33 Delayed Judgment (VI, Return to Caliban)

Lion Aldridge hasn't looked in a mirror in many years.

He was fully aware of his aging and accepted it, but he disliked mirrors. For some reason, he felt that his reflection looked inhuman, imposing and cold, far more so than what a human being should possess.

Compared to the former two, the latter was almost imperceptible on his face, even though he tried his best to put on a gentle expression. It was from then on that he began to realize how other people viewed him.

Whether you like it or not, the Lion El'Jonson must admit one thing—he is a product of genetic engineering, created by the most insane yet most brilliant scientists in the human race through a combination of technology and mystery.

Therefore, his appearance could not possibly be the result of some natural mutation or a whim. The Emperor must have considered the possible consequences when creating him, but he did it anyway, just as he did with others.

The Radiance Sanguinius, the beautiful Fulgrim, the melancholy Konrad Curze Curze

The Lion El'Jonson was acutely aware that the Emperor had expectations of them. Unfortunately, even now, he was still unclear about exactly what the Emperor hoped for in him.

He really wanted to know the answer.

He stood up, sword in hand. Above him was a forest, below him a meadow, and bushes surrounded rough, old trees. Caliban's unique sunlight slid eerily through the leaves and branches, and the chirping of insects could be heard in the distance.

What a familiar scene, it's just a pity he doesn't truly miss it. At least not now.

The Lion El'Jonson lowered its right hand, its sword blade drooping, and began to scan its surroundings.

He doesn't wear a helmet; people need to see his face directly to know his identity and thus feel fear or courage.

This is a good thing, since he doesn't need to worry about things like bullets. Unfortunately, everything has two sides—he can't use the analytical functions of the helmet and goggles to obtain more intelligence.

At this moment, he could only rely on his own senses.

However, that didn't matter; he already knew where he was. The Lion El'Jonson didn't even need to think to reach the conclusion: what place in the world felt as familiar to him as Caliban?

The moment he stepped into the forest, his instincts were immediately awakened. The damp air and dim light, the animal scents carried by the breeze, the footprints on the ground, and the venomous snakes hidden in the fallen leaves and decaying soil.

A thought flashed through his mind, causing a chilling displeasure: I'm going home.

Home, a word that evokes warmth and coziness in most people. It can be expanded to include grand terms like hometown or homeland, or simply to refer to a house or a family.

Some people's homes are damp, cold, dilapidated bungalows, leaking wind and rain, with beds infested with insects.

In other homes, fireplaces burn year-round, and the silver plates used for dinner reflect the glow of expensive candles. The aroma of Grak steak lingers long on the long, white-clothed table, mingling with the sweetness of wine.

As for the Lion El'Jonson, his home is a forest, a deadly forest.

In his childhood, this place wanted to kill him. Decades later, it remains the same, still wanting his life, only the methods are different.

Dangerous wild beasts and bombardments from the sky. Given his circumstances at the time, these two seemed to make little difference to him.

So what about now?

The Lion El'Jonson calmly walked into the forest. Out of caution, he did not rashly use his powers. He knew that he had returned to Caliban, and to the Caliban of the past.

This is extremely contrary to common sense and logic; however, both hunting and war rely heavily on intuition, and the Lion El'Jonson is highly skilled in both. His intuition has never disappointed him.

He didn't want to gamble on what would have happened if he had used his abilities in the past, even though a certain desire was taking root in his heart.

But that won't work.

He couldn't defeat the thing that had stolen Horus Lupercal's body. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Whatever Seraphax's motives for bringing him back here, the traitor must die, but before that, he needs to find his offspring.

No, perhaps there's no need to look for it.

The Lion El'Jonson stopped, bent down, and peered out from the dense bushes.

He wasn't breathing at all; he seemed to be completely one with his surroundings. A gentle breeze blew in, carrying the scent of grass and the unique moisture of the stream.

That's how forests are. One moment they might be incredibly gloomy, and the next, just a few turns, a path can lead you in a completely new direction. Only the most experienced Hunter can discern what lies hidden at the end of these paths.

Whether it's good or bad, they can tell at a glance— the Lion El'Jonson is naturally the most experienced Hunter, but at this moment he dares not say whether he will get a good result after stepping onto this path.

The reason was simple: on the other side of the river, in a wide woodland, fifty young men with still youthful faces stood side by side, practicing military formation in the morning breeze.

It was a ceremonial formation used only on important occasions, and the Lion El'Jonson recognized it at a glance.

The person in charge of leading them had cool brown skin and long, jet-black hair that cascaded elegantly over his shoulders. His deep blue eyes were intently focused on the recruits, helping them identify areas for improvement in their movements.

Zabriel.

The Lion El'Jonson clenched its teeth, feeling a mix of emotions.

A few seconds later, he turned and left, not wanting to reveal himself rashly. Talking to people from the past was a dangerous idea; he wasn't an expert in the occult, but he was certainly well-versed in many taboos.

This event could have an immeasurable impact on their timeline. Imagine if Zabriel and his honor guard of recruits had met him at this time; would the outcome of the Caliban Uprising have been different?

"Change?" a voice rang in his ears.

A soft sound erupted simultaneously, Lion El'Jonson's killing intent caused him to draw his sword in a fragment of time that could hardly be called time, as debris from weeds and bushes drifted slowly. Before it could even land, Seraphax's voice returned with a vengeance.

"Zabriel survived, Father, but the recruits who were with him did not. Imagine if they had survived, would your guard have been in a better situation?"

The wizard took a deep breath as he spoke. His voice sounded as if it came from a very distant place. The Lion El'Jonson frowned; he wasn't really concerned about the matter. He just wanted to know how Seraphax had gotten into his mind.

"I did not enter your mind," the wizard continued, seemingly not alone, a monotonous and persistent humming sound tightly enveloping his voice.

For some reason, the Lion El'Jonson found the voice familiar, but he didn't immediately begin searching his memory; in fact, the very next second the thought surfaced, he immediately sank it into a sea of complex thoughts.

He had received relevant training and was no longer the same person he used to be, and that training seemed to have worked, Seraphax continued talking to himself.

"I've simply established a connection with you, Primarch, like a remote communication channel where only you and I exist. It's bidirectional; I can vaguely hear some of your thoughts, and vice versa."

The Lion El'Jonson narrowed its eyes, remained silent, and simply chose a new direction in the forest, heading in that direction.

"How long has it been since you last went back to Caliban?" Seraphax kept asking, his hum still ringing.

"I must say, you are incredibly cold-blooded towards your own homeworld. Over the years, although I've spent most of my time hidden in the Warp, I've still tried my best to search for information related to you."

"I know that you've only returned to Caliban twice since the Horus Heresy ended. Once was to reform the system, and the other was to execute some people. After all, it's still your home."

The Lion El'Jonson remained silent, his thoughts as cold and still as ice.

The occult knowledge he had learned from Ahzek Ahriman and the resistance training he had received played a very important role; he almost effortlessly banished Seraphax from his mind using only a collection of meaningless fragments of imagination.

With a sigh of regret, the wizard's voice faded into the distance, and the Lion El'Jonson was once again alone.

It's always like this.

Lion Aljonson silently exhaled the last bit of air from his lungs, his pupils gradually becoming sharp and narrow. The hunter's unique secrets were gradually revealing themselves as he ventured deeper into the forest.

Humans are clearly not supposed to possess this ability, and he will never betray the person who generously bestowed these things upon him.

He rolled over the pile of dead leaves, fully armed, without making a sound. The rotten, sinking mud couldn't swallow his steel boots, and the wild beasts sleeping in the forest were awakened naturally without even noticing him, scattering in all directions driven by instinct.

Some of them, in their panic, charged toward him, but the Lion El'Jonson did not kill them.

The behemoths that needed to be hunted are long dead, and these creatures are just ordinary animals. No matter how ferocious they may be, he will not attack them when they pose no threat to him.

"If only you had the same patience with us, Father."

The Lion El'Jonson stopped again.

Seraphax's voice seemed closer to him, as did the buzzing. The Lion El'Jonson didn't know how he had returned, but he didn't want to comply with Seraphax's wishes.

So when the wizard's voice rang out again, the Lion El'Jonson repeated the difficult training once more. He got a similar result—the voice of Seraphax disappeared again as his cloak swept across the withered branches of the giant tree.

But this is clearly not a long-term solution, Lion El'Jonson will not overlook the differences Seraphax displayed in these two one-sided conversations.

He had to find the Risen as soon as possible, and then find Seraphax, and he had to race against time, as fire could rain down from the sky at any moment.

"Yes, it could happen at any time," Seraphax said, his voice hoarse and close. And this time, the buzzing stopped.

"Only--"

Without turning its head, the Lion El'Jonson swung its sword, a strike so fast it had surpassed some kind of limit. Only when it cleaved a giant tree in two, causing the colossal structure to collapse and crush everything in its path, did the sharp sound of the sword strike erupt.

It blended into the explosive roar of the collapse, inconspicuous yet undeniably present, just like the palpable killing intent boiling in the Lion El'Jonson's eyes.

Seraphax stood in front of him, completely unharmed.

There was only one expression on his face, an indescribable and overwhelming sadness that was all too clear. No one with any self-respect would like to show such genuine emotion in front of others, but Seraphax did just that.

He allowed himself to be weak; his facial muscles were twitching, and his downturned lips and almost tearful eyes pierced the Lion El'Jonson's eyes deeply.

He immediately realized one thing— Seraphax must have done something, something so heinous that even the wizard himself could not forgive himself.

He suddenly raised his head.

The sky began to burn.

In an instant, the Lion El'Jonson understood what that familiar buzzing sound was: it was the sound of the weapons control panel on the Caliban orbital space station warming up.

The Lion El'Jonson had never controlled it; he had only heard about it once during a training exercise. This matter had long been buried in a corner he himself was unaware of, and if he were not the Primarch, he would have had no way of remembering it.

But now he'd rather he couldn't remember.

The Lion El'Jonson raised its sword.

"It's you." He said in a calm, confident tone.

Seraphax took a deep breath, neither admitting nor denying it; he looked as if he were in excruciating pain, almost to the point of death. At the same moment, a continuous expanse of sword light flashed, slashing towards his neck without hesitation.

Seraphax coughed and stood still, neither dodging nor avoiding. Two blinding blue lights shone from beneath his feet, blocking the Lion Sword. But this did not diminish the Lion El'Jonson's rage; instead, it intensified the hatred in his heart.

Roaring, the Primarch of Seraphax raised his sword once more and ruthlessly slaughtered his offspring.

"Traitor!" he roared. "You will die a horrible death!"

"I know, I know," Seraphax murmured, glancing quickly at the Lion El'Jonson before averting his gaze and taking a deep breath.

The Lion El'Jonson's onslaught and fury were so overwhelming they nearly shook the earth, but Seraphax's shield spell remained as solid as Stone, firmly blocking every strike.

The Lion El'Jonson gritted his teeth and began to reminisce about the Dionysian Spear. He considered this an internal matter of his legion and therefore hadn't brought it with him when the interrogation began. If that artifact were still in his possession, Seraphax would surely be disemboweled.

"But if I die, Father—" the wizard habitually put on that smile, shockingly fake—"—how will you get back?"

The blade tore through the blue light, Lion El'Jonson took a deep breath, uttering a whisper in a tone of extreme resentment.

I will kill you.

"And I have no doubt about that," Seraphax replied, struggling to maintain his smile. "I will die by your sword, the culprit, the greatest sinner in ten thousand years, beheaded by you personally before everyone."

"I would accept this ending willingly, but not now, Father. I cannot die now."

He raised his right hand, forming another spell gesture amidst the Lion El'Jonson's increasingly fierce rage. Psionic energy began to flicker in his direction, and a magic circle began to appear beneath their feet, but the Lion El'Jonson ignored it, continuing to swing its sword madly.

Seraphax, having witnessed everything, spoke again, "Twenty-two hours, Father, do you remember that time? We only took twenty-two hours to mess everything up."

More flames streaked across the sky, and something heavy fell to the ground in the distance. A shockwave erupted, tearing the earth apart, and screams, accompanied by the tremors of the earth, reached their ears.

Seraphax clenched his right hand tightly.

Twenty-two hours.

He spoke slowly, the tip of the Lion Sword gleaming before his eyes. The Lion El'Jonson, wielding the sword with both hands, nearly broke through his defenses with a thrust.

Despite being in such a dangerous situation, Seraphax felt a strange sense of pride, as if his Primarch was meant to be this powerful.

Even if he possesses the blessing of the Tzeentch, wields powerful weapons, and remains unscathed amidst the destruction of the world, the Lion El'Jonson could still kill him in battle.

But not now.

The blue light of the magic circle shone at the Lion El'Jonson's feet.

"You have twenty-two hours," Seraphax said, staring intently into the Lion El'Jonson's eyes. "I will be waiting at the site of the Primarch, the Order."

The light faded, Lion El'Jonson roared as it vanished from the spot. The wizard immediately coughed up a mouthful of blood, collapsed to his knees in agony, flames leaping cruelly across his body, burning his flesh and blood.

The blessing of Chaos is so greedy; though called a blessing, it is in reality nothing more than a terrifying malice that devours souls and steals bones. It will not stop until it has completely consumed the soul.

Just as Seraphax was about to lose himself, a blue arm suddenly reached out from the shadows behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

The raging flames were immediately extinguished, and a voice rang in Seraphax's ears, echoing heavily.

"The plan was a great success, little wizard," it praised, chuckling. "I've seen many madmen, but you're definitely one of the best."

Seraphax staggered to his feet and swatted the hand away with a disgusted punch. Its owner, however, seemed unfazed by the offense, his laughter growing even louder.

"Do you really feel any sense of reality about everything you've done, Seraphax?"

As it asked this question, its voice suddenly became calm, revealing an undisguised wisdom. In an instant, it transformed from a frenzied creature into a sage.

"What I mean is, do you really understand what you're doing?" it asked. "Time is not something you mortals can casually touch. Even we must carefully consider before we can even slightly tease or manipulate a certain point in time."

"Compared to us, what you did was like barging into a king's banquet and smashing his crown in front of everyone. What kind of punishment do you think you will receive for this?"

"If the Tzeentch truly wished to punish me, He would have already taken my soul," Seraphax replied coldly. "No need for your meddling."

It immediately retorted, "So, you know Him well? I think the answer is probably not so. You've never seen Him, have you? Your knowledge of Him comes entirely from scriptures, Daemon, and your own imagination—and these things are unreliable."

It sighed meaningfully.

"Seeing is believing, Seraphax."

Whether the Caliban Uprising occurs or not is irrelevant to the world. You've spent your entire life trying to reverse everything, to arrange everything perfectly. You think you're someone important, but they probably don't care about you or your plans at all; they just want to see you fail.

Coughing, Seraphax remained unmoved and cast another teleportation spell. A blue light flashed, and for a moment, his burning long hair seemed to return to its original state.

"That's not important," the wizard said firmly. "And you, shut up, all you need to do is help me."

"Good!" it laughed. "I love unrepentant madmen like you!"

--

Fueled by rage, the Lion El'Jonson stepped into a new territory. It was cold and dark, filled with the stench of decay, but he paid no heed.

He knew where he was; he recognized it at a glance. But all he wanted now was to go back and kill that beast, Seraphax.

However, the anger fueled by untamed wildness is terrifying, and he himself even feels uneasy about it, simply because of the similarities.

The last time he acted in this rage, he had Luther by his side, but now—

" --Primarch?"

The Lion El'Jonson turned and saw his Risen in the abandoned waterways beneath the Order' encampment. Of course, there was also Azrael, who had been caught in the crossfire, and his Knight Aspirant Asmodai.

"It's me, Zabriel."

In an instant, his anger dissipated. Sheathing his Lion Sword, he calmly stepped between them, nodded to them, and silently checked the condition of each person.

They were flattered, Asmodai was the best among them. He was tense all over, and his sword-wielding posture was so amateurish that he looked like a novice, probably because he already knew where he was.

The Lion El'Jonson didn't blame him, but the contrast between him and Azrael was truly striking. As fellow juniors and newcomers, Azrael seemed far more relaxed.

This conclusion remained unchanged until Azrael removed his helmet.

The Lion El'Jonson saw his pale, tense face and immediately overturned its own conclusion.

"Zabriel," he summoned the captain of the Risen. "Reorganize your ranks and let your little brothers relax. We'll depart in three minutes."

"Understood, Primarch," said the Risen.

He didn't ask them where they were going, nor did he offer any opinion on their current situation. He simply carried out the Lion El'Jonson's orders, cleanly and purely, like a sharp sword.

Lion Aljonsen seized the idea and poured it into his mind.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness.