The Emperor’s Angel of Death

The two of them traversed the intricate passages for over ten minutes, witnessing numerous servitors at work, wielding welding torches to cut through metal bulkheads. Massive engineering machines were also present, slicing and transporting large chunks of the structure, confirming Sablin's assertion that the labyrinth would soon disappear.

After navigating a three-way intersection, they arrived at a relatively spacious chamber within the maze. Bakhram immediately spotted Leolin, clad in Terminator armor, standing before a pile of horned, deformed heads, seemingly counting them.

“.233, 234, 235, 65 more to go.”

He heard footsteps behind him and turned around.

Bakhram noticed for the first time a scar on Leolin's right cheek. This guy valued his face a lot, so an attack on it must have been a 'severe injury.' No wonder Sablin had that expression back then.

“Oh, Bakhram, what brings you here?”

“Well, you guys are back, so I had to come and see.”

Bakhram walked over, opened his arms, and embraced him. When they separated, he pointed to the pile of heads.

“What are you doing? Building a skull throne?”

“No, self-improvement training. Hunting 300 of these beasts every day.”

“Huh?”

Bakhram was even more confused.

“What kind of self-improvement training is this?”

“Oh, you don't know. In the previous battle, he was taken down by a Second Legion grunt who couldn't even speak High Gothic properly and laughed like an idiot. He even got hit in the face. If I hadn't arrived in time, he might have—haha, it's actually quite funny. Bakhram, you wouldn't believe it, but when I got there, Leolin seemed to be under some kind of illusion, giggling and talking nonsense like, ‘Hehe, it's finally my turn. I won't let the Emperor down!’ Then he started doing the tremor dance, shaking and bouncing his muscles.”

Sablin was laughing so hard that Leolin rushed over like a runaway truck and slammed his shoulder hard, interrupting his brother.

“Damn it! Stop talking! It was that bastard who cheated! He said it was a one-on-one fight, but then he summoned a white, cat-like demon! If I hadn't been interfered with…”

Seeing Leolin's embarrassed and angry expression, Bakhram reached out and pressed his shoulder.

“Wait, what does this have to do with your inexplicable training?”

Sablin shook his head with a smile and said:

“Because he was angry with me. Afterwards, I told him that he needed to train harder in the future and not be complacent with his power to crush mortals, otherwise he wouldn't even be able to beat enemy grunts, and I wouldn't always be there. As a result, he got annoyed and said that he could fight without me and that he would carry out his so-called cultivation himself. He's been doing this all this time.”

Bakhram finally understood and smiled helplessly. He realized that Leolin was indeed very 'childish' in some ways.

“Leolin, killing these orks is useless. They can't even scratch your armor. Isn't this White Scars territory? I'll take the lead and organize a training session with the White Scars' experts. It'll be more effective than this.”

“But…”

“Alright, alright, let the Adeptus Mechanicus handle this place.”

Bakhram then dragged Leolin away from the place. Compared to Sablin's direct persuasion, his words were much gentler, after all, he understood Leolin's temper, sometimes stubborn and concerned about face.

After leaving the maze, the three of them arrived at the Night's Maw bridge. Here, they could see Tech-Sergeant Alvarez was busy, while Cassati was directing servitors to load things into stacked alloy boxes, which seemed to be weapons, helmets, and ornaments.

“Hmm? You're back? Ah, and Bakhram too.”

Cassati turned around and waved at the three of them.

“Senior, what are you doing?”

Sablin walked over, curiously looking at the things in the boxes, which even included statues and banners.

“The Adeptus Mechanicus found some useless things during the cleaning of the ship's interior, so I plan to seal them away.”

Leolin walked over and said bluntly:

“Just throw away the useless ones. Why seal them?”

Sablin had already reached out and picked up a uniquely shaped blunt-headed broadsword. He examined it carefully and saw an inscription on the hilt, but it was in archaic Terra High Gothic.

“.Anrrik Barbatos, Son of the Crimson.”

He looked at Cassati.

“Senior, who is this?”

Cassati looked at the sword, a look of remembrance flashing in his eyes, before quickly fading.

“A former Legion Praetor, also a veteran from Terra… my superior, once.”

“I see…”

Sablin nodded thoughtfully. Leolin picked up a helmet, its front was a grotesque gargoyle-like design with crimson bat wings.

“Nakred Sull... Who's this?”

“Also a Legion Praetor.”

Leolin frowned.

“Aren't these… traitor stuff? Old Senior, what are you collecting these for?”

Cassati pursed his lips and shook his head helplessly.

“No matter what, they represent the Legion's past history, no matter what color it is, blood-red or black… like a person, you can never really deny your past, that's called deceiving yourself.”

“Uh…”

Leolin scratched his head and put down the helmet.

“But the Captain said we have nothing to do with the past…”

“That's true, but Leolin, what do you think other Chapters would think of you if they knew you were a Night Lord? What would they call you? Nothing comes from nothing.”

Saying that, Cassati took the sword from Sablin and stroked the still-sharp blade.

“The Legion… isn't just shame, bloodshed, brutality, and madness. We once had glory, honor, and victory. Young men, the Night Lords aren't just labeled as traitors… Before everything happened, we were also Astartes Legions formed to unite humanity. We also fought against those terrifying and cruel aliens in the Great Crusade, just like other Legions. We also sacrificed and bled for the establishment of the Imperium. Do you know why Barbatos has the title 'Son of the Crimson'?”

The two shook their heads.

“Because that was the Legion's former name. Barbatos is not only a traitor despised by later generations, but also a warrior who followed the Emperor during the Unification Wars. He followed his battle-brothers to destroy the last remnants of Old Night on Terra. Afterwards, he participated in countless wars. In the Duntriri Sector, he and tens of thousands of Sons of the Crimson stood firm against the siege of millions of Orks, and only a few thousand returned to the warship. In Kert, he led his team to eliminate the stubborn Old Night warlords with a precise decapitation strike, recovering a world of billions of people with very little bloodshed. In the area now known as the Ghoul Stars, he fought countless unspeakable and terrifying enemies, just as the crimes he committed in Saramass are irrefutable, those past achievements are also truly engraved in the history of the Great Crusade. When we despise him as a traitor, we must not forget that he was once a hero. No matter what others think, if even we, you, forget these people, the Eighth Legion will cease to exist completely!”

Saying that, Cassati's voice became somewhat sentimental and regretful.

“…These things are not evidence of crime, they are history, the Legion's indelible history. Letting you know these things is not only to understand the past, but also to remember the lessons, recognize the present, and shape your own future.”