57. Belated Judgment (23)

Long before Seraphax was even born, killing had already become a very simple thing.

Pull the trigger, bang, and a life is gone. It's not difficult at all; even a child could do it with ease. Firearms have surpassed all other types of weapons since their invention, and they have not fallen behind even after tens of thousands of years.

It is a double-edged sword created by humankind itself. While it gives the weak the power to resist, it also drags more people into the chain reaction of violence.

However, compared to the complete killing systems later created by the Imperium of Man, guns were merely the most basic thing.

So yes, we are a race that teaches children how to hate and how to kill. The question is, who forced us to be so cruel?

Standing in the hot, foul-smelling wind, Seraphax thought to himself.

A fireball streaked across the dark twilight, crashing down with a deafening roar not far behind him. Screaming Daemon beasts charged toward them like moving black clouds. Gunfire erupted for a moment, then submerged.

Seraphax didn't need to look back to know what the fireball was—a crashed gunboat carrying the four remaining survivors, now all dead, and the perpetrators feasting on it.

However, their insatiable greed and ferocity, rooted deep in their souls, will never be satisfied. Within seconds, the noisy cloud gathers again and moves in another direction.

Seraphax glanced back and saw a position where resistance was still ongoing. A tattered banner belonging to ordinary people stood atop the trench, its surface ravaged by war and blood, making it difficult for Seraphax to identify the identity of the resisting force.

However, perhaps it's inappropriate to describe them as an army. They were just a few dozen remnants of a soldier, scattered and about to die.

Seraphax sighed—long before he even arrived here, he had tried many times to transform his mindset, or at least a part of it, into that of the Dark Angels he once was.

In his mind, this matter shouldn't have been this difficult, after all, he had been mired in madness for a very long time. But expectations are just expectations; if everything were as simple as imagined, at least half of the evil and destruction in the world would vanish.

Of course, it could also be increased by half.

There's no other way.

The Chaos Sorcerer turned and began running toward the trench, drawing his Boltgun from his waist. Without even aiming, he simply pointed it at the top of the position and pulled the trigger.

Clusters of fire began to explode in the dark clouds, and the terrifying creatures with sharp teeth and claws immediately turned and pounced on him. Their minds were simple, but they were still confused—in their perception, this person had actually appeared suddenly, and just seconds before, the place where he stood was completely empty, only blood and mud.

Seraphax absorbed all of this and quickly realized he'd better discard this part of the extraordinary evil. Any mishap would be unacceptable for the entire plan and the role he was about to play.

He put the gun back on his waist, drew his Power Sword engraved with the Knight's Commandments, and prepared for battle. At the same time, he swept away everything superfluous to "Knight Captain Seraphax" into the deepest part of the darkness.

Moreover, he was extremely careful to isolate them from the energies he had brought with him. Those energies had to be as pure as a blank sheet of paper, and nothing could leave a mark on them before they reached the Emperor's hands.

Having done all this, Seraphax began to wield his sword. He had never been rusty in this area, and with the physical prowess he possessed as a former knight captain, the first wave of beasts that attacked him was quickly wiped out.

However, Seraphax did not anticipate one thing—just as he was preparing to deal with the approaching second wave of Daemon, gunfire erupted again on the battlefield.

"Fire!" someone roared hoarsely. "Cover him with fire!"

The howling red laser rain began to explode behind the dark clouds. Lacking sufficient power, and far from enough to cause a qualitative change through quantitative accumulation, some of the Daemon quickly turned away in anger.

Seraphax was slightly taken aback. He couldn't believe that those mortals didn't know that doing so was tantamount to courting death, yet they still did it.

Alright. The knight captain frowned, gripped his longsword tightly, and rushed into the horde of beasts, his sword flashing as if a sudden rain of filthy blood had fallen.

In just two seconds, Seraphax broke through their encirclement and rushed to the front of the position.

He leaped into the trench, and the sight of corpses crashing into his eyes filled him with a deafening roar—without time to think further, instinctively, he followed his past mental patterns and charged towards the back of the trench.

Dark red matter, indistinguishable as minced meat or dirt, splattered at his feet. The surrounding scenery rushed past him, and after four turns, he arrived at his destination. A large group of flying beasts were furiously waving their front paws, fiercely attacking a fortification on the side of the trench.

It naturally couldn't hold out for long, but red laser beams still flew out from the left-out firing holes.

Seraphax's face darkened involuntarily. He remained silent, simply drawing his gun, reloading, and then began to call out their names one by one.

If he could, he would choose to fire, but there were still survivors inside those fortifications, and he didn't believe that the structure, clearly made of cement and steel, could withstand a volley of explosive shells.

Soon, this small group of Daemon harassing the remaining soldiers in the trenches was pulverized one by one, and then, a faint shout came from inside the door.

"Don't come out! It's not over yet!" Seraphax almost roared as he warned, then immediately turned around, threw down his gun, and lunged at a large, relentlessly pursuing black cloud.

He fought with focused concentration, relying on the physical abilities of a typical Astartes, using his sword, fists, and willpower, rather than the Chaos magic. Naturally, his efficiency was a hundred times less, yet, for some reason, he felt a faint sense of peace within himself.

A few minutes later, he sheathed his sword, casually shoved the corpse of the last Daemon into the wall, smashing its bones to pieces, then turned and walked back to the fortification site, where the remaining soldiers shocked him once again.

There were only six of them, all wounded and covered in blood, but they showed no signs of despondency. One of them, a woman without a helmet, picked up his gun from the ground, brushed off the dirt, and pulled out an Astartes standard Boltgun magazine from her waist. She handed it back to Seraphax along with the gun.

"You--"

"--Sir, thank you for your help. The entire Hessman Guard Second Regiment Eleventh Company expresses its respect to you."

The woman saluted him, Aquila Salute, and then spoke. Her voice was unusually loud, as if she had lost some of her hearing and failed to hear Seraphax, instead continuing her report to herself.

"Now, we will continue our advance towards the northern Himalazian Plateau as ordered, to support the fourth line of defense there."

She pointed westward.

Seraphax glanced down at her, then at the others behind her, and asked, "Are we just going like this?"

A man answered his question for the woman, "Yes, sir, go then."

He patted his chest, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and his eyes, visible through the blood, looked very young.

Are there any other people among you?

"No, we are the last soldiers of the Eleventh Company—" The man, or rather the boy, smiled, his face showing no fear. "—But, as Lord Rogal Dorn said, we fought, and that's all."

Seraphax looked around and fell into an uncontrollable silence.

He had dreamed countless times of arriving here at the right time to fight the just war they were supposed to be fighting. However, after he arrived by any means necessary and through countless hardships, he discovered that he still lacked a true understanding of the war.

He had done everything he could, spending countless hours during those ten thousand years of betrayal gathering intelligence on the Battle of Terra from every angle. And since then, he has continuously reconstructed events from different timelines.

But that's not enough.

At that moment, he was speechless. The soldiers took his silence as tacit agreement, the boy nudged his officer with his elbow, and the woman saluted again.

She roared, "Just as the Emperor said, we will fight to the death, my lord!"

The remnants of the army turned and quickly disappeared into the distance, vanishing on the far horizon. Seraphax stood there for a long time, until he could no longer see Shadow with his naked eyes, before he finally stepped away.

His mind was in turmoil. He had thought he would see organized legions and Auxilia clashing with the Daemon armies, and that the Primarch would fight on the front lines, but he was wrong. What he saw most were corpses.

Human corpses, Daemon corpses, remnants of Mechanicum creations. Ruins everywhere, black smoke obscured the sky, flashes of fire constantly streaked above the clouds, and occasional crashes occurred.

This doesn't look like a fierce battlefield; it's more like...

Seraphax Fax took a deep breath, clearing his mind, and activated the Power Armour's built-in communication system. As he expected, the main communication channel, which should have been noisy, was eerily quiet, which made no sense.

The Departmento Munitorum stipulated that any Imperial Army, when conducting mixed-unit operations, should follow a fixed frequency, which should be set as the main channel to facilitate communication between different units. This place should have been filled with the roars and shouts of commanders, various requests for support, or urging for aerial bombardment.

But the place was deathly silent.

Seraphax used his neural link to control the Power Armour to start switching channels, trying them one by one according to his memory.

First came the bombing warning, then the takeoff notification; both channels were silent, so he switched to the more discreet channels.

The First Legion's communication key stored inside his Power Armour immediately went online, and over a hundred new channels were projected onto the left side of his visor in the next second. The server began checking for the latest news, automatically summarizing it and placing the important parts on the lower right of the visor for easy viewing at any time.

Four minutes passed, and the lower right side of the Seraphax eyepiece remained blank, with nothing appearing except for the monotonous "beep" sound that indicated a successful examination.

Silently, Seraphax emerged from the trench. He needed to make contact with the others to get a general idea of the situation.

The lack of intelligence was a fatal problem. Although he had already made the worst-case scenario assumptions about the ferocity of the war due to insufficient information, those were merely his assumptions; the reality far exceeded his imagination.

If he were to use the power that did not belong to the "Knight Captain" to set up a small magic circle, he could quickly resolve this matter, but this would also bring many new problems, the two most serious of which are...

First, the four gods are watching this place, and each Daemon is their eye and ears; he cannot lose this disguise, at least not now. Second, doing so could very well corrupt the energy he brings with him.

With no other option, Seraphax began to increase the Power Armour's sound-detection units, attempting to capture sounds far beyond the limits of his current hearing in order to find a direction to move forward.

Meanwhile, based on information inadvertently revealed by the remnants of the 11th Company of the Hessman Guards, he temporarily positioned himself not far east of the Terra Himalazian Plateau.

Terra is still prosperous on the map. This holographic map, drawn during the Great Crusade, features many famous buildings, such as the Imperial Palace, the Hessman Hive City of the Sentinel, and the Bridge of Glory and Sacrifice.

However, looking around, he saw neither the Imperial Palace Hive City, nor any bridges. This meant he could be on the ground or deep within the Hive City, but he couldn't determine his current altitude; his level had long since malfunctioned.

What you see in Seraphax is nothing but scorched earth.

Admittedly, he was no stranger to scorched earth; many Xenos homelands had been reduced to ashes and graves by the First Legion's firepower. But he had never imagined Terra would become like this. He wasn't Terra, but that had nothing to do with his pride in Terra; it had long been a symbol, humanity's homeworld, the birthplace of language, people, and the future.

When people talk about the Throne World, they always unconsciously use a special tone, even those who have betrayed it will involuntarily lower their voices.

Everyone says, "Go back to Terra."

Pilgrims speak of it with piety, soldiers speak of it without hope but with secret longing in their hearts, thieves, robbers, and vagrants speak of it not in public, but only in their dreams. Few have been there, and those who haven't are filled with longing—and now, Seraphax has become one of those few.

However, he showed no arrogance whatsoever.

This must be reversed. He thought sadly and resolutely. Terra cannot become like this; it shouldn't have fallen to this state. How dare our homeworld be destroyed? There are so many damned things in this galaxy, why must it be us who suffer this fate?

He clenched his fists and walked eastward. If they still needed "support" there, he might find new survivors.

--

Karyl Lohars closed his eyes and grasped a spear. The artifact trembled for a moment at his touch, but quickly subsided. Then, a soul that had been sleeping within it was swiftly awakened.

"Russ," Karyl called softly. "I need your help with something."

He opened his eyes and saw the Fenrisian standing not far away with his arms crossed, his face serious. He looked Karyl up and down, who was covered in blood, shook his head, and asked, "What's so urgent?"

His words carried a hint of metaphor, and upon closer examination, could even be described as "mockery," which Karyl accepted with a smile.

He smiled and replied, "Lion is dying."

"."

As expected, the Fenrisian remained silent for a good ten seconds, their expressions shifting between light and shadow. Karyl did not urge them on, but instead lowered his head and began communicating with the Dark Angels who were taking his place on the surface of Kamas using a very bulky communicator.

The other end of the call was filled with deafening gunfire, creating unparalleled noise. Normally, such communication, after multiple transfers, would have a delay of about half a minute, but this time was different. Certain instruments on the Lion El'Jonson made the distance between the Earth's surface and space completely irrelevant.

"We will end this war within half a day," the leader of the Dark Angels assured him, his voice as firm as iron. "No traitor will leave Kamas alive."

"I have no doubt about that, Chapter Master, but I'm afraid I'll have to leave for a while."

"What? Now?"

"Yes—and I'll take the spear from Lion's armory with me."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the communication line. Russ looked up, his expression still serious.

"I understand," Raphael said slowly. "But I'd like to confirm one thing: does Lord Russ agree to this?"

Karyl looked up at the Fenrisian and found him grinning, his previous seriousness completely gone.

"He remembers me, huh?" Russ winked at him, then suddenly grinned again. "By the way, can I say a few words to him, Karyl?"

Karyl didn't speak, but simply gripped the Dionysian Spear and closed his eyes. The next moment, Raphael on the other end of the communication line heard a voice with emphasis, almost like an echo.

"I agree, Raphael. By the way, where did you put those barrels of mead I taught you to make last time?"

"My lord?" the Chapter Master asked, somewhat bewildered.

"Where did you put it? I need a drink, I haven't had one in ages." "Karyl" clicked his tongue, talking to himself, but his icy blue eyes held no mirth. "Give me a heads-up, I promise I won't let you finish it, okay?"

Raphael took a deep breath, then recited a key and a very secret location. Russ smiled slightly, said goodbye, and even turned off her communicator before turning and walking out of the armory.

The once noisy corridor is now unusually quiet. Most of the servants have been assigned to the gun deck or the supply depot for logistical work, with only a few automated Servitor remaining here on guard.

They ignored Russ, even letting him run wildly through the corridor.

Just two minutes later, Russ arrived at a place not far from his destination via a secret path reserved when the Edge of Reason was built. It was an abandoned repair workshop, nestled between the cabins, with several inconspicuous black wooden barrels placed deep within the dusty tools.

They were so black that they hardly looked like wood. Russ stepped forward, flicked his fingers to send a breeze through the tools and dust, and sighed in admiration.

"Psionic power is so useful, isn't it, Karyl?"

I disagree.

Russ chuckled, stepped forward, and pulled out two barrels from the pile with both hands. The sound of liquid sloshing inside indicated that they were completely full.

Given his past behavior, the next step would most likely have been to drink heartily, but he didn't do that. Instead, he simply reached out and removed the thick lid of the barrel, and began to tear it apart expressionlessly amidst the pungent smell of mead.

Soon, the damp wood, filter cloth, and steel rings used for clamping were scattered all over the ground, leaving only two small golden stones in Russ's palm.

He blinked, and his eyes turned completely black again.

"What is this?" Karyl asked softly.

The Fenrisian emerged from beneath his feet shook his head, leaned against the wine barrel, took a deep breath, and then answered.

"A little precaution. Even after the old man took his seat, he still remembered my affairs. One year, he took some time to send Constantine to Fenris and gave us these two stones. He said they were some materials left over from when the Dionysian Spear was forged, and if the spear were to suffer unexpected damage one day in the future, these two stones could be used as repair materials. Of course, what he gave us certainly had more uses than that."

Russ's eyes gleamed as he looked at Karyl and said, "Lion needs help, but you can't really go, can you?"

"I can go."

"It just comes at a high price," Russ replied casually, then shook her head. "Please, do you think we haven't talked about you?"

He left the barrel and approached Karyl. Although he was now much taller than him, his demeanor was surprisingly humble.

"Listen to me, Karyl," the Fenrisian whispered. "You've finally regained your humanity, so stop meddling in other people's business. Let me handle it, okay? I've been wanting to give that old Lion's ass a good kick for ages."

"What do you want to do?" Karyl looked up and asked calmly.

Russ finally smiled genuinely, but after the smile faded, her face was filled with sorrow.

"Ten thousand years—a full hundred centuries—and my brother has never let this damned spear leave his side since my death. This is the first time, and coincidentally, the only time, he is about to die."

He suddenly stopped speaking and then smiled.

"Don't you think this is something worth talking about? Ha, but, ten thousand years, Karyl, he's been traveling back and forth between Fenris and the Misty Sector, letting me possess him once every century—do you understand?"

He squatted down and sighed.

"I could feel it, he was dying," Leman Russ Russ said in a very low voice, his face contorted, a shadow of rage flashing across his eyes. "I could also feel that he was exhausted, that he wanted to rest, but he wouldn't allow himself to stop."

"These subtle things are like the tinnitus in my ears when I'm about to fall asleep; I struggled so hard to grasp them, and now you've come, and you even say you're going to bring the Dionysian Spear."

"So, you know where he is, don't you, Karyl?"

What else could Karyl say? All he could do was nod in agreement.

"Then let me go," Leman Russ Russ said. "Let me help him just this once. He needs weapons, armor, food—he might even need some wine. So let me go, Karyl."

Karyl looked into those ice-blue eyes.

When he was King Fenris, these eyes mostly held a cunning glint. When he was the Wolf King, these eyes were always majestic. But now, these eyes are calm, filled with a pure willpower.

"I'm going to save my brother," Leman Russ Russ told him quietly. "Please let me go."

All right.

Karyl silently raised his left hand and gripped the two stones tightly; they began to deform in his palm.

The process was silent, as if the stones were not minerals at all. Sparkling powder drifted silently through his fingers, and seconds later, he opened his palm; the stones had merged into one. It twisted, looking like a golden lightning bolt.

Russ let out a long sigh of relief.

"Listen carefully, Russ. I can send you there because Luther did some things. But whether you can come back or not doesn't depend on me or any other power. You can only find your own way back."

The Fenrisian grinned and deliberately sniffed.

Karyl glanced at him, then suddenly smiled and held out his left hand, "These two barrels of wine are just right for you to keep and drink when you come back. How about that, Russ?"

"Go ahead and drink it all!" the Fenrisian shouted, grabbing his hand. "We'll have a victory celebration when we get back, and this isn't enough!"

Boom--!

A thunderous sound flashed through the air inside the Edge of Reason, but few heard it. Even those who did only mistook it for the strange noise of the engine or some other machine.

Having lived on ships for so many years, what sounds hadn't they heard? The servants continued their work, while outside the portholes, gunfire raged; the last vestiges of the Thousand Eyes warship's strength were being eroded.

Karyl released his grip, letting the Dionysian Spear lean against the wall. It had lost its golden luster and its surface was even covered with cracks. He turned and walked out of the long-abandoned cabin, to a porthole, looking out into the vacuum of space.

A few minutes later, accompanied by a burst of blinding light, a shadow suddenly appeared beneath his feet.

A voice quietly spoke up, "You seem quite relaxed, old man?"

Karyl lowered his head, smiled slightly at him, and said casually, "If you look back now, you might still see Russ shouting."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, he just set off to rescue Lion." Karyl shrugged. "Didn't you notice?"

"You old bastard!" the voice from the Shadow roared in exasperation. "Why won't you let me go?! What good is that stupid wolf?!"

"He admits his mistakes and corrects them, Konrad Curze."

Karyl raised his head, his eyes unusually gentle. "I think this time, he will succeed."