"Hm?"
Lorgar stopped.
The tip of his Greatsword still hung low, and the halo of psychic energy gathered along its blade rippled slightly at his momentary hesitation.
He stood there, his gaze blazing as it pierced the drifting dust and fixed on the figure a dozen meters away, who was slowly rising from one knee.
Something was wrong.
The aura emanating from Turing was utterly different from what it had been just seconds ago.
The shock and grief that belonged to "Alan Turing," and even that final, desperate cry, like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline, had all vanished.
More importantly, what had he just heard?
"I remember now... it was Silverheart..."
Those words, that broken cry filled with unbearable pain and sudden realization, were like a stone cast into a deep pool. They struck a tiny but unmistakable crack into Lorgar's heart, drawn taut with murderous intent.
Lorgar's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. His mind raced, weighing and analyzing.
His intent to kill Turing was genuine.
From the moment he entered this garden and swung his sword, every attack had carried the resolve to end his target utterly, to destroy him physically.
He no longer harbored any unrealistic hopes for a "brother" who might be deeply bound to the forbidden Men of Iron and had displayed unmistakably dangerous tendencies.
Eliminating the threat at its root was the safest choice, and the most responsible one for the Imperium.
But... what about that cry? Was it a lie born of desperation? A more sophisticated performance orchestrated by "Silverheart"? Or... had the agony and shock of impending death truly shaken loose some real memories that had been forcibly concealed and altered?
Lorgar could not be certain.
An advanced AI, especially one capable of raising and modifying a Primarch and establishing such a