38: The Belated Judgment (XI, Cycle)

Everyone has unforgettable memories, whether young or old, poor or rich, beautiful or ugly.

A dissolute rich kid can have a past so pure it makes people blush, while a homeless person huddled in a street corner shivering may have once sat in a palace enjoying delicacies.

Zabriel was no exception; however, compared to ordinary people, his "unforgettable events" probably date back a very, very long time.

At that time, he was only fourteen years old and had just completed the basic training within the Order. As an apprentice of the appropriate age, his days in the Order were not easy; any knight could put him to severe tests.

In addition, he also had to stay in the training field to undergo continuous assessments, which was not an easy thing for a young boy to bear, even with the honor as a foundation.

Therefore, he needed to find a way to vent.

For Zabriel at that time, this method could be embodied in a period of time—every night before going to bed, he would squeeze into the dormitory with his fellow apprentices, exchange their training results of the day under the dim candlelight, and encourage each other.

The discussion wouldn't end until the old man who was in charge of taking care of their daily lives came in with a ruler to extinguish the candles.

However, this peaceful period of finding joy amidst hardship did not last long, as he soon completed his advanced training and began undergoing modification surgery.

Since then, things have changed rapidly. Zabriel has never had a late-night heart-to-heart talk with anyone again—and he would often think of those nights, or rather, the feeling they represented.

It was a serene, transcendent power, enough to calm him at any moment. Unfortunately, he hadn't encountered it in his heart for a long time.

Until now.

Until he and Luther set off together on a forest path.

He recognized this place. Zabriel inevitably realized this, and he hesitated slightly about it, while the aged knight simply walked on silently, offering no advice, even though he was fully aware of Zabriel's feelings at that moment.

The dappled sunlight filtering through the trees shone on his cloak, revealing stains and dust that shouldn't have been there. He walked quickly, his gait unusually agile, seemingly oblivious to the increasingly dark surroundings, even his full head of white hair appeared sharper because of it.

Zabriel followed closely behind Luther, never leaving his side. They maintained this pace as they moved through the forest until light replaced darkness, embracing them once more without any reservations.

A fortress, slowly being built, appeared before them. It could be clearly seen by simply looking over the cliffs, the stream, and a small meadow.

Around it, the forest is being cut down. It's the work of hordes of crawlers from the Mechanicum, an ancient and efficient agricultural machine.

With just one operator, it can perform a series of complex tasks, such as harvesting trees, uprooting stumps and roots, and improving the land to make it more suitable for construction or cultivation.

Therefore, although it may be discouraging to say so, one crawler is indeed more efficient than a hundred workers—and there are at least a hundred crawlers here.

Many people dressed in traditional Caliban attire were being instructed by an official in another open area. The official held a Dataslate and methodically explained the standard process of stacking stones.

People were confused by his words, which was evident on their faces. The official was getting impatient, so he took off his hat, on which the Imperium insignia was very conspicuous.

A thriving and prosperous scene.

However, when Zabriel connected these images with his memories, he even got goosebumps.

After the Lion El'Jonson led his the Order to kill all the giant beasts on Caliban, perhaps by fate, the original warriors of the Imperium and the First Legion arrived at the same place at the same time.

After that, many things happened naturally.

The Caliban, from top to bottom, have come under the banner of the Great Crusade and the Imperium, and are united in their efforts to reform. What is now before Zabriel is one part of that process, and the very first part of it.

The fortress was named Aldurukh, and it was the headquarters of the Order under the leadership of the Lion El'Jonson.

At this time, it was being remodeled to become the First Legion's future base in Caliban. More importantly, it would serve as a meeting place.

The Emperor is coming.

It received this honor.

However, by the time Zabriel joined the Order, Aldurukh Fortress had become a massive fortress, and the Emperor had long since departed. He never imagined that he would witness this scene firsthand.

While it is indeed an honorable thing, upon closer examination, it seems rather strange.

Luther turned around, his white hair sweeping solemnly across his forehead in the mountain wind. The old jazz's voice was utterly calm, carrying a deep, weathered quality.

"I believe you already know what era we are living in right now, Zabriel."

Zabriel understood this, yet he still couldn't help feeling somewhat confused—and the source of this confusion was actually quite strange; it originated from a fleeting thought that flashed through his mind.

Luther seemed to have gone without water in a long time.

Zabriel felt he needed to take the initiative, so he seized the idea and let it take control of him.

"Sir, are you thirsty?" he asked.

"No."

Luther paused briefly, then continued immediately, but without using language.

His face was like a mask carved from stone, devoid of any possibility of emotion; everything about him was rough and cold. Zabriel's absurd question did not bother him in the slightest.

He raised his right hand and pointed to the Aldurukh fortress, his arm straight like a flagpole. Following his gaze, Zabriel looked again, but he found nothing worth paying attention to.

Confused, he had no choice but to relinquish all control.

"Sir, I don't understand."

"Look with your heart," Luther said.

His words were utterly illogical, and if Zabriel weren't a Dark Angels, he would be furious right now. But it was actually a Caliban proverb, used to refer to something that held special significance for knights.

"Here?" Zabriel asked.

"Yes."

The old knight nodded to him, and his prosthetic left hand suddenly pressed against the short sword at his waist, the muscle bundles taut together, producing a muffled thud.

I will act as your protector.

Zabriel struck his chest with his right fist, then faced the fortress, knelt down, and removed his belt. He took his sword, gun, and winged helmet from it, placed them in front of him, and then closed his eyes without moving.

Luther stood solemnly behind him, his eyes, which should have lost their sharpness with age, were not cloudy at all; they were still bright, even frighteningly so.

Even though the place was quiet and peaceful, he remained vigilant, as if something was indeed watching from the dark forest.

Zabriel calmed himself down, and within twenty seconds, he entered a meditative state, completely absorbed in his thoughts. His senses became heightened; he noticed the chirping of insects and birds, the gentle breeze—all these things were captured by him, yet none of them truly moved him.

In his heart, in the imagination of his mind, these things did not exist.

The details of the Aldurukh fortress emerge in incredible detail.

The felled forest, bundles of timber, and trucks coming and going. Dust flies, sawdust swirls, and lands on the workers' shoulders.

Not far away, patrolling knights stood atop the fortress battlements, scrutinizing these peasants—whom they perceived as peasants—with a mixture of pity and disgust.

They were unaware of the upheaval that was about to befall Caliban. Once upon a time, war was the prerogative of knights, a symbol of their status, and a reason for their very existence.

All of this will be completely changed after the Imperium arrives. For the next ten thousand years, Caliban's Auxilia will be renowned throughout the galaxy for their exceptional quality. No one knows that they were once despised patrons, and those who despised them have vanished without a trace.

Zabriel showed them no sympathy; he was proud to be a descendant of the Order.

Unlike other the Order, the Order of Order does not care about social status or wealth, and it does not agree with the idea that only nobles can become knights. As long as one can prove that they have outstanding character and achievements, the Order of Order welcomes everyone.

In his view, it was an honor for these knights to stand on the battlements of Aldurukh, if not for the arrival of the Emperor.

Etc--

Zabriel suddenly opened his eyes.

He reached for the winged helmet and put it on. The visor zoomed in and out, and the knights standing on the western battlements came into view again.

By this time, the legends of the Imperium and the Emperor had already spread throughout Caliban through the messengers, and everyone knew of humanity's glorious past and the terrors of the Old Night. They had not yet seen the Emperor, but they had already begun to look forward to the moment they would meet him.

Most people were filled with enthusiasm, and even the most rational people only slowed down due to doubt.

These knights, however, were different; their expressions held no trace of goodwill. Zabriel frowned and ordered the analysis system to read their lips. A mechanical voice followed, and the helmet faithfully carried out his command.

"How can we allow this to happen? This so-called Imperium will take Caliban from our hands, and our traditions and honor will be lost forever."

"Look at what they're doing! The forests are disappearing, the apprentices are more willing to obey Astartes' orders than their original mentors, and now even the farmers are becoming part of the war!"

"We must take back Caliban."

"But what will Lion do? He won't be on our side."

"Let him die. He's no different from those monsters who call themselves Astartes."

"Perhaps we should try to win over Luther."

Zabriel instinctively reached for his sword. The analytical function continued to send these words to his ears, but he no longer wanted to listen.

A heavy anger was weighing on his rational nerves—if anyone asked, Zabriel would readily admit: yes, he was furious.

Luther raised his hand and pressed it against his shoulder.

"This did happen, but not at this point," the old knight said expressionlessly. "In the history I know, they only began plotting two weeks before the Emperor's arrival."

"Beneath the assembly hall in Aldurukh lies a separate, secret chamber where these men would enter late at night to discuss their schemes. Ultimately, they concluded that they could never match the Imperium on the open battlefield. Therefore, if they wanted to achieve their goals, they had to resort to any means necessary."

"What did they do?" Zabriel asked, unaware that his tone was filled with hatred.

Luther lowered his head and released his grip.

"They wanted to assassinate the Emperor," he said softly. "This was ultimately stopped by young Zahariel, and here their discussions were brought forward, and therefore the decision was made sooner."

"Now, they intend to instigate a rebellion before the Emperor arrives. Do you see those workers below the walls? They will be the first victims."

"Two days later, an out-of-control crawler will run over dozens of workers and destroy part of the walls of Aldurukh. They will seize the opportunity to escalate the situation—a foolish plan, but this has not happened in our history. I think you probably know who is pushing for this."

Zabriel stood up with incredible speed.

He didn't know who Zahariel was, even though the name sounded very similar to his own, but all he cared about now was how to stop it.

"What should we do, Sir?"

"We don't need to do anything," Luther said. "I've already done everything I was supposed to do."

Before he finished speaking, everything around the fortress suddenly blurred, as if covered by a cloth of light. No matter how hard Zabriel looked, he couldn't see anything clearly.

He didn't understand what had happened; he only knew that the sky suddenly darkened, and starlight and darkness descended upon them, followed by daylight again.

All of this happened rather slowly, but it was so unsettling that even though Zabriel had tried his best to understand, his mind remained as blank as a block of wood.

Zabriel gazed at the battlements, but could no longer see the traitors. The machinery that had been operating below the city wall was now deep in the forest, none of it approaching. The official, however, remained seated, waving his Dataslate and explaining the rules and regulations to the workers.

He looked around, extremely vigilant, but saw nothing of note, only an orderly scene. It seemed, just as the old knight had said, that he had done everything he needed to do.

Zabriel turned around in astonishment to look at Luther, but he no longer saw the white-haired old man.

Luther vanished, leaving behind only a door gleaming with golden light, a winged sword emblem, and a withered yellow letter. Sealing wax stubbornly remained in the center of the envelope, within which an Aquila seemed poised to take flight.

The Dark Angels bent down to pick up the insignia and letter, but did not open them immediately. He returned to his meditation spot, re-armed himself, checked his Power Armour and weapons, and then took a deep breath—until he was certain he was fully prepared—before opening the letter.

"If you see this letter, Zabriel, it means I have done everything I was supposed to do."

"I know you're probably still confused, with many questions swirling in your mind, waiting to be answered. I have a few friends who love to communicate through riddles, but I'm different, so I'll tell you directly what's going on."

"Caliban is a cursed world, once tainted by Chaos and corruption, until the arrival of Lion El-Jonson. I believe you are very familiar with these things, slaying behemoths, and the struggles with the Knights of Lupus."

"But looking back, have you ever sensed something strange that's hard to describe?"

"From our current perspective, those behemoths were actually just a manifestation of Chaos pollution in the material world. No matter what kind of beasts they were in the past, the claws of Chaos have firmly gripped them."

"That's the problem. Why is there Chaos contamination on Caliban? And if it really is Chaos at work, simply killing the behemoths will not stop the contamination from spreading."

"Be very careful about this, Zabriel. Something else is lurking in the darkness, hungry and waiting for us."

"Now let's talk about the second thing—what do I need you to do?"

"It's very simple. Do you remember the legend about how Aldurukh was founded?"

"A cave, a solitary knight. He patrolled day and night, selflessly offering help and protection to others. People revered him, joined him, and together they dug and built the first Aldurukh Fortress."

"Find it, Zabriel. Find it, and you will find us."

--

The Lion El'Jonson never imagined he would see Luther again.

However, he was indeed prepared. As soon as permission came from the Throne, he would immediately lead his men to Terra to exhume the remains of the many Dark Angels who had died there.

He had no doubt that Luther's remains were among them.

In the past, long ago, he had considered the possibility of Luther's death, and many times at that, but none of these considerations ever came to fruition. He would always feel a surge of restlessness before it ended, and then abandon the thought halfway through to do something else.

Yes, he was running away, and it was destined not to last long. When Luther publicly announced that he was the traitor who had stripped others of their honor, Lion immediately realized—this was the moment.

Rage, shock, and grief combined in that instant, knocking him to the ground, then yanking him up and roaring in his ear: Luther must die!

Lion did not follow this line of thought, but he did not completely reject it either.

Over the next decade or so, he began to contemplate how to face death more than once. Not just Luther's, but others' as well. Such as Corswain, his brothers, and himself.

Most of these thoughts were cold, but when he actually saw Leman Russ Russ's body with his own eyes, that coldness helped him a lot.

Everyone will die. He told himself this with unwavering calmness as he found himself in Terra.

Therefore, the absence of sacrifice is unacceptable.

Therefore, when the Lion El'Jonson did not see Luther during the headcount after Karyl Lohars defied his divinity for the last time, he remained remarkably calm.

Until now, until he saw Luther with his own eyes on Caliban.

Is it the chaos of time at work?

The Lion El'Jonson asked himself a question, secretly hoping that this was the answer, but the truth was always cruelly different— Luther, who walked slowly from the end of the path, had a full head of white hair and looked as old as a stone statue that had been weathered by wind and rain for thousands of years.

His cloak was tattered, his prosthetic limbs were covered in rust, and vital parts at the joints were even exposed. His belt was empty, except for a power short sword and a repeating pistol.

This was not the attire Luther would have adopted in the past. Luther Grand Master of the Order should have been wearing meticulously maintained Power Armour, riding a warhorse through the forest. His armor would have been spotless, his Power Sword securely sheathed, and he would most likely have been followed by a troop, waving the Order's banners with great fanfare.

Now, the Lion El'Jonson saw a white-haired vagrant stop a few meters away from him.

"It's been a long time, Lion."

The Lion El'Jonson raised its Lion Sword at him, completely unmoved, the blade coldly pointed at Luther's neck.

Luther responded with a weary smile, raising his hands to show his harmlessness. There was no weapon in his empty hands, but the Lion El'Jonson remained vigilant, his sword unmoving.

"Who are you?" he asked coldly.

"Luther," the vagrant answered obediently. "A member of the Order, a former Grand Master."

The Lion El'Jonson stared at him intently for several seconds before finally making his decision. The Lion Sword hung low, he narrowed his eyes, and suddenly let out a cold laugh.

"No, you're not. You've already been expelled."

"I thought you had rescinded that order."

"Not yet," said the Lion El'Jonson. "Now explain why you're here?"

Luther shook his head. Instead of answering the Lion El'Jonson's question, he threw out a counter-question, "Here?"

The Lion El'Jonson frowned.

Luther sighed, lowered his hands, and adopted a more effortless stance, but he didn't lower his cloak to cover his hands, appearing very cautious.

"Where do you think this is?" he asked.

"Caliban."

"You're right, but only partly right," Luther said noncommittally. "This isn't the Caliban you know, Lion— "

"--I know."

The Lion El'Jonson interrupted him, a deep rage erupting from his wrinkles, which resembled Luther's. Strangely enough, this rage wasn't directed at Luther. Moreover, it had been many years since he had so naturally displayed his emotions.

"You mean this is Caliban before we killed all the behemoths, right? I know that."

As the Lion El'Jonson spoke, he raised his Lion Sword again, pointing it at the lifeless beast lying to the side. He still appeared angry, but his tone was strangely restrained, as if he didn't want to cause any misunderstanding.

Luther glanced at it, a complex emotion flashing across his face.

"I'm afraid it's not just that, Lion. In this era, slaying a giant beast is something that only exists in myths and legends; no one has yet accomplished this feat. Come with me."

He turned and walked into the depths of the forest. The Lion El'Jonson, though agitated, followed. Only the beast's carcass remained, its filthy blood slowly seeping into the soil. In the darkness, a sound like a venomous snake flicking its tongue echoed stealthily.