31 Delayed Judgment (IV, Mirror Forest, 8k)

After the horn successfully conveyed his words, the Lion El'Jonson had a gut feeling that they would come.

His reason told him that this was unlikely to happen. No commander of sound mind would do as he wished and lead his fleet into a trap, unless he was mentally challenged and had no one of sound mind around him.

Moreover, that was Thousand Eyes, a Chaos Warband composed of Fallen.

Considering what they've done so far, the leader of the Thousand Eyes is unlikely to be just an ordinary warrior. This warband has escaped sieges several times in the past, then disappeared without a trace, only to reappear decades later on the edge of a star system, plundering and harassing its inhabitants.

This means that Thousand Eyes clearly understands how much of his words are true and how much are false, especially those concerning honor.

The Lion El'Jonson began to casually stroke the hilt of the Dionysian Spear with his fingers, drawing a protest from Leman Russ Russ. He ignored it, continuing to gaze intently at the holographic projection before him.

The entire Kamas system was condensed into a thumbnail on this tactical table, displayed from about a dozen different Primarch, with analysis results scrolling alongside.

The images and results were all first-hand information transmitted back from the ambushing fleets. The latency wasn't particularly high, but it still couldn't be transmitted in real time.

However, that's enough.

The Lion El'Jonson is quite lenient when it comes to technology; information is the lifeblood of war, that's true. However, given the Imperium's technological level, this lifeblood can only be slow, inefficient, and protracted.

Of course, one thing is certain: from any angle, Kamas appears perfectly calm, without any anomalies. The Mandeville Point inside the galaxy is even less of a concern, as it has long been under strict surveillance.

If the readings become abnormal, the preheated cannons will await the opportune moment to unleash devastating firepower upon any potential Thousand Eyes Fleet.

Therefore, the Lion El'Jonson could say that all military forces loyal to him throughout the galaxy are ready for war. Whatever war may occur, they will not hesitate. They will simply participate and do everything in their power to achieve victory.

The only problem is that war hasn't come, at least not yet.

"They will come."

The Lion El'Jonson suddenly spoke in a resolute tone. His words were clear, his voice cold and deep, echoing in the quiet room, striking the walls again and again.

His voice gradually became distorted until it completely disappeared, at which point the short phrase had become a heavy, muffled sound, almost like the sound of a guillotine's sharp, massive blade hitting the ground and finishing its work.

The head rolled into the basket, blood sprayed into the crowd, cheering people mingled with the dead bodies.

Karyl Lohars asked slowly.

How do you know?

He sat before a huge porthole, holding a copy of "Chronicles of Events in the Misty Sector" in his hands. Two crossed swords hung above his head, gleaming coldly and exuding the scent of grooming oil.

The ever-changing, dazzling Radiance from outside the window shone on his face, like a mask, blurring his features and details, making him appear as if he were bathed in light, or perhaps born in light, or destroyed in light.

The Lion El'Jonson frowned, not answering the question immediately, but instead issuing a series of complex commands to the main bridge of the Edge of Reason via the communication device on the holographic projection platform.

Then, within minutes, the light on Karyl's face began to shift little by little, and his face became clear again. As for the cluster of starlight, it had disappeared, completely obscured by the resolute steel of the Edge of Reason.

The Lion El'Jonson approached him.

Did I disturb your little moment of enjoyment?

"No, not at all, Lion," Karyl replied obediently. "How could I dare, my lord, who holds such great power?"

"Then why did you ask that kind of question?" the Lion El'Jonson asked, displeased. "Besides, I don't find that joke funny."

Karyl smiled noticeably, a rare display of frankness from the Lion El'Jonson at this moment.

He lifted his head from the book, then clasped his hands together, closing the heavy book as well. A not-too-strong gust of wind arose with a dull thud, carrying dust toward the Lion El'Jonson's face, only to be dispersed by his breath halfway through.

"Then I apologize. But I truly don't know the answer," Karyl replied very sincerely.

"I've been here with you observing that holographic projection for twenty-one hours. Although I know that's nothing for interstellar travel, they've probably only just set off. Anyway, perhaps it's because I'm not very good at military operations, but I really don't think they'll come to Kamas."

In the Lion El'Jonson's mind, Leman Russ Russ uttered a rare, objective voice. "I agree, Lion."

What do you agree with?

He's not good at military campaigns—what else could he be?

The Fenrisian spoke, letting out a pleasantly annoying chuckle that the Lion El'Jonson had heard countless times, yet still couldn't help feeling irritated. Not to mention, Russ's next words were quite blunt.

"The talent for command is innate, my brother. This kind of talent cannot be acquired through learning; you either have it or you don't. And you and I were born sitting on a throne built from tens of thousands of top-tier talents, looking down on everyone else."

Are you saying I'm arrogant? The Lion El'Jonson asked, displeased.

"No, brother. It's just that I want to tell you that our good uncle is indeed a master at killing, but that's pretty much all he's ever done. Haven't you heard about his terrible skills in mechanical repair?"

"Don't overestimate him, you idiot—and you'd better change your attitude towards the others too. Why do you always impose that outdated knightly discipline on your subordinate orders? You're not really thinking of rebuilding the Grand the Order, are you?"

The Lion El'Jonson's eye twitched, and with lightning speed, he hurled the Dionysian Spear. It landed on a carpet like an ordinary stick, rolling from side to side.

Karyl glanced at him, then at Dionysian Spear, and very politely raised his left hand: "Lion— "

"I think they'll come."

The Lion El'Jonson abruptly interrupted him, then quickly turned away, placed his hands on the tactical table, and dragged him to the porthole, eliminating any possibility of Karyl getting up.

"Okay, so what's the reason?"

There was no reason. The Caliban thought silently and angrily, forcing himself not to turn around.

He is very angry with himself now.

Fortunately, he was no longer the young man who couldn't control his anger. Especially fortunate and coincidentally, three hours later, "Reason" was smashed to pieces by a combat barge that had leaped out of Kamasmandeville Point.

"Only one ship?" the Lion El'Jonson asked, his brows furrowed.

"Yes, my lord, there is only one ship," Captain Grandaen replied to his master with an almost equal frown. "I have checked twelve times; there is indeed only one ship."

The Lion El'Jonson squinted, staring at the blasphemous Battle Barge, a stinging pain shooting through its eyes. The reason was simple: the barge's appearance.

The dark red paint, resembling something soaked in blood, and the enormous Chaos Star on it, dared to appear so brazenly in his sight.

Instinctively, he took it as a provocation. But instead of getting angry, he dismissed it with contempt and immediately ordered all ships to lower their porthole armor plates, strictly prohibiting direct observation of the ship itself.

Even the Edge of Reason obeyed this order.

Amid flashing red lights and blaring alarms, the holographic projection platform on the bridge began to hum urgently.

The Lion El'Jonson ignored him and turned to Grandaen. He had been with the captain for sixty-six years, and with just a glance, the captain understood and handed him a Dataslate.

In the captain's hands, the Dataslate was almost like a shield of moderate size. But to the Lion El'Jonson, it was merely a small tool that could be held with three fingers.

He glanced down at the screen and drew a conclusion from the chaotic data stream—the parsing of the identity code was proceeding at high speed. He gripped the Dataslate tightly, waited briefly, and obtained a name and a conclusion in just three seconds.

"The Mountains, belonging to War Hounds, disappeared three centuries ago."

He read it aloud, his voice devoid of any anger, yet it kept everyone on the bridge calm. Lion El'Jonson put down the Dataslate, placing it on a tactical table, then strode to the holographic projector and personally pressed the communication rune.

With a soft thud, a burning figure appeared on the bridge of the Edge of Reason. The Lion El'Jonson raised its head, gazed at him with utterly calm eyes, and uttered his name.

"Seraphax."

"Primarch." The man called Seraphax bowed gracefully, offering a polite greeting. "You still remember me?"

"I remember everyone," the Lion El'Jonson replied coldly. "Whether traitor or loyalist."

"So, in your opinion, to which side do I belong?"

After asking the question, Seraphax burst into laughter. Clearly, he knew the answer himself.

His actions drew many cold stares and angry scrutiny. One thing was certain: on the bridge at that moment, many people, both mortals and Astartes, wanted to see him bleed profusely.

The Lion El'Jonson, however, did not become angry, nor did he even change his expression; he simply asked the question calmly.

Are you ready?

"What preparations?" the Burning One asked, his curiosity barely concealed.

The Lion El'Jonson did not answer, but slowly raised his left hand. He did not clench his fist, but if he did, all the destructive forces aimed at Mandeville Point would unhesitatingly open fire on the former Mountains.

Seraphax clearly knew what he meant, but he remained calm and even shook his head very peacefully.

"Primarch, I came alone."

"Have you come here to die?" the Lion El'Jonson asked indifferently. "Then, you've done a very successful job."

"I do not deny that my actions did indeed carry such implications, but it was not my intention. I have been on the run for a hundred centuries, Primarch. Therefore, I will never waste my life. Otherwise, wouldn't the lives of all those who sacrificed themselves for me have been in vain?"

Seraphax suppressed his smile and spoke with absolute seriousness, placing his hand on his chest.

"I request to board the ship, alone. I am willing to accept all inspections and restraints, just to speak with you face to face. After that, whatever you do to me, I am willing to accept."

The Lion El'Jonson stared at him coldly, without uttering a word. Ten minutes later, numerous Boarding Torpedo and assault boats struck the dilapidated Battle Barge.

As Seraphax said, there was indeed no one on board except him. Nevertheless, the ship was still able to keep running.

The Dark Angels didn't dwell on the matter too much. Under the instructions of the Librarian, they carefully searched all parts of the ship to find any possible attackers and began to prepare for the purification ritual.

If the Mountains can be saved, the Machine Spirit will respond. If not, it will disintegrate in the flames. As for Seraphax himself, he has been personally escorted to the Edge of Reason by a Terminator Squad and the Chief Librarian.

He was fitted with an anti-psychic collar, his hands and feet were tightly bound by self-destruct shackles, his robes were removed, and various ornaments hanging from his waist, neck, and wrists were destroyed right in front of him.

He remained unmoved, maintaining a calm and unhurried smile throughout. It is worth mentioning that the flame burning within him never went out.

--

"You want to see me?" the Lion El'Jonson asked.

He stood fully armed before Seraphax, his left hand on his sword. Behind him, the Risen and their sole attendant stood guard, weapons at their side. This was at the Lion El'Jonson's command; he had left the Dark Angels outside the dark chamber as watchmen.

He had made an oath to Asmodai and the Risen.

"Yes, my lord—and it's a pleasure to see you all, old brothers," Seraphax said with a smile.

His composure caused all seventy-five Risen to simultaneously reveal a degree of murderous intent, with one of them even roaring out a curse.

"You damned traitor!"

"Yes, yes, Hectoriel, it's a pleasure to see you too," the wizard replied dismissively.

"You have betrayed the Emperor's teachings!" another rebuked, his brows furrowed. "Even among traitors, those who have fallen into Chaos are the most hateful."

"I admit I did stray from the 'right path' he taught us, Zabriel, but there's a reason for it. I—"

The Lion El'Jonson raised its right hand, silencing all sound, including the words Seraphax had not finished saying.

The wizard was kneeling on the ground, his hands bound behind his back with shackles. The anti-psychic collar around his neck, besides causing him pain, also served another function—making it difficult for him to look up and observe the Lion El'Jonson's face, forcing him to keep his head down at all times.

He could only see the Lion El'Jonson's armor and boots, nothing more. Of course, this also meant that he couldn't see his "old brothers," that is, he recognized Hectoriel and Zabriel only by their voices.

"Now, you have seen me," the Lion El'Jonson said slowly.

He placed his right hand on the hilt of the sword, the sound of his fingers touching the weapon was incredibly clear in the dark room, easily heard by everyone, and revealing the Lion El'Jonson's deliberate intentions.

I can kill you anytime.

Seraphax heard him clearly, but did not reply. Not only that, he even tried to move his knees to get closer to the Lion El'Jonson.

In that instant, at least twenty guns were raised by their owners and pointed at his head. If he made any move, these men would not hesitate to open fire.

However, the wizard himself didn't seem to care. He tried his best to make this ugly and embarrassing attempt, and the Lion El'Jonson didn't back down.

He drew his sword, placed it horizontally across Seraphax's left shoulder, and aimed it at his neck.

Once he activates the disintegration field, the wizard will be instantly decapitated without him even needing to swing his sword.

"Is there anything else you'd like to say?" the Lion El'Jonson asked calmly.

Seraphax struggled to lift his head and finally managed to make out the Lion El'Jonson's face. He exhaled a breath of stale air, a complex mix of emotions flashing across his face. All of this ultimately coalesced into a bitter smile.

"My Primarch, you have changed," the wizard said sadly. "You have become much more Mercy. If you were still the Lion El'Jonson you once were, I would probably be dead long ago, and would never have had the chance to say any of my last words."

He spoke slowly, so one of the seventy-five immediately growled, "He's stalling for time, my lord, please allow me to kill him!"

The Lion El'Jonson ignored this, as did Seraphax. The wizard took a deep breath and continued speaking with great sincerity.

Time changes everything; it softens a tyrannical monarch, makes past betrayals rarely mentioned again, and scatters your descendants to the ends of the earth, subjecting them to the ravages of time.

"Look at us, Father. What do you see? My mutation? Zabriel's aging? Or Hectoriel's scars? Time can change everything, but it also leaves traces, and traces cannot be erased, just like betrayal itself."

He paused for a few seconds, his lips trembling, and deep red blood flowed from his only remaining good eye.

"Betrayal is betrayal. Everyone will remember that a rebellion took place in Caliban. It cannot be erased, nor can its effects. But think about what we would be like if it had never happened?"

The Lion El'Jonson remained unmoved.

Seraphax stared at him intently. The longing on his face stung the eyes of all the Risen, a longing that, whether they wanted to admit it or not, had haunted their dreams.

"Father," Seraphax murmured deeply, "Consider this: if the mutiny hadn't occurred on Caliban, how many men would have ended up with you on Terra? How many cannons and warships would have been available?"

"Just wishful thinking!" Zabriel thought indignantly. However, his thoughts could not stop Seraphax from doing what he wanted to do. Little by little, the wizard's voice gradually transformed into a high-pitched, passionate, and sincere speech.

"Most importantly, if the Caliban Uprising had never happened, would the Emperor have been spared such serious injury?"

"With the full support of the First Legion, Horus would have no chance of reaching the Imperial Palace. If that's the case, wouldn't the Emperor be spared that ordeal? If he could still move freely among us, what would the Imperium be like?"

"Will the Imperium —the nation we love, the country we fought for, the country for which we shed our blood—return to this ugly, stagnant state?"

"My brothers!" Seraphax roared, racking his brains. "Don't say you haven't loathed the Imperium as it is now! Don't say you haven't recalled the simple truths of the Great Crusade! Don't say you've never imagined fighting alongside the Emperor again!"

That's enough.

In the silence of the Risen, the Lion El'Jonson spoke coldly. The disintegrating force field crackled, and the blade rose, slashing straight at Seraphax's neck with lightning speed, without the slightest hesitation.

At the critical moment of life and death, a calm smile appeared on the wizard's face, as if he had expected it all along. In his smile, the Lion El'Jonson's sword pierced through his neck.

No blood flowed, no head fell to the ground. Seraphax remained kneeling, unharmed. His upper body undulated, ethereal like a flower in water, a moon in a mirror.

But he ended up kneeling here.

"Fire!" Zabriel roared immediately.

He received the support of seventy-five men—including Asmodai. In that instant, everyone in the darkroom except the Lion El'Jonson opened fire on Seraphax.

Explosive bombs, Heavy Bolter, plasma bombs—a barrage of deadly weapons bombarded the wizard simultaneously. Even a Greater Daemon should have been riddled with holes and fallen, but somehow, the wizard remained unharmed.

All the destructive power passed through him, and apart from destroying the floor tiles and digging into the structure beneath them, it failed to cause any other damage.

Without the Lion El'Jonson's command, the Risen ceased firing, their faces grim.

Demoted to a squire Asmodai stubbornly drew his Chainsword and charged forward, slashing repeatedly at Seraphax, but to no avail. The strange fluctuations only intensified, as if Asmodai were truly slashing at the lake with his sword.

Maintaining that calm smile, the wizard slowly stood up.

The shackles came off naturally and fell to his feet with a dull thud. Then came the anti-psychic collar, this precious artifact slowly disintegrating into fragments that scattered on the ground as the blue light shone from Seraphax's eyes.

He can even use psionic powers.

Despite the scene being so contrary to common sense and understanding, the Lion El'Jonson's face showed no shock whatsoever. He raised his hand and pressed Asmodai down, gently pushing him back into the ranks, then sheathed his sword and asked again with complete calm.

"What you up to?"

Are you trying to get me to explain my plans?

With an ambiguous smile, Seraphax asked the question. He stood before his Primarch, empty-handed, yet appeared unusually relaxed. And before the Lion El'Jonson could answer, he nodded with a soft chuckle to himself.

"That's no problem, Primarch, I can certainly explain it to you," Seraphax said gently. "However, I'm not one of those foolish, ambitious people who, at the last minute before things are done, assume the identity of the winner and hurl insults at the loser they've chosen."

"Of course I'll explain it to you, but why should I do it?"

He pointed behind the Lion El'Jonson, one second, two seconds. As the time slowly ticked to the ninth second, the door to the dark room was pushed open. Azrael rushed in and reported to the Lion El'Jonson in rapid succession.

"Primarch! All our brothers dispatched to the Mountains have been attacked!"

The Lion El'Jonson nodded to him, calmly and slightly, yet with an undercurrent of power. He effortlessly calmed the young Dark Angels, his face still showing no surprise.

Only tranquility, as deep as the sea, as dangerously tranquil as a primeval forest where the sun never shines.

He turned and looked at Seraphax.

"You seem to think you've figured everything out?" he asked.

"I never thought that way."

The Lion El'Jonson nodded. "It doesn't matter. You are proud, Seraphax. You have something that gives you the courage to come before me alone."

"Judging from the current situation, your reliance does indeed have its special characteristics; it saved you from death and even enables you to do this—"

He stepped forward, raising his foot to crush one of Seraphax's shackles, but missed.

Zabriel's pupils contracted sharply.

"--But that's meaningless," said the Lion El'Jonson. "I also have something to rely on."

The wizard stared at him intently, and after a few seconds, he suddenly uttered a name: "Instructor Karyl Lohars?"

The Lion El'Jonson finally frowned.

Seraphax smiled again.

"Yes, I know he's on my ship right now, Primarch. You might be surprised, but that's only because you don't know me. And you haven't even thought about getting to know me."

"If you were willing to ask about my past, with your keen insight, I believe you would have discovered this much earlier. Unfortunately, it's too late now."

The wizard lowered his head and began pacing back and forth, muttering to himself.

"Since Caliban left, I have been deeply immersed in the Warp. To this day, I may not be able to grasp every single detail of this vast ocean, but the towering waves are different. Even if I were truly blind and deaf, they could completely engulf me."

"Not long ago, a colossal wave that swept across the entire Warp struck me, engulfing me. The Word Bearers Erebus is dead. Are you aware of this?"

"He's dead. Even though he was powerful enough to display extraordinary power in both the material world and the Warp, he's still dead. So, who did it? Jago Sevatarion of the Eighth Legion?"

"I believe it must be him. He's strong enough, and he swore to do it. The oaths of the Night Lords have a very strong binding force. But the truth is not just that."

"I have seen the truth," the wizard murmured. "The colossal wave that surged forth at the death of Erebus was indeed spectacular, sweeping across almost half of the Warp, but it was actually just a side note to another piece of news."

Ultimately, that massive wave was caused by his return. And Erebus was nothing but a damned traitor, a laughable clown. To be mentioned alongside that instructor was the greatest honor of his life.

The Lion El'Jonson chuckled slowly, offering no comment on his rebellious offspring's ravings, his contempt evident. Of course, he felt this way, but others might not.

Zabriel roared, unable to contain himself any longer. "Do you think you're any different from him, you traitor! How many innocent people has your so-called warband killed?!"

"Of course there's a difference, brother," Seraphax said. "He's doing it for himself, but I'm different; I'm doing it for you."

Seraphax raised his hands, and pale silver robes began to condense, draping over his body, which was only clad in undergarments. The burning flames began to expand, but his remaining half of intact face showed neither joy nor arrogance.

Zabriel reluctantly admitted that he could only see sadness in the sky.

Moreover, his voice was so gentle, so earnest. The conviction within it was immediately clear, requiring no further explanation.

Such a voice can come from steadfast warriors, loyal soldiers, and devout believers, but from Seraphax? From a Tzeentch blessed with Tzeentch, possessing a highly mutated body, and a history of numerous evil deeds?

Zabriel could no longer bear it, and in front of Asmodai, he gripped his sword tightly.

Listen up, Seraphax.

With a whoosh, the Lion El'Jonson drew his sword once more. As if facing the fake that had taken Horus Lupercal, he held the sword with both hands, his faded golden hair fluttering slowly without wind.

A forest that shouldn't exist spread out beneath his feet.

"I will find you, and I will kill you," Lion Aljonson declared, his face filled with murderous intent. "No matter what you're going to do, I will chop you to pieces."

"Then come, Father," Seraphax said sadly. "I'll be waiting for you in Caliban."

He raised his right hand, and a flash of silver light appeared briefly from his sleeve. It was a mirror, small in appearance, yet it reflected the Lion El'Jonson and the people behind him.

Within that mirror, there was also a forest. A forest enveloped in raging flames and endless corpses.

The Lion El'Jonson's movements abruptly froze.

Eighty-one seconds later, Captain Grandaen of the Edge of Reason delivered a very sudden message to the nearby fleet and the Dark Angels remaining on the surface of Kamas.

He was subjected to numerous questions, insults, and even threats at the same time, but the old captain remained unmoved. He simply roared into the communication channel, tormenting everyone's ears with his harsh tone.

"I'm fucking sure! You fat, idiot! The Lion El'Jonson and his guards have disappeared; it must be that traitor's doing! May the Emperor protect us!"

Far away aboard the former Mountains, now the Blade of Truth, Karyl, draped in the coat of Inquisitor, slowly emerged from the darkness and also heard the news.

"Very interesting."

He made a nonchalant comment and walked towards a sandpit filled with corpses.