Establishing Diplomatic Relations

He raised his head and looked into the distant void.

Look in that direction—that's the direction of the Silent King.

He hesitated for a moment.

Then, he made a decision.

Just as Lion was about to rush into the core of the tomb, a beam of eerie green light descended from the sky.

The light was so intense that it momentarily stunned the entire battlefield.

All the Necron Warriors stopped moving at the same time.

All the Dark Angels stopped moving at the same time.

Lion's sword stopped three inches in front of the head of a Necron Overlord.

That Necron Overlord was his target.

Golden flames burned in his eyes, and his sword dripped with the liquid of Living Metal.

He only needed to move forward an inch more to sever that head.

But he didn't move.

Because a voice came from within that eerie green light.

The voice was ancient and calm, like a murmur compressed from 65 million years of time, "Cease the attack."

Lion's pupils contracted slightly.

He recognized the voice.

No, we don't know each other.

Yes, I've heard of it.

That was the voice of the Silent King.

The supreme ruler of the Necrons.

An entity that once killed C'tan.

The most powerful Necrons in 65 million years.

The voice continued, "All Necrons units, cease combat."

Bring your consciousness back to normal.

Awaiting further instructions.

On the battlefield, all the Necron Warriors simultaneously ceased their movements.

The eerie green light in their eyes slowly dimmed.

Their bodies remained frozen in place, like statues.

Lion looked at the Necron Overlord before him, at those eyes that were gradually losing their light—he knew that the other's consciousness had returned to the depths of the tomb.

I returned to that place where I could be reborn.

He sheathed his sword.

"What happened?"

Behind him, a Dark Angels couldn't help but ask.

Lion did not answer.

He simply gazed at the eerie green light, into its depths, as if he could see that distant figure—the king sitting on his throne.

The king who made the decision.

The voice rang out again, this time addressed to the Necron Overlord: "Stop harming any more of your precious kin."

Silence reigned on the battlefield.

All the Dark Angels heard those words.

All the Necrons heard those words.

Compatriots.

The word, spoken by the Silent King, carried an indescribable weight.

That was 65 million years of solitude.

That was the sacrifice of countless Necron Warriors.

That was something a race, amidst endless death, still wanted to protect.

Lion remained silent for a moment.

Then he turned around and looked at his soldiers.

"Fall back."

He said.

His voice was calm, yet it contained a complex emotion.

We won this battle.

But not because of their power.

Rather, it was because—that ancient king—made the choice.

A choice regarding "compatriots".

The eerie green light slowly dissipated.

Silence reigned on the battlefield.

The bodies of those Necron Warriors remained standing in place, like countless statues.

But there was no light left in their eyes.

They are just empty shells, Living Metal waiting to be recycled.

The Dark Angels began cleaning up the battlefield.

They collected the weapons and fragments left behind by the Necrons, recorded the models and configurations of the Necron Warriors, and compiled data from the battle.

This battle was well worth it.

They learned about the Necrons's fighting style.

They collected a large amount of Living Metal.

They won.

But Lion knew this wasn't a true victory.

The true victory was embodied in the words of the Silent King.

That phrase, "Compatriots."

Sixty-five million years later, that ancient king finally remembered this word.

I remembered his race, who had once lived.

He thought of his people, who once cried and laughed.

I remembered—they were all compatriots.

Lion raised his head and looked into the distant void.

Look in that direction—that's the direction of the Silent King.

"Someday..."

He murmured to himself, "We'll meet again."

He turned around and strode towards the camp.

Behind me, the setting sun was slowly sinking.

The orange-red light spilled onto the battlefield, onto the statues of the Necrons, and onto the 250,000 green figures.

The war is over.

But the story has only just begun.

In the distance, on Mars, the Belisarius Cawl awaits the delivery of the Living Metal.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation.

With these samples, perhaps soon he will be able to crack the secrets of Living Metal.

Perhaps soon— the Imperium will have its own immortal legion.

Perhaps soon—humanity will become the true ruler of the Milky Way.

But that's a matter for later.

At this moment, silence reigns on the battlefield of Hyperion.

Only those 250,000 figures were slowly making their way to the camp.

Only those countless statues of the Necrons are silently awaiting their return.

Only that—the delicate balance between the two races.

The Battle of Hyperion has ended.

But the real war has only just begun.

The smoke of Hyperion had not yet cleared when green figures slowly gathered towards the camp.

Lion Al Johnson stood atop the makeshift command tent, with churning clouds beneath his feet, the blade of his Sword of Loyalty still slick with the sap of Living Metal.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slightly raised his fingertips. An invisible wave of Psionic Energy instantly shattered the silence of the battlefield, reaching the core of the Imperial Palace.

"Cawl, record the battlefield data."

Lion's voice, transmitted through Psionic Energy, was hoarse from the recent bloody battle, yet exceptionally clear. "I have encountered the Silent King."

The moment those words were spoken, Guilliman, who was flipping through star charts in the study of the Imperial Palace, suddenly stopped, and the pen in his hand fell to the table with a "thud".

He suddenly raised his head, his blue eyes filled with shock, his jaw almost dropping to his chest—he was drooping his jaw, looking exactly like he had seen a ghost.

"The Silent King?"

Guilliman's voice trembled, and the Psionic Energy communication was established instantly:

"That supreme ruler of the Necrons who personally slew the C'tan 65 million years ago? He's still alive? And he's made contact with you?"

"Alive, and with a very good attitude."

Lion's tone carried a hint of barely perceptible wariness, "There was no hostility whatsoever; they even took the initiative to order a halt to the battle, allowing all Necrons units to regain consciousness."

He also said "compatriot," which was the least Necrons thing I'd ever heard him say.

Guilliman's heart pounded. He didn't bother to straighten his armor and turned to rush towards the Emperor's bedchamber.

He pushed open the heavy alloy door, and inside, the Emperor of Mankind sat on the Golden Throne, golden Psionic Energy slowly flowing around him.

"Dad."

Guilliman's voice was urgent, "Lion encountered the Silent King in Hyperion, and the King stopped fighting on his own initiative and was very friendly."

This is strange. How could something that has existed for 65 million years suddenly be friendly to us?