Judgment (III: The State of the Imperium, and Running into Asmodai Upon Leaving)

I sat there, waiting, silently counting my own heartbeats, feeling stiff all over. The reconstructive surgery, training, and meditation had given me the ability to control my heart rate, but now it seemed to have lost its power.

So I tried a different approach to distract myself—I fastened my helmet to the knee brace on my right knee and then rubbed my forehead with my fingers.

This is an ancient custom, originating from the past. In the past, we needed to be fully armed to attend certain ceremonial occasions, and at times we even had to remove our helmets to sit down.

Most of my older brothers from the same generation had this habit, but I think that probably no one does it anymore.

Twenty-six minutes later, the Lion El'Jonson returned, alone, without any help, with only three Servo-skull floating behind him. They were clearly specially modified; I couldn't discern the technology, but the extra, fake mechanical tentacles were quite obvious.

The skulls, supported by their powerful tentacles, carried three books so thick they could be used as armor plates, following closely behind the Lion El'Jonson. They had deep red covers, and a golden Aquila shone in the center.

They were placed on the table in front of me with a loud thud, as if someone had thrown three iron ingots at me. After doing this, they flew away without any respect, the only commendable thing being that they didn't forget to close the door.

Unfortunately, it wasn't until this moment that I remembered I should have stood up.

I hadn't been in a situation that required etiquette for so long that I had long forgotten my former instincts. But my Primarch didn't mind. He raised his hand, pressed me to the spot, and then opened the first book.

The pages rustled, the weight of the cover carrying the thin first page as it slowly turned; his tone remained calm.

"Come find me after you finish reading and leave."

"Is my interrogation over?"

"It depends," he said, and for some reason, I felt he was smiling. "Anyway, I need to leave for a while. You're not the only one I need to interrogate."

I immediately stood up, wanting to ask him something. But he nodded slightly at me, silently confirming my guess, and turned to leave.

The gates closed, and I took another deep breath. The wonderful days I spent in the Legion flashed before my eyes again, and it took me several minutes to regain my composure, thinking, "I am no longer alone."

I turned my gaze to the book that had already been opened. The paper it was made of was a kind I had never seen before. The surface was slightly yellowish and looked very smooth at first glance, but in fact it had many irregular particles.

I'm a bit confused because this kind of paper is clearly not suitable for compiling books. At least not in my time.

It took me about seventeen minutes to read the first four hundred pages of this book. For us, that's hardly fast, but I simply can't go fast.

Every line in these four hundred pages has impacted and prompted me to think, albeit to varying degrees. But upon closer examination, these four hundred pages are merely about one thing, or rather, one organization—a very large organization.

Ecclesiarchy.

I couldn't help but fall into deep thought.

I am not actually unfamiliar with it. During my years in exile, I had already learned of its existence, but I still couldn't help feeling anger and disgust.

Seeing an evil entity we once defeated brazenly return, how can anyone willingly swallow this insult?

People regarded the Emperor as a god, worshipped him, venerated him, burned incense, chanted scriptures, prayed, and offered sacrifices for him. Most of the people I met called him the God-Emperor, and they were extremely fanatical about it. The Imperial Truth seemed to have vanished from people's consciousness all at once, without a trace.

But I have never actually seen the true face of this vast religion, so I must admit that those four hundred pages were somewhat helpful.

The author recorded the creeds, doctrines, powers, and various departments of the Ecclesiarchy in a relatively calm tone. From this, I learned that the Ecclesiarchy did not only worship the Emperor and their sons, but also included men and women who were canonized as saints.

The vast majority of them were posthumously honored, for their merits or integrity.

I can understand the former, such as the Living Saint mentioned specifically in the book, Sister Celeste Hera.

In 699. M33, she single-handedly protected 130 wounded soldiers of the Third Company, 432nd Cadian Shock Troops within the Hive City Kabian, repelling Chaos Daemons that attacked their rear positions.

In the subsequent investigation, more than one wounded soldier claimed that they witnessed Sister Hera "growing wings and an aura" during the battle.

Regardless of the origins of the wings and halo, if this nun is truly so valiant, then it is only right that she be bestowed with a title.

But was she granted a title because of her purity?

Forgive me—this is utterly absurd.

Moreover, such people are not few in number. The book mentions that the Ecclesiarchy currently has 121 Living Saint on record, of whom 12 were named Living Saint because of their purity.

According to the official definition of the Ecclesiarchy, these people are innocent, pure, and uncorrupted by any form of Chaos.

They are vigilant in the face of enemies and Mercy towards the people. They are compassionate, selfless and generous, humble yet powerful, incredibly brave when wielding a sword, and charitable in their daily lives.

However, those twelve absolutely pure Living Saint were all underage male children. How could they possibly wield swords and repel the enemy?

If that's not ridiculous enough, then look at the timing of their investiture: the first instance appeared six centuries ago, and it continued until the beginning of this century.

This really made me furious.

I think religion is still the same as always, using the guise of righteousness to do all sorts of despicable things. However, the section on the Ecclesiarchy is four hundred pages long, while the section on Living Saint only takes up less than twenty pages.

Just like the number of pages it occupies, the Ecclesiarchy itself is a massive organization, most likely the largest religion ever created by humankind, and its good and bad aspects are bound to coexist.

The story of Sister Hera and the twelve innocent boys are two vivid examples, occupying opposite ends of the scale. After that, every piece of information I learned added weight to each side of the scale.

For example, there are healing churches that provide free aid to the poor and dedicate themselves to the path of salvation, or Devotion assassins who specifically target those deemed "enemies of faith" by the church's leadership.

These contradictory and opposing elements thus accumulated continuously within the Ecclesiarchy.

I saw Sisters of Battle, chaplains accompanying the army, and jihadist soldiers with one blood-stained holy flag after another.

But I also saw assassins wielding immense power yet only obeying the so-called bishops, the rigidly mandated weekly services, and the intricate power struggles within the Ecclesiarchy.

The author of this book focuses on describing the path to advancement within the Ecclesiarchy.

Generally speaking, members of the Ecclesiarchy either come from the Loyal Heirs Academy or join voluntarily. The former need to have their potential discovered and nurtured from a young age, while the latter need to pass an examination and purification ritual. Only those confirmed to possess devout faith are allowed to join the Ecclesiarchy.

After being taught some basic scripture, women would enter Adepta Sororitas and visit various different orders and monasteries. Upon reaching adulthood, they would choose one to join. The ways of serving the Emperor were varied, ranging from compassionate to ruthless.

Men would start with apprenticeship titles such as acolytes. They could choose to become missionaries, traveling the galaxy to spread the doctrines of the Ecclesiarchy and convert barbarians in unbelieved wilderness. Alternatively, they could be assigned to different planets to serve as priests, dedicating their lives to the local communities.

Others chose to become military chaplains or members of jihadist corps, confronting humanity's enemies in a more direct way.

I must admit one thing—ordinary people seem to have found a new strength to sustain their spirits, and it works; I see this depicted in many films.

The power of the Daemon can be weakened by the Purity Seal and various amulets representing faith. Prayers and blessings from the accompanying chaplain before battle can enhance the effectiveness of weapons against Daemon. The blood of the holy warriors can frighten Daemon, and the remains of the devout can be burned and mixed with water to create potent holy water.

If it weren't truly effective, I don't think these things would have been recorded so solemnly, nor would the Lion El'Jonson have brought me the book that records them.

However, realizing this had a certain ripple effect on me.

We have encountered many so-called deities in the past, a large portion of whom were Psyker. Their followers were extremely steadfast in their faith because they had truly witnessed inexplicable events.

But psychic powers are not unfamiliar to the Imperium, so why are the followers of the Ecclesiarchy so steadfast?

A terrifying suspicion slowly began to form in my mind, and just thinking about it sent chills down my spine. I had no choice but to continue reading the book, hoping that more information would dilute this horrifying imagination of getting to the bottom of things.

However, what I saw after four hundred pages shocked me even more; I couldn't understand terms like "Terra Broken" and "Fortress Wall."

And the damn Space Marine Chapter.

What is Chapter? Is it a force of a thousand people? A sub-warband? Scattered across the galaxy?

Roboute Guilliman

I closed the book, put on my helmet, and walked out of the interrogation room. The Lion El'Jonson told me to finish reading the book before coming to him, but I couldn't obey. I had to find him and get to the bottom of this. Only then would my brain allow me to do anything else.

I must have been furious, otherwise that young punk standing to the left of the interrogation room door wouldn't have immediately drawn his gun and pointed it at me.

He was fully armed, wearing a sophisticated Power Armour over a garment that didn't quite resemble a knight's cloak. He pointed a plasma gun directly at my forehead, and I could faintly hear a strange creaking sound coming from under his helmet.

He could shoot at any moment, and I was unarmed.

I looked at him, knowing that words could easily ignite a conflict in this situation—I didn't know why, but this so-called Dark Angels's nerves were clearly stretched to their limit.

I reiterate, he could shoot at any moment.

If it weren't for another voice coming from behind me, I think he really would have shot.

"Asmodai, put down your damn weapon!"

I heard a low growl and felt a gust of wind at the same time.

I looked down, a black blur flashed across my vision, followed by the heavy clanging of metal. When I looked up again, another Dark Angels had already subdued the boy called Asmodai.

"Are you crazy?!" he roared. "Do you want to be sent back to boot camp again?!"

"He's a traitor!"

I heard Asmodai's defiant roar, a name that infuriated me, but there was nothing wrong with him calling me that.

I am a Fallen, whether I want to or not, I am. What happened on Caliban tore a Great Maw between the legions, and I am the one who fell into it.

Whether he is a traitor or not is for the Lion El'Jonson to decide.

"Screw you, Azrael! Give me the gun!"

They began to fight, right before my eyes.

A few seconds later, the young man called Azrael knocked Asmodai to the ground with a vicious hook punch, followed by a kick that stunned him for a while, and took all of Asmody's weapons during those precious few seconds.

Asmodai seemed unwilling to accept this outcome; he roared as he stood up and tried to charge at me again.

I must admit, when I saw this, I sneered behind my helmet.

An ignorant and foolish person.

I could see hatred in his eyes, a hatred that couldn't be easily explained. He hated me, or rather, he hated one of my brothers.

I don't know who it was, but that person must have done something terrible to him to make his hatred so intense, even extending to me. I understand these things, but I still intend to teach him a lesson.

The reason is simple, and it's not even for my own sake. He disobeyed the Lion El'Jonson's command, and therefore he must be punished.

"Stop, Asmodai!"

Azrael roared angrily, and I saw him buckle his legs, trying to run. He probably wanted to stand in front of me and stop Asmodai, but he was no match for that foolish brat.

So I steadied myself, clenched my right fist, and prepared to teach that idiot a lesson. That's what I thought, and that's what I did. When he charged at me, I raised my fist, intending to break his nose, but I failed.

A hand gripped mine tightly, followed by a muffled thud. The attacker, whom I should have knocked down, suddenly collapsed to the ground.

I looked up and saw the Lion El'Jonson's expressionless face.

I tried to explain.

"No, no need," my Primarch said. "I can hear what's going on here from halfway down the corridor, and even if I couldn't hear it, I could guess. Stand up, Asmodai."

"He's a traitor, sir!"

"Whether he's a traitor or not is for me to decide," the Lion El'Jonson said coldly. "Now stand up."

He pointed to the room I had come from, then looked at me.

I took a deep breath, he patted my shoulder, and strode inside first.