14 Soviet's Past (Final, Piercing Truth, 9k)

The moment I saw him, I knew who he was. It wasn't intuition; it was simply because I'd seen him so many times.

However, the Haide I remember was a middle-aged man with a terrified expression, lying on the dirty and blood-stained battlefield, surrounded by the corpses of his comrades. The sky he saw was blood red, Phosphex flames were burning the entire jungle, the rising smoke soon turning into poisonous fog.

He gripped his gun tightly, his hands bulging with veins and his fingers turning white.

This is my deepest memory of him, because although his hands were trembling, they were still ready to fire at any moment. From that moment on, I knew that he was braver than I was.

Now he stands before me, his beard white and his hair disheveled. His face bears the marks of a life of hardship, and the wrinkles born of excessive aging have covered and obscured the scars left from his service, making those scars of honor difficult to discern.

He wanted to stand up straight, but his trembling legs prevented him from doing so. There was an expression on his face that was unfamiliar to me—a mixture of aggrieved anger.

That feeling almost broke me, because I realized something was wrong. The details? The procedure? Or someone's unintentional mistake?

I can fire without blinking at a group of civilians who have been driven to me and are timidly waving farm tools to scare them away, but I can't look Haide in the eye at this moment.

I gripped Serano's hand tightly; her bones creaked softly. She returned the grip with the same intensity, and I glanced at her, noticing her taut jaw trembling.

Haide approached us, but he refused to sit down. The blinding light shining on his head made him blink repeatedly, so the Primarch waved his hand with a rather firm gesture, and the light dimmed at that moment.

His imposing figure disappeared into the darkness; I could only make out a blurry, massive silhouette that took my breath away. And the owner of that silhouette reached out and gently patted the old corporal on the shoulder.

"Sit down, Haide. You must do everything you can to hold out until the Judgment is over."

"Yes, sir," the old corporal replied hoarsely.

He addressed the Lion El'Jonson as "commander," which was undoubtedly an overstepping of bounds. But I believe that nothing that happened in that room was entirely unfounded.

After twelve years of working for the Inquisition, something I had learned began to take hold in my mind, and I realized that it was impossible for the old corporal himself to offer to address the Lion El'Jonson as "sir." Therefore, it must have been the Primarch's own request.

This is a form of implicit protection.

I looked at the old corporal, at his tired eyes, and in that instant, many things came to mind. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I refused to do so.

The only person who can speak on our behalf is my hostess; I have no right to cross that line. Moreover, I am already aware of where these problems originate.

Look at Soviet, twenty years ago, who became a living hell. He wasn't the only one trapped in that sea of fire.

I, and Serano van der Leyef, were among them.

Human lifespan is short, so our memory function is not very good. We can only remember a small portion of the most important things, and some of these things will always have a profound impact on us.

I have seen good people driven mad, and I have seen death row inmates weeping and repenting on the execution ground, yet refusing Redemption. And now, I am watching a person buried by our mistakes in silence.

These things made a part of me scream incessantly, urging me to ask him questions and to correct my mistakes.

Did I tell you how much I hate this job?

"What is it?" the old corporal asked.

He threw the question out the door, and I knew what he meant, but I wasn't sure if my hostess would reveal the truth.

Twelve years have passed. She hasn't revealed a single word of these things, not even to me. The only people in this world who probably know the truth are her and the Sigillites —the latter being the secret itself. And my mistress...

She maintained the confidentiality agreement very well.

She values her work above all else.

"It depends on how you define it."

However, after a period of silence, I heard her reply like this.

Very good, Serano van der Leyef, a good start.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and never before had I been so grateful for her simple and straightforward personality, even though she was sometimes too straightforward and preferred to solve problems in a violent—I mean, the simplest—way.

"Go ahead and speak," the old corporal said, his face looking almost numb.

The anger had subsided, fading into the depths of his heart, where I could still see some remnants, though not very clear. I tried to glean some insight from his eyes, but I failed miserably.

There was nothing in Haide's eyes, I think, probably because he was afraid of getting an answer.

Over the past twenty years, how many times has he thought about this question? Has he, like me, suddenly woke up in bed, enveloped in cold sweat and fear, then shut his mouth and stopped screaming?

I slowed my breathing and waited for the answer with him.

"Logically, I have no right to reveal the truth behind the Soviet incident to anyone, but..."

My mistress took a deep breath, suddenly softened her tone, and threw out a question that left me completely baffled.

"Is he here?"

The silhouette in the darkness nodded calmly.

Who? Who are they talking about?

"I knew it," Serano muttered to himself. "That pendant—I knew it would be like this, I could sense it, if that's the case."

She took another deep breath, and her dagger-like shoulders suddenly slumped, as if she had personally pulled away the force that had been supporting her withered and frail body.

My mistress was still sitting there, but I knew in my heart that she was gone—at least the part I knew, the part as the Inquisitor, was gone.

What remained was a pitiful woman, tormented to the limit by some supernatural force.

For the first time, she took my hand and held it tightly.

I was flattered, but also furious—why didn't you do this sooner?

"Daemon," Serano murmured the word. "Anyone who sees it for the first time would simply and directly categorize it as Daemon; it perfectly fits our definition of Daemon."

"First, it is a supernatural entity, an existence that violates logic, reason, and every law of physics; it should not exist in the material world. Second, the power that sustains its activities in the human world originates from the Warp. Finally, it carries a certain intense emotion and is driven by that emotion."

She paused for a few seconds, as if deliberately giving us time to process what she had to say. But the truth was not so; she paused simply because she was thinking, and the three people in the room did not need any time to process what she had to say.

Haide only wanted to know the truth as soon as possible, no matter what the truth was, twenty years was enough time for anyone to become paranoid.

I already knew these definitions; working in the Inquisition gave me ample opportunity to learn things I shouldn't have known.

As for the Lion El'Jonson, I believe he has killed every Daemon I've ever seen in the "Daemon Compendium".

But it is not Daemon.

My mistress let out a long sigh, very sad and desolate, as if questioning—how could it not be Daemon? How could it not be?

But the truth is, it is not Daemon.

I felt a brief moment of joy that my guess had finally been confirmed, but it was only for a fleeting instant. Soon, I found myself facing the same question as her.

How could it not be?

"Daemon feed on souls; the emotions they crave are essentially nothing more than appendages of the soul."

"The Warp is a mirror, within which our own reflection churns and churns. Therefore, if we set aside those extreme emotions, the Daemon are indeed our reflection."

"What they do is exactly what we would do; their wicked and blasphemous pursuits can always be found in the mortal world in the exact opposite, and a million times better, examples. In other words, we are constantly struggling with ourselves, Corporal."

"The instinctive fear that arises when people see Daemon stems from this; we fear our worst selves, we don't even want to look at them. But it is not our reflection, it doesn't crave the soul, it doesn't worship any kind of madness, it is simply..."

My mistress stopped speaking and began to sob. I looked anxiously at the corporal and the Lion El'Jonson, hoping they would give her some time to calm down.

To be honest, the shock I felt from seeing Serano van der Leyef weeping was probably greater than the shock of learning that the Lion El'Jonson was there.

I never imagined she would cry in my entire life.

Even in my weakest and most unrealistic fantasies—the fantasies of dying like a hero—I didn't think she would weep for me. I thought she would at most close my eyes, or take my badge, and then go on a killing spree.

And she's crying now.

This made me think more deeply about what she had just said. She couldn't finish; the most important part was stuck in her throat, but what she did say was already thought-provoking enough.

I recalled the Daemon I had witnessed, the fear I felt, the goosebumps on my arms, and the hairs standing on end.

I realized she was right, at least partly right, that our fear of those Daemon wasn't entirely physiological. Even the most well-trained elite soldiers would be gripped by fear the moment they saw them, even if only for a fleeting instant.

But the Astartes will not.

No matter what kind of enemy they face, they can launch an immediate attack. They have undergone modification surgery, thus eliminating many of the physiological and psychological defects inherent in humans, which gives them an advantage. One of these, I believe, is immunity to most fears.

I don't believe they're truly fearless, but they certainly aren't afraid of Daemon. I'm thrilled by the possibility hidden behind this idea—why wouldn't they be afraid?

Because the Emperor, it must be so. The Emperor has extended a helping hand to us, as always.

My thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"What is it?" someone asked.

Wait, who's asking the question? There are only four people in this room, who's speaking?

With this question in mind, I looked around. But the darkness seemed to have become very thick, and dim light streamed down from above. I could only make out Haide's face and the outline of the Lion El'Jonson; beyond that, I could see nothing.

Immediately afterwards, I felt short of breath as the air became thinner. The pain and the chill were indescribable.

I scanned the darkness again, my muscles tensing instinctively. This time, I focused all my attention on observing, but still found nothing.

Could it be auditory hallucinations caused by my own hallucinations? Has some old injury flared up? Am I still sane? These questions made me anxious and uneasy until a hand suddenly landed on my shoulder.

"Please continue, Inquisitor Delreif," a voice said behind me, soft and almost a whisper.

I was gripped by fear, and I even wanted to scream—I swear to you, I almost actually did, along with the past twelve years.

But the hand that was tightly clasped mine held me back at that moment; it didn't abandon me, and neither did she. She firmly pulled me back from the abyss of fear, and then I heard her voice.

His speech was as clear as ever, but it carried a reverence I had never heard before.

"Yes, sir."

Who is it, sir? That's the question that instinctively comes to mind—instinct, damn it, sometimes it controls our bodies to react before we even realize it, doesn't it?

That's how I felt at that moment; my instincts made me turn my head away before I could fully regain my senses.

In the darkness, I saw a pale man. He was dressed like a commoner, his coat costing no more than eighty common coins, but he was unusually pale.

No, perhaps it shouldn't be called pale; it's an inhuman, deathly white. Even the Sons of the Void couldn't possibly have such an abnormal skin color.

I should have gotten more useful information, but I stopped there, stunned. His eyes were the only answer.

His eyes

"Don't look, Mr. Sable," the man suddenly said to me, his voice still gentle.

He frowned, as if annoyed by something. But I didn't detect any emotion in his tone that should have made me wary; it remained calm.

He knew who I was, and why? Had he seen the information? I stiffly turned away, trying to put these questions out of my mind, and, as he had said, didn't look at him again.

But those eyes still flicker before my eyes.

I heard him sigh, "Alright, then please calm down."

Keep what--

Countless distorted images suddenly rushed in, regardless of whether I wanted to or not; they flooded into my mind, and just like that, I was forced to see many things that I could not understand at all.

Let me tell you one: Legion warfare. Have you ever seen it? No, I'm not talking about the legions of guards, but the legions from a much earlier era.

How ancient? Ten thousand years ago.

The thirtieth millennium.

The glorious Great Crusade, the glorious age of courage. In that era, the term "legion" was used to refer to only one thing eighty percent of the time: the Legiones Astartes.

Now you know what I'm talking about, and this is just the most mundane part of it all.

My brain was about to explode from all that stuff. In a daze, I could almost hear the brain cells that helped me think screaming. They kept telling me to stop watching, or they would die.

I wanted to answer that I couldn't, but I couldn't even answer those questions. When I came to my senses, I found myself in a place I knew very well.

I knelt in the mud, muttering to myself. The fire raged, scorching the sky, and I was surrounded by dead bodies.

A hand pulled me up.

I turned my head.

Do you know who I saw?

"Lental."

The silver-haired young man who helped me up called out my name and patted my shoulder gently, as if I were his friend. He leaned on a long cane, and the renowned Aquila's Fire was still burning brightly—pure gold, gold that brings light.

My nose tingled, and tears welled up as I witnessed this the Emperor miracle once more. The last time I saw him, this same staff stood before me, and the Aquila poised to take flight still shone brightly.

The Sigillites gently patted my back. "Don't cry, child, the suffering you had to endure as my chosen one is over."

What do you mean? I looked at him in shock, almost with fear.

"Do you remember our last meeting?" he asked me. I nodded quickly—of course I remembered, how could I forget?

However, if I were to go into the details, it would be too complicated. I will try to use simpler language to describe it.

Before I passed my training, stood in a row with other armed guards in a large hall of the Inquisition, and was chosen by Serano van der Leyef, the Sigillites had seen me once.

Do you remember the permission I mentioned from the Sigillites?

Yes, just as you might imagine, I was actually serving as her armed bodyguard as a spy monitoring Serano van der Leyef.

The entire selection process was meticulously planned. I don't know how many men and women worked behind the scenes to achieve this result, but in any case, they succeeded without a doubt.

They selected me from among the suitable candidates in the Sol System and placed my information on the Sigillites's desk.

The Sigillites agreed to the plan, and my information, after going through several transfers, arrived at Serano van der Leyef's desk along with the names of others.

She took a liking to me at first sight. I guess the description must have detailed my strengths and weaknesses, which is why she would choose me.

Which Inquisitor refuse an armed guard with beast-like strength, instincts, combat skills, and Inquisition training? No one, especially one with top grades.

I'm not bragging.

In short, getting back to the main point, why did the Sigillites do this? I think you've already guessed the answer, because of that thing sealed within Serano van der Leyef.

I don't know what it is, that's for sure. All I know is that I'm going to help my mistress in some way.

But it's highly valued, isn't it? Otherwise, the Sigillites and his spies wouldn't have needed to go to such lengths, nor would they have needed to secretly summon me.

On the night before the selection day began, I was led by the Silent Guards through a secret passage into a grotto located beneath the Inquisition.

There, I was immersed in a cold pool. The Sigillites appeared just as I was about to freeze to death and gave me a new task.

My life changed drastically from that day on, and I never thought about becoming a bounty hunter again.

"I remember, sir," I told the Sigillites loudly, puffing out my chest. "I have never forgotten."

"The mission I gave you back then kept you up all night for twelve years. I apologize for that."

The Sigillites looked down at me. He was very tall, and behind his young face lay the wisdom and weariness of all the Sigillites over the past hundred centuries. His eyes were so deep that I couldn't even see my own reflection in them.

His words filled me with dread, and I immediately wanted to refute them, but the Sigillites did not give me the chance; he continued speaking.

"You've lived in nightmares for twelve years, sharing Serano van der Leyef's fears and pulling her out of those nightmares time and time again, which is why she's been able to endure until today."

"You have accomplished your mission admirably, Lental, and therefore you deserve a reward. First, I will enlighten you."

He raised his long staff and pointed into the distance. I looked in the direction he pointed and saw once again the being with countless wailing faces. But this time, it was not yet formed, and was surrounded by the corpses of countless Doomsday Guards.

I shouldn't have been at this distance, taking in every single detail, but I did anyway.

And this is just the beginning.

"Have you studied probability, Lental?" the Sigillites asked me.

"I haven't studied it systematically, but I know what it is."

"That's enough." The Sigillites nodded to me, the pressure light but enough to reassure me. "What we're about to discuss is born from probability. From that perspective, you could call it an accident."

An unexpected turn of events? I was stunned. I hadn't expected to hear such an explanation, but the Sigillites continued, his voice reaching deep into my heart.

"Of all the words in the world, only this one can perfectly express its essence: it is an accident, Lental, nothing more. But why is it so special?"

The Sigillites raised his staff once more, and in an instant, the world transformed. The corpses, the mud, and the blood all vanished, and the blood-red sky that had been troubling me disappeared as well, replaced by a multitude of stars, endless, distorted stars that resembled living beings from hell.

They couldn't see me, but I was still trembling with fear.

"This is the Warp," the Sigillites murmured indifferently. "However, I won't mention the lowly names of those evil gods; since the dawn of Lental, they have coveted our souls."

"While primitive people huddled together for warmth in dark caves, waiting fearfully for dawn, they were lurking nearby."

"They were there when colonists carrying muskets and hunting knives crossed the sea to the New World, and lit campfires at night to tan buffalo hides. They were there even at the end of the world."

"They were, are, and will always be, but don't think they are really gods."

Of course I wouldn't think that way; they are false gods.

"--No, that's still wrong. They don't even qualify as that. They're as lowly as parasites." The Sigillites said this in a tone I never expected him to use.

He sounded icy cold, yet filled with hatred. It was a deep, visceral hatred, and at that moment...

I don't know what happened, maybe it was because I was standing next to him. Anyway, I briefly experienced what was hidden behind this emotion.

Without thinking, this conclusion barged into my mind on its own, and it told me that the Sigillites harbored such hatred not simply because they were evil.

Part of his hatred stemmed from personal emotions.

I was terrified.

"Your feeling is correct," the Sigillites said calmly to me. "They took everything from me; they made me witness my people turn into dust, beasts, and monsters. Therefore, I hate them, and I wish them all to die."

"Sir?" I called out to him, my mind blank.

"What is it, Lental?"

I couldn't speak. I tried, but I just couldn't say a word.

The Sigillites glanced at me and continued, "They have never loosened their grip on human souls. Every minute, every second, regardless of loyalty to the Imperium, humans are dying. Where do you think their souls go?"

"Return to the Emperor's throne," I said.

I guess my tone must have been numb at the time, otherwise the Sigillites wouldn't have suddenly smiled.

He shook his head and said, "No, only a small number of people can. As for the majority—"

He raised his scepter again, pointing to the stars that seemed to be suffering from cancer. He didn't say the answer aloud, but I already knew.

At that moment, I was in despair.

So this is the truth? Even if we fight to the death, we can't possibly continue to serve the Emperor or enjoy a peaceful rest after death? Evil gods lurk, Daemon wait hungry. Sooner or later, countless people will fall into their sharp teeth and suffer torment.

These thoughts overwhelmed me to the point of breathlessness, and I even wanted to kneel down, but I didn't.

Do you remember what I said? Humans can only rely on themselves.

In an absurd and cruel way, my heretical idea was proven correct: the Emperor may be powerful, but he is far from powerful enough to protect the soul of every human being. He has reached his limit; so where does our limit lie?

I must prove to him that I have not yet reached my limit, that I still have the strength to persevere.

I took a deep breath and barely managed to calm myself down—I was just talking nonsense. Actually, I don't even know where I am anymore. Fortunately, the Sigillites is still by my side.

"Throughout history, the souls of every dead person have been devoured by those parasites," he whispered to me. "They've been watching us closely, never letting their guard down. But, statistically speaking, we still have a glimmer of hope."

"No matter how powerful or greedy they are, they will always have a moment of distraction. It won't be long—it might not be a long time in the real world—but that moment will definitely exist."

"Admittedly, mathematics cannot be applied to them, but in the material world, in those places not yet invaded by the Warp, mathematics is the only truth."

"You calculate where the shell will land, and it will land there, unless it's intercepted en route. But I'm telling you, Lental, we've calculated where that shell is going to land; it exploded twenty years ago."

I stared intently at him, waiting for what he would say next. Was my mind still blank? I didn't know. I just watched him and waited for the final verdict. Like Haide twenty years ago, huddled on the position waiting for the shells to explode and the bombardment to end.

"The being sealed within Serano van der Leyef was untouched by any deity. It was a pure manifestation of a human soul in the material world, with no deity providing support behind it."

"The Doomsday Guard were unwilling to die like this; they wanted to continue fighting. They were the ones who gave birth to it. In this respect, it represents the indomitable spirit of humanity."

The bombing began, and then continued; I felt dizzy.

"It is humanity's rebellion," the Sigillites said quietly. "One day, it will become our sword."

I gasped for breath, then knelt down. The world spun, and familiar things slowly returned to me. The Sigillites was still standing in front of me, staring at me, but I always felt that he wasn't really looking at me.

I turned around and saw the pale man; he was smiling.

Was he standing behind me the whole time? Probably, but it doesn't matter anymore.

I think I know who he is.

"That's great," he said.

--

"How long have you been preparing for this plan?" Karyl asked.

There was no sun in the sky, but the light was still dazzling. The earth was dry, but not cracked, and although it was covered with dust, it did not show much signs of decay. The horizon was flat and without any undulations.

The plain has dried up, but something is still active underground, full of life.

"I can't tell you," Malcador said.

They stood side by side under a large tree, sheltered from the scorching heat. This tree might be called the heart of the wasteland, but what kind of tree was it? Even the most learned botanist would probably find it difficult to define.

All we know is that its trunk was formed from some kind of pure glass. It was once built from piles of illusory sand, then scorched by flames, and finally became what it is today.

"Why?" Karyl asked in surprise. "Am I not high enough level?"

Malcador glared at him, then swung his long staff up and down with a thud.

"No, you're far too high-ranking, but I simply don't want to tell you, you idle and meddlesome person."

"Don't be like that, old friend, I'm genuinely curious about this."

Upon hearing this, Malcador sneered, "Why don't you wonder who has shaped Haide's circumstances over the years, and who has been secretly orchestrating your journey, guiding you to Banjo-1?"

Karyl's smile faded with a sigh, and he asked softly, "Is it you?"

"It was me," Malcador said, his face expressionless. "Only I have the ability to do this, and you have no suspicion of me."

Karyl sighed, and said carefully, "So, you're using him as bait?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Karyl asked sincerely.

"Because I have to make sure everything is perfect," Malcador said. "You can't know all this, and you had to come here."

He turned his head and gazed at the distant horizon, where there was nothing.

"I don't understand," Karyl said softly.

Malcador turned to look at him. He stared at him for a long, long time before slowly speaking.

"Of course you don't understand, you've missed too much, Karyl. For example, you don't know how many people have died for this plan over the past ten thousand years, and you don't know how many people we've burned just to get the calculations."

"Tzeentch scratched his head, trying to find out the truth behind the curtain. He investigated many times, and got different results each time. He can't see what we're doing, and for that I thank you; you've made him incredibly weak."

He paused, met Karyl's gaze, then raised his hand and plunged his long staff deep into the earth, before opening his arms.

"If you intend to Judgment me, then do it now," the Sigillites said coldly. "I once wanted to be like you, someone who would stand up against even the smallest injustice, but in the end, I became someone else."

"I condoned sacrifice, guided people to die, turning them into numbers filling paper. It's a pity that, ten thousand years later, I've disappointed you so greatly."

"I'm not disappointed," Karyl said. "I'm just sad, for you, for him, for Haide, for everyone."

He approached Malcador, shook his hand, and then embraced him, like old friends reunited. A slight Sigillites finally appeared on the man's hardened face, and his lips trembled.

On the distant horizon, a third person slowly appeared. He walked slowly, but each step was steady. His face was dark and muscular, and he wore a straw hat.

He walked to the tree and met with them, talking until it was almost dark before they left. The light had faded, but the tree still stood. In the darkness, under the terrifying night sky, countless faint Radiance shimmered quietly within it.

When will the next daylight arrive?