22. Judgment (Final, 7k)

"How many times has this happened, Asmodai?"

I heard the Lion El'Jonson ask this question. He stood in the center of the interrogation room, the dim light from above making the area around his eyes appear even darker.

I think he's probably very angry right now, but actually I'm pretty much the same.

I don't understand what kind of rules these young punks who are in charge are using, but in our time, infighting and private feuds are absolutely intolerable.

If someone harbors resentment towards another brother, they can settle the matter in the dueling arena, and their brothers and company commander will help resolve the conflict. However, this is already very rare; most of the time, we don't have any grudges against each other.

Pointing a gun at a fellow soldier in public, as just did, would be severely punished. But then again, I don't think that idiot who was disarmed by his own brother will realize his mistake.

Azrael and the Lion El'Jonson's reactions tell me that this is probably not the first time something like this has happened. And I know very well that someone who truly wants to repent will not repeat the same mistake.

"The fourth time."

Asmodai answered the Lion El'Jonson's question in a muffled voice.

I had a hard time controlling myself; I instinctively wanted to speak up and ask a question.

What's going on? I frowned, unable to understand how someone could remain in the legion after making the same mistake four times in a row. Have discipline and conduct no longer been valued? What about self-reflection?

Moreover, that fool didn't even look the Lion El'Jonson in the eye when answering his question. Whether out of guilt or cowardice, this was not the behavior of a knight.

"You just tried to kill him?" the Lion El'Jonson asked again, his expression calm.

He was asking a question he already knew the answer to.

Realizing this eased my tension somewhat. I didn't care whether he defended me or not; some rules had to be established. Within the legion, pointing a gun at another brother was unacceptable.

But Asmodai's next answer was hard for me to understand.

"Yes."

I heard that idiot say that, and he even looked up at me with naked hatred in his eyes.

I immediately turned to look at the Lion El'Jonson, and to be honest, I was very worried that he would draw his sword and kill this stupid and stubborn idiot on the spot. Although he didn't have a sword, that was definitely not a problem.

A few seconds later, the Lion El'Jonson put my worries to rest with another question, which was a good thing, but also a little puzzling—undoubtedly, this wasn't Lion Alderson's style.

I have to remind myself again that the Lion El'Jonson is no longer the same as I remember him; he has changed.

The most direct evidence of this is myself: if he were still as violent as before, how could I still be alive?

"So, does this mean you have a problem with my orders?"

"No," Asmodai replied softly.

Very well, you fool. Lower your voice to show your humility. That's how you should be before the Leader and the Primarch.

The Lion El'Jonson pressed on, "Then why did you draw your gun and point it at his forehead?"

This time, Asmodai chose to remain silent.

At first, I thought he was just thinking, but as the silence gradually deepened and finally reached the twentieth second, I could no longer control my anger— Your the Emperor, how could there be such a fool in this world?

In my rage, the Lion El'Jonson stepped forward and came before Asmodai.

I secretly hoped he would impose some kind of punishment; at least at first, that was what I was thinking. But when the Lion El'Jonson actually did it, I felt a chill run through me, as if even my blood had frozen.

In the center of the interrogation room, the Lion El'Jonson, in his fury, tore everything around him apart. His hair and beard bristled as he stared intently at Asmodai.

The immense pressure crept into every corner without us even realizing it, making it hard to breathe, as if someone had grabbed your lungs with an unseen hand and then squeezed them tightly.

In the slow, suffocating moment, I must admit one thing: I'm actually quite familiar with that expression on his face.

I saw him on Caliban, with the same expression, gripping the Lion Sword as he charged into our midst.

Back then, before I saw it, I spent time with the new recruits. I remember it was in a wooded area outside the city, a secluded but spacious place. I picked fifty of them and then taught them how to form a ceremonial formation.

This is a tiresome formality, but if they are to attend certain occasions with Lion El'Jonson someday, this etiquette will be necessary.

It was a great lesson; the students enjoyed learning, I enjoyed teaching, and everything went very well.

They envisioned the future, standing beside the Primarch in ceremonial armor adorned with medals. I, on the other hand, looked back on how I had followed the Lion El'Jonson on its journey to Terra and the Emperor's Dream.

Forty minutes later, fire began to fall from the sky.

We rushed into the city.

And then...

"I'm very disappointed in you, Asmodai."

I jerked my head up, and so did Azrael, who had remained calm throughout. Asmodai, on the other hand, looked flushed. No, that word doesn't do him justice, but I couldn't find a better one either.

He slumped his shoulders dejectedly, awaiting the Primarch's final fate—and not just him, we all wanted to know how the Lion El'Jonson would deal with him. Azrael, however, was filled with worry, while I was gloating.

"But you've also made me lose face."

"Your the Emperor!" I looked at my Primarch in shock, only to hear his increasingly deep voice.

"Every time you disobey me, I feel guilty, but this time it's especially bad. So, am I incompetent, my son?"

"I cannot make you understand our true mission, nor can I free your reason from the influence of hatred. I suppose that's probably it, otherwise things wouldn't have come to this."

Asmodai had remained silent until now, suddenly shouted, "No, Father!"

I was shocked again and looked at him.

Interestingly, we rarely refer to Lion El'Jonson as such. Few of us call him "father," because Lion El'Jonson doesn't seem like someone who should be called "father."

While he is indeed our Gene-Father, among the complex feelings that most members of the Legion have for him, the paternal element is certainly less significant than anything else. As for Asmodai calling out the word "father" with such genuine emotion, I simply cannot imagine it.

Furthermore, his voice trembled violently as he shouted, which I believe was not solely due to shame.

Some questions are stuck in my throat, but I can't say them because they are utterly absurd to me.

I pondered anxiously, trying to find the answer on my own. This attempt ended in failure, Lion El'Jonson roared again, interrupting my thoughts. In his deep voice, certain truths quietly flowed out.

"Twenty-two years ago, I followed the Fallen to Sakator, your homeland. I arrived too late, only to find a burning planet, while the murderer had already vanished."

"I ordered a forced landing, launched a full-scale attack, searched for the traitors, and protected the innocent. The entire operation lasted three days, and only 376 people survived; you were the only child among them."

"When I found you, you were barely clinging to life. Your parents shielded you with their own bodies, withstanding the weight of rubble hundreds of times their own. It was undoubtedly a miracle; you weren't meant to die, so I took you with me."

"Fifteen years ago, I told you the truth. I told you who the murderers were and why they did it. And you asked me if they had been punished. What did I say then, Asmodai?"

"You told me that it would happen, but retribution won't come knocking on their own."

"Yes." The Lion El'Jonson slowly nodded. "I promised you that you would have the opportunity for Vengeance. Have I broken my promise?"

"No."

Have I broken my promise?

"No, Father," Asmodai said through gritted teeth. "You trained me personally after that."

"Yes, you will have your chance for Vengeance —but look at this man." The Lion El'Jonson pointed at me. "You've read the files; do you believe he's the one who destroyed your homeland and killed your parents?"

I straightened my back to accept Asmodai's possible observation, a fire burning inside me that I wanted to vent. Maybe I would feel a little better if he looked at me with that hateful gaze again.

But after another long silence, I heard him say, "He is a Fallen, Father."

I almost sighed.

This idiot! His stubbornness rendered the Lion El'Jonson persuasion I've only ever witnessed twice in my life utterly futile. Doesn't he understand how precious such a thing is to happen to our Primarch?

I was at a loss for words, but the Lion El'Jonson laughed.

"Is that so? In that case—"

He turned to look at me, and I instinctively stood at attention, my steel boots clattering.

" --Zabriel, come here."

I walked towards him.

"This is Zabriel."

He put his hand on my shoulder, walked behind me, and began to introduce me to the two young men—mainly to Asmodai, but Azrael was listening attentively as well. He was, well, barely passable in terms of discipline.

"A former member of the Bone Angels, and one of the knights who emerged during the early days of Deathwing. He was already adorned with honors even before I rejoined the Legion. He and his brothers fought alongside the Emperor."

"After the events of Caliban, he was forced into exile for nearly four centuries, during which time he did not kill any innocent people. He could have easily gone to some wild world and become a god there, but he did not."

He stood firm on his principles.

"But yes, he's a Fallen. So what are you going to do, Asmodai? Are you going to kill him?"

Another long silence followed, and the fool still hadn't answered the question, and I was starting to get annoyed. The Lion El'Jonson had changed; he'd become Mercy and patient, but I wished he hadn't.

I believe he won't make an exception for Asmodai just because of the special bond between them, but what else can be said?

Perhaps in the eyes of a fool like Asmodai, all Fallen deserve to die. I admit, some of us do indeed think so, those who betrayed humanity.

But our lives belong to the Emperor and the Lion El'Jonson; only they can Judgment us.

Asmodai stared at me as if I were a heinous traitor, his gaze filled with hatred. But where did this hatred truly originate? Was it a sense of responsibility to uphold the Legion's honor? Absolutely not; his hatred stemmed solely from selfishness.

He blurred the lines between public and private matters, placing his personal hatred above the legion's. In my opinion, he was utterly unworthy of wearing that black armor.

The Lion El'Jonson ruthlessly shattered the silence.

"Think things through first, and you have clearly failed to do so, Asmodai. Therefore, I hereby strip you of your knighthood and you will become Zabriel's squire. You shall obey all his commands until he deems you worthy to be knighted again."

Asmodai's eyes widened, trembling. I could tell he was tightening his throat. I heard a faint hoarse sound, which pleased me—but, make him my servant?

I turned my head slightly and saw a sly smile.

Ah. So that's what you're planning.

"Will you obey?" the Lion El'Jonson asked again.

"I obey."

"Very well, dismissed. Go to the armory, remove your Power Armour and its insignia, then report to your company commander and tell him about your problem. I want to see you in your servants' robes by tonight. Azrael, you go with him."

The Lion El'Jonson gave the order and gestured for me to follow him. I took a deep breath and followed him out the gate, the two young boys close behind, their footsteps fading into the distance. One was fast, the other slow; the meaning was clear.

The Lion El'Jonson led me deeper into the corridor and stopped in front of a door. This door was different from mine; it was a peculiar iron-gray color and unusually heavy. I had never seen this alloy before; it must have been something new that was created after I went into exile.

But all things considered, my escape hasn't even lasted more than four centuries, so how come I'm suddenly living ten thousand years in the future?

"Zabriel," the Lion El'Jonson suddenly called to me, his tone tinged with humor. "Do you have any objections to my orders?"

"What are your orders, sir?" I replied without a shred of humor.

Do you think Asmodai is qualified to be your squire?

I wanted to sigh, but I held back. "If he really was trained by you personally, then he would definitely be qualified."

"Really? How does it compare to your former Chief Armaments Officer Ambro?"

"He's far from it," I said bluntly. "No one can compare to Ambro in this position."

I'm not kidding, that's really what I think. Ambro was one of the "new systems" introduced after the Lion El'Jonson returned to the Legion. At that time, I was no longer a Bone Angels, but a member of the Deathwing.

The Caliban began to join the Legion, bringing with them their proud traditions of the Order. We old Terra weren't really into it, but the Primarch's lineage still attracted us.

Within a few years, we were all knights, and knights naturally needed a large retinue to take care of their daily lives.

To be honest, I don't like having people serve me tea, water, and towels in my spare time. I'm not some useless nobleman who seems to have no hands or feet. Ambro is my only servant. Therefore, the title of Chief Armaments Officer is actually quite ridiculous.

I found myself uncontrollably lost in memories.

Ambro always does a great job; he keeps my armor spotless and coats all my weapons with conditioner. He's meticulous and always gives me the right advice.

On many occasions, his perspectives from a human point of view saved me from the predicament of being consumed by anger. He also performed admirably at banquets, with impeccable manners, and my glass was never empty.

Moreover, although he was my servant, he never looked down on himself. Behind all the honors I have achieved since the Lion El'Jonson returned to the Legion lies his Shadow.

I think he influenced me to some extent, making me a better person.

It sounds incredible—how could an Astartes be influenced by mortals? But that was the era of the Great Crusade, not this era of ignorance, fanaticism, and people like Asmodai.

Ambro is rational and proud; he believes in the Imperial Truth. He serves me because he believes he must find a way to serve the Emperor. So do I; we are on the same path, we both want to fight for humanity.

But that era is over, and Ambro is dead. He died on Caliban, like many of my brothers.

I didn't die; I don't know if that's lucky or unlucky.

The door suddenly opened, and a gust of cold wind rushed out. The frigid temperature immediately triggered the alarm on my old Power Armour's temperature monitoring system. This was unusual; I had assumed the function was broken.

I looked at the open door, trying to find out why it was so cold, but all I saw was a mortal standing there.

He was very tall, almost as tall as some of the lesser armed Servitor, but his height was clearly not the main reason for the drop in temperature, so my gaze passed over him.

Etc.

I looked away and stared at him again.

I remembered—I almost shouted his name. My voice echoed in the corridor, carrying a name that kept colliding and swirling, gradually dissipating into a hollow and distorted sound.

The mortal glanced at me curiously, acting as if he were a nobody, but I was absolutely certain I hadn't mistaken him for someone else.

He is Karyl Lohars.

But why has he become so much shorter?

"Have you finished your business?" he asked.

He wasn't asking me, of course.

"Pretty much, how about yours?" I heard the Lion El'Jonson reply, which made me even more certain of my guess. But how could someone... have shrunk?

"That's up to you," Karyl Lohars said with a smile. "However, for now, I have more than enough information—you can leave whenever you want."

He raised his right hand, his fingers taut, and waved it slightly. I suddenly felt a sharp pain before my eyes, and only then did I hear the sound of a sharp blade slicing through the air.

"There's no rush," the Lion El'Jonson said calmly. "We've investigated for so long, a little more waiting won't make a difference. Those who deserve to die will die eventually; they can't escape their retribution."

Karyl Lohars' expression suddenly turned somewhat strange. I didn't understand why, but I heard him say, "Perhaps it would be more appropriate for me to say that."

The Lion El'Jonson laughed and patted me on the shoulder, letting me leave. I was grateful he had freed me from that awkward situation, and it would have been even better if he hadn't chosen another, more troublesome command.

He told me to go to the outer deck and take the "old brothers" who had already passed the interrogation to find the current Dark Angels Chapter.

This is absolutely the most arduous job in the world. But I had no choice.

I left this place full of complaints, but with his blessings in my heart.

--

"The vast majority of them have already abandoned the Legion."

After Zabriel left, the Lion El'Jonson spoke these words. His voice was calm, but Karyl could hear the deep sorrow within it.

"I understand. After all, they've been constantly hunted. They had to evade capture at all times until that abominable Xenos took them away."

"When I Caliban, they were forced to fight me and my own brothers. Artillery fire rained down from the sky, followed by murder and war. There was no reason, only swords drawn. That was enough to drive anyone mad, not to mention the relentless pursuit that followed."

Lion Alderson closed his eyes, and Karyl heard him taking deep breaths.

"So? What are you trying to say?" Karyl asked softly.

"They were lucky, but also unlucky," the Lion El'Jonson said with his eyes closed. "They didn't die in the Caliban's civil war, and every second they lived after that cost them dearly, but what wrong did they do?"

"I haven't let any traitor escape, but I also don't want to wrong any loyalist. They deserve a second chance, don't they, Karyl?"

"This is your legion, Your Highness."

"Chapter," the Lion El'Jonson corrected, opening his eyes to glance at Karyl. "Are you mocking me?"

"No," Karyl smiled. "I don't think so."

He received a cold snort in return.

The Lion El'Jonson strode into the open door and closed it, while Karyl emerged from the darkness as if nothing had happened.

Unlike the interrogation room in Zabriel, the lighting here is so dim that it could damage the eyes, but this is not the most striking feature.

In the center of the room stood a metal chair welded to the floor. Its surface was an eerie dark red, as if it had been stained with blood many times. A giant stripped of his Power Armour sat on it, his hands and feet bound by chains.

He had multiple cuts all over his body, his flesh torn open, and the nerves connected to his bones were clearly visible.

The Lion El'Jonson stared at him coldly.

The man weakly raised his head, staring into the darkness with wide eyes like an ordinary person. He quickly caught sight of the Lion El'Jonson's imposing form, but then he suddenly let out a cold laugh.

"Ah, I thought someone else had come. You sent an Inquisitor, then an executioner, and now you've finally condescended to come see me in person?"

He contorted his face, swayed his body up and down, and nodded to the Lion El'Jonson as if in salute.

"Hello, Father! Where is the great Lion Aljonsen!" he roared. "It's been so long!"

The Lion El'Jonson calmly called out his name: "Indeed, Nadir, long time no see."

The Fallen named Nadir immediately began to curse.

"I hope you're burned to a crisp by the fires of hell! I curse you, Lion! You are utterly unworthy to be our Primarch! Not even to this bunch of worthless imposters!"

"Did you tell them about your exploits in Caliban? I hope you did, because there's a damn rule in Knight Medley: honesty! You'd better abide by it, my Primarch!"

He burst into laughter, the muscles around his slit throat twitching violently.

The Lion El'Jonson coldly crossed his arms. "I'm here to give you a chance, Nadir."

"I refuse to accept any of your terms!" Nadir roared. "You've already let that wizard torture me and search my brain, haven't you?! It's shameful! The Emperor issued a ban, yet you're still using psychic powers!"

The Lion El'Jonson's rage came so swiftly that in an instant he was before Nadir. It happened without warning; the wind howled, and he had already gripped Nadir's neck with his right hand.

"You are no longer worthy to call him the Emperor," the Lion El'Jonson whispered with disgust. "There is no place for a traitor like you among those he protects. You betrayed humanity, you betrayed him, you betrayed me, you betrayed the Legion."

"I really want to know, what's left in your heart? What's still there in your two hearts that you truly cherish and are willing to believe in? Hmm?"

Nadir let out a strained, grotesque laugh, Lion El'Jonson loosened its grip slightly to allow him to breathe and speak. He received a series of gasps for breath mixed with bits of flesh and blood, and incessant coughing.

"No matter what you say, I am your son. The bond of blood, Father, you cannot escape."

"No longer," the Lion El'Jonson said softly. "The moment you massacred the governor's mansion on Salatir and took his place, you ceased to be my offspring. You were nothing but scum who indiscriminately slaughtered innocents to satisfy his own selfish desires."

Nadir slightly raised his head, looked at his Gene-Father, and asked his final question.

"So, who has brought me to this state?"

The Lion El'Jonson clenched its right hand.

Amidst the whispers of the shadows, Karyl calmly spoke, interjecting into the murder. "He's connected to that so-called Thousand Eyes Warband."

"In what aspect?" the Lion El'Jonson asked without turning his head.

"Let them help each other. He provides them with mortal servants, as well as supplies such as experimental subjects and fuel, in exchange for the services of the Thousand Eyes."

"Serve?"

Karyl hummed in agreement, then said calmly, "Creatures modified with Warp magic, or some one-time Psyker. In short, they're inextricably linked to Chaos."

"Thousand Eyes."

The Lion El'Jonson turned around with a low growl, an emotion all too familiar to Karyl stirring in its eyes. It sighed and asked, "So, we set off immediately?"

". No."

Karyl looked at him in surprise.

"I have other things to do."

The Lion El'Jonson offered a somber explanation, then paused before making a very strange request. "Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, on the twentieth deck. Remember to wear your Eighth Legion uniform; I've already had it delivered to your room."

He walked to the door, opened it, and the light and soft sounds from the corridor quietly entered. That's how Karyl heard his last words.

"I ask you to be my witness," the Lion El'Jonson said solemnly.