Chapter 56 A Clear Conscience
"Mordecai, want a drink?"
"No."
"Hah! Still acting like a child. What's wrong with one cup?"
The Second Legion was unusually close-knit.
Much of that bond came from Mordecai Threxion himself.
He remembered every warrior's name.
He knew their grievances.
He listened when they spoke.
To his sons, he was not merely a Primarch.
He was a father.
Only Horus inspired a similar depth of loyalty.
And among them all, none was more cherished than Mordecai.
The young warrior's face was gentle — almost innocent in repose — yet he fought with a ferocity that startled even veteran Terran-born Astartes.
No one disliked him.
Which, unfortunately, meant everyone teased him.
Mordecai hated it.
He did not understand why.
He prided himself on discipline and seriousness. Had he failed to appear stern enough?
Standing before a mirror, he pinched his cheeks and adjusted his expression.
Still too soft.
He frowned harder.
Still… cute.
His scowl deepened.
The Victory That Wasn't
Not long ago, the Second Legion secured a decisive compliance victory.
The enemy possessed advanced weapons systems and a parasitic bio-organism capable of hijacking the human nervous system.
The cost:
Five thousand Astartes.
The reward:
An entire star system reclaimed for the Imperium.
Letters of commendation arrived from across the Great Crusade.
Mordecai Threxion smiled as he read them.
Others saw relief.
Others saw pride.
Mordecai saw something else.
Something beneath the smile.
Something unresolved.
That night, he knocked on his father's door.
It opened.
"Mordecai? What is it?"
"Father… are you well?"
"I am well. Why do you ask?"
Mordecai hesitated.
His enhanced senses detected faint chemical traces.
Iron.
Antiseptic.
Blood.
"…Father, are you injured?"
"No."
"Then why will you not allow me inside?"
Silence.
Then Mordecai Threxion stepped aside.
Inside:
Spartan furnishings.
Field surgical instruments.
Blood on the floor.
A bloodstained combat blade resting on the table.
And across his father's forearm —
mottled, deliberate wounds.
"Why… Father?"
A long silence followed.
"I committed an error."
"What did you do?!" Mordecai's voice cracked.
"I must answer for the five thousand sons who fell."
"Why should you bear responsibility for their deaths?"
"Because I failed them."
"I… do not understand…"
Mordecai whispered the words, yet something inside him shifted.
The scars that never fully healed.
The injuries he had assumed were campaign wounds.
He had been blind.
"Return to your duties, Mordecai."
He left in a daze.
From the next day onward, nothing outward changed.
Until the next disaster.
The Betrayal World
During resupply upon a compliant world, the planetary governor betrayed the Imperium.
He had formed a clandestine alliance with xenos mercenaries.
Their objective:
Destroy the Second Legion.
Capture Astartes gene-seed and war-plate.
The ambush was catastrophic.
Only Mordecai Threxion's immediate and decisive counteroffensive prevented annihilation.
Losses:
Ten thousand Astartes.
After that day, he spoke less.
Then hardly at all.
Mordecai sensed something collapsing within his father.
Something that would not stop.
Yuki Arrives
"Thank you, Mordecai. This was necessary."
Yuki leaned back slightly, absorbing all he had told her.
She and the Emperor had long known that Mordecai Threxion carried unseen burdens.
Neither had pressed him.
The Emperor required results.
Yuki had waited.
Now the moment had come.
She sat opposite the Primarch.
"So, Li… tell me what you are thinking."
A faint smile.
"Didn't Mordecai tell you?"
"I want to hear it from you."
Silence.
Then:
"It is my fault."
"That is not true."
"It is."
"It is not."
"It is!"
The word tore from his throat.
Veins stood out along his neck.
His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion.
Then the anger collapsed.
"I… apologize… sister…"
Yuki leaned forward and gently lifted his chin.
"You look exhausted."
"…I…"
"When did you last sleep?"
"…I do not remember."
"Then sleep."
She guided him down like one would a fevered child.
"Clarity comes after rest."
Within minutes, he lost consciousness.
Not sleep.
Collapse.
The Diagnosis
Outside, Legion commanders waited.
"Your Highness—"
"He sleeps," she said softly. "Come."
Inside the strategium, she spoke before questions erupted.
"If the Primarch is absent, who holds operational authority?"
After a pause, a veteran officer stepped forward.
"Legion Lieutenant Zhao Yi. Terran-born. One hundred and seven years in service."
She nodded.
"I am returning Mordecai Threxion to Terra. Until his recovery, you command."
Mordecai stepped forward.
"Your Highness, Father—"
"He is ill."
She paused.
"Mentally ill."
Silence fell like a blade.
The Burden of Command
For Horus,
victory purchased with losses is tragedy — but not failure.
For Mordecai Threxion,
every loss is failure.
He does not see fallen warriors.
He sees lives he spent.
He does not see strategic necessity.
He sees blood on his own hands.
So he punishes the guilty.
Himself.
Again.
And again.
Until guilt becomes identity.
Until duty becomes self-destruction.
He cannot command like this.
Not yet.
"I will attach my Legion elements to yours," Yuki continued.
"If you encounter resistance beyond your capacity, request reinforcement."
"Inform me the moment your father wakes."
The Emperor's Answer
"Is this truly your recommendation?"
"Yes."
She already knew his answer.
"I will not sanction removal from command due to psychological distress."
Yuki laughed softly.
At him?
At herself?
She did not know.
"The Second Legion's operational tempo will not decrease," she replied.
Silence.
"…Very well."
Pain tightened in her chest.
She understood him.
Nothing outweighed the Great Crusade.
Not even His sons.
Yet sorrow lingered.
She wanted to change things.
But nothing changed.
The Emperor remained a distant, unyielding sun.
The Primarchs continued walking toward their fates.
History continued bending toward tragedy.
What, then, was the point?
Her hands clenched.
Then she remembered something long buried beneath duty:
The ending does not matter.
Only the choices made along the way.
Only whether one can stand at the end and say:
I did not betray myself.
She sat beside the sleeping Primarch.
Freed from strain, his face looked almost peaceful.
"And how," she whispered,
"do I teach you what it means to live with a clear conscience?"
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