Chapter 284: On the Lion's Treason
Flames danced in the cracks of the fighting pit, and swift shadows flickered with the rhythm of clashing blades. Knights clad in black armour dueled in silence, the sparks from their clashing steel splashing onto the damp sand. Amidst the crude laughter of the Wolves, the Dark Angels silently settled their grudges in the arena.
CLANG!
The two Dark Angels in the center of the pit suddenly took a half-step back in unison, the hum of their power swords vibrating in the air. One of them tilted his helmet slightly, as if listening to a whisper only he could hear. The other drew an ancient Calibanite rune in the sand with the tip of his sword. The lines were quickly stained dark red by dripping blood.
They were questioning, they were confessing, they were reminiscing, they were reminding each other. Though the galaxy was in ruins, though the past was filled with fratricide, though their homeworld was destroyed, as long as that one man still lived, their past would not be buried.
"First of all, I am not a god," a golden-red sorcerer said, beginning his daily warp-whisper on the edge of the pit. "This is not a denial of my superhuman power, but a recognition of my mental personality. Because we grew up as humans, and we gradually formed this understanding in the environment of human society. And many Primarchs lacked this process of growing up in a collective as a human. Yet their own wisdom and talent gave them an unparalleled insight and a powerful strength. So their thinking, in many cases, became difficult to understand. A typical example is the Lion—"
As soon as he said this, several of the Dark Angels who had just been officially inducted into the ranks suddenly stood up, instinctively trying to keep the secret. However, the veterans beside them were faster. Armoured hands pressed down heavily, forcibly stopping their movements. Apothecary Asbael's fingers were still on the shoulder joint, the force precisely calibrated to a level that would not trigger the armour's resistance, but was enough to make him unable to break free.
"Asbael, what are you doing?" Belphadon, his face still bruised, grunted, his gaze sweeping over the Space Wolves, who were watching the show. He had just passed his reintegration assessment not long ago and was now, under Apothecary Asbael's guarantee, in the review process. He had just undergone the Primaris Space Marine augmentation and was still in his recovery period. He hadn't even grown to his full height. And Asbael had no martial virtue. He had just received his armour when this Apothecary had dragged him to a duel.
"At least let me drive these wolves out," he said. He wasn't mad enough to try and silence a Primarch. And he had some understanding of the relevant history during the assessment process. The First Legion's internal records had a detailed overall development of the Great Heresy, which anyone could consult. Some of the stories were so detailed it was as if they had been personally experienced. And with the detailed supplements from a large number of Fallen Angels on events such as the Thramas Crusade against the Night Lords, the establishment of Imperium Secundus in the Ultima Segmentum, and Luther's secret expansion of Caliban's sphere of influence to hide a renegade fleet, the First Legion had finally sorted out what they had been doing during the entire Great Heresy.
No one knew what they were doing.
"It's useless," Asbael's voice was calm. Or rather, he was already numb.
The new Primarch of the Thousand Sons would, from time to time, come to them in the guise of a storyteller and tell them a few stories, and at the same time, would leave various First Legion jokes in coded messages all over the Silent Vow. Sometimes he would even use a psychic disguise to mix into the crowd as a member of the Deathwing. And the Prince would just let him. After a final, fruitless resistance, the Dark Angels could only choose to submit.
And for some reason, Belphadon even felt that this usually rather serious Apothecary was actually trying to hold back a laugh.
"Look," Ramesses began again, "although the Lion's operations were very strange, very much like a rebellion, after learning about the massacre of the Raven Guard, the Iron Hands, and the Salamanders on Isstvan V, he attacked a forge world, preventing Horus from getting his custom-made Ordinatus. At the same time, he let Typhus go, to warn Mortarion not to have any ideas about the First Legion. At the same time, he, out of his own self-righteousness, gave the Ordinatus to Perturabo, wanting to strengthen the defenders of Terra, but it backfired..."
As Ramesses continued to speak, the expressions of the surrounding Space Wolves and Dark Angels began to become extremely difficult to hold. "But don't think that this is a rebellion," Ramesses said, holding a cup of mare's milk he had gotten from the White Scars a few years ago, and sipping it as he spoke. "The Lion didn't really have that many thoughts. He was about the same as most of the Dark Angels. 'I want to achieve great things, I want to get my father's approval, I want to be the Warmaster.' But he just wouldn't open his mouth. In the end, it just got bigger and bigger, and it all went wrong."
"Here, I have to praise Leman Russ. At least Leman Russ would open his mouth."
The surrounding Dark Angels were embarrassed, while the Wolves were laughing so hard they were falling over. Some warriors were even slapping their thigh-armour, making a loud clanging sound. And Ramesses, looking at the scene, noticed the Dark Angels whose movements had clearly stiffened, whose power swords' trajectories had become hesitant, who were hesitating whether to continue fighting or not, and a flower of joy bloomed in his heart.
"The Lion chose to watch at the beginning of the war simply because he thought Horus had lost his mind. He had no idea it was a Chaos plot. He just thought it was his chance to become the Warmaster. And Primarchs... they all have a bit of a savior complex. A deus ex machina is always more impressive than a long, hard struggle. He just thought that the First Legion would definitely be the savior at the most critical moment, and then when the Emperor saw it, he could be promoted to Warmaster. So he actively attacked Horus's logistics, while also sending the captured supplies to the loyalist legions, while also paying attention to the battlefield situation, and had the First Legion get ready, hoping to turn the tide at a critical moment—" he suddenly spread his hands, the liquid in his cup not moving a single inch. "—and you all know how that turned out."
A few suppressed chuckles came from the stands. Asbael's eyes were slightly lowered, reflecting the flickering candlelight.
"The Ordinatus was tricked away by Perturabo and was used to bombard the walls of Terra. During the Thramas Crusade, there was a problem with the warp travel, and they couldn't get back to Terra. At that time, the Lion basically felt that it was over, that he had messed up. Thinking about what to do if he couldn't get back, he thought that Guilliman was still there, and had also discovered the guidance of the Pharos beacon. To prevent Guilliman from also rebelling, he rushed to the Ultima Segmentum."
"So, we have to look at the Lion dialectically. The Lion himself was undoubtedly an extremely excellent commander. You can see this from the fact that all the Primarchs were wary of him. Horus, from the very beginning of his rebellion, had tried his best to send the Lion far away, instead of wanting to fight the First Legion. He could attack and defend, was always loyal, had no secrets, and received the most attention. But the Lion was actually very easy to understand."
Ramesses wasn't trying to say the Lion was nothing. After all, he was a Primarch. He definitely had the ability. When the Lion had just taken over the Dark Angels, it was a mess. Internally, he had to deal with backstabbing. Externally, he had to deal with the Rangdan campaign. And after the campaign, he had to rebuild the Dark Angels. He had been able to handle all of that. His professional level was definitely there.
"When Horus was thinking of burning the galaxy, Guilliman was thinking 'Terra is done for, I'm going to build a second Imperium,' and Dorn was still fighting all sorts of traitors on Terra and reinforcing the walls, the Lion just wanted to be the Warmaster. He didn't think his brothers were that bad. So even though his operations in the early stages of the Great Heresy were absurd and difficult to understand from a strategist's point of view, if you look at it from the perspective of a person who wants to be the Warmaster, it's very normal."
At the very beginning, when they were integrating the Imperial forces, everyone was very angry and was always looking for a loyalist Primarch to blame. He remembered how oppressive the atmosphere in the 'Transmigrators' Cabin' had been. Everyone was looking for an object to vent their anger on. After all, the current situation of the Imperium was really a pile of dung. When you think about the operations of the various demigods in the Great Heresy, it's hard not to have emotions. Especially the Dark Angels.
Ramesses really didn't think he had the ability and the energy to deal with a group of terminal-stage mental patients. It was only Master Arthur who could handle them, who could figure them out. But after thinking about it, the four of them had finally chosen to reconcile with reality. What's the point of arguing with a group of mentally unsound beings? He thought it was better to clean up the mess first, and then, when they met the real person, they could have a fight and talk. Anyway, the man was loyal, so you couldn't ask for that much.
Now Ramesses was also in charge of declassifying the history and various events of the Legion era. At present, it was mainly for the more isolated members of the loyalist factions, such as the Dark Angels and the Space Wolves. When they were all desensitized, then it would be the other First Founding Chapters, and then the history books of the Dawnlight Sector. Many things, once you talk about them, are not a big deal. You get the right of interpretation in your own hands first. Then, if someone uses it as a weapon against you, you can handle it properly.
Anyway, the four of them had no original sin. Codex, I don't know. The Great Heresy, I don't take the blame. If there's a problem, it's not our business. We're here to solve problems. We are all working hard to build the Imperium.
Of course, the main thing was to watch the show. Especially the Dark Angels. There was nothing more interesting than watching others' reactions when their dark history was publicly executed.
Cough, cough~ Noticing his expression was a little too self-satisfied, Ramesses quickly coughed a few times. According to him, this was called desensitization. "After all, Primarchs are human too. They have their own shortcomings. What's so embarrassing about admitting your shortcomings? The important thing is to be able to reflect, to correct, and to be responsible. Just like the Dark Angels today. Having learned from the lessons of the past, you will only be stronger than before," Ramesses finally concluded, finally saying a few nice words.
The expressions of the surrounding Dark Angels softened slightly.
"Although I can't for the life of me figure out how he became the Lord Protector of Imperium Secundus," the Thousand Son Primarch suddenly changed the subject, tapping his temple with his fingertip, pretending to be puzzled. "But overall, the Lion is definitely loyal. It's just that his train of thought may not be on the same channel as the other Primarchs most of the time."
Dammit. The just-eased atmosphere instantly froze. They had been happy too soon.
"Heh heh~" Asbael, who had just been comforting Belphadon, suddenly let out a relieved laugh. The hand that had been resting on Belphadon's shoulder had, at some point, been released. Belphadon turned his head and looked at his old acquaintance. At this moment, he was trembling slightly on his knees, the candlelight of the tavern dome sweeping over him, revealing the small tremors on his pauldron from his suppressed laughter.
The Great Heresy had almost burned the entire galaxy—magnificent palaces were burned to ashes, grand city walls were ground to dust, the drop-pods that rained from the sky no longer brought hope. Countless humans had died because of the movement of the warp-gods' chess pieces. Everyone had their own grudges and sorrows, their bloody storms, their heroic songs. And all the drama was on the side of Imperium Secundus. Just the name itself was full of dramatic effect.
"I still don't understand," Belphadon gave up trying to maintain his half-squatting posture and sat down on a chair, cursing under his breath. "How did Holguin and Stenius agree to this absurd decision? Even if Holguin, as a Seneschal, had to obey the Lion's orders, were all the Terran-born dead?"
The surrounding Space Wolves were laughing so hard they were falling over. The question from the ancient Terran-born was deafening.
"Don't ask me," Asbael suddenly raised his drinking horn and began to drink in a not-so-elegant manner, the rim of the horn perfectly covering his face. Could he say that at that time, he was still on the Invincible Reason, confronting the Deathwing of the Legion about whether the Lion had betrayed or not, while the Eighth Legion Primarch, Curze, was lurking in the lower decks of the ship? Could he say that?
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