This was never what I wanted.
I never intended to betray anyone, nor did I ever raise a hand against my own brothers-in-arms.
I had sworn an oath to Lord Astelan that I would fight for humanity until my dying breath, pledging my utmost loyalty to the Lion.
But the Lion betrayed us.
He ordered the fleet to open fire, and he lied to his own Progeny!
Yet I had already let it go. We all should have let it go.
I never wanted to beco an Adeptus Astartes, nor did I desire to be a so-called Company Champion. I certainly never wished to leave my mother and father. I never wanted to fight at all.
And reality proved that becoming an Adeptus Astartes was an absolute mistake!
Abandoning my past to live as a miner was simple enough. The physique of an Adeptus Astartes made such grueling labor effortless, and it easily allowed to protect myself from the endless tide of abominable Creations lurking within the mineshafts.
Working from sunrise to sunset, it was just like the old days at the estate on Caliban, just like when I was still by my parents' side.
I just wanted to take my secrets to the grave, quietly living out the rest of my days as an ordinary man.
What was so wrong with living the life of a normal person?
Faced with the harsh struggles of survival, I chose backbreaking labor in exchange for food and supplies. And when the great enemy of Chaos descended from the heavens, I still took up my blade to fight back and defend my ho.
But my past... why did it have to keep hunting down?
And those people, why did they still cling to their delusional hopes about that traitor?
The Lion!
Why will you never spare your own Progeny?!
"Lion El'Jonson is the traitor!"
That furious roar, laced with boundless resentnt and sorrow, echoed through the grand hall, reaching the ears of every single person present.
Everyone in the room—whether awake, awake but playing dead, unconscious but propped up by genetic instinct to look alert, or completely passed out—sohow managed to focus their attention on the man shouting at the top of his lungs.
"What's the deal with this guy?"
Rases asked. Just like Romulus, he had disguised himself as a Deathwing Terminator to blend in beside Arthur.
Having caught wind of what his companion was dealing with, he decided these Dark Angels were far too entertaining to pass up. He simply had to sneak in and watch the show.
"The anesthetic used on the Adeptus Astartes forces their nervous system to relax. Essentially, it is a potent Lethal Toxin originally designed for assassinations. He must be having a vivid dream."
Arthur replied.
He absolutely had not used a truth serum.
"Oh..."
Rases scrutinized the gathered Fallen Angels while continuing to silently command the Daemons to open their boxes in The Warp.
"..."
This was a massive round-table conference hall, boasting seating for hundreds of people.
Constructed entirely of gleaming white marble, the space was accented with deep red and black carpets alongside hanging Banners. Brilliant white light cascaded down from the ceiling, illuminating the grand hall with crystal clarity.
Gareth looked around in utter bewildernt. His last mory was of a knight who resembled a lion driving a blade straight through his Heart.
Yet here they were, sitting in a magnificent hall, seemingly attending a council eting?
His power armor was still equipped, though it felt as if it had been refitted. The power systems remained offline, likely because his biotric verifications had not yet been approved.
He scanned the faces of those around him, recognizing several as his forr fellow miners.
As for the rest...
Gareth quickly buried his face in his hands.
Ti inside the conference hall seed to freeze for a split second.
Both those pretending to be unconscious and those fully awake finally realized their predicant, hastily scrambling to find sothing to cover their faces.
But the imdiate area was completely bare.
The pristine white marble and the blazing lights left absolutely no room for secrets to hide.
"Lohr?"
Kai's voice drifted over from his side, drawing the attention of Lohr, who had fully concealed his face between his arms.
"Stop hiding. We've all been exposed."
Kai couldn't help but point out, "We're sitting right at the edge of the round table. We were the first things they saw the mont they opened their eyes."
He then cast a curious glance at Lohr's handso, middle-aged features, unable to hide his astonishnt.
"I don't recall this face being associated with any sensitive mories. Why were you so paranoid about hiding it every ti we ate?"
It was completely absurd. For the Dark Angels, showing one's face during a al was the ultimate expression of mutual trust.
Hearing his friend's words, Lohr instinctively glanced down at his reflection in the tallic table. Only then did he realize that his face had been restored to its original appearance.
He imdiately looked toward Arthur, who was seated at the head of the table.
Golden hair, erald eyes, and remarkably handso features.
!!!
He looked significantly younger than the Lion from his mories.
Lohr let out a heavy sigh of relief, offering a deep, grateful nod to Arthur when their eyes t.
"Mm."
Arthur returned the nod, fully understanding the silent gratitude.
Lohr had spent a considerable amount of ti stranded in The Warp, resulting in unavoidable, grotesque facial mutations. Arthur and Rases had quietly worked together to restore his true appearance.
Rustle—
Seeing that nearly everyone had abandoned the charade of being unconscious, Arthur prepared to stand.
"Silence!"
Rases commanded at the perfect mont, stepping seamlessly into the role of a ceremonial guardsman.
His booming, unrestrained voice instantly drowned out the hushed whispers rippling through the gathered Fallen Angels.
Only then did the crowd fully snap to attention.
They were supposed to be prisoners of war, yet here they were, seated securely around a grand table without a scratch on them.
There was no grueling torture like they had anticipated. They hadn't been stripped of their Dignity, nor thrown into a dank prison cell.
All of this was solely because of the man sitting at the head of the table.
As Arthur slowly rose to his feet, every eye in the room was irresistibly drawn to him.
The Fallen Angels were brimming with intense curiosity and scrutiny toward this mysterious knight—the warrior who had single-handedly defeated the vast majority of them and captured them all in one fell swoop.
"I am Arthur Pendragon,"
Arthur introduced himself. "I have never participated in a single campaign during the Great Crusade, so it is only natural that none of you recognize ."
"The purpose of today's gathering is to properly address and resolve the internal conflicts between you all."
So, to get everyone to sit down and have a civilized conversation, he had simply beaten the living daylights out of them and tossed them around a table.
It was a remarkably heavy-handed approach, truly befitting a supre powerhouse.
The crowd listened in dead silence. No one dared to raise their voice in furious rebuttal.
After all, the man standing before them could have easily slaughtered every last one of them, but he chose not to.
That alone proved his words held genuine weight.
"But my Lord, are you fully aware of the true situation on Caliban?"
Zabriel asked tentatively.
His beloved Relic Cruiser had already been confiscated, and this very conference hall had been freshly constructed aboard the Silent Vow. Naturally, he harbored no small amount of resentnt over the hostile takeover.
The most baffling part, however, was that the ship's Machine Spirit had been absolutely overjoyed by the change in managent, leaving him utterly dumbfounded.
"Zabriel. I recall that during the Destruction of Caliban, you were stationed on the planet's surface. Following the Rangdan campaigns, the Lion exiled the vast majority of Terran-born Astartes—including Astelan and yourself—back to Caliban. During Luther's uprising, this specific group of Terran veterans effectively served as accomplices to his treachery."
Arthur stated matter-of-factly, his words setting a definitive and damning tone for Luther's rebellion.
"My Lord, I was completely blind to the larger political situation! The orbital forces descended upon us and imdiately comnced a brutal massacre without a single word of explanation. We had no choice but to defend ourselves."
Feeling the murderous glares piercing his back, Zabriel resisted the urge to reach up and check if his head was still attached to his neck. Breaking into a cold sweat, he hurriedly blurted out his explanation.
Was it easy for him to blend in with a bloodthirsty boarding party? It was a sheer miracle that there was no one he recognized among the other Fallen Angels. He had eventually figured out the massive discrepancies when reviewing the events in hindsight, but it was a dark secret he dared not share with his cursed brethren.
"You are correct. Throughout his mutiny, Luther masterfully manipulated the Lion's intense paranoia—a ntal state exacerbated by the horrific events of the Horus Heresy. A rogue rchant vessel departing Caliban relayed a fabricated ssage to the Lion, claiming that the Planet had fallen under Luther's total control and was gearing up for open rebellion. Almost simultaneously, Luther hijacked a massive orbital defense battery under his direct command and ruthlessly fired upon the Lion's returning fleet."
"This sequence of events forced the enraged Lion to unleash a devastating bombardnt upon the entirety of Caliban without demanding an explanation. In doing so, he forcefully pushed the Terran veterans and the New Recruits stationed on the surface squarely into Luther's camp."
Arthur did not exert any further pressure on Zabriel. Instead, he patiently explained the grander sche, filling in the crucial gaps of history that Zabriel had been oblivious to.
Zabriel let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. Judging from Arthur's calm deanor, it seed he wasn't going to be executed on the spot.
He cast a glance over his shoulder at his battle-brothers, whose murderous hostility had notably subsided.
As a Space Marine, he held absolutely no fear of death.
But he had yet to reunite with the Lion. He refused to die carrying the heavy burden of such an unjust grievance.
If he was to face judgnt, the executioner's blade could only be swung by the Lion himself.
At the sa ti, however, a deep, nagging suspicion began to gnaw at his mind.
'My Lord, are you absolutely certain you didn't participate in the Great Crusade?'
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