Interlude: Observations Aboard the Edge of Reason (II)

Out of habit, Haide began to take a deep breath.

Let's rewind twenty years and go back to the afternoon he first enlisted in the army.

Under the scorching sun, the recruiting officer shouted military discipline rules in their ears, while the veterans stood not far away with their arms crossed, sneering. They had just finished a weighted run, drenched in sweat, dizzy, thirsty, and hungry.

Haide couldn't remember how he managed to get through that night; he only remembered a boy standing next to him who kept repeating the same sentence.

Take a deep breath and stay calm.

For the next twenty years, that phrase stayed with him, and it still does now. He took two deep breaths and then regained his composure. Suddenly, the down-on-his-luck old sailor on the Banjo-1 disappeared, and someone else took his place.

Karyl looked at him, waiting for him to ask a question. But Haide didn't; he simply stood up from the sofa, his heels instinctively meeting for a moment.

He stood there, his posture upright, and even though he was dressed in tattered clothes, people would subconsciously assume he was a soldier—and that was indeed the case.

Haide took another deep breath, and as he exhaled the last breath, he slowly raised his right hand in a salute.

"I am not your superior," Karyl told him as gently as possible.

Haide didn't speak, but simply lowered his hand, awaiting further orders.

Karyl sighed and said, "Come with me."

They then left the small lounge and continued upwards.

The journey was not very kind to Haide's knees. Walking on land and walking on a warship are two completely different experiences. No matter how good a ship is, it is not immune to sudden shocks or turbulence, even if they are stationary in near-Earth orbit or in a dock.

Haide thought he had forgotten how to keep his balance on the boat, but he was wrong; he hadn't forgotten at all.

This instinctive reaction, ingrained by habit, surged from the depths of his being, not only making him walk quickly through corridors, whether crowded or wide, but also briefly making him disregard his own identity.

He was wrong again. It seems that ever since that war ended, he has consistently made the wrong choices.

In a daze, Haide even thought this was just another wait on the ship. Soon, he and his brothers would be taking a transport plane to the surface of some planet to carry out a mission.

They were the assault company, always at the forefront, always the first spearhead. Sometimes, even the Astartes couldn't keep up with their speed.

As he thought this, he actually encountered a group of Astartes. They wore black armor and knight's robes, their winged helmets held in their arms or hanging from their waists, and every face was ruthless.

Haide regained his composure, lowered his head, and stood aside, intending to wait for them to leave; however, they did not.

"Grown ups?"

Haide heard one of them speak, his voice even tinged with hesitation. He looked up and, sure enough, saw his mysterious employer communicating with the group of Dark Angels.

"Is there something you need, Azrael?"

"I'm just returning to my unit," the giant known as Azrael said dryly. "I didn't expect to meet you on the road, so I thought—"

"--Apologize?" his employer asked.

"Yes."

Haide heard a soft chuckle. He was a little confused. What was so funny?

The question arose, then was immediately dispelled, for he saw his employer pull a complete bomb from his pocket and hand it to the Dark Angels.

"There's no need to apologize; you just did what you were supposed to do. But, like I said, you'll need it—legally speaking, I'm working for the Inquisition now, and you fired at me. So, you'll have a lot of reports to write."

Haide heard a gasp.

". I see."

The Power Armour began humming again. Haide lowered his head, watching them leave out of the corner of his eye, feeling slightly relieved: his employers were indeed from the Inquisition.

After realizing this, many of the doubts that had been lingering in his mind finally dissipated, but he still needed to confirm one thing. So, just as they were about to turn the corner, Haide spoke up.

"Grown ups."

He sighed, but not impatiently— Haide saw his employer turn around, his tone still gentle. "What is it?"

Are you an Inquisitor?

His employer nodded, using the ambiguity that Inquisitor particularly favored, just as he had seen it years ago. "You could say that, Haide."

"Then I'll assume you are," Haide nodded. "So, you're actually cooperating with the Dark Angels? And you came to Banjo-1 for some kind of investigation mission?"

Karyl narrowed his eyes, then suddenly revealed a half-smile.

Haide understood his unspoken message, but he still firmly continued, "I understand that my problem could very well get me executed, but if that's what you're after, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Why?" Karyl asked softly.

Haide did not answer, but remained standing ramrod straight.

Karyl smiled and said, "Actually, I know nothing about 'that thing' you're talking about, Haide."

"The Imperium is vast and rigid, and so is the Inquisition. At this very moment, in the very few minutes of our conversation, how many Inquisitor are active throughout the galaxy? How many things do they handle each year—or, to put it another way—how many Inquisitor die each year?"

"I just happened to come to Banjo-1, not because I'm obsessed with something, as you might think, but since you brought it up..."

He paused for a moment and saw that Haide's face gradually tightened.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the door of a study. The door was wide open, and there were no guards. Inside the room were rows of huge bookshelves, some empty, some filled with books.

It's worth mentioning that these bookshelves are not very refined; their surfaces are mottled, their shapes are rough, and some parts are even unpolished, with visible burrs.

Haide was led inside, his steps cautious, while his employer strolled as if through a forest of bookshelves. It was so quiet that Haide could barely hear his own footsteps and his own breathing.

They walked until they reached the very end of the bookshelves, where they finally met someone.

Or rather, a giant.

Haide's mind suddenly went blank, and an urge to kneel arose from the bottom of his heart. If it weren't for those deep green, merciless eyes staring at him, making his whole body stiff, Haide would definitely have done so.

Those eyes quickly looked away, and their owner slowly stood up from a chair. His long, faded, pale gold hair was as loose as a beast's mane, and his thick beard almost covered the lower half of his face, but one could still glimpse his firm features.

And those eyes.

"The Throne is above," Haide cried out in his heart, following those eyes and seeing his own reflection in them—a trembling, sweating mortal, an insignificant speck of dust.

This speck of dust was facing one of the most esteemed people in the entire galaxy, a fact that made it feel suffocated, ashamed, and utterly humiliated.

He even felt an urge to cry, regretting that he hadn't dug out his treasured military uniform today.

Then, the giant called out his name.

"Haide," Lion El-Jonson said calmly. "I've been waiting for you."

"Wh-what?" Haide asked with difficulty and incoherently, as if he had lost the ability to speak.

In an instant, the old soldier's composure vanished completely. At this moment, he resembled any devout believer facing a deity, his chin trembling, his cheeks taut, and tears welling in his eyes.

Karyl looked away, unable to bear watching any longer. He understood; this was the power of faith. This was the result of a religion being promoted for ten thousand years.

He understands, he comprehends, but he finds it difficult to fully accept.

The Lion El'Jonson approached Haide and spoke slowly, "Perhaps you already know who I am, but out of courtesy, I must introduce myself—I am Lion Aljonson, one of the Primarch. I have been waiting for you, Corporal."

"Wait for me?"

"Haide asked hoarsely, even more shocked, as if he were about to faint," Karyl said, patting his shoulder and shaking his head reassuringly.

"Yes," the Lion El'Jonson nodded. "You may not know, but we have indeed seen him. Remember that strange old man in the Foolish Fisherman's Home? The one who wore only a robe even in the cold weather?"

"That person was me, but I used a little disguise. I apologize for that; I didn't mean to deceive you, I just had something to deal with at the time. Now, Corporal, let's talk about what you mentioned in the tavern."

He raised his left hand, turned his palm upside down, and pointed it at a chair like a sharp sword.

"Sit down, Corporal, and let's have a proper talk about who stole your honor."

Haide did as he was told, but he still couldn't quite believe it. Had he just detected a hint of anger in the Lion El'Jonson's voice? A Primarch, angry at him—at the fate of a speck of dust?

The corporal from the 23rd Company of the Third Company Regiment of the Doomsday Guard sat down in the chair with a stiff and awkward expression.

His employer stood to one side, leaning against the bookshelf, his expression calm, arms crossed, his right index finger tapping his left arm repeatedly. The Lion El'Jonson remained where he was, hands behind his back; Haide heard him taking deep breaths.

After a moment, the Lion El'Jonson spoke, asking with certainty, "You participated in the Battle of Sovet."

Haide quickly replied, "Yes, sir."

"Call me sir," said the Lion El'Jonson. "Now, I demand that you be completely honest with me, and I will be completely honest with you. Can you do that?"

"I can, sir. I swear to the Emperor."

"Very well, Corporal. Now, tell me, when the second battle group of the Hadilan Orks approached Soviet, what orders did your Third Company of the 77th Doomsday Guard Regiment receive?"

Haide took a deep breath.

Calm down, stay calm. The voice of the boy who had long since died gently soothed him. Take a deep breath, Haide, take a deep breath.

Haide took another deep breath, then spoke, "We only received the orders when they were about to land, and by then it was too late for any deployments or anything like that. To buy time, we were ordered to go to the landing site and fight them."

"Don't you have any complaints about this?"

"I am a member of the assault company, sir," Haide replied with unwavering resolve. "Every member of the assault company joins voluntarily. We are never afraid of death; we are always ready to face it."

"Very good, Corporal. How long did it take you to get there?"

"Thirty-nine minutes, sir, I remember it perfectly."

How did you get onto the battlefield?

"Airdrop."

"That's what Haide said," he said, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, a raw hatred emanating from his face.

"Time is of the essence. The battle situation doesn't allow us to build fortifications, and the Orks won't wait either. Therefore, we split into two groups: six assault companies stayed outside the landing site to dig trenches, while the other six assault companies were airdropped."

"We caught those Orks bastards completely off guard, sir. They didn't expect someone to be even more insane than them. At first, it went smoothly; we used flamethrowers right there in the jungle, and my company and I routed them."

"But everyone knows you can't win a battle against the Orks. We're not Astartes; we can't wipe them out."

"We were quickly surrounded, but we bought time for the rear. Our armored company has already set off; we just need to hold out a little longer until victory."

"But you didn't," the Lion El'Jonson said in a low voice. "Twelve companies, twelve thousand elite soldiers, and in the end, the casualty rate was as high as eighty-three percent."

Haide raised his head bitterly, glanced at the Lion El'Jonson, then quickly lowered it again, his voice growing increasingly hoarse. "We have no choice, sir."

"Those Orks always find a way to break through our defenses, and if we're not afraid to die, then they're courting death."

"We riddled them with grenades, roasted them with flamethrowers, used grenades, knives, even our teeth and fists. But they wouldn't back down, wouldn't run away. We really—"

"--I understand," said the Lion El'Jonson.

The anger hidden in his voice finally surfaced, and the immense, uncontrollable rage made Haide tremble. Even though he knew in his heart that it wasn't directed at him.

"I actually read the battle reports about the Battle of Sovet many times before you came. I wrote down every detail, and it matches exactly what you just said. However, there's still one thing I don't understand, Haide."

"Sir?"

The Lion El'Jonson lowered his hands, walked up to the corporal, stared into his eyes, and asked, word by word, "Who crossed your name off the list of survivors?"

Haide remained silent for a long time before finally uttering a single word.

"Inquisition."

Karyl's index finger, which was about to fall again, suddenly hovered in mid-air.