The Lion's return to power, the restructuring of the Adeptus Arbites, and the dissolution of the Inquisition marked a major turning point for the Imperium. It was not just a moment of transition but a complete reshuffling of authority—a redistribution of power that would redefine humanity's rule in the galaxy.
For millennia, the Inquisition had wielded authority second only to the High Lords of Terra. Despite their excesses, their sudden collapse left a void that required an immediate replacement.
Dukel deemed it prudent to temporarily transfer these duties to the Custodes. For ten thousand years, the Emperor's praetorians had stood guard over the Imperial Palace, their talents wasted in stagnation. Their golden armor alone was worth the wealth of an entire thriving world. Moreover, alongside the Custodes, nearly a hundred mortal auxiliary regiments stationed on Terra could more than fulfill the responsibilities of the former Inquisition—and do so more effectively.
In Dukel's eyes, no position in the Imperium was truly irreplaceable. If anything, the Imperium had an abundance of manpower.
"Let us summon the next traitor." Dukel idly flicked the sealed parchment in his hand, his gaze resting upon the High Lords assembled before him.
"Lord Regent, which figures do you believe will be named in this report?" he asked, his voice laced with quiet menace.
The High Lord in question—a man who had, up until now, done his best to remain unnoticed—suddenly found himself drenched in cold sweat. He was no fool; he knew precisely what this letter represented. Until it was opened, its contents remained in a state of uncertainty.
For all he knew, the page could be blank, awaiting only the names of the guilty to be written in after the fact.
A chill ran down his spine. If his answer failed to align with the Primarch's expectations, his name—and the entirety of the High Lords—could very well end up on that list. But to simply comply meant condemning his own class, forever branding himself a traitor among the ruling elite.
Dukel's method was simple but ruthless. The true culprits would be exposed, but the rest would be forced to become informants or be crushed alongside the guilty.
The High Lord hesitated, his mind racing. If he betrayed his own, he would become a pariah, forever loathed by the surviving nobles. If he refused to cooperate, he would be among the first to fall.
Before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension.
"Brother," Guilliman interjected, his calm, measured tone filling the chamber, "I suggest we deprioritize the Munitorum in this investigation."
Dukel raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
Guilliman gave a small, knowing smile. "Because its highest-ranking admirals all hail from Macragge."
Understanding dawned in Dukel's eyes. He had underestimated his brother's political acumen. No wonder Guilliman had managed to balance the burden of the Indomitus Crusade while simultaneously navigating Terra's political quagmire. He had long since embedded his influence into the Munitorum, ensuring that his faction's interests were protected.
This delay was no mere bureaucratic maneuver. It was a tactical move to allow time for assets to be repositioned before the investigators arrived.
Dukel could not help but admire his brother's foresight. This was not just about eliminating traitors; it was about ensuring that, in the new order, power was consolidated in the hands of those who could be trusted.
Guilliman, too, recognized the larger implications. The Imperium had long been stagnating, shackled by corruption and inertia. Dukel's actions, ruthless as they were, would cleanse it and set it on the path toward a greater destiny.
And it was not just Guilliman who understood. The Primarchs, each in their own way, had grasped the vision Dukel was shaping. Though they might have hesitated at first, now, in the face of a future where humanity once more ruled supreme, they were willing to march alongside him.
For the first time in millennia, Guilliman felt something akin to hope.
The High Lord, however, felt only dread.
When he heard the exchange between Guilliman and Dukel, any lingering delusions of escape crumbled. The game was over. The Imperium was moving forward, and those who stood in its way would be swept aside.
Taking a deep breath, he made his choice.
"I recall something, my lord," he said, his voice steady.
Dukel nodded. "Then speak."
"As far as I am aware, the Grand Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites has maintained close ties with the Grand Master of Assassins."
He had chosen to abandon his peers.
If betrayal was inevitable, then he would be the first to strike, ensuring that his own survival came before theirs.
Dukel gave a satisfied nod. "A wise decision." He gestured to the scribes. "Record his testimony. Once this matter is concluded, we will make the results of our investigation public."
A servitor moved forward, its optical lens whirring as it recorded both the High Lord's words and his image for later transmission. A second, human scribe transcribed the confession, adding embellishments where necessary.
As the last words were written down, Efilar, the Custodes Tribune, approached.
"Your Highness, we have traced the assassin's movements. The last confirmed sighting places them within the Adeptus Arbites headquarters."
Another figure, Waldo, a high-ranking Custodes officer, spoke up. "The Lord of Assassins' last known location was also near the same precinct."
Dukel let the words settle, then narrowed his eyes.
"Well," he said, his tone dark, "I was uncertain whether the citizen reports could be trusted. But now I see the truth. The Adeptus Arbites has not only harbored a known criminal but knowingly obstructed Imperial justice." He let his voice rise, ensuring the recorders captured every word. "This is a far greater crime! I hope the Grand Marshal has not made a fatal mistake."
He did not wait for an answer. Striding from the chamber, the full weight of the investigation force followed him.
The arrival at the Adeptus Arbites precinct was swift and brutal.
Inside, the Grand Marshal stood, his expression carefully neutral as the Primarchs entered.
Dukel wasted no time. "You are accused of harboring fugitives. We have reason to believe you have shielded both the assassin and the Grand Master of Assassins. What do you say to these charges?"
The Grand Marshal met Dukel's gaze, his face betraying nothing. "Your Highness, I have seen neither the assassin nor the Grand Master. I was told that the Grand Master was on a mission, away from Terra."
Before Dukel could respond, the High Lord at the rear of the room spoke first.
"That is a lie. I saw the Grand Master this morning."
A flicker of something—annoyance? Calculation?—crossed the Grand Marshal's face. Then he exhaled slowly. "Perhaps we should speak in private."
Dukel tilted his head. "Why? Do you fear the truth being known?"
The Grand Marshal's voice dropped, and his next words were spoken directly into Dukel's mind.
There is more to this than you know. The Emperor's assassination may not be as it seems. If you want the full truth, come with me. But in return, the Adeptus Arbites must be spared.
Dukel's eyes narrowed.
Was there truly another layer to this conspiracy?
Was there a deeper secret hidden?
The truth?
What had the Ministry of Justice uncovered?
Dukel and the Grand Marshal locked eyes.
Dukel already knew the truth—he had carved it into history with his own hands. But if the Grand Marshal knew it as well, why wasn't he afraid? The unwavering resolve in his gaze did not appear to be feigned.
Confidence?
A thought flickered through Dukel's mind before he chuckled.
"The truth? The only truth is what I decide it to be!"
The Grand Marshal's eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, Dukel struck him across the face.
"The Emperor's son will not consort with traitors and heretics!"
The crack of the blow echoed through the chamber. Though Dukel had exerted no real force, the Grand Marshal was hurled over ten meters, slamming into the cold stone wall before sliding to the floor.
For a moment, he believed he was dead—yet, to his astonishment, he was still alive.
He stared at the Primarch, his disbelief evident.
The Marshal had uncovered something, something damning enough to warrant negotiating with a Primarch. As the head of the Adeptus Arbites, he was privy to more secrets than most could comprehend. It was the reason for his composure—until now.
But Dukel's reaction had caught him entirely off guard.
Did the Primarch truly not care about the truth behind the Emperor's assassination?
Even if the Ministry of Justice had yet to unearth the full story, surely Dukel should be interested in their findings.
The Marshal had assumed that Dukel's crusade against the nobility was merely a pretext for a purge. But could it be that the Primarch truly had no interest in the identity of the Emperor's assassin?
Dukel, unaware of the Marshal's thoughts, would have smiled even wider had he known.
After all, this was a play he had scripted and performed himself.
Whatever secrets the Grand Marshal had uncovered meant nothing to him. The man himself meant even less.
Dukel didn't even care to remember his name.
But the removal of the Grand Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites? That was of great significance.
"Your Highness Dukel! I know the truth of His Majesty's assassination!"
The Grand Marshal's voice rang out in desperation. He had seen the Primarch approaching and feared he would not survive another strike. He gambled everything on his trump card, revealing it before his life could be snuffed out.
If Dukel intended to kill him, then the Marshal had to make his knowledge count while he still breathed.
Dukel remained impassive, but the others in the chamber reacted immediately.
Lion El'Jonson, Roboute Guilliman, and the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes exchanged glances.
The Lion's eyes, unlike Guilliman's, were not filled with confusion but with an unmistakable murderous intent.
To the Lion, the truth of the Emperor's assassination was a secret that could never be allowed to surface. None but the Primarchs and the Custodes had the right to know.
Even if the Grand Marshal did not yet possess the full truth, it made no difference.
He had to die.
The High Lord standing nearby turned pale. "You... you know the truth? No wonder you've been in hiding. You haven't attended gatherings, haven't left the Ministry of Justice."
His gut twisted in dread.
In his eagerness to display loyalty to the Primarchs, he had completely alienated the Grand Marshal. If the Marshal survived tonight, the Ministry of Justice would certainly exact vengeance upon him.
"The Ministry uncovered a clue a few days ago," the Grand Marshal continued, his voice carrying the weight of his final gamble. "Our investigation points to—"
He paused, eyes locking onto the High Lord, his expression venomous. Traitors were more despised than enemies, and the malice in his gaze was unmistakable.
A sneer played at his lips. If he survived tonight, he would deal with the High Lord in due time.
But then—a blur of movement.
A flash of cold steel.
Lion El'Jonson had moved, his blade already slick with blood before the Grand Marshal could finish his sentence.
The Marshal collapsed, his lifeblood pooling on the marble floor. Yet even in death, his lips remained twisted into that defiant sneer.
"There are secrets within secrets."
The Lion flicked the blood from his blade.
"Not all secrets should be known."
The chamber fell silent.
Even those accustomed to bloodshed were stunned by the Lion's sheer decisiveness.
The High Lord swallowed hard, staring at the growing crimson stain. Relief warred with terror in his heart—
Relief that the Grand Marshal was dead, sparing him from retribution.
Terror at the realization that if the Lion could slay a man as powerful as the Grand Marshal without hesitation, then his own life was insignificant in comparison.
Dukel sighed dramatically. "Brother, you're too paranoid. I would have liked to hear what he had to say."
"I will not gamble on even the smallest chance," the Lion said coldly. "This matter ends here."
With a wave of his hand, an entire company of Dark Angels materialized from the shadows.
Bolters roared.
The Ministry of Justice was purged in fire and blood.
Dukel watched, unfazed. He understood the Lion's burden—he was the keeper of the Emperor's secrets. To the Lion, this duty outweighed even his own life.
"Since you've begun this, you may as well finish it," Dukel said. "From this moment on, you will oversee both the Adeptus Arbites and the Officio Assassinorum. I trust the Dark Angels will be far more effective than mere mortals."
The Lion remained silent, considering.
Unlike the Custodes, the Dark Angels were far from idle—they had their own war to fight. But the true work of the Arbites and the Assassinorum did not need to be done by Astartes themselves. They merely needed to train a cadre of loyal agents.
Finally, the Lion nodded. "I will ensure the innocent are not needlessly slaughtered."
"That will suffice," Dukel said with a smile. "The Assassinorum is yours as well."
The Lion turned to leave, taking with him the 'evidence' Dukel had provided. With the Dark Angels at his side, he made his way to the Officio Assassinorum for what would be a very one-sided negotiation.
As he departed, Dukel turned to Guilliman.
"Brother, is the Departmento Munitorum prepared?"
"Not yet," Guilliman admitted, rubbing his temples. "This all happened too quickly. We spent more time traveling here than planning."
"Then let's see what sins the Arbites have committed."
The Dark Angels handed over the files they had seized.
For millennia, the Adeptus Arbites had ensured compliance with Imperial law. Their power was absolute—save for a few exceptions like the Astartes, the Inquisition, and the Navigator Houses.
Yet absolute power had bred absolute corruption.
In the earliest days of the Imperium, they had upheld justice.
But ten thousand years had twisted them into something else.
They were no longer enforcers of law.
They were the law.
Dukel and Guilliman emerged from the ruined Ministry with heavy hearts.
Dukel looked up at the darkened sky of Terra.
"The sun has set. The night is long."
"But dawn will come."