Lion El'Jonson walked in the shadows beneath the trees. This was a state that made the Primarch feel incredibly familiar and secure; he even enjoyed it all.
His emerald pupils, lightly brushed by golden hair, shot out sharp glints, piercing through the vast expanse of vines and lush foliage, quietly searching in the empty valleys and rivers.
Lion El'Jonson sniffed, meticulously inhaling the scents in the air: aging leaves detached from fragile branches, guided by wind and gravity, fell to the ground,
fermenting into a foul odor; babbling streams brought carcasses that had been dead for days, reduced to mere bones by scavengers, fish, and currents;
colossal carrion birds, large enough to obscure the sunlight, roamed the highest heavens, their wings scattering the greedy, bloody stench of death.
And then there were the sounds, subtle sounds: the beat of small bird wings against the wind, the pad of wild beast paws on the dirt, the countless roars and snarls of beasts,
some sharp, some deep, some gentle, some savage, all interwoven illogically, playing a symphony that belonged only to the forest and the survival of the fittest.
Although there was only survival, struggle, and escape, only slaughter, villainy, and consumption, this did not hinder the forest's inherent vitality and prosperity.
Countless contests, laments, and narratives of life and death constantly played out with both living and non-living things, rising and falling, brimming with life.
When all the sounds, all the scents, all the rhythms of life and death rushed into the Primarch's mind, he actually felt a sensation of "cacophony." Everything was like the forests of Caliban, though with some differences.
He felt as if he was walking through that ancient forest, moving past trees that scraped against the fur of colossal beasts, meticulously examining the fur and droppings,
tracking his prey through these savage acts that marked their territory. Lion El'Jonson still remembered those times, from wearing tattered leafy garments, to the standard iron-thread clothing of a knight's squire,
to the meticulously adorned armor required for slaying colossal beasts, embellished with intricate marks of honor. He still remembered that back then, his body would move through the forest like a silent knight passing through an even more silent kingdom, and moving towards...
Wait.
...
...
!!!
Lion El'Jonson's brow furrowed. He reversed his wrist, swinging out a sword gleam, as if a beast's sharp claws had torn through a false curtain. The bustling myriad of sounds instantly fell silent.
No fallen leaves, no flowing water, no hawk wings slicing through the wind overhead, no giant beasts roaring and hunting in the forest.
Only a dead silence remained. Only dead silence. The simplest dead silence. Lion El'Jonson saw the dead silence, heard the dead silence, felt the dead silence. Then he took a deep breath.
——————
This was a true forest, like the forests of Caliban.
——————
In this real dead silence, he heard laughter. Even more silent laughter.
——————
[You saw through it, Lord Lion El'Jonson, much faster than I imagined.]
[They didn't stop you, not even for a moment did they truly succeed in deceiving you.] The voice came from all directions, echoing continuously through the sky and valleys.
It neither startled birds nor roused beastly roars, for everything in this forest was as quiet as death. Even the rustling of the wind through the leaves tried its best to lower its tone.
The voice seemed to come from above, as if a lazy goddess, leaning on a luxurious mountaintop temple, conveyed her words through a gentle breeze and invisible envoys.
[How did you see through it...] Lion El'Jonson walked, not answering immediately. He merely exhaled a few mocking words through gritted teeth. [I haven't walked through deep forests in a long time, so I've somewhat forgotten what they truly look like.]
[But you, you have no idea what a real forest looks like. You're just imitating, doing the most clumsy imitation and deduction, recording what you first saw,
the original appearance of this world, and then based on your own imagination, you add details and exaggerate, creating a ludicrous painting.]
[Your false dream is like a pile of stones full of holes. When the wind blows, perhaps it will make beautiful sounds, but when someone comes to it with a hammer, it's as fragile as white paper.]
[Utterly ridiculous.] The Primarch delivered his conclusion without mercy, his tone reflecting years of habitual commands and demands to Morgana. But this time, the answer was not the expected [As you command]. Instead, it was continuous laughter.
He narrowed his eyes, bowing slightly, like a true wild beast. His continuous, silent breaths merged into the clean breeze. His golden hair was concealed by the dappled sunlight, like vines in the night.
His heavy steel boots scraped over what used to be crackling, brittle fallen leaves, yet made not the slightest sound. He was like a wild beast, a legendary wild beast that would never exist in reality.
They would only appear in stories by campfires, in the hideous scars of the most seasoned hunters. They merged into darkness, into pure hunting, unnoticed by any light or gaze. Only the victim's blood, dripping bit by bit in the endless night, would herald their visit.
And now, Lion El'Jonson was that beast. He desperately wanted to kill something.
The Primarch continued forward. He walked through one deep forest after another, his figure repeatedly circling beneath countless ravines and colossal trees,
until a massive sinkhole appeared before his eyes. And lying quietly within it was the standard drop pod of the Dark Angels. He had found it. His prey, his advisor, was nearby.
He understood her. She wouldn't go too far, because excessive distance meant a loss of control. She hated, even feared, the feeling of not having everything in her grasp. She thought she had concealed it well. Then, Lion El'Jonson heard laughter again.
——————
[A dangerous distance, Lord Lion El'Jonson.]
[You are truly powerful, I admit. You caught me off guard.] The voice continued to echo, but this time, it seemed closer. Every character exploded in Lion El'Jonson's ears.
The Primarch looked up. He smelled the stench of beasts. This was not an illusion. Low growls began to appear at the edge of his vision, one after another,
continuously, by the hundreds, by the thousands, endless. The figures of beasts converged into a tide of stench, countless hairs and fangs gathering under the rare radiant light, reflecting a bloodthirsty desire.
Accompanying the influx of these creatures, the forest seemed to come alive in an instant. Lion El'Jonson could hear countless tender leaves rustling in unison, making an incredibly noisy sound.
And under this most natural concealment, tens of thousands of vines silently detached themselves from their bodies, quickly sliding down from tree trunks and branches, like venomous snakes without pupils or fangs.
They converged on all the land into intertwined masses, finally transforming into strands of long whips, silently lashing the air and ground.
The forest came alive. In an instant, that active and violent aura revolved under the Lion's nose. Do not think that nature is benevolent; that is merely a lazy illusion. An enraged nature is a furious beast capable of destroying any serious human endeavor.
But Lion El'Jonson merely smiled.
[A living forest?]
[I originally thought you would show me more.] Laughter responded to him.
[If you had arrived at the appointed time, then I would indeed have done more. If you had given me a little more time, the entire world would have unleashed destructive fury under my instigation and control.]
[But in war, there are no ifs. You disrupted my steps and rhythm. In this regard, you are despicable, but also incredibly clever.]
[...Despicable?] This word made the Lion's brow furrow.
And the laughter seemed sharper.
[Yes, despicable.]
[If being despicable can help win the battle, would you allow yourself to be despicable?] This was not a question, for at the moment the words fell, the two, who already knew the answer, laughed in unison.
Lion El'Jonson laughed, a true laugh, a laugh filled with joy, mockery, anger, and killing intent. In this laughter, he raised his greatsword, and his emerald pupils reflected a ruthless light. Then, he charged towards the roaring horde of beasts.
——————
[You are very powerful, Your Excellency, extremely powerful.]
[You are a master of war, born to be so.] When the [Lion Sword] unleashed a devastating storm amidst the endless flesh and roars, the voice pierced through the vortex's curtain and reached Lion El'Jonson's ears.
The Primarch paid no heed. He seemed to be immersed in the slaughter before him. Thousands of colossal beasts, under silent control, surged forward.
Their scales and claws flailed, overwhelming everything. Their fur still bore the mottled scars of their struggles against each other. Perhaps there were hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, or even more, but Lion El'Jonson didn't care.
His greatsword swung, reaping more and more beastly souls. Everything felt like his final days on Caliban: all the knights setting out for war, banners stretching to the sky, armor gleaming, the world as their hunting ground roaring with countless battle cries. Every day, blood would flow, sacrifices would be made, more and more, endlessly.
He missed it.
The greatsword swung again, decapitating dozens of beasts. Finally, he planted his sword in the ground, and the endless beast tide also fell silent at this moment. Finally, he laughed out loud.
[War?] He laughed.
[You have been by my side for three years. If you had learned even a fraction of what happened in those three years, you wouldn't consider any of this to be war. It doesn't even count as hunting.]
[What I learned isn't important, Lord Lion El'Jonson, but what did I see in you?]
[For you, isn't war just a hunt?] Lion El'Jonson stopped laughing, his mouth instantly pressing downwards. But the voice continued, the ruthless laughter slowly piercing Lion El'Jonson's armor, gradually fusing the following words into venomous needles that shot into the Primarch's heart.
[For you...]
[Isn't everything a hunt?]
[Each of our steps will halt somewhere in our lives. And for some, their hearts are merely the vast forests of Caliban.]
[It is precisely because of this.]
[That you are great, Lion El'Jonson.]
——————
Silence lasted for a few seconds. What broke it was the Primarch's disdainful sneer.
[You should go find Magnus or Fulgrim and learn some of their flashy techniques.] He swung his greatsword, his power heavier than ever before. Countless giant beasts turned to dust under this sword gleam.
[War doesn't suit you, and you don't suit it, Morgana.]
[I swear, after I catch you, I will make you understand this.] His emerald pupils gleamed with an unprecedented danger. He continuously emitted his will, eager to find the little thief hiding in the deep forest.
[Magnus... Fulgrim...] Morgana's voice seemed to fall silent for a moment. [Why not Perturabo?] The Lion's mouth curled slightly. [My Olympian brother, he's a brutal designer.
He understands the art of war and negotiation, but he never had the strength to unleash his talents. If he couldn't control himself, he would achieve nothing. He was even worse than Horus.]
He advanced silently, stepping over flowing blood. [Your last remark stripped the entire statement of its meaning, Lord Lion El'Jonson.
Who could be more glorious than Horus? Even in the Dark Angels' fortress, I could hear the glory of the Wolf Lord.] Her voice was almost theatrical, laced with barely concealed provocation. Facing such a voice, Lion El'Jonson still maintained a poker face.
But he admitted that an imperceptible, nameless spark of anger burned within his heart.
[Horus...] He softly murmured the name, as if referring to a complete stranger. [I know he envies me, and he blames me, although I can't understand these emotions of his.
But even across so many star systems, I can still guess his thoughts: he doesn't want to join this war, he doesn't want his descendants to bleed, but he also doesn't think anyone else can bear all of this.]
[He's always openly favored, but he's always dissatisfied. Gentle words on his lips, a club in his hand, eternally hungry, never content.] Lion El'Jonson heard laughter, sharper than ever before.
[Sounds like...]
[He's well-suited to be Warmaster.] In a place Lion El'Jonson himself hadn't realized, he couldn't help but frown at these words. The Primarch was silent for a while, then snorted coldly.
[Is there a choice?]
[Either violent, or pedantic, or lacking any ability and attitude to bear responsibility.]
[He is the only choice.] He said, yet he couldn't help but snort coldly. He heard the sound of boots rubbing against leaves.
[Then why... not choose Roboute Guilliman?] This question made Lion El'Jonson pause in his steps. Then, he laughed.
[Yes, yes.]
[You didn't say it, I forgot.]
[And there's Roboute Guilliman, an even worse option.]
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