40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 627 10. The Past of Sovet (Part 8, Memory Fragments, k)

The lion has never entered the memory of others.

Indeed, he had heard of similar things - a psychic took the consciousness of another person to his own memory, and talked, taught, and answered questions there. This person could even do this anytime and anywhere, and there would be no sequelae and no need to take any risks.

He was called the Emperor.

As early as 10,000 years ago, the Emperor had done such a thing. But today, if such a thing happened again, it would probably only be called a "miracle". Moreover, in the past 10,000 years, no psychic has set foot in this field.

The Lion was once saddened by this, realizing that the Empire had become a rigid corpse, stagnant in many ways, even the psykers.

The gears in this huge machine are difficult to turn. They have to be lubricated with oil made from crushed corpses in order to continue to turn bloodily for a short while.
In only one respect did the empire make progress.

violence.

"Take a deep breath," Khalil said, interrupting his thoughts.

The lion looked at him and suddenly blurted out: "Do you do this kind of thing often?"

"What kind of thing?"

"Solve problems that others cannot solve."

Khalil looked up in surprise, the blue light in his eyes still strong, making his pale skin seem transparent, revealing his blue blood vessels and bones.

The lion stared at him. There was no politeness in this gaze. He was simply forcing Khalil to answer. However, just when he was about to get the answer, he gave up on his own initiative.

The lion folded his hands, pulled the incandescent light that was still shining on Haid, pushed it to the other side, and asked again: "So, how do we get into his memory?"

Khalil placed his hands on Hayd's temples, and the blue light continued to spread. He did not answer, but the lion felt a sudden sleepiness.

This was strange, he had almost never felt this way before.

The knights of Caliban believed in meditation. As early as their apprenticeship, they would be taught how to enter a deep meditative state to examine their own soul and flesh, so as to achieve true peace and wield the sword like water.

The Lion learned to meditate on the third day after joining the Knights, but he never entered a deep state of meditation. Luther once asked why, but he never got an answer.

Thinking about it now, it was probably because he was worried that he would be alienated at that time - other people meditated to find peace, but he meditated to draw pictures of killing in his mind so as to better prepare for the next battle.
With such a reason, how can he be called a noble knight?
But, by now, Lion El'Jonson had come to terms with it, had let it go: if his nature was to be about killing and violence, then so be it. Hold the sword with both hands and kill the enemies before they can harm the innocent.

However, he did not expect that he would enter such a state at this time - he did not even have the time to speak, and was brought into a green hell by the blue light in a deep sleepiness.
-
Flies are buzzing.

Green leaves hang high overhead, and a few rays of sunlight sprinkle through the gaps between the dense and thick leaves like alms. Birds are singing, and flies are everywhere, as well as some other brightly colored insects.

The air is hot and humid, and the water vapor is evaporating. The jungle is like a steamer, scorching the human body. What is excreted along with the sweat is not only water, but also the willpower to resist the harsh environment.
Lion El'Jonson suddenly woke up.

Where am I?

Before he could even ask the question, someone pushed him into the mud with such force that he felt pain, so much so that he could hardly breathe.

The more this happened, the calmer Leon became. He propped himself up with his elbows and saw a stone under his stomach. The strange pain must have come from this.

Anger instantly rose up, and he jumped up - Leon was furious and wanted to find someone to settle the score, but was pushed to the ground again by that person. This push seemed different from the previous one. Leon did not feel any pain, but some complicated sounds suddenly exploded in his ears.

He heard the roars, the sounds of cannons, the gunshots, and the laughter, and he heard them all with certainty. These sounds were like a key from another world, easily opening a tightly locked door in his mind.

The person who pushed the door used great force, enough to give Lion El'Jonson a splitting headache.

He raised his hand to touch his forehead and saw bright red blood on the tips of his fingers. He was stunned, not understanding how he was injured for a moment, but the world around him suddenly changed after seeing the blood.

The flames, redder than blood, burned fiercely, and the insects all died, falling into the fire and turning into ash. The sultry heat turned into blazing heat, and the flames everywhere burned people's skin.
The most crucial thing was that he heard the roar of the orcs.

Lion El'Jonson scrambled to his feet - or tried to scramble to his feet.

He couldn't do it, because somehow his strength and speed were now very slow, and the orcs seemed to have grown in size. At least, that was the case with the green beast that was rushing towards him a few steps away.

It was so huge and so fast that Leon suddenly felt a chill down his spine: What was going on? Was I cursed? Khalil?
Caryl Rohals did not respond to him. Instead, he received a response from another person, or rather, a beam of red light.

The beam came from the side and blew off half of the orc's head, and then two more shots hit the remaining half of the skull and the chest respectively. Then, a strong hand pulled Leon behind him.

"Are you fucking crazy?!" someone yelled at him. "Just standing there waiting for the greenskins to chop you up? Shoot, idiot! Fire!"

Open fire.?

Lion El'Jonson looked down at his hands and found that a lasgun was hung around his neck with a rough canvas strap.

He instinctively raised his gun and aimed, and some instinct immediately came to his aid, helping him to complete the shooting. He felt strange, because this was not his instinct, absolutely not.
An orc who was swinging a crude machete over the corpse of his companion was knocked to the ground by him. There was a smoking hole on his chest, but Leon knew that this was not a fatal injury to them.

He raised his gun again and tried to aim, but the man who pulled him over suddenly roared, "Retreat! Retreat!"

Why retreat? Isn't this a chance to counterattack? They are attacking across the promethium flames. It only takes a few rounds of fire to make these ignorant orcs suffer. Why did you issue such an order?

Lion El'Jonson frowned in annoyance and confusion, but was slapped hard on the back. Then, the man roared at him again.

"Tils, you stinking Grax shit! Did you puke your brains out while smoking this morning? Retreat now!"

Leon was furious: “You——”

Before he could finish his words, the man pulled him back quickly. He wanted to resist, but found that his strength was not enough to compete with this man.
There were constant roars coming from all around, and in the flames and burning jungle, the orcs' violent nature got a chance to fully release.

They laughed loudly, killing everywhere, and didn't listen at all. In such a complicated battle situation, Leon also realized the real reason why the order of "retreat" was issued: there was a faint howling sound in the sky.
He looked up subconsciously and saw several shadows flashing across the sky and artillery shells whistling down.

One of them landed not far behind him, and the devastating explosion turned them into flying pieces. The subsequent violent shock caused him and the person who was holding him to fall to the ground.

Leon felt the pain again in disbelief.

"--what happened?!"

he roared, and received another roar: "Fire, Tils!"

Tils? Who is Tils? Before he could think, Leon found that his arm had raised up by itself, the butt of the gun was against his shoulder, his finger pulled the trigger spontaneously, and he began to fire continuously.

One after another, the incomplete orcs that ran out from the place where the shells exploded were knocked to the ground by the red beams of light. Their bodies were burning with flames. Not only were their limbs broken, but most of them were even running while dragging their internal organs. However, they showed no fear.

The only thing left on those ferocious and ugly green faces was the desire for killing. But Leon was different. He almost had difficulty breathing. He didn't know if it was because of the high temperature or the smoke. In short, he felt dizzy.

This is a disgrace, he thought angrily. I am in the middle of a fight.
"Run, Tils!" the man shouted again.

Instinctively, he stood up and ran with the man, gun in hand.
Tens of meters, hundreds of meters, crossing one bush after another, branches scraping bloody marks on my body. My feet ached, my knees were numb, my ribs were aching, my respiratory tract was burning, and sweat was dripping into my eyes.

Leon was almost exhausted by all this. No, not almost, he was exhausted. His legs seemed to be filled with lead, and the gun hanging around his neck was as heavy as a piece of pure gold.
But he kept running, and kept running.

He did not allow himself to stop, he wanted to figure out what was going on. However, in the pain brought by sweat, a pounding heart and exhaustion, he actually lost his footing and fell.

For several seconds, he tried to pull himself to his feet, but his shaking legs refused to obey.

Leon felt a real sense of shame: How could this be? Am I really that weak?

He cursed himself and tried to stand up, but he heard the shouts of the orcs behind him, so he grabbed the gun, turned around, and planned to kill them, but how could he do it?
His hands were shaking constantly, completely different from before, and there was no way he could aim in this situation.

His breathing was extremely rapid, and his vision was damaged for some reason. The world in front of him became extremely blurry, and he had no way of distinguishing who the enemies were among those moving blocks of color.
But he still pulled the trigger firmly.

However, this time, the light gun did not give a faint echo, only an awkward empty sound.

Leon was stunned. What does this mean? After two or three seconds, a voice flashed through his mind, which had become very slow for some reason: No bullets, and you didn't change the magazine. This is a light gun, there will be no ammunition prompt for connecting to the power armor.

"Damn it! Tiles is falling behind! Nail, stump, cover me!"

An anxious curse came from behind him, followed by a sudden gunshot. It seemed that someone was firing, and Leon saw several blurry red shadows passing by him.

Then, a pair of hands pulled him up from the ground. The culprit groaned and carried him on his shoulders, running while panting.

"Hold on, Tiles! We'll be fine, we're only a few steps away from the defense line!"

What line of defense?

Leon wanted to speak, but the words came out of his mouth as a few vague coughs. His throat was still sore. The burning feeling combined with the attempt to speak made him cough violently.
The pain intensified, and he began to cough heart-wrenchingly, gasping for breath, and his limbs began to dance instinctively. But the man who was carrying him ignored all these struggles without saying a word, and just continued to run with him.

More sounds came into his ears, the roar of engines, the sound of tracks and wheels rolling over mud and grass, different gunshots, and the sound of many people talking to each other.

Leon coughed, tried to open his eyes, and tried to wipe his eyelids with the back of his hand. A burning pain passed in an instant. He realized that it was the blood from his forehead that flowed into his eyes and stuck to his eyelids together with the sweat, which caused his vision to be damaged.
"Doctor! A doctor!"

A pair of hands put him on the ground, and then shook him unceremoniously. Leon gasped and coughed up bloody saliva, looked up at the person who saved him, and suddenly froze.

He felt very familiar with those faces that were covered in blood and sweat just like his.
He wanted to say something, but the man patted his forehead with concern: "In the name of the Emperor, cheer up, Tirs."

damn it.

Leon gritted his teeth and pulled him, a cough erupted from his throat - who is Tiers? Unexpectedly, the man misunderstood his meaning and began to call for a doctor in a louder voice.

And they did come.

Soon, Leon saw two military doctors in dirty green uniforms. One of them cut open his clothes and began to check whether the blood on his body was a wound. The other one injected an unknown drug into his forearm without saying anything.

A heavy feeling of sleepiness came over him again, and Lion El'Jonson opened his mouth, and his eyelids began to tremble.
He was ultimately unable to say what he wanted to say, and fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up again, the world had changed.

It was raining, the damp air was proof of that, and he felt very heavy, his clothes were a hindrance, and the jungle was very quiet, at least in the part of it he was in.

Leon looked around and found that he was squatting in a bush with dozens of people. He felt cold and hungry for some reason, and his feet could feel water in his shoes, but he had lost most of his sensation.

The rain drops across my cheeks, bringing a stronger chill
This time, he learned a lesson from his previous experience. He did not shout or act rashly, but just stayed where he was and began to check himself.

First, the weapon. A laser rifle. The specific model cannot be seen. It is only known that it is a short assault type with six replacement magazines. A combat dagger, which is well maintained. The dark blue waterproof cloth is wrapped around the grip, which feels very comfortable. But he has no armor, only a dark green camouflage uniform and a helmet with little protection.
"Tils." A voice called softly.

Leon turned his head and saw a wet face full of fatigue.

He was a middle-aged man, no longer young, with deep-set grey eyes, a hooked nose, and lips that habitually curved downward, and he looked like someone who would contradict anyone's opinion.

Lion El'Jonson knew him, or rather, he knew his future self.

"What is it?" Leon answered, keeping calm.

But the questioner did not answer, but just raised a finger and pointed it to his ear, indicating that he should listen.

Leon frowned and did as he was told. At first he wanted to do it in an instant like he had in the past, but now it became very difficult.

Cold and hunger are the number one enemy, wet clothes are the number two enemy, and the whistling wind and continuous rain around are very annoying. He had to take a few deep breaths to relieve himself from his irritability and calm down.

After several minutes of trying, he succeeded. From the sound of wind and rain, he heard a different sound, a vague shouting sound that seemed to come from far away. It was quite barbaric, but it aroused Leon's anger while being disgusting.

Orcs.

He was very aware of this, and subconsciously, he raised his gun. But a hand reached out from the side and pressed down the muzzle of the gun.

Leon looked up and found that the middle-aged man was smiling. There were several soldiers around him who were cheering: "The corporal won, Tils, now you owe him a whole pack of cigarettes."

Laughter broke out immediately, and many people laughed at this. Suddenly, the torment that the jungle had inflicted on them disappeared, and a simple joy spread among these dirty dogs.

What win or lose? Leon frowned again and wanted to say something, but the corporal raised his hand to signal them to be silent.

In an instant, the soldiers' faint laughter completely disappeared. At the same time, he retracted his right hand that was holding down the laser gun in Leon's hand, and instead grasped a semi-automatic laser gun that pretended to have a scope.

He raised it, and a soldier immediately crawled over and squatted in front of him, placing the gun on it with his shoulder. Everything happened naturally without any communication.

Leon watched the corporal put his right eye close to the sight and squinted. After a full half minute, the muzzle of the gun was suddenly raised and a beam of light shot out.

The soldiers stood up in unison, raised their weapons and fired wildly at the direction where the beam of light was flying. Leon originally refused to waste ammunition, but he had realized that he was different now.

He is no longer the Primarch Lion El'Jonson, Lord of the First Army, and the Knight King of Caliban. Now, he is just a tired, hungry, and cold mortal soldier named Tyrs, serving in the 23rd Company of the 77th Regiment of the Doom Guard.

Therefore, he should do what his comrades do.

This decision made him hesitate for only a second before he raised his laser gun and started shooting. The red beams of light flew into the depths of the seemingly motionless jungle, one after another, like flying raindrops.

The soldiers were shouting, and their actions would not bring any benefit except exposing their position more obviously, but Leon could miraculously understand the purpose of their doing so: to vent.

Yes, vent.

Cold, hungry, uncomfortable, and fear, these negative emotions were finally relieved by the shouting and the slight recoil after pulling the trigger, but Leon just wanted to sigh.

He thought he had understood the miserable situation of mortals in the past, but now, after he had really experienced it firsthand, he understood why Vulkan and Robert Guilliman attached so much importance to the joys and sorrows of mortals.

They did this not just out of the goodness of their nature or the compassion of a true politician. They did it simply because they understood what ordinary people are.

They are not genetically modified supermen with two hearts and three lungs. In most cases, they don’t have bolt guns to use, let alone power armor. They can feel cold, heat, fatigue and fear, but no matter what, they still stand here, standing at the forefront of danger.

Leon squatted down and changed the magazine. Raindrops dripped onto the barrel, emitting white smoke and hissing. His hands stopped shaking and he steadily and quickly replaced a brand new magazine.

When he poked his head out of the bushes again, the orcs were already rushing towards him, roaring.

Their number was unknown, and their green skin provided natural camouflage in the jungle, making it difficult to distinguish the enemy. The soldiers had no choice but to keep firing.

It doesn’t matter whether the shooting is accurate or not, as long as the firepower is strong enough, the orcs will not be able to rush over.

It was a simple tactic, but one that Leon had rarely used in the past, either by himself or his descendants.

Fire suppression for the Astartes only means firing one or two explosive shells. Their accuracy and the fire control system directly connected to the helmet eyepiece will ensure that these two explosive shells will hit the enemy directly in most of the time.

Why unleash such firepower if tactical objectives can be achieved with less ammunition?

But now, the situation was different. In just a few minutes, Leon had used up four magazines, and he had no intention of stopping.

The orcs were charging under the soldiers' firepower, holding up the bodies of their dead companions and using them as shields. Their thick muscles and crudely made armor prevented the lasguns from exerting their original power. Obviously, they had recovered from the sudden attack.

The situation became tense for a while. After all, the orcs also had guns. Their guns might look ridiculous, but their power was far from ridiculous. Although the accuracy was extremely poor, a bullet was still a bullet.
Casualties began to appear, and Leon's magazine had been used up to the last one. Unconsciously, he even forgot that he was now just in a memory of the past.
"Retreat, corporal!" he suddenly shouted. "We can't hold out!"

"You all heard it!" The corporal immediately responded, took out three stun grenades from his waist and threw them into the jungle.

The flames shot up into the sky, the ground shook, and the swirling flames splashed in the rain along with the bodies of the orcs. The wind howled, and Leon turned around with his gun in hand, and began to run, dragging his completely unconscious feet.

It was another long-distance raid, and this time, he gritted his teeth and persevered to the end without falling. The orcs did not catch up with him like last time, and it seemed difficult for them to find the traces of these few dozen people in the rainy jungle.

However, the matter did not end so simply. They did not return to the camp, but returned to a battlefield surrounded by promethium flames and in a state of war.

The artillery fire shook the earth. Leon spat out the rain that had slipped into his mouth and watched the corporal walk up to an officer and saluted.

They stood in a deep trench, not far from the firepower team that was urgently cooling the machine gun. Everything was so noisy and dirty.

"The breakout plan can be put aside for now, Captain!"

The corporal shouted to the officer amid the sound of falling shells.

"There are damn green bastards everywhere, there's no way we can find a way around them in the jungle!"

The officer nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but Leon could hardly hear it. The shell exploded and he had to hold on to the mud to keep his footing. Whatever the officer said to the corporal, Leon could only hear a few words.

"Hold on to the Armored Company. Dark Angels"

If we hold on for a little longer, the Armored Company and the Dark Angels will arrive soon? Leon guessed secretly, but his brows furrowed again. He did not forget what Hayd said. If the Armored Company and the Dark Angels are about to arrive, then -

Lion raised his head and looked at the sky in the drizzle. His sudden gaze was soon followed by more people. They didn't know what Lion El'Jonson knew, they just heard a strange and terrible sound.

A few seconds later, a large group of orc aircraft painted red suddenly appeared from both ends of the forest, blocking their heads, and then swooped down, dropping bombs, stirring up soil, and igniting flames.
Leon felt a sharp pain, and then he knew nothing.
-
The lion slowly woke up, sweating profusely, his fists clenched. He instinctively took a deep breath and felt a strange sense of fullness. The familiar feeling of power returned and surged through his body. He became the lion again, the Lord of the Dark Angels.
But the first words he spoke were rather strange.

"Send me back." said the lion, his face pale and his deep green eyes seemed to be burning with flames.

"I want--"

"——You can't do anything." said Khalil.

He folded his hands, leaned against the wall, a thoughtful look on his pale face.

The lion was almost stung by that expression. He understood what it meant. It meant that Caryl Rohals knew something that he didn't know and was about to use it to educate him.

God knows how he does it, this pale bastard always seems to have a way of making him and his brothers learn something new.

The lion took another deep breath, suppressed his emotions, and tried to argue: "No, you don't understand, Khalil. I have to go back. I'm almost there, and I'll be closer to the truth."

"You remember what Haid said, right? He fainted before the armored company and my sons arrived, and I was just at that point. We - no, they were attacked by orc aircraft on the position. You have to send me back."

Khalil looked at him and shook his head again. Not only that, the blue light in his eyes gradually went out.

He said slowly: "Yes, but that means Hayid's death."

"what?"

"He's just a normal guy, Leon, and there's a limit to what he can endure, in every sense of the word."

"And what you just experienced, I call it memory replay. In other words, I first made him recall the memory that he was most reluctant to face, and then you were able to enter it and experience this memory with him."

"Unfortunately, this is his limit. He doesn't want to remember what comes next. His subconscious mind is resisting. If we force him, the result will probably be very bad."

The lion clenched his teeth and exhaled a breath of cold air. He seemed to have not yet walked out of the jungle of Sovet. Everything was too real, so real that he even really hoped to change it.
No.

The lion suddenly loosened his hands and felt unexpectedly calm.

Didn't he leave the jungle of Sowet? Of course he did, but what he really didn't leave was another jungle. So what was he hoping to reverse? Was it the bombing of the Ork aircraft, or the civil unrest on Caliban?
Was he doing this to seek justice for Haid, or was he doing it for his own selfish reasons, wanting to use this similar incident to erase some regrets from the past?

The lion laughed, shook his head, closed his eyes, and sighed softly. The flowing water state of mind that the Caliban knights had gained through meditation flowed into his heart at this moment, and an answer emerged.

That is the virtue of knights, one of which is called upholding justice.

The lion opened his eyes and looked at Kalil. For some reason, he felt that Kalil seemed to already know his answer.

"Leon."

"what's up?"

Khalil smiled at him, a smile full of approval that made him itch.

"In fact, I am not completely unaware of the monster that Haid mentioned. He doesn't want to recall it, but the more people avoid something, the more they will unconsciously think of it. I saw it, even if it was just a quick glance."

The lion narrowed his eyes.

Khalil stopped smiling and said seriously, "And I think we shouldn't call it a monster. But what exactly is the situation——"

He looked down at Hayd who was still unconscious.

"——Wait." The lion said without question. "Wait until the judge comes to visit, and everything will become clear."

(End of this chapter)