowing him to take a wisp of Macragge's ashes.]

[This matter makes me uneasy. That bastard never speaks without a purpose; everything he does has its own motive. And if he simply wanted to curse the Ultramarines the way he cursed us, why not choose the blood of Calth, which is more representative in mysticism? That world has been bleeding for ten thousand years. I must inform the Five Hundred Worlds Lords of this.]

The text ended there. Karyl pondered for a moment, then put down the Dataslate in his hand.

A thick stack of documents had already piled up at his feet, stone slabs and papers mixed together, forming a fortress of words that buried him deep within. Dataslate were scattered outside them, forming the supporting pillars of this fortress.

Their dark gray surfaces were mostly stained with bright red blood, just like most documents. Karyl hoped he would have the energy to clean the bloodstains with his psionic powers later, but before that, he had another matter to attend to.

He should have done it the moment he got his hands on the book, but he deliberately waited. Perhaps he wanted to wait for someone to stop him, whoever it was.

But no one came.

He reached out again and picked up the book.

It felt heavy in his hand; as his fingers touched it, the sensation was like touching a glacier. Karyl expressionlessly drew the rusty blade and gripped it tightly.

The smell of rust was stronger than that of ordinary rusted swords; it was more like dark bloodstains than rust itself. How many people had wielded this knife, using it to kill, to Vengeance? Had anyone ever used it to perform acts of salvation?

The pages began to move on their own without any wind, and black flames ignited between the words, reflected in the depths of Karyl's eyes, eagerly beginning to boil. It cooked the entrails, scalded the flesh, and tormented conscience and reason.

Karyl gritted his teeth and, overcome by an overwhelming urge to kill, forcefully picked up the book. The pages rustled wildly, making a constant, incessant sound, until it finally stopped a long, long time later.

At that moment, Karyl had already slashed open his right palm with the knife. No blood flowed out, only black sand gushed out from the crack.

It is not blood, at least not human blood.

The trembling of the book suddenly subsided, the pages closed, and a dark light emerged from between each page. Countless vengeful spirits wailed as they burst forth from Karyl's wounds, soon filling the entire room.

He stared at them expressionlessly, then slowly nodded after five seconds. Faint chanting rose from the mouths of the wronged spirits, only to vanish the next second.

The moonlight shining in his Shadow carried all these souls to where they belonged—the graveyard or the wasteland, the City of the Dead or the Bone Temple; there was always one that suited them.

Then, a perfectly clear complaint suddenly rang out from the Shadow; it wasn't a psionic voice, but Konrad Curze Curze's own voice.

Are you serious, Father?

I must apologize to him in person.

Karyl looked down at his Shadow, his expression a mixture of stiffness and helplessness, as if he hadn't expected to be caught.

He said softly, "The key and the door complement each other. Whatever sins Ahzek Ahriman committed against his Legion and Primarch, he had nothing to be ashamed of in his heart for humanity and the Imperium. I am different; I have wronged him."

The Night Haunter sighed helplessly in the Shadow.

"Do you really think he'll accept it? You gave him a chance to atone, and he's been grateful for it for ten thousand years, practically worshipping you and our the Emperor like gods—and now you go up to him and say you want to apologize."

"And, Father, how are you going to explain this to Sai when he comes looking for you later?"

"They can communicate with the Space Wolves, just like they did ten thousand years ago."

"Alright, since you've made up your mind. But do you really understand what price you'll have to pay?"

Karyl didn't speak, he just nodded. Curze, however, could clearly sense his thoughts. The Night Haunter was stunned, then couldn't help but chuckle.

Of course, the smile wasn't exactly pleasant. His next words could even be described as a shout through gritted teeth.

"You've already accepted that we're using your fragments of humanity as a transportation hub? You've even started using them yourself? Well, as expected, the original owner has higher authority; you've even figured out the teleportation spell."

"Ha, in that case, don't ramble on about my name when you lose your temper, Father."

Karyl remained silent.

He knew perfectly well that this was utterly irrational and insane. His reason was screaming and begging him not to do it, but his mind was no longer capable of holding onto reason.

Those moral principles that flowed naturally, at this moment, had become a heavy shackle.

It was divided into three sections.

One section, shrouded in darkness, bound a grotesque monster; another was looped around his own neck; and the last section was held in his own hand.

The chains, covered in thorns, had already caused him to bleed profusely, but this was nothing compared to the suffering he had endured.

Nothing could shake him anymore—not death, not torture, not even God. In this respect, his arrogance was no less than it had been ten thousand years ago.

The Night Haunter sighed softly, finally accepting the fact that Karyl Lohars was now deeply mired in madness.

"Go and come back soon," he said. "Don't linger too long; there's more than just wolves on Fenris."

The moonlight faded, and raging flames surged, forming a pitch-black gate.

With bones as the base, obsidian-like material forms the surface of the door, upon which incomprehensible characters twist and embrace, like lovers entangled in a volcanic eruption, or like sworn enemies rushing towards their nemesis in their final moments.

Karyl looked at the door, but instead of pushing it open, he began to bend down and remove the bandages.

Bloodstained medical bandages fell off in circles, still clinging to incompletely healed skin and torn flesh. His breathing was heavy and labored, and beneath his pale face, something inhuman stirred within him.

The spirit of the Nightfall roared from within its steel, and all the readings began to rise sharply. The sailors clutched their heads, shouting the names of the Emperor and the Omnissiah, and hurriedly ran to find their superiors.

Even Sevatar, who was still receiving "recuperation" from the Librarian in the infirmary, inevitably opened his eyes and looked at the office with a look of astonishment.

What happened?!

He used his psychic powers to inquire about the Nightfall, but only received a piercing scream.

At the same time, the office door was pushed open again, and the Hunter walked in gracefully. A gust of wind howled from the darkness behind him, making Karyl's black robes flutter loudly.

"Fenris?" the Hunter called out in the wind. "Are you going to Fenris, Instructor?"

The mangled skull turned its head, and the black glass beads embedded in its eye sockets trembled slightly on its statue-like, unmoved face.

He nodded slightly.

"Alright." The Hunter sighed and walked behind him. Five seconds later, Karyl reached out and pushed open the door, and they stepped inside.

Meanwhile, a bard telling a story by a campfire somewhere in the Fenris wilderness looked up at the sky, where two day stars were hurtling in through the pale, blizzard-swept horizon.