40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 655 37. Belated Judgment (Ten, Ouroboros)
"What will you choose, Father?" someone asked in the darkness.

The lion was awakened by the sound, and even though he hadn't opened his eyes yet, he slashed with his sword reflexively. A tree was split in two by his violence, but it didn't fall down. The crowns of other trees supported it together, saving the surrounding grass from being bent.

The lion slowly put down his sword.

Did he let his guard down? No, he didn't, even though it looked like that. It was such an obvious deception that no opponent with any intelligence would have taken it as a sign that he was letting his guard down.

However, if he really came to a place surrounded by demons, then those inferior species that could not restrain themselves would surely rush out from the surrounding bushes howling.

This is their nature, noisy, always screaming, craving for food in any form. They are born without the ability to judge the situation, which is actually the deliberate intention of their Creator.

The lion relaxed his fingers slightly, lowered his head, and took two quiet breaths.

He was listening to this new world. Many messages that were difficult for ordinary people to detect came like a torrent, and then were completely blocked by a dam he built in his mind. Only a few key pieces of information flowed in.
They are combined with an unusual purity and then become a kind of 'perception' - a precious ability obtained through the combination of innate intuition and acquired training, an intuition that is more than enough to overcome everything.

This intuition made Lion El'Jonson realize reluctantly that he was still on Caliban.

Then he began to think: Which time is Caliban?

He couldn't help but try to deduce this matter. The lessons of the past were still clearly before him and had not gone away.

Since his rebellious offspring could use the silver mirror to send him and his guards back to Caliban ten thousand years ago when the rebellion was taking place, who could guarantee that he would not repeat the same trick? Or even go a step further and change the timeline again to achieve his deeply hidden purpose?
The lion frowned.

He had to admit that he missed his helmet a little. The whole set of combat systems built into it was indeed a bit of a hindrance for a Primarch, but if it were put into the present
Well, if nothing else, it would at least allow him to obtain one key piece of information: Is there any communication channel around him?

This question and its answer are important, but they are far less noticeable than the increasingly humid air.

The lion's muscles began to tense up, his perception had been sharpened to a limit. The breeze that had been blowing through the treetops, pulling the leaves and making swaying sounds, disappeared. It stopped when the air became humid.

A vicious gust of wind came from behind him without any warning. The cessation of the wind was directly related to its arrival, but its suddenness was indeed without any precursor - no footsteps, no smooth muffled sound of stretched muscles on bones.

The lion turned around suddenly and stabbed out with his lion sword with one hand, but a beast as big as a chariot knocked him and his sword flying. He broke at least four trees along the way before he stopped his momentum.

Wood chips flew everywhere and fell like raindrops. The emerald green leaves were stained with fishy mist in the increasingly humid air. A pair of yellow vertical pupils fell into the lion's eyes.

The eyes were divided into several different areas by the leaves, but the mouth underneath was not the same. The ink-black fangs were waiting for blood.

It longed for fresh flesh and blood, but the lion simply swung his sword coldly - a simple swing, from bottom to top.

Just like that, its head was neatly split into two.

Just one hit.

It's just that simple.

The lion stood up with a gloomy face, and there was not even a stain of the beast's blood on his armor.

But it wasn't dead yet, at least not completely. A huge amount of blood was continuously gushing out from the wound, bending the grass and staining the soil red, making this place look like a slaughterhouse.

It waved its claws in vain, spewing foul and blasphemous air from its trachea, trying to touch its enemy with its claws before dying.
The lion stared at it coldly, still standing there without moving a step.

It was not until three minutes later that the beast died with regret.

If anyone else had seen this, they would have been shocked by the beast's tenacious vitality - how could a creature survive for so long with its head severed in two?
The Lion would tell them that such things were everywhere in the galaxy, but he had to admit that his first experience with such things was on Caliban.

This brings up a new problem; the Chaos-tainted beasts known on Caliban as Behemoths have actually been extinct for many years.

Even in Caliban during the civil war, the beast had long since become a vague reference in history books, often associated with the honor of the knights or the legendary founder of the Knights of Order, a lone knight.

In other words, they have become nothing more than a symbol of the honor of the Order.

They shouldn't exist.

The lion raised his sword and pointed it at the bushes nearby. Then he spoke, his tone calm and his blade bright: "Come out."

A strange creature walked out from the bushes. It was as short as a child and was wearing a dark green robe.

The lion knew it. Or rather, knew them.

Dark Watcher.

+How did you get here? +
Its voice traveled directly into the lion's mind, seemingly indistinguishable from psychic communication, but it was actually two completely different experiences.

Compared to psionics, the voices of the Watchers are more sneaky - you can't 'see' where it's talking to you, nor can you exactly 'hear' the direction from which its voice is coming. You just know that it's looking at you, and standing in the dark.

This caused a lot of disgust and fear.

The lion looked at it and asked, "Why can't I be here?"

+You shouldn't.+
The watcher paused in confusion for more than ten seconds. For a creature like him, this shouldn't happen. The lion waited patiently, knowing that he would get the result - whether it was what he wanted or not, it was always an answer.

He has too many problems to solve.

+You shouldn't be here, but now I see, the Ouroboros is speaking. +
Ouroboros?
The lion narrowed his eyes. He had never heard of this term, but his heart was now emitting a chill. It was rare for him to feel this way. +He is coming. +
Suddenly, the Dark Watcher sounded a warning. The short creature in a dark green robe raised its right hand and pointed to a path covered by shadows in the forest. The lion immediately raised his sword and looked carefully, but did not see any human figure.

"Who?" the lion asked in a low voice.

+The other person in this endless cycle, the one who made you, the one who transformed you from a beast into a knight.+
The watcher put down his hand and turned away. It entered the bushes without making any friction sounds, as if it had returned to nothingness.

The lion looked towards the end of the road vigilantly. For some reason, his heart suddenly stopped beating for a moment.
-
Artillery fire roared, and dark torrents collided and fought each other on the burning earth. The blue sky was smashed to pieces by the continuous falling meteors. The dots of fire and the bright streams of light that occasionally crossed the sky were like the claws of the devil, tearing and devouring all the beauty.

Before this day, Caliban prospered. After this day, Caliban is doomed.

It was under such a sky that Zabriel saw the person who called him, all alone.

Yes, he did not choose to lead the Angels of Absolution, but chose to split his forces into two groups. Luther's call was unquestionable, and if he refused, it would be disobedience.
He had to try to meet with the former Grand Master and convince him of something.

He knew it was difficult, but he had no choice. Luthor was a man who would keep his mouth shut when necessary, and Zabril would rather take a chance than disobey his orders and cause the timeline to go awry.

He believed in Luther and believed that the Lion would fix the problem before it was too late.
Serafax would die soon. Zabril was convinced of that.

However, before they meet, there is another thing that needs to be explained - the internal communication channel of the Angels of Pardon is specially encrypted, and even if the Lion himself tries to enter with his authority, he will be turned away.

However, Luther broke into their channel so easily, as if he was also a member of the Angel of Absolution.
No, wait.

Zabril suddenly realized that if one were to count, Luther was probably the earliest Angel of Absolution. He was first exiled, and the Lion himself declared him a traitor to the Legion. But he returned more than a decade later and took over the power again.

Should I still call him sir? The old knight thought with a smile.

"Long time no see, Zabril."

Amid the ruins left by the First Legion's armored torrent, Luther, still cloaked, nodded to Zabril.

He was still old, with a head full of white hair. Aging had dragged down Luther's former strength. At this moment, he did not look like a half-transformed Astartes, but more like a taller ordinary mortal.
As long as you ignore the things hanging clearly on his belt.

Behind his helmet, Zabril glanced at them. He couldn't help but notice them, even though they were gray and looked like something an old scavenger had dug out of a garbage dump, thinking they might have valuable parts.
But they were not, and they even made Zabril instinctively feel like a thorn in his side. What was worse was that he found that he could only recognize a few of them.

Considering his identity, this matter was simply unbelievable - and what Luther said next was far beyond the level of unbelievable, like a sledgehammer, hitting him in the face.

"We haven't seen each other for at least ten thousand years," Luther said.

He was smiling, and Zabril wanted only to ask a question. It took a great effort for him not to lose his composure and he gave a simple nod.

"Very good, calm down—" Luther nodded to him approvingly. "—You can always have it, keep it up, Zabril, it's a precious quality."

He stepped back and slowly lifted his cloak, revealing his hands. His prosthetics looked faded, not as shiny as the silver Zabril had seen on the battlefield a short while ago, but there was nothing wrong with their form.

Moreover, it was only the surface that faded. Those seemingly flashy bionic muscle bundles were still working with Luther's movements, and the sound they made when they were tense was extremely dangerous.

Compared to the prosthesis, his right hand was casually placed on his belt, wearing a brown leather glove that was stained with oil and was wrinkled and damaged.

The emblem of a winged sword was waiting plainly on the back of his hand, and an ancient and black skull ring was worn on his thumb, looking quite inconspicuous.

"Anyway, I'll try to be brief." Luther said slowly. "Time is a straight line. Do you understand this concept, Zabril?"

What else could Zabril say? He just nodded, then quickly took off his helmet as if he had remembered something.

Luther smiled again, but this time, his smile was more emotional: "In my memory, you are just a young man."

"I don't remember you being that old," Zabril said in a muffled voice.

They stared at each other, smiled at each other, and Luther took the lead again.

“This straight line will go forward infinitely, without stopping and without being blocked. It connects all things and makes them change together with its progress. But it is a straight line after all. It will not bend, nor will it turn back.”

"So, in our understanding, going back to the past should be an impossible thing. However, this is only in our understanding. For other races in the galaxy, time is not a lofty and untouchable concept."

“They have played with time many times, and although they were punished for it, they did inspire some people. For these people, they realized that although time is a straight line that cannot be turned back, it does not mean that humans cannot actively return to a certain point on it.”

Luther raised his left hand, put the middle finger and thumb of his prosthetic together, clenched it, and made a sound, with metal colliding.

He said softly, "Then, these people quickly learned to do further things without any instruction. For example, they could cut off a part of the straight line and make it into a separate line, making it another straight line."

Zabril quickly caught up with him and asked a crucial question.

"What effect will this have on the line?"

"Break." Luther smiled meaningfully. "Then it disappears, and another straight line takes its place, continuing to move forward without looking back. However, no one has ever done this before."

Zabril took a deep breath, and Luther turned around. A door filled with golden light slowly opened in front of him. He stepped into it without hesitation, leaving Zabril outside.

"Follow me." The voice of the Grand Master of the Knights came from it, with unquestionable calmness. "Your questions will be answered one by one, just like the situation itself. Trust me, Zabril."

(End of this chapter)