47 Delayed Judgment (18)

Spitting out blood, the wizard slowly walked towards an altar. The surroundings were completely dark, without a single ray of light, except for the eerie stone tower that emitted a chilling blue glow.

He was injured, though not seriously, but the energy swirling around the wound was quite troublesome. At least for the time being, the wizard didn't have the extra energy to deal with it; he had more important things to do right now.

"Just change the timeframe, it's not difficult," Seraphax heard himself say. "Just one more try, or a few more. Success is only a matter of time."

The wizard knew the idea was correct, but he disagreed with it.

The god who rose from the Emperor's corpse had already set his sights on Caliban; for such a being, no amount of timelines mattered.

The transcendence of deities is the foundation of their existence; these beings exist independently of the material world. No matter what happens in the mortal realm, it cannot cause them any real "harm," at most it can only have an impact.

Upon closer examination, even the act of rebelling against them only adds to their power. The only thing that can impose any limitation on them is themselves.

"What are you planning to do?" Seraphax heard himself ask.

The wizard reached out, passing through the blazing blue flames atop the altar, and grasped a piece of human bone with perfect accuracy.

It was a piece of his own rib, removed centuries before he entered Caliban, and meticulously crafted and adorned with the blood of nine wise men to become the ritual object it is today. It has a glassy luster and a smooth surface, and the thousands of characters carved on it seem to be alive, constantly twisting and changing positions on its surface, never stopping for a moment.

The wizard held it up before him, grasping both ends with his hands, and his robes immediately billowed. An invisible gale whipped the robes into a fluttering haze, yet the characters on the bone surface abruptly stopped moving.

Several minutes later, the wizard lowered his arm and placed the piece of bone that belonged to him back in its place, and the flames burned brightly for a long time.

"This is truly unheard of," Seraphax heard himself say with deep concern. "Never seen such a sign before, nine premonitions, nine inquiries, nine demises."

The wizard limped down from the altar, walking very slowly, almost staggering. His head was down, and his face, which had been burning with anger, had returned to normal, or at least appeared to be.

This face doesn't resemble the former knight captain much; instead, it looks more like Seraphax when he first joined the legion—a red-haired young man with freckles and features that still retain a hint of childishness.

But his eyes were lifeless.

"Your plan is very thorough, but unfortunately, it's not enough," Seraphax heard himself sigh. "The Warband is being destroyed 25 percent faster than calculated. That embodiment of slaughter will eventually tear through this labyrinthine flow of time and seize you."

Even if we temporarily ignore the blade already at your throat, how will you deal with the "protective measures" sent by that god? Zabriel may have no redeeming qualities, but he is still a Dark Angels.

The wizard stopped, his robes billowing. He sat down silently, like a weary traveler descending a mountain, on the broad stone steps. Silence reigned all around; no sound could be heard in the darkness, even the flames burning in the brazier.

"But you still have a chance," Seraphax heard himself speak slowly. "The Tzeentch craves change, and He won't stand by and watch you devise a hopeless plan."

"The praise He showed you may have contained ninety-nine parts malice, but there was also that final bit of sincerity."

"He has gone to such great lengths to allow you to go back in time and to carry out your plan, and it hasn't even reached the point of failure yet. How could He possibly allow you to fail now? Think carefully, there must be a way to break this deadlock."

The wizard frowned, and actually began to think.

At first, he was clueless, simply wandering aimlessly in his mind. The meditation habit he inherited as Dark Angels easily transformed into some indescribable power after he embarked on the "bright" path of the Chaos Sorcerer.

All the past events surfaced at this moment, drifting like willow catkins on a deep blue ocean he imagined, while his soul sped by like a point of light.

"This is it." Suddenly, Seraphax heard himself mutter to himself. "Do you see it?"

The wizard certainly saw it—deep in his memory, in the darkness where the Radiance of the Great Crusade had faded, hope had vanished, love and hate were meaningless, and only blood, sacrifice, and human screams remained, he saw a key that truly existed.

A silver key, made of nine metal segments, each rotating at a different speed.

Just looking at it, the wizard found himself incredulously dizzy. This feeling did not originate from his body, but from within his soul.

This should have been an impossible thing; his soul had long since become a pawn in the hands of the Tzeentch. Yet now, this key was granting him a new kind of power.

Or rather, status.

"Transcendence!" Seraphax heard himself scream.

"Yes," another voice responded at length.

Who is speaking? This question doesn't even need an answer.

"Yes," Tzeentch said, his tone almost eerily gentle. "Transcendence."

Keys, doors, answers, hope, the question itself, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine different lights, wailing faces, wise men born from the storm.

Countless images flashed before the wizard's eyes. He knelt down, drenched in sweat, his robes completely soaked—this was extremely strange. First, he had lost the ability to secrete sweat; second, his robes were immune to many kinds of rules from the mortal world.

But the fact remains: he was sweating, his robes were so wet they looked as if they were floating in the river.

Tzeentch smiled at him.

A genuine deity stood before him, in his mind, and vividly in his memory.

"Seraphax, you still have a chance."

The wizard stared at Him, speechless. He simply stared, his mind blank; he had lost the ability to think. This was the consequence of looking directly at a deity—even if Tzeentch was merely using the key to briefly manifest a partial form, even if He harbored no ill will towards him.

But the wizard is not dead; quite the opposite is true.

He is being promoted.

A slow smile spread across Tzeentch's face, which could hardly be called a "face." Countless dead had their teeth pulled out in the storm, and countless bloodshot eyes stared at the earth under the dark night sky. The wind blew and the clouds drifted, day and night alternated.

These abstract elements together form His face, and He is smiling—a smile that cannot be described in words.

"I say, you still have a chance, Seraphax. Look here, look at this key, see it? It can bring you some unexpected help, and therefore, it can also help you deal with some unexpected troubles—like the great and lonely Sir Luther."

"He spent countless years on Caliban, becoming the kind of hero he wanted to be, and a threat in return. I respect him, but I respect you even more, Seraphax. What you are about to do is far greater than what Sir Luther has accomplished."

"He only protected Lion Aljonsen at best, but what about you? If your plan comes to fruition, what kind of Radiance can you bring to humanity?"

Tzeentch raised his hand—He didn't have such a thing, but He wanted it, and so an arm appeared here. Long and white, like jade, with nine fingers, adorned with rings.

The hand handed the silver key to the wizard.

"Promote, then offer sacrifice."

Tzeentch blinked.

"This has been true since time immemorial. Humans were able to stand upright to hold a spear, to have a waist joint that could rotate significantly, and to evolve the biological marvel of the thumb."

"They gave up something to gain this precious throwing skill, and you are no exception, Seraphax. So, sacrifice yourself for your great cause. I will grant you the greatest leniency; you only need to sacrifice one life to obtain my authority."

Nine Fingers happily fiddled with the key, making it spin faster. The wizard, unable to speak or think, watched this scene, seemingly in a daze. But it didn't matter, because Tzeentch wasn't speaking to him in the first place.

A few seconds later, the wizard suddenly tilted his head back, his neck bulging and veins bulging, and then it suddenly split open—no blood or anything else splattered. In fact, the two ends of the laceration did not appear to contain any flesh or blood; the entire wound looked more like a pitch-black abyss.

A face slowly emerged from it, pale, bloodless, and panting heavily.

Seraphax, Captain of the Knights, traitor to the Dark Angels, leader of the Thousand Eyes.

Tzeentch looked at him with admiration.

"Whom do you want me to sacrifice?" Seraphax asked in anguish.

Tzeentch immediately burst into laughter—He didn't answer, but Seraphax had already gotten the answer. The pain intensified, and his face gradually slid from pale to an almost transparent white, as if he were disappearing.

"No," Seraphax said weakly.

"It's up to you, my child. Whether you refuse or not is entirely up to you. I won't make the choice for you, nor will I force you. Of course, you might say it's a fatal temptation, that I appeared when you were at your weakest and most helpless, bringing a new turning point."

"Based on your understanding of me, this is undoubtedly a trap. And my actions right now are merely encouraging you to jump in, so that you'll fall and be smashed to pieces, bringing me some amusement—but, Seraphax."

The Tzeentch vanished from the spot. When He reappeared, His original form had dissipated into nothingness, leaving only a hazy mist that entwined the silver key.

Let me clear the fog for you.

As the key continued to spin, wisps of electricity suddenly pulsed between the nine metal segments that were clearly separate yet tightly connected, dissipating around them like living things.

They continuously transformed, accomplishing the feat of ignoring rules and laws in less than half a second, turning from lightning into a genuine wooden door.

Its surface was smooth, as if it had just been waxed. The door handle was a jet-black sphere, with an Aquila made of gold and silver inlaid within it, coldly staring at the key.

"If you complete the sacrifice, you will receive a portion of my authority."

Tzeentch solemnly warned him, his tone no longer joking or teasing.

Seraphax, still painfully struggling with the wizard's skin, suddenly realized with shock that Tzeentch was not lying; He was telling the truth.

For this reason, His speech became extremely slow, and each word seemed sticky and terrifying, as if it were stained with fresh blood.

"This power is extremely complex, and you can hardly fully grasp its greatness, but you can wield it with ease, without incurring any cost. Once you have this power in your hands, the first thing you must do is kill Luther."

"This is no simple matter, because this stubborn and foolish human has spent countless hours etching his existence into every aspect of Caliban's history, from the past to the future, protecting Lion Aljonson even in the darkest of places."

"Therefore, you need to kill him completely and once and for all, otherwise he will come back sooner or later. To do this, you must cut off all the unnecessary branches in the timeline—which means you will personally step into them and experience each different history."

"It sounds like a mentally and physically demanding task, doesn't it? But don't worry, with my power in your hands, you can complete this preparation in an instant. If you succeed, then congratulations, you have completed the most important step: you have purified the timeline, leaving only the one where you were born."

"Now you can kill Luther and take his place. You can mold Lion El-Jonson into the man you envision, the truly Radiance and righteous King of Knights."

"He is fiercely opposed to evil, possesses a strong sense of justice, and is adept at recognizing and utilizing talent. He will become the head of the Primarch, and those love-starved giant infants will obediently remain under his cloak, gazing upon the glory of the crown. His father will truly regard him as the eldest son, the heir to the Imperium."

"The Great Crusade, under the command of the Lion El'Jonson, will end all the cancers threatening humanity once and for all, and the same will happen to the Imperium's absurd system, which will undergo reform from top to bottom."

"Lion El-Jonson will make humanity and the Imperium great once more, and the Dark Angels have never been broken, never betrayed, and have always Radiance."

The key spun gently, wobbling incessantly.

"I haven't lied to you, Seraphax. I've never been so honest. This virtue is hurting me, and you have to make the choice."

The door rattled, and golden light flashed behind the Aquila. Suddenly, someone began to knock on the door.

"Seraphax?" A young boy's voice sounded from behind the door, a voice both gentle and spirited. "Are you awake? You promised to teach me swordsmanship today."

The Dark Angels within the wizard's body, spitting blood, tore through his skin and shackles, leaving him covered in blood and standing naked before the door.

Without hesitation, he reached out and grasped the key.

"What do you want?" the Dark Angels asked.

Tzeentch finally smiled again.

"All of this," He said maliciously. "Try to please me and my sisters, Seraphax, while you still can."