Chapter 505

Until Leon Ael Zhaoson emerged from the woods, the Changer had thought he'd landed a good job.

With Roboute Guilliman's return, the Changer—trapped for countless years in Terra's bureaucratic system by Tzeentch—finally found release, and after handing over his duties, was banished back to the Warp.

The Changer was a manifestation of part of Tzeentch's power, the embodiment of deceit and illusion, the raw instinct of Tzeentch meddling in affairs beyond his domain; he could shift and mimic any form at will, and none but Tzeentch could easily see through his disguises—even the other Dark Gods were often fooled by him.

He had once personally snipped the silver locks of the Dark Prince, woven them into a net, and stolen a Nurgle Daemon from Nurgle's garden, then hid the daemon atop the Blood God's throne—the moment the Blood God sat down was unforgettable to the Changer.

The other three Gods longed to flay him alive and utterly destroy him, but protected by the Lord of Change, the Changer always escaped.

The Changer loved discord and chaos, despised and feared boredom, yet he feared Tzeentch even more, for Tzeentch knew his true face and used it to control him.

Thus he was forced to endure torment, shoved into the damned Terra bureaucracy, slaving for the Empire for centuries.

Now the Changer had no energy left for mischief—he only wanted a quiet, peaceful rest, time to heal the wounds Terra's bureaucracy had left on him.

So when Tzeentch ordered him to infiltrate the Lion's psyche and cloud his mind, the Changer was delighted.

For according to fate's path, the Lion still had time before truly awakening; during that span, the Changer only needed to slack off, loaf around, and occasionally slip out for some fun.

But such days lasted only a short while—suddenly, the Lion awoke and stepped out of the woods, just one step away from emerging.

At that moment, the Changer was impersonating a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, tricking a rebellious planetary Viceroy into trading his daughter's soul for a "powerful artifact" to defend his palace against the attacking Blood Angels—oh, the so-called "powerful artifact" was merely a device that played Horus's speech recordings in the eyes of every Blood Angel on the planet.

Upon sensing the Lion's awakening, the Changer didn't even wait to see the Viceroy torn apart by furious Blood Angels—he rushed back and began blocking the Lion according to the script he'd written.

"You are not Russ!"

"Russ enjoyed hitting me—he would laugh!"

Leon swung his fists furiously, punching the fake Russ again and again in the face.

The Changer groaned in agony—he had no idea Russ laughed when he hit Leon, yet Leon clearly cared deeply about this detail.

Weren't these two enemies? Why did Leon's tone suggest he had a good relationship with Russ?

In Leon's view, he and Russ had profound disagreements, but they were not irreconcilable; deep down, Russ was a reliable brother—second only to Sanguinius, far superior to Guilliman.

The Russ before Leon suddenly flickered—a massive, sharp claw blocked Leon's punch.

Pearl-white power armor gleamed before Leon; beneath the bald head was a face he loathed, especially the smile on its lips—radiating a warmth Leon himself lacked.

It was this warmth that had seduced his father and many of his brothers.

"What reason do you have to return, Leon?"

Horus asked.

"We both know who the true first son and Warmaster is."

"The Emperor never placed you in a position worthy of honor."

"I have no desire for power," Leon sneered, dodging Horus's claw and smashing a fist into his face.

The false illusion shifted again—a twisted, gloomy head, studded with steel cables, appeared before Leon.

"Don't you crave the Warmaster's position?" Perturabo spoke coldly: "Then why did you gift me two General's Cannons? Do you know how many Loyalists I slaughtered on Istvaan V with them? Do you know whose weapons destroyed Terra's walls?"

At the start of the rebellion, Leon had failed to see the truth, mistakenly believing Perturabo remained loyal, and had gifted him the two General's Cannons.

"I never cared for you, Perturabo," Leon mocked. "I'm glad it was you who rebelled, not Dorn."

Leon kicked Perturabo in the chest and seized the steel cables embedded in his skull, yanking them out with brute force.

"Then where were you?" Perturabo became Dorn, his stony face fixed on Leon Ael Zhaoson: "Where were you when the Emperor needed you?"

"Where were you during the Siege of Terra? Where were you when the Emperor died?"

Dorn's words caused Leon's movements to pause for a fleeting instant—then his fist struck the Lion's face.

The Lion had indeed wavered—he had questioned himself: had he not gone to destroy the traitors' homeworlds to draw their fire away from Sanguinius and the Blood Angels, but instead marched with them straight toward Terra, could he have saved the Empire?

Could he have saved the Emperor and Sanguinius?

In that moment of hesitation, a stronger punch suddenly slammed into his face.

He saw a muscular, crimson arm—Magnus, bare-chested, his body honed by relentless training, looking down at Leon.

Leon laughed bitterly: "Pathetic disguise! Magnus's punch never had this force."

The Changer, now in Magnus's form, hesitated—he wanted to explain that Magnus was truly like this now—but Leon's fist was already upon him.

The Changer fled in panic—he couldn't possibly match Leon in a real fight.

Leon watched Magnus vanish into the forest's shadows and, relying on his hunting instinct, swiftly gave chase.

Then, at that moment, a massive blue foot emerged from behind a giant tree, tripping Leon—his face slammed into the sticky ground.

"Guilliman." Leon didn't need to look up to know who had tripped him.

Guilliman stood beside him, gently tugging at the collar of his power armor, revealing the wound beneath.

"You once asked why it was Sanguinius who died and not you—you finally got your wish," he said sorrowfully.

"Oh," Leon feigned indifference.

"What about me?" In the blink of an eye, Guilliman's face transformed into the gentle, anxious, beautiful visage of Sanguinius, his eyes lowered as he gazed at Leon: "Do you not care about my death either?"

Seeing Sanguinius's face, fury surged within Leon—he rose instantly and gave chase.

The Changer fled swiftly into the deep shadows of the forest.

Just like this, just like this.

Tormenting the foolish Lion brought him great delight.

The Changer chuckled wickedly.

He'd been trapped in damned Terra for so many years, drowning in tedious bureaucracy, nearly lost his ability to find joy.

Provoking the Lion had restored that pleasure—especially since the Lion had grown close to the Dark Angels.

The Dark Angels were enemies.

The Changer twisted his body, becoming hazy and indistinct.

What should he become next?

Which Primarch had left the deepest psychological scar on Leon?

Among the forest shadows, the Changer chuckled:

"Oh! It's Konrad Curze."

"You're looking for me?" A cold voice suddenly echoed from behind the Changer.

The Changer shuddered, turning slowly in fear—and saw a pale face buried beneath dripping black hair, eyes pure black, devoid of eyelids.

ZZZT!!!

Lightning claws pierced the Changer's chest—he screamed and dissolved into the shadows. The Lion, guided by his hunting instinct, passed through the shadows and saw the figure waiting for him.

Seeing the pale specter, Leon's body tensed, then his aged face twisted with contempt and revulsion: "Monster Curze."

That damned thing had taken Konrad Curze's form.

"At least I know who in my Legion deserves to die," the Night Lords' voice spoke coldly.

"All of them. All deserve to die," Leon growled.

"I wholeheartedly agree," Curze smiled. "Brother, why call me a monster? Because I brought fear to those worlds?"

"Those worlds bowed to my name—no resistance, no war, countless lives saved—isn't that justice?"

"And you? You burned everything, scorched the earth—and yet you are the hero, while I am the monster? Merely because I saved more lives?"

"I am no hero," the Lion's gaze was icy. "I merely fulfilled my Father's expectations. I followed his orders, pressed forward without pause, for I knew he could save humanity, unify the galaxy, protect the weak—and all I did was necessary."

"You understand nothing, Leon," Curze lifted his head coldly, his black eyes—capable of seeing the future—locking with Leon's.

Ten thousand years, the Codex Astartes, the disappearance and deaths of loyal brothers, the Ecclesiarchy, the High Lords, the God-Emperor, the Plunderer Abaddon, the Tyranids.

All flooded into Leon's vision in an instant—a world so sorrowful: ignorant, decaying, the weak oppressed, the strong tyrannizing, the Emperor worshipped as a god, his children killing each other.

"Lies," Leon snarled—but deep inside, he knew Curze showed him truth. He cursed Guilliman a hundred times in his mind: Why did that fool go kill Fulgrim himself?! Didn't he understand his value? Didn't he know he should have lived?!

"It is truth. It has already happened," Curze said coldly. "You do not understand."

"You are the one who does not understand, Konrad," the Lion growled. "You have never understood why Father shaped us."

"We are strong, peerless; mortals are weak, short-sighted. We must lend them our strength, carve paths for them with our power, until they grow and no

We bear responsibility, Conrad, we do not exist for a glorious future—we exist because the future is filled with darkness; we must not become slaves to fate or the future, we are the ones who carve out the future.

My father has not failed, humanity has not failed, I am still alive, and I will protect mortals until the day they no longer need me—I will not fall before then.

The lion roared and charged toward Conrad Kors.

Kors did not dodge, only chuckled coldly: "I hope you live up to your words, Lion."

You cannot understand the terrible burden I now carry.

Then the shadows vanished, Conrad Kors disappeared without a trace, leaving only blinding light, rustling leaves, and the sky exposed before the lion's eyes.

The lion saw a sun—a black, cold, massive sun.

One.

Lord of the Dark Angels.

Ouroboros.

Protector of the Second Empire.

Guilliman's faction.

King of the Woods.

Blade.

Selfish.

Envious.

Malicious.

Secret.

Respectable.

"Brave."

"Dutiful."

"Not the Warlord."

A thousand voices rang in Laine's ears; he felt dizzy, his head as if being torn apart,

yet he recognized this sensation—the touch of withered hands upon his mind,

it was the Emperor, his father, touching him,

Laine instinctively reached out, but his hands met something solid,

his right hand gripped a power sword,

its blade magnificent, the plasma field crackling and spitting sparks, the guard engraved with the emblem of the First Legion, its size perfectly fitted Laine's palm,

the sword's name was "Loyalty"; the moment he grasped it, he knew its name.

his left hand gripped a kite shield, blazing hot as flame, searing his palm, upon it was carved an eagle crowned with laurels,

Laine felt the power that once guarded the entire Terra Imperial Palace—this was the Emperor's Shield, its surface inscribed with the Emperor's searing psychic energy, no less potent than the Emperor's Sword once granted to Guilliman.

The Lion suddenly lifted his head, gazing at the black sun in the sky; its light burned his eyes, drawing tears,

within the black sun, the Lion faintly saw that figure—the golden figure.

But He was dying, seated lifeless upon the Throne, reduced to a rotting corpse,

Laine El Jossen let out a mournful cry, his vision flooded with white light, moving farther from that sun, as if falling.

"Father!!!"

Laine cried out instinctively.

"Laine! I'm here! Father is here! Dad is right here!"

"My Laine! My Lion! You've finally awakened!"

Lu Se wept uncontrollably, lunging toward Laine El Jossen.

Laine opened his eyes in confusion; the first thing he saw was Lu Se's twisted, deranged face, and behind him, the four shapeless horrors coiling.

"Guilliman's shit!" Laine roared, instinctively raising his left hand.

CRASH!!!

The Emperor's Shield slammed into Lu Se's face with a sharp crack.

(This chapter's four thousand words gave me a headache; the next one will be delayed.)

(End of chapter)