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"A naless nobody loyal to the Emperor and human civilization."
Kaelen shrugged, his tone flat.
Truth be told, Kaelen didn't have much goodwill toward that yellow-skinned old man on the Golden Throne, let alone any die-hard loyalty to him.
Helping the Emperor, helping Horus, it ca down to two things. Completing the missions the System handed him. And his own personal vision.
Who wouldn't want to witness, or create with their own hands, a miracle in this shithole of a Warhamr universe?
n love that kind of thing. Grand heroism. Blood-boiling miracles.
As for human civilization, Kaelen was one hundred percent, iron-bloodedly on its side.
He was human, and he'd always taken pride in that.
Not getting the answer he wanted, Cullen's brow knotted into a fist.
The veteran turned his head and locked his stare onto that massive bald figure, Horus.
"And you, Horus Lupercal." His voice was a low growl, every muscle still wound tight. "Do you still pledge loyalty to your creator, our Master of Mankind, the Emperor? Or have you lost your mind and decided to start another damned rebellion?"
"I am His first-found son. I am His fierce and beloved son."
Horus's tone was calm as stagnant water, yet beneath it lay a weariness and sorrow impossible to hide.
"I, Lupercal, shall remain loyal to the Emperor of Mankind. Until death."
No impassioned speeches. No fury at being questioned to his face by a warrior.
The Wolf Shepherd carried guilt in his heart.
After the wound from the Anathema's blade, those four bastards of the Warp had deceived him, twisted his perception, and finally puppeted him into committing those foul deeds, deeds that had nailed his na to the Imperium's pillar of sha for all eternity.
That monstrous black mark. He had to wash it clean with his own hands.
Seeing the mood grow heavy, Kaelen shot back a question of his own.
"And you, knight of the Dark Angels, Cullen — do you still pledge loyalty to the Emperor? And to your gene-father?"
"Of course!" Cullen's voice rose, his glare snapping to Kaelen. "It was so in the past. It is so now. I will never abandon my loyalty to them — not because I bear the na Fallen Angel, not because my Legion's descendants hunt !"
Watching the veteran grind his teeth and dig in his heels.
Kaelen silently rolled his eyes.
Look at this damned tsundere. Truly worthy of the Lion's blood.
The thought had barely finished forming before it was proven right.
Cullen drew his dagger again, pointing it at Horus.
"Before I believe your words, I need to test myself against the Master of the Luna Wolves. I shall fight as my Legion's champion!"
Horus and Kaelen exchanged a reflexive glance.
Tch. Definitely the Lion's cub.
Horus laughed out loud.
"No problem." He even cooperatively settled into a sparring stance. "Perhaps your swordsmanship has already approached the threshold of your Legion's Corswain. His blade left a deep impression on ."
"Once my brother wakes, you'll be more than qualified to join his personal honor guard."
"Then you can stand tall and tell him: I launched a duel against Lupercal in your na."
Watching Horus casually paint grand promises, Kaelen leaned in and lowered his voice.
"My Wolf Shepherd — aren't you just stringing a kid along?"
"Half and half, my friend." Horus tilted his head, voice dropping to match. "I accepted his challenge because he needs to prove his loyalty. He drew his blade not to win against ."
"He did it to seek an answer. For 10,000 years of exile. For the brothers who died in the rebellion. For his own stubborn, die-hard loyalty."
"And what I said just now, that was to give him a way out. Build a bit of rapport along the way."
Horus raised an eyebrow at Kaelen, then turned and casually yanked a rusted length of ribbed rebar from the rubble. He hefted it. It would serve as his dueling blade.
Kaelen didn't buy Horus's explanation.
In his view, this wasn't entirely about proving loyalty.
He rembered the book, Son of the Forest. After the Lion awakened and t his Fallen sons, a swordsmanship duel had taken place.
Words could deceive. A gene-primarch's combat instincts could not.
And the Dark Angels, as knights, often preferred to communicate through the blade. In a duel, they could discern much about their opponent through swordsmanship alone.
He wondered what expression the Lion would wear when he awoke and saw his own little kitten voluntarily challenging the Wolf Shepherd.
Good luck, old pal.
"Hope he doesn't get beaten black and blue."
Kaelen offered up a silent prayer for the Fallen Angel Cullen.
A clearing was made. The two took their stances.
Cullen drew his power sword, a power sword whose disruption field had long since failed.
He struck first.
The veteran's blade was shockingly fast. His transitions between one-handed and two-handed grips flowed like water. Every movent carried lethal intent, his onslaught a violent storm that left no room to breathe.
Horus, relying on pure muscle instinct, retreated half a step. The rebar in his hand swept upward from below in a fierce block.
BANG!
Scrap tal collided with a deafening, muffled boom. Dust kicked up across the floor.
Swordsmanship of this caliber, even in the Luna Wolves Legion during the Great Crusade, few could reliably best it. Abaddon himself would have to step into the cage.
Horus gave an extrely high appraisal in his mind, then praised aloud: "Fine swordsmanship!"
The words had barely left his mouth when the Wolf Shepherd attempted a side-cut to circle behind. But Cullen's footwork was fiendishly tricky, locking down the position with deadly precision. His assault didn't diminish. It grew fiercer.
The blade's tip was about to graze across Horus's chest.
The gene-primarch simply raised a hand and gave a light slap.
Effortless, yet it deflected Cullen's lethal strike cleanly. And in the next breath, Horus switched from defense to offense.
Cullen's instincts scread to change his move and counter-thrust. He forcibly halted the motion mid-way. That deeply unnatural pause tore his defensive center wide open.
The battle-hardened Wolf Shepherd would never let a golden opportunity like that slip.
Horus flicked his wrist. The rebar scread through the air with a piercing howl, first a feint at Cullen's face, forcing him to raise his guard, then the forearm flipped, transforming into an overwhelmingly oppressive horizontal slash.
If that strike landed solid, the power armor on Cullen's right arm, and the bone beneath, would shatter to fragnts on the spot.
But one microsecond before contact.
The Wolf Shepherd reined in his strength.
Clang.
The massive recoil still numbed the web of Cullen's hand. His power sword flew from his grip and clattered onto the tal floor.
The duel was over.
Because at this mont, that rusted length of ribbed rebar was pressed steady against the thinnest gap between Cullen's helt and chestplate.
If Horus so wished, Cullen's end would be a clean hole through the heart.
"Why didn't you thrust it through?!"
Cullen panted, his voice thick with fury.
"I couldn't."
Horus's tone was gentle. He casually withdrew the rebar and tossed it aside like trash.
"Because I would never butcher any knight who is truly loyal to the Emperor, and loyal to my brother, the Lion."
➤ Next: The Yellow-Clad One Sends a Dream
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