The Earth Shook and Mountains Trembled

The power of that punch was enough to make mountains tremble.

Zabriel's body flew out like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into the trunk of an ancient tree behind him.

The tree trunk snapped with a crack, splinters flew everywhere, and the massive canopy crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Zabriel lay among the splinters and dust, unable to move for a long time.

The power of that punch—he had experienced the power of various weapons on countless battlefields, the penetrating force of explosives, the tearing force of Chainsword, and the impact of Power Fist.

But what he felt at this moment was a completely different kind of power.

That is the power of the Primarch.

It is the pinnacle that life created by the Emperor himself can achieve.

It is the Material Universe that imposes a limit on existence.

That power was not simply muscle contraction, nor was it merely skeletal transmission; rather, it was an existence akin to a law—when the Primarch threw a punch, the universe itself coordinated with his movement.

The trajectory of that fist conformed to some deeper pattern, and the transmission of that impact followed some more fundamental principle.

No disguise of Chaos can simulate this power.

No demonic incarnation could replicate this existence.

Zabriel lay on the ground, gazing at the wood chips and dust falling from the sky, at the dappled light filtering through the leaves, and at the imposing figure slowly retracting his fist.

The last trace of confusion in his eyes finally dissipated.

Instead, an indescribable emotion arose.

That is—I'm sure of it.

"My father..."

His voice was hoarse, almost incoherent.

He struggled to get up, but the force of the punch had not completely dissipated; his body was still trembling, still trying to process the terrifying impact.

"My father... you... you..."

He gasped for breath and finally managed to utter the complete sentence:

"You've also arrived ten thousand years in the future!?"

Lion was about to step forward and help his stubborn son up, but those words made him stop in his tracks.

What does "also" mean?

His brow furrowed slightly, his gaze piercing Zabriel like a sharp sword.

But then he saw a change in those eyes—the confusion, the anger, the doubt were slowly fading away, replaced by a clear brightness, like the clear sky after the dark clouds have dispersed.

Zabriel regained consciousness.

He recognized his father.

Lion slowly withdrew his feet and straightened his body.

He knew that what he needed now was not help, but waiting.

We await the return of this veteran from ten thousand years ago, as he stands up on his own two legs and with his own will.

Zabriel struggled to his feet.

His movements were slow and labored, and his tattered armor made a screeching sound as he rose.

But he didn't ask for help, he didn't groan, he just used all his strength, little by little, until he finally stood in front of Lion.

Then, he knelt down.

His knees slammed heavily onto the ground covered in splinters of wood, his head drooping low, almost touching the earth.

"Father, I'm so sorry..."

His voice trembled, a tremor that contained millennia of grievances, millennia of loneliness, and millennia of perseverance.

"They have overstepped their bounds in your presence..."

Lion didn't speak, he just looked at him quietly.

Please forgive my arrogance!

Zabriel's voice echoed at the edge of the silent forest.

His shoulders trembled slightly, and his head hung low, almost burying itself in the soil.

Lion stared at him.

Gazing upon this warrior who has lived from ten thousand years ago to the present, gazing upon this Dark Angels who has steadfastly stood firm through endless ages, gazing upon this progenitor who has just greeted his Gene-Father with fists and explosives.

Then, he slowly began to speak:

"You are still arrogant, child."

Zabriel's body trembled slightly.

"I am the most arrogant Primarch," Lion's voice was calm, yet it resounded like thunder in Zabriel's heart. "I understand what you are thinking."

You don't agree with me.

Zabriel remained silent.

But not far behind him, the fifty warriors from the Dark Angels of ten thousand years in the future clearly saw that the kneeling body was trembling slightly.

It wasn't a tremor of fear, nor a tremor of submission, but a tremor of having one's heart pierced through.

The insight of the Primarch is indeed terrifying.

Zabriel thought he was hiding it well.

He thought his kneeling posture was humble enough, his apology was sincere enough, and his bowed head was enough to express submission.

But none of this escaped those eyes.

Those are the eyes of a lion.

Those eyes that could see through all pretense, all disguise, and all insincerity.

Zabriel did indeed kneel down.

But in his heart, the displeasure, the doubt, the resentment accumulated over millennia, and the questions that should have been spoken but were forcibly suppressed never disappeared.

They were simply suppressed by his reason, buried by his discipline, and covered by his millennia-old instinct for obedience.

But none of this escaped Lion's eyes.

Zabriel's body trembled even more violently.

He knew he had been seen through; all his little thoughts, his subtle emotions, and his true feelings hidden beneath his humble facade had been exposed.

He waited.

Awaiting the lion's wrath, awaiting the First Primarch's punishment, awaiting the thunderous fury powerful enough to tear the stars apart.

But Lion did not get angry.

He simply squatted down.

His imposing figure slowly crouched down until his gaze was level with that of Zabriel was kneeling on the ground.

Those eyes, which had once struck fear into the hearts of countless enemies, now held an unusual calm.

Tell me, my son.

His voice was deep, yet it contained a warmth that Zabriel had never heard before.

"I am no longer the lion I was ten thousand years ago."

I've gotten older, and I've matured a lot too.

Zabriel looked up in disbelief.

What did he see?

He saw a sincere face.

There was no arrogance, no dictatorship, and no absolute self-confidence of "I am the truth" on that face.

Instead, there is a kind of humble peace, a composure born of experience, and a willingness to listen patiently.

"If you're willing to give me a little trust," Lion continued, his voice still calm, "Then tell me something."

He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips, revealing what could almost be described as a "gentle" smile.

"Whether it's criticism or questioning, it's all the same."

I will accept my son's criticisms without hesitation.

because..."

His gaze lowered slightly, and in that instant, Zabriel seemed to see all the unspoken regrets of the past ten thousand years:

"I have made too many mistakes, which led to me being away from the Imperium of Man for a full ten thousand years."