What Have You Done, Guilliman!?

"Guilliman... what have you done...?"

Just then, a Blood Angels flew right past him, engrossed in a fierce battle.

A murderous glint flashed in Perturabo's eyes.

He suddenly threw a punch.

The fist pierced through the void and struck the Blood Angels precisely.

The red figure was struck as if by a cannonball, flying backward and leaving a long trail in the void before crashing heavily into the armor of a Chaos warship, creating a deep dent in the armor.

But the Blood Angels did not die.

He simply shook his head, then stood up again and charged back into the battlefield.

Perturabo's pupils suddenly contracted.

"This..."

He looked at his fist, at the bloodstains on it, at that—

He knew the power of that punch better than anyone else.

That's enough power to blast a tank apart.

That was a power powerful enough to obliterate any Space Marines.

But that Blood Angels —did he merely shake his head?

Perturabo's lips twitched slightly.

"The Blood Angels..."

A hint of seriousness finally crept into his voice.

"So strong..."

He took a deep breath, suppressing his shock.

Then, he looked up at the enormous figure that was approaching.

Look towards that—the lion.

Lion Al Johnsen.

Lion is striding through the void.

His every step seemed to tread on empty air, yet he moved with the same steadiness as if he were on solid ground.

He was enveloped in golden light, a light that was his anger, his power, and his fighting spirit.

Behind him were countless Blood Angels locked in battle.

Before him stood the massive flagship of the Lord of Iron.

His target was Perturabo, who stood behind the bridge porthole.

Their eyes met in the void.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

Perturabo looked at Lion with a complex mix of emotions in his eyes—admiration, mockery, and a hint of fighting spirit.

He spoke slowly, and his voice rang out over the communication channel.

"Lion Al Johnsen."

"It's been ages!"

His voice was calm, yet it contained a certain profound meaning.

"You're still so... angry."

Lion's gaze was like a sharp sword, piercing Perturabo.

Perturabo.

You've actually degenerated into a lackey of Chaos.

Perturabo smiled.

That smile contained sarcasm, amusement, and a hint of disdain.

"Degeneration?"

He shook his head slightly.

"I simply chose my own path."

Unlike you, who slept for millennia, only to wake up and still have to serve as a dog for that False Emperor."

Lion's eyes burned with rage.

"Shut up."

Perturabo's laughter grew louder.

"How?

Did you hit a nerve?

Great Lion, First Primarch, Emperor's loyal hound—oh, by the way, your sons are being slaughtered down there.

Aren't you going to save them?

Lion clenched his fists.

But he didn't move.

Because he knew that Perturabo was provoking him.

Perturabo was indeed provoking him.

"Lion."

Perturabo's voice suddenly turned low, and there was a strange seriousness in that low voice.

"Let's have a fair fight."

He stepped off the bridge, onto the deck of the warship, and stood in the void, facing Lion from afar.

"You and me."

One-on-one.

There was no interference.

He raised the power claw in his hand—the terrifying weapon known as "Logos," the blade that had torn apart countless fortresses.

"Let me see if ten thousand years of slumber have worn down your fangs."

Dante suddenly appeared beside Lion.

"Grown ups!"

His voice was urgent.

"Let me!

We can go together!

There's only one of him!

He pointed to the Blood Angels.

"Even if I had ten thousand men, I could overwhelm him with sheer numbers!"

Lion turned his head and looked at him.

In that gaze, there was admiration, gratitude, and a hint of rejection.

"No."

He said the voice was calm yet firm.

"This is my battle."

He looked at Dante with the loving gaze of an elder towards a younger generation.

You've done enough.

"Take your angels and go help my offspring."

He turned around and looked at Perturabo.

"This bastard, leave him to me."

Dante opened his mouth, as if to say something, but he couldn't utter a single word.

He could only lower his head.

"Yes, sir."

He turned and rushed toward the battlefield where the fighting was raging.

And Lion took a step forward.

Step onto the deck of that Chaos warship.

Step onto the battlefield of that duel.

Stepping towards that adversary—who has awaited us for millennia.

Sword and claws clashed.

At that moment, the entire void trembled.

The shockwave was so powerful that the warriors fighting nearby lost their footing; the energy was so violent that the nearby warships shook violently; the sound was so deafening that all anyone could hear was the booming of metal clashing.

Lion's sword represents loyalty.

After ten thousand years of slumber, the sword was drawn again, its blade burning with golden light— the Emperor's blessing, Caliban's call, and the lion's pent-up rage of millennia.

Perturabo's claws are Logos.

That claw was a weapon forged by the Lord of Iron himself; it was a sharp blade capable of tearing through any defense, a witness to millennia of war, and the culprit behind the destruction of countless cities.

Sword and claw, intersecting, colliding, rubbing, tearing.

Both of them retreated simultaneously, then pounced at the same time.

The second strike.

Lion's sword swept across, Perturabo dodged to the side. The blade grazed his armor, leaving a golden trail in the air.

Perturabo's claws lashed out simultaneously, aiming straight for Lion's throat.

Lion raised his shield sharply, blocking the attack. The claws scraped across the shield, producing a piercing metallic scraping sound.

The third strike.

Lion thrust his sword straight at Perturabo, who parried with his claws. The two weapons clashed again, sparks flying.

Both exerted their strength simultaneously, trying to suppress the other, but their power was evenly matched, and neither could advance an inch.

Their faces, separated by the crossed weapons, were inches apart.

A slight smile appeared on Perturabo's lips.

"Good."

He said there was a hint of appreciation in that voice.

"Ten thousand years of slumber have not made you weaker."

Lion's gaze was like a sharp sword.

You don't have any either.

Perturabo smiled.

Of course I didn't.

I have been fighting.

It keeps getting stronger.

"Always--"

He exerted his strength and pushed Lion away.

"Surpass you, you piece of trash who only knows how to sleep."

Lion took a few steps back to steady himself.

He wasn't angry; he just looked at Perturabo calmly.

"Waste?"

He said there was a hint of sarcasm in the voice.

"Does a coward hiding in the shadows of Chaos have the right to call others trash?"

A flash of anger crossed Perturabo's eyes.

"Coward?

I?"