24. Absolution (II, 8k)

No one could have predicted it.

I mean, who would have thought? Who could have watched him emerge from behind that shabby, ridiculous stone Throne, dressed like a retired rich man? And all this happened a full ten minutes after we'd already arrived?

I feel ashamed of myself.

I should have noticed, shouldn't I?

I am a superhuman, although I never claim to be one, and even find the idea a bit ridiculous, but it is true.

I am a superman. I possess perception dozens of times greater than that of ordinary people. I can hear the faintest hum of a gun as someone pulls its trigger, so I should have known he was standing behind that stone Throne.

I should have known.

It should have been.

It's ridiculous; the phrase "should have" sounds so full of regret. "I should have improved," "I should have been faster," "I should have achieved more honors."

Such statements leave me exhausted; these clichés are nothing more than self-comfort, lies themselves.

Repeat them ten thousand times, and then I will get another sentence.

What happened in Caliban should never have happened.

Is it possible? Of course not, some things are destined to happen. The Caliban were destined to rebel, just as the Lion El'Jonson's existence was destined to remain undetected.

He was the most formidable beast in the world; he could hide anywhere undetected if he so desired. I'm not saying he was as adept at concealment as Konrad Curze Curze or Corius Corax; the Lion El'Jonson simply had patience.

Any apex predator is very patient when hunting, concealing its sharp teeth and claws, waiting for the right moment.

I looked up at him, unsure if this was the right moment.

His unfathomable, deep green eyes sent shivers down my spine.

"Relax, Zabriel," another person said.

I didn't look back at him; I didn't want to, at least not now. His eyes were as cold as a barren wasteland, and I could only see my own reflection in them, a reflection I had refused to look in for many years.

I know I'm getting old, but I don't have a definite feeling about it. What's it like to live for nearly four hundred years? Some people might call it longevity or immortality, but for me personally, it's not immortality; it's just slowly turning into a specimen.

You are trembling.

The man continued speaking, his usually calm tone now tinged with obvious concern.

I am grateful to him, but I also inevitably feel pain—can't he see that I just want to wallow in my own world right now?

Perhaps he could tell, but he just didn't want me to do it.

But why?

I turned to look at him, wanting to confront him, or at least throw out a question like, "Why do you have to interrogate me like this?"

But in the end, I didn't say anything. Ultimately, he did these things out of good intentions, while I...

I think I'm just afraid.

The Lion El'Jonson did this once before, appearing silently before us. He did something similar, you understand? He chopped us into pieces, his black armor smeared with blood.

He is killing, killing us, and we just stand there like lambs. I've seen sheep in Caliban, good livestock that eat stones, produce milk, wool, and meat, all of which are good for the common people, and even making it easy to be killed.

They didn't even make a sound when the farmer approached them with a knife.

We didn't scream; we just died.

I ran away. I think I was already running when I came to my senses, and a lot of people were with me.

We hijacked a ship, a destroyer, I think. After that, my memories are hazy; most of the images are disjointed, jumpy, and fragmented.

One moment I'm on the bridge of that ship, arguing with people about where to go next; the next I'm wandering alone in the desert, with no one around. But most of it is just a nightmare. I've never told anyone about it, but now there's probably no need to hide it anymore.

In the end, it's just me here.

Yes, I have nightmares. In my dreams, there is a burning Caliban, Lion El'Jonson wielding a sword, scattered pieces of corpses, and his bloodstained green eyes.

This dream tormented me for a very long time; I couldn't meditate, couldn't close my eyes, and couldn't even stay quiet.

I shouldn't be so fragile, but the things in my nightmares were what I believed in all my life, what I fought for for many years. And they were overturned, in an instant, without me even knowing why.

So please forgive me.

"Knight of Zabriel," he called again. "Do not succumb."

There was a hint of warning in his voice, subtle, but I could hear it. I looked down at him, wanting to know his exact reaction, but his face remained expressionless.

I looked at him, and after a moment, he raised his right hand and extended it towards me, his palm naturally curved. I recognized this gesture; it came from my hometown of Terra —he intended to shake my hand.

I almost laughed, because handshakes are usually used when meeting or parting, and his usage was incorrect.

But is that really what he meant?

I looked into his eyes, into the cold, desolate wilderness itself.

I took his hand.

"Thank you, sir," I said softly, secretly hoping my voice wouldn't tremble.

He seemed not to hear me and continued talking to himself, "Keep going, knight."

I hope I can do as he wishes.

A voice came from afar.

"You've all come," said the Lion El'Jonson, his voice slow and authoritative, as always.

We stared intently at him, the room silent, the torches burning quietly along the edge of the stone pillar. The air grew heavy, not yet unbearable, but slowly approaching our limit.

I saw at least a dozen people hesitatingly twisting their fingers, as if they wanted to put their hands on their weapons.

I hope they continue.

I don't know which broken part of my body this thought comes from, but I do hope they pull out their weapons—or at least show some stance, right?

"If anyone wishes to draw their sword, do so quickly," the Lion El'Jonson continued. "I allow you to speak to me with your swords drawn."

I heard many swords being drawn.

"Very good, honesty, one of the virtues of a knight. Now you have weapons in your hands, while I do not. I think the conversation can now officially begin."

Suddenly, someone shouted, "What does that mean?"

The Lion El'Jonson looked at him. "What?"

"You're saying we have weapons and you don't—"

The man squeezed through the crowd; he had a pale face, his hair tied back in a short braid, and he was almost drenched in sweat. I remember him, Zark, an exile like myself.

"--What does this mean, Primarch?"

His tone was aggressive.

The Lion El'Jonson looked at him calmly, then began to answer, "That means I allow you to draw your swords against me."

After those words were spoken, we remained silent for a long time.

I felt a tightness in my throat, an unusual thirst engulfed me, dry mouth was just the most basic symptom, followed by dizziness, speechlessness and a series of terrible guesses that made my brain swell and ache.

What exactly did he mean?

"Any other questions, Zakir?" the Lion El'Jonson asked. "If not, I'd like to get to the point as soon as possible."

Zakir fell silent, gripping his sword sullenly, and retreated back into the jungle clad in black armor, reverting to being one with it. The Lion El'Jonson nodded, wanting to continue the conversation.

He had already opened his mouth, the words stuck in his throat, waiting. However, by sheer coincidence, a voice rang out at almost the same moment.

I recognized the speaker; it was Sergeant Afka, my mentor. He trained me and about twenty others when I first joined the legion.

But he looks much younger than me now, and his long black hair still hangs loosely over his shoulders as before. He used to laugh a lot and like to joke, but now he looks very serious.

He was also one of those who wielded a sword.

"What's the real topic, Great Lion El'Jonson? To kill us again?"

The Lion El'Jonson glanced at him and shook his head. "No, if I were to do that, you would all be executed immediately."

"Yes—ah." Afka drawled out, a slightly sarcastic laugh.

"You just sent a mortal to read some nonsense, like church prayers, and then you threw us out of the interrogation room and had Zabriel take us to see that so-called Chapter Master."

"To be honest, Primarch, I really don't understand what you want. I didn't understand it ten thousand years ago, and I still don't understand it now. Perhaps I'm just slow-witted or stupid, but aren't you really going to explain?"

The Lion El'Jonson ignored his audacious taunts and calmly repeated, "I said, if I wanted to kill you, I would execute you immediately."

"Then why don't you do that?" Afka raised his voice, pressing further. "Why don't you just kill us outright? Why go through all this trouble if you really want to? Do you want to kill us, Father?"

He remained aggressive, but I could see a well-hidden pain on his face.

We had a conversation yesterday, and he said he couldn't believe he was on the Lion El'Jonson's ship because the last time he saw him, the Lion El'Jonson was busy leading his men to charge at them.

I think I understand what Afka is doing right now—ultimately, he just needs a reason.

I don't know why, but I feel a little sad.

Have we been tamed? Can we simply wave our paws at Lion El'Jonson and abandon the betrayals and pain we've endured to fight for him again? I don't know if I could do that, but Afka certainly would.

He stood there looking harsh and indifferent, but he was actually pleading. He wanted the Lion El'Jonson to tell him, "I never thought that way," and then he would sheath his sword, kneel down, and reaffirm his allegiance to the Lion El'Jonson.

The Emperor, what are we, really? Lambs? Slaves?

The Lion El'Jonson's cold voice pulled me back to reality.

"Yes," he said slowly. "There was a time when I wanted to kill you all."

Afka's eyes widened; his hopes were dashed, and his disappointment was quite evident. As for the Lion El'Jonson, he was astute; he knew what Afka wanted to do, but he refused, and refused very directly.

I can hardly describe how I feel about this—is it more joy or disappointment? I have no answer; I only know that Karyl Lohars is sighing.

I looked at him.

"Sir Zabriel, there are some people in this galaxy who just don't know how to speak properly, aren't they?"

He seemed to be joking, but I couldn't laugh, and the Lion El'Jonson continued.

"I won't deny it. Back then, I really wanted to kill you all. I searched across half the galaxy and brought Luther back, hoping he could resolve your political struggles and factional infighting in Caliban."

"I hoped he could calm you all down, stop thinking about those ridiculous political things, and focus on the real danger, but I never expected my own homeland to be attacked by artillery."

"Who was on the warship at the time? Who has the answer? Do you? The bombing started as soon as we reached the ground in Caliban, as if it were all planned. Then came the attack, an undeniable, real attack."

"My own army's armored division charged at me, and the three companies that had returned with me to Caliban were almost entirely wiped out in an instant. Amidst the blood, I saw my sons, fully armed, charging towards me."

The Lion El'Jonson descended the steps of the stone Throne and came to stand directly in front of us. The burning flames danced on his expressionless face and faded golden hair, casting deep shadows, and his breath seemed to carry the damp scent of blood.

Please tell me, what should I do then?

What else can you do?

I took a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it flow through my three lungs, and a bitter taste rose up afterward.

He's still very brave, I think.

During my time in exile, I witnessed all kinds of darkness. Until you see it with your own eyes, you can never imagine what price those people living in suffering are willing to pay to escape reality.

If given the chance, people would be willing to pay any price to escape the pain and hardship of the present moment, just like the Lion El'Jonson at this time.

He was undoubtedly in pain; his brows were furrowed, and his expression was a mixture of grief and solemnity—the greatest degree of sorrow that could be expressed by someone like him.

He wasn't the type to cry; he preferred fighting to crying.

He never runs away, do you understand? This is a rare and precious quality, a sharp sword firmly held in the hand of Lion El'Jonson. However, every sword is double-edged. His never running away means he is unwavering.

In the gradually freezing air, I couldn't help but start thinking about a possibility: what if he accepted Afka's suggestion, what if he hadn't said those words?

"I had no choice." My Primarch shattered my illusions with a chilling voice. "It was Luther who pulled me back; he heard several precious calls over the communications channel, from the Orbiters and the Monastery."

"Some people were asking what had happened, why the ship's weapons were firing without permission. So I changed tactics and led the rest of the crew to the communications center."

"We made contact with them, and then I recorded an audio message instructing all those in Caliban still loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium to prepare. The war began, and three minutes after we left, the entire communications center was completely razed to the ground."

"An electromagnetic bomb then detonated within the city, completely disrupting communication channels. We were unable to contact or communicate with anyone. I think you all know what happened next."

Yes, we all know.

But the things the Lion El'Jonson mentioned were things I didn't know. I believe he wouldn't lie, and the things he mentioned about the communications center also matched some of the suspicious points in my memory.

I quickly reviewed the whole incident again, and regardless of whether it would lead to a more painful lesson, I had to do it. Fortunately, this time, my memory did not betray me; I returned to Caliban that day with crystal clarity.

A burning sky and forest, a city reduced to ruins, and us killing each other.

I quickly realized something.

"Someone was hunting him down in Caliban," Karyl Lohars said casually, emphasizing my conclusion.

Yes, it was all premeditated. The bombs, targeting the Lion El'Jonson and Luther, two of the most important figures in the Legion, landed squarely on their heads the moment they returned.

I imagined the scene—their feet had barely touched the grass of Caliban for a few minutes when the sky suddenly changed color.

This sends chills down my spine, because anyone capable of doing this must have an intimate knowledge of their whereabouts and be fully prepared.

To be an enemy of Lion El'Jonson is a ridiculous and absurd idea, yet that man did it anyway. Judging from the consequences, he was no fool, so I believe he must have had some kind of leverage.

This confidence gave him immense assurance, even leading him to believe that he could kill the Lion El'Jonson once and for all. But he wasn't arrogant; as I said, he was prepared.

The second wave of bombing struck the communications center immediately afterward. Lion El'Jonson said it was razed to the ground. That place was a fortress so solid that even the Imperial Fists and the Iron Warriors could unite to protest. So what kind of weapons did the ships in orbit use?

I don't believe there's any possibility of an accidental discharge.

Furthermore, electromagnetic bombs destroy our communication capabilities, preventing us from understanding the situation, clearing up misunderstandings, and only allowing us to sink deeper and deeper into a vortex of killing.

Until everything was beyond repair.

You damned beast.

I'm going to kill him.

I clenched my teeth so hard they clattered, using the strength I had for chewing metal. Soon, I heard a crisp cracking sound.

Numbness, itching, and pain spread from my mouth. Blood and saliva mixed together, carrying the broken teeth through my gums and tongue, before I swallowed them.

None of my brothers spoke; each of them was venting their anger in some way.

Some gripped their swords tightly, some took deep breaths, some gritted their teeth like I did, and some couldn't control themselves at all, their bodies tense as they unleashed indescribable roars from their throats.

Karyl Lohars released my hand.

"Logically speaking, I shouldn't be here, Knight Zabriel. I think you should also have questions about this matter?"

He asked an inopportune question, one I wasn't really concerned about. But I needed it to distract myself, or I'd drive myself crazy. So I went along with his question.

"Yes," I mumbled, a piece of tooth stuck in my throat, causing a creeping pain.

"The answer is actually quite simple: the Lion El'Jonson invited me here," he replied calmly.

His voice echoed throughout the hall, no longer limited to gentleness, but resounding and authoritative, compelling everyone to believe him immediately.

Everyone started looking at him. Not everyone could recognize him at first glance like I could, but the medals hanging on his chest were genuine, and no soldier would overlook what they represented.

Soon, with their help, the name Karyl Lohars began to circulate among my slightly slow-witted brothers.

They stared at him in disbelief, as if they were looking at a pharaoh who had lived from the time of Ancient Terra or something similar, certainly not as if they were looking at a human.

"You've all missed many things since the Caliban Uprising. I have no intention of discussing them, but I would like to point out one thing: back on Terra, Lion Aljonson made a vow."

He walked forward, his back straight, and passed through us, reaching the stone Throne and standing beside the Lion El'Jonson.

He looked much smaller than the Lion El'Jonson, whereas I remembered him not being. The shadows cast by the flickering firelight stretched across the medal, while his own Shadow shrank to his feet like a pinprick, not extending backward.

This is against the laws of nature; the Lion El'Jonson stands next to him, yet his Shadow has already been stretched out.

I faintly heard some strange echo.

"And the specific content of this oath is actually very simple," he continued, seemingly unaware of our doubts.

"Lion Aljonson swore that one day, in the name of law and justice, he would execute all the masterminds and accomplices behind the Caliban Uprising. And, if possible, he would hire a Midnight Blade to record the Judgment."

He raised his right hand, placed it lightly on his chest, and nodded solemnly to us.

"That's why I'm standing here," the Eighth Legion instructor said coldly. "In the name of the Emperor and Konrad Curze Curze, I am here to witness and record."

As soon as he finished speaking, a sudden gust of wind arose, and a sticky, lifeless darkness rose from beneath his feet, engulfing him in our horror. But this was not the end; the darkness continued to churn, extinguishing the light and devouring the flames.

Even the temperature is starting to be stolen.

Yes, my subconscious told me that the warmth had been stolen, that some force wouldn't allow it to exist here. Then, a ferocious claw tore through the darkness and stood before us in the now completely extinguished hall.

The first thing I noticed was that he was 4.2 meters tall. The second thing was that his armor was still terrifying.

The last thing was his face, that pale, grotesque bony surface.

The Lion El'Jonson slowly opened its mouth.

"Judgment begins at this moment, my knights."

"You were caught up in a conspiracy and became accomplices, yet ignorance is no excuse. During your escape, you did not abuse the power entrusted to you by the Emperor, and even performed many righteous deeds, which is noble. You opened your hearts to me in the interrogation room, and did not hide your grievances, which is honest."

Therefore, I declare you innocent.

His words made me stand there for a long time.

"But--!"

Suddenly, a roar echoed throughout the hall. The Lion El'Jonson, its mane and whiskers bristling, stared at us, its hands, which had been behind its back, now hanging limply at its sides, veins bulging on the backs of its hands. I was familiar with its angry expression, but this time, I felt no fear.

"The real sinners, the real murderers, are still at large," he said in a low voice. "Therefore, I re-enlist you into the Legion to hunt them down with me. Those who are willing, raise your weapons. Those who are unwilling, I swear I will not force them."

With a whoosh, I drew my longsword without hesitation, and together with the other seventy-four swords, pointed them straight at the sky.

But I was too excited at the time, and I forgot one thing— the Lion El'Jonson was referring to the legion.

Which legion?

--

"I didn't expect you could actually turn back, Karyl."

The towering skeleton chuckled softly, a flash of blue light appeared, and the mortal dressed in formal attire stood still.

Lion Aljonsen frowned, glared at him, and took a deep breath. "I don't care how you did it, just don't do it again."

Why? That posture was clearly more persuasive to them.

"I believe they don't need any further persuasion," the Lion El'Jonson said expressionlessly. "Besides, I almost wanted to stab you again with the Dionysian Spear."

"Isn't that necessary?"

"I think it's very likely," the Lion El'Jonson spat out through clenched teeth. "Leman Russ Russ would agree too."

Karyl sighed, wisely refraining from commenting on the matter, but the Lion El'Jonson's keen insight still surprised him. He not only knew the true purpose of the "blade," but also guessed why Karyl had allowed the Dionysian Spear to pierce his chest that day.

This can no longer be explained simply by the so-called "Caliban's beastly intuition." From this perspective, the Lion El'Jonson's transformation is probably much greater than it appears on the surface.

"In addition."

After careful consideration, Karyl spoke again.

"I believe you mentioned the word 'Legion.' Could I have a brief explanation, Lion? After all, this report is for Malcador. Even if you are the Primarch, rebuilding the Legion without providing any justification would likely invite criticism."

The Lion El'Jonson turned around, a faint smile slowly spreading across his beard. The torches in the hall had been relit, but the two of them now stood far, far away from the stone Throne, as if it were something to be avoided.

"I never said it was the Legiones Astartes, Karyl. Besides, where do you think all those Fallen we captured before went?"

This statement left Karyl speechless for a full thirty seconds. Then he said, "Please tell me this was Russ's idea."

No, it's mine.

"You should have known I would put these words in the report, right?"

The Lion El'Jonson chuckled, crossed his arms, and leaned back against a stone pillar. "Do as you please, Your Excellency the High Inquisitor. In any case, this matter has not violated any Imperium laws, nor has the Codex Astartes, has it?"

"Those people are all on the missing or dead list, and they're not Dark Angels. Even if I really let this unorganized Fallen legion appear before the world, what can they say? Anyway, everyone knows we have the final say in interpreting the Codex Astartes."

"The High Lord, nobles, and officials will all revolt," Karyl said quietly.

The Lion El'Jonson laughed loudly, "They won't unless I actually do that. But if that day ever comes, then that's what you need to worry about, Your Inquisitor."

Karyl nodded knowingly but helplessly, while the Lion El'Jonson seemed even more pleased.

He chuckled, uttering a few words of Caliban slang mixed with the Fenris tribe dialect, followed by several complex and varied hand gestures, which exuded an air of authority and elegance when performed by him.

Leaving aside the slang and dialects, which are all positive and encouraging, it's the gestures...

Karyl stared at him, her expression indescribable.

"What's wrong?" the Lion El'Jonson asked belatedly, his brow furrowed.

"Those gestures—you learned them from Russ, didn't you?"

"Yes, what's wrong? Russ said he learned it from Konrad Curze. I greeted Jago Sevatarion with it a few years ago. Isn't it one of the local languages of Nostramo?"

Karyl took a deep breath, smiled, and slowly began to speak.

"First, Lion, this isn't the local language. It is indeed a way of communicating, but it's not a language; it's a gang gesture."

"Secondly, Russ never learned anything from Konrad Curze; all his Nostramo gang knowledge was obtained from Jago in exchange for a few pieces of Grox Steak."

Third, you just inquired about my health and wished me good health in the future.

Ten minutes later, an enraged Lion Aljonson stormed into his private armory and grabbed a spear.

With Karyl's help, a phantom soul briefly appeared in the world through it, and gained a tangible form. This soul was named Leman Russ Russ, the Wolf of Fenris, the Primarch of the Space Wolves.

For the first time in ten thousand years, he did not perceive the world through possession.

His first sensation came from the Lion El'Jonson's right fist.

"Damn it!" the Caliban cursed in his armory. "How could you do such a thing! I knew that brat Jago Sevatarion always gave me the cold shoulder!"

"What did I do!" the Fenrisian roared, then nimbly rolled away from his brother's pursuit and grabbed a shield to fight back. The heavy thuds of fists slamming against shields filled the air.

The Lion El'Jonson roared, demanding, "Karyl! Tell this bastard what he's done!"

He received no reply from Karyl Lohars, only a faint chuckle.

The Lion El'Jonson frowned, raised his fist, and turned around, only to find that Karyl had vanished. In his place stood a tall, thin figure wearing a crown as bright as moonlight.

"Hi." Konrad Curze Curze smiled and winked at him. "Long time no see, bro."

The Lion El'Jonson froze, and before he could say anything, he heard a wolf howl. Leman Russ Russ came galloping past, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"I knew you weren't dead!" the Fenrisian laughed.