23: Absolution (I)

Looking in the mirror, Karyl buttoned the last button of his military uniform, feeling a strange sense of urgency.

His standard dress uniform came in only two colors: black and the midnight blue distinctive of the Eighth Legion. Gold rank insignia should have been worn on his shoulders, but strictly speaking, he didn't have any, so the gold was replaced with black metal.

There are many other details like this, where the dress fades into a somber hue, such as the triumphal insignia at the collar or the personal honor mark at the hem. Combined with his perpetually expressionless face, he appears nothing but gloom and solemnity.

Staring at the mirror, Karyl shook his head—it still wasn't suitable.

He rarely wore formal attire, nor did he wear ceremonial armor. Besides, neither of these things prioritized comfort. And if he really needed to attend an occasion that required formality, no formal attire or ceremonial armor could compare to his original suit of armor.

But now he had no choice but to wear it. After all, it was the Lion El'Jonson's command; who dared disobey?

The person in the mirror smiled slightly at the strange joke, then reached out and picked up the medal on his chest, examining it closely.

They were certainly not the genuine articles he once owned, but they were very similar. Their design was meticulous, and the materials used were of the highest quality. If we really want to be specific, there is probably only one problem: after the era of the Great Crusade ended, they were no longer issued.

It was the Lion El'Jonson who commissioned the creation of these medals based on his own memories. It's unclear what the craftsman in charge was thinking, following the Primarch's orders to produce counterfeit medals.

By any measure, this is hardly a good job.

"He's really meticulous," a voice murmured from his Shadow, tinged with mockery. "He only saw you in formal attire once, and he's already memorized the design of all these medals. How amusing."

Karyl lowered his hands, letting the medals clink together. He stepped back, picked up his military cap and put it on, then put on his ceremonial white gloves, and began to examine himself, wondering if there was anything improper about his appearance.

At that moment, the voice from the Shadow rang out again.

Are you planning to pretend I don't exist?

"No, Konrad Curze, I was just thinking about something."

"Don't even think about it, your memory's fine." Shadow mocked mercilessly. "You've never worn a medal, nor a dress uniform."

"So--?"

Shadow burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Do I need to remind you? Eighteen years, Father! It's amazing that you could still approve official documents in that state. Do you really enjoy your work that much?"

Karyl sighed as if he had expected this, ignoring his sarcasm, and quietly changed the subject.

"So, when do you plan to let them know you exist?"

"Don't rush, Father. The longer this drags on, the more fun it will be, don't you think?"

"It's a terrible thing to have fun with your own brother, Konrad Curze."

"Yes, brothers—and I'll be very careful," Shadow replied meekly, but the smile in his eyes was impossible to hide.

Karyl shook his head helplessly, turned and walked out of his room. His boots hit the ground, creating a soft, comfortable vibration. Everything seemed normal, even comfortable, yet he couldn't help feeling a strange unease.

The metallic clang of medals, the tightness of the cinched waist of the coat, the clinking of boots against shinbones.

However, he possessed an exceptionally keen sense of perception, and all these sensations blended together at an indescribable speed, making his gait extremely stiff.

No matter how excellent the suit was, he felt as if he were bound. Even if he were to wear tons of steel, it wouldn't compare to the feeling he was experiencing.

"Relax, you'll get used to it eventually," the Shadow whispered. "No matter how much you resist, Father, just get used to it."

Karyl frowned and stopped to make way for two Chapter servants who were walking towards him. They were carrying a huge machine and walked past with heavy steps, and could only express their thanks with their eyes.

What does + mean?

The implication is that I believe you'll be wearing this dress many more times in the future, Karyl. So, your days of avoiding speeches and eye contact with that bone mask are over!

"."

Karyl ignored him and walked silently toward an elevator.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the twentieth deck of the Edge of Reason in the normal manner and, guided smoothly, reached the entrance of a grand hall. Two seemingly unmodified Servitor pushed open the heavy stone door, which was twenty meters high, allowing him to enter.

However, upon entering, what first caught Karyl's attention was not the black-armored giants conversing with each other, but rather the emptiness of the hall.

There is no decoration here, not even a single painting, let alone gold or silver. The stone pillars supporting the ceiling have extremely rough surfaces, completely unpolished raw stones.

The only thing worth mentioning here is a stone chair, wide and rough, directly connected to the ground and steps. It is located inside the main hall, blurred by the stone pillars and burning torches, like a huge beast hiding in the forest.

And it was indeed a wild beast.

Ah, have you noticed, Karyl? You see, there's a reason Lion Aljonson is my brother.

Karyl did not answer, but glanced at the stone chair without making a sound, then looked away, pretending that he did not know that there was a person standing behind the chair with his eyes closed in meditation.

A giant in black armor walked towards him. The armor was still worn, but a rather unassuming longsword was now at his waist.

He wasn't wearing a helmet, so Karyl recognized him very easily— Zabriel, the Terra- born Dark Angels, a member of the Deathwing.

That's interesting, because Deathwing still exists, Karyl is curious to see how they'll view this suddenly appearing "old friend"—will they protest vehemently, or accept it reluctantly?

Zabriel stopped a meter away from him and then performed the Aquila Salute. He didn't seem very familiar with it, but the gesture he made when he crossed his hands was indeed that of Aquila.

Karyl raised his head to return the salute, only to find a figure standing not far behind Zabriel, an Astartes with a livid face who seemed out of place among the others.

Zabriel noticed his gaze and immediately began to explain, though in a very strange tone. "That's my, uh, servant, his name is Asmodai. Anyway, it's a pleasure to see you again, sir. My name is Zabriel."

Karyl suppressed a laugh and nodded calmly. "Me too, Knight Zabriel. But a squire? I doubt he did it willingly."

The old Dark Angels's expression instantly fell. He gestured in response to Karyl's words, then fell silent. He had roughly prepared for the conversation and had some ideas in mind, but now his plans were disrupted.

Karyl could tell from his conflicted expression that he had many questions, so he directly resolved the problem for Zabriel.

"Are you all here?" he asked, initiating the conversation.

Zabriel quickly turned and looked back before answering, "I think so, sir."

Silence returned.

Karyl sighed and spoke again, "Is there anyone you know?"

Zabriel gave a wry smile that couldn't be clearer.

"I know them all, but I can only really call myself close to a handful. I'm not sure if they're as excited about it as I am; we've all been through too much, and being relentlessly hunted isn't exactly a pleasant experience."

Are you ready?

Zabriel pondered for a few seconds, his expression becoming somewhat blank. He shook his head and said, "No, I don't think we can have anything. We're not even sure why the Lion El'Jonson is summoning us here."

"He built this place with stones from Caliban, but to tell you the truth, sir, we don't have a good impression of Caliban anymore."

+Ha. You lousy chess player, Lion.+

Karyl lowered his head as if in thought, trying to hide his helplessness—though Konrad Curze's sarcastic remarks still echoed in his ears, he was right; the Lion El'Jonson had indeed done something difficult to judge.

He gathered those who had survived his sword, but offered no reason. It was easy to see with a little thought that no more bloodshed would occur, but why not be honest?

He can't do Karyl. Lion and his legion are unlike us; creating secrets and keeping secrets have become second nature to them. And they love this nature.

+You seem a little too active today, Konrad Curze.+

Karyl gave a nonchalant assessment and looked at Zabriel again, who was still waiting for his reply.

This troubled him somewhat, and he even had a faint urge to say something casually to get by—fortunately, he didn't need to, because a figure had already slowly walked out from behind the stone bench.

He wore only a long robe, the dark winged swords of the Dark Angels faintly visible at the cuffs. His long hair was tied up, and his thick beard was clearly well-groomed.

At this moment, he appeared completely harmless, like a country lord who had decided to withdraw from political struggles and was admiring a painting in his own manor.

Of course, this is just an illusion; if you gaze into those eyes, you'll know who he really is.

The conversation in the hall suddenly stopped.

+Father.+

I beg you, Konrad Curze, if you're really looking forward to this event, please come and attend yourself.

No, I just wanted to ask you, if you think my attempt to make fun of Lion and Russ is despicable, then isn't what Lion is doing right now also despicable? Aren't you going to teach him a lesson, great educator? Don't be so biased.

Karyl's eyes twitched as he looked away.