Chapter 444: The Lion: "I Shall Be the One to Shatter Caliban!"
As the population evacuation proceeded in stages, the remaining combat units could finally focus on their primary mission: transporting "Weapons of Mass Destruction" through the temporal rift.
The objective of the Dawnbreakers in this phase was clear: expand control over the geological fracture zones on the planet's surface, maintain the timed detonation sequence of the planetary-killers, and conclude the Caliban operation.
To achieve this, squads of Dark Angels began operating globally. Behind this massive operation lay significant troop deployments and a ceaseless string of skirmishes and encounters.
As the entity with the most experience in executing Exterminatus in the current galaxy, the Lion, having concluded the void war, took up the mantle of technical advisor to command and execute this operation.
"I fear I am the first Primarch to execute an Exterminatus upon his own homeworld," the Lion sighed, the joy of his recent victory dissipating after hearing Ramesses' explanation.
"The future is already written. Caliban shatters, the Lion vanishes, and the Dark Angels Legion fractures. Even if you do nothing, the future will not change," Ramesses said. "Besides, the first one to blow up his homeworld was Curze. Though Nostramo was an adamantium-rich world covered in a crust of dirt—you can't exactly shatter a ball of solid metal."
It was a bizarre tragedy. With Nostramo's mineral wealth, the planet could have lived like kings just by selling ore after compliance. The Adeptus Mechanicus would have likely begged to convert its moon into a Forge World for shipbuilding. How it ended up as a crime-ridden hellhole remained a mystery.
But considering that half the Primarchs' homeworlds were essentially death traps or hellscapes, it was somewhat understandable.
One could only say that each Primarch had... unique talents in management science.
"You are mocking me again."
The Lion sniffed disdainfully. This incessant chatter reminded him of Magnus.
He was somewhat used to it by now. Ramesses' speech always toed a specific line; no personal attacks, just sharp wit. Plus, the Lion hadn't managed to beat Arthur in their duel, so he couldn't exactly flare up.
The relationship between Arthur and Ramesses was visibly close. Given Ramesses' shamelessness, the Lion wouldn't put it past them to engage in a dishonorable "mixed doubles" beatdown if it came to it.
"How can speaking the truth be mockery?" Ramesses retorted casually.
"Caliban was never suitable for habitation. especially after the Great Beasts were hunted to extinction. It's too close to the Eye of Terror, and Chaos corruption is everywhere. As a military outpost? Fine. As a residential world? A disaster. You're a Primarch; finding two nice agri-worlds for your fellow countrymen to live on isn't hard. Why make everyone suffer together?"
"I have never asked the Emperor for any reward," the Lion corrected him, unable to help himself.
To demand control of multiple planets for his own Legion's gain—how would that make him different from the ambitious Guilliman?
The Lion genuinely believed this was not something he should intervene in. This was why he could never understand what happened on Caliban—why Luther chose betrayal out of toil, oppression, and self-doubt.
He still couldn't quite figure it out.
He had laid down all his desires, devoting himself body and soul to the duties the Emperor bestowed upon him. He only dared to think about the title of Warmaster in the privacy of his own mind. Why couldn't others do the same?
Ramesses couldn't help but chuckle.
Although the Lion and Perturabo had similar grievances, the biggest difference was that the Lion meant what he said. If he said he didn't want a reward, he really didn't want it, and the Emperor would say "Okay" and really not give him one. Perturabo, on the other hand, would say he didn't want it, but then twist himself into a knot of resentment when the Emperor didn't give it to him.
So, a character like the Lion was a dream subordinate: strong, highly skilled, demanding nothing. If treated unfairly, he would even gaslight himself into accepting it. You never had to worry about him rebelling.
But as a leader? Pure disaster. He didn't fight for his subordinates, meaning they could never rise above their station. No wonder most Dark Angels were always sighing and gloomy.
Master Art was right when he said the Primarchs didn't realize they could do more.
Caliban hoped the Lion would be a King. The Dark Angels hoped the Lion would be Warmaster. But the Lion wasn't greedy; he was content being an Executioner. The rest stayed in his head.
You're selling yourself short!
"You are a leader! In the Imperial hierarchy, a Primarch is an heir to the Emperor, not a Saint," Ramesses argued with the Lion.
"You can say 'Loyalty is its own reward' because you are a Primarch. You can live with dignity relying on that creed. Others? They die with dignity. They die in some nameless corner of the Great Crusade, or in the factories of Caliban, never having lived a good day, only to receive the ending of 'Loyalty is its own reward.' How can you expect humans raised in such an environment to love you, to love the Imperium?"
Ramesses shook his head, feeling that the Lion was a classic case of educational failure—he spent the years he should have been in school playing Monster Hunter instead.
"I think you could learn from us. We know you aren't as bad as the stereotypes suggest. You just fought a bit poorly this time and didn't clear up the ideological issues within the Legion. But you have to let others know what kind of person you are, right? Otherwise, with this 'soldiers don't know the general, general doesn't know the soldiers' attitude, what if you lead the team again and give us another Caliban Insurrection?"
The vox-channel fell silent after Ramesses' words, followed by rustling sounds.
"..."
The Lion kept a straight face, glancing down at the robed Watcher in the Dark beside him, which was also shaking with suppressed laughter. After directing the drilling teams to deploy the seismic charges deep into the crust, the Lion boarded a Stormbird for the next location.
He needed to advise on the deployment of Exterminatus devices at various points to ensure an even detonation. Motivated by a desire to regain face before his brothers, the Lion wanted no flaws in the event he was supervising.
This Exterminatus was delicate work. The planet had to be cut into fragments sized just right to pass through the rift, then dragged by gravity tethers to be reassembled in the other timeline. A direct, brute-force explosion was out of the question.
The Lion's current suggestion was to pump energy into Caliban's core while simultaneously detonating seismic charges across the surface to tear open geological rifts. The internal pressure expansion would then evenly shatter Caliban into fragments.
As for how to pump energy into the planetary core, that wasn't something the Lion needed to worry about.
The Lion had considered trying to save the planet, but aside from Redloss and his ilk, everyone else approved of blowing up Caliban. No one even wanted to stay in this timeline.
The Dark Angels are no longer my echo chamber, the Lion thought as he stood amidst the smoke, having helped the defenders at Ground Zero repel a charge of Nurgle daemons.
Clatter.
A squad of knights bowed respectfully to him, escorting seismic charges brought in by heavy lifters through the pass the Lion had cleared.
Their steps were light, their spirits high.
"..."
The Lion remained silent.
He felt it necessary to talk to Arthur. He wasn't accustomed to this slightly chaotic command style, where he wasn't controlling the structural adjustments of the Legion.
But he couldn't find Arthur. Instead, on his way to the next site, he found those who followed him.
This was much easier, for his followers were countless.
The Lion thought with a touch of bitterness.
Attack craft wings defended the skies. Through the viewports, he could clearly see soldiers marching slowly below.
Before this, these soldiers had been fighting an increasingly lonely and difficult battle.
The battle lines were constantly shrinking, filling the remaining spaces in the city ruins. The encroaching enemies were no longer the rabble of cultists who had come through ritual gates from other worlds.
Those wretches had fulfilled their purpose as human sacrifices in death. Now, Traitor Astartes and Daemons appeared—monsters hunting in packs, prowling before the main host like hungry wolves.
The Lion noticed they were screening a significant number of civilians.
These soldiers had to be cautious, engaging only when necessary, staying hidden most of the time. They moved through unlit alleyways, crossing shelled-out zones where artillery batteries at the evacuation points cleared paths with precise fire, using the massive explosions to mask their presence.
The Lion didn't need to think about such things. The aftershocks of the Heresy meant he had always held a deep hatred for these creatures of Chaos.
When he found them, he began to assess if the risk of support was acceptable.
But he was a Primarch. There was nothing he could not endure.
And so, the daemons chasing the living died.
They didn't even know who killed them before their eyes closed forever. The Primarch's immense power manifested in every aspect, driving the combat units to fight even more fiercely.
But the Lion stood still, looking behind this army.
Perhaps he really shouldn't have done this.
The Lion noticed the refugees who saw him and instinctively tried to flee.
Their exhausted minds, already taut as bowstrings, snapped to heightened tension upon seeing him. They focused entirely on catching any minute movement from the Lion—a shift in breath, even the flutter of his cloak.
Mortals trying to track the movements of a Primarch? A fantasy.
The Lion couldn't help but scoff internally.
There would always be those among them who hated him. As the truth of the war for Caliban spread, their numbers would grow. But inexplicably, seeing the people of Caliban still alive gave him a sense of satisfaction that made the risk worthwhile.
The Lion didn't know where this emotion came from, but thinking of Ramesses still watching him, running away would achieve nothing but mockery.
So, the Lion chose to meet these troops.
At first, he thought they were just a unit retreating to the core zone, screening some refugees in hopes of finding shelter. Since the war began, desperate and starving refugees had been flooding toward the evacuation zones.
Of course, these pitiful people were slaughtered in droves, but it seemed there were always more appearing, protecting them with arms, scavenging rooms, wrapping the stumbling ones in warm cloth.
These people were not retreating.
The Lion quickly realized the difference in these soldiers.
They were tightly organized, orderly, marching like a regular army. All carried lasguns, shotguns, and power tools, and some even wore void-hardened plate that significantly increased individual combat capability.
A Space Marine walked carefully toward him.
He wore a uniform unfamiliar to the Lion over his armor, a heavy half-cloak draped over his shoulder. In one hand, he carried a high-output hot-shot volley gun; in the other, incongruously, he cradled a bundle of thick cloth. A child's head barely peeked out, curled in the crook of his arm.
"My Lord," the Space Marine said. "Is something wrong?"
The Lion found himself staring at the child.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Balthasar. Sergeant. Currently serving the First Legion."
Balthasar gestured to the column organizing refugees to cross the safety zone.
"The others are the same."
"And... this?"
"A survivor."
Balthasar's face was full, his eyes shining. He didn't look like a veteran, but his young body radiated a kind of resilience.
This was reasonable. Whether in the past or present, anyone who survived the Astartes implantation process was extraordinary.
"We are conducting a final sweep for humanitarian aid. No one else was willing to take care of him, so we did. We'll wait for logistics to arrive, register him, and evacuate together."
Is this behavior worthy of praise?
It slows his speed, hinders his aim, obstructs his mission.
Those refugees...
The Lion looked at the empty-handed refugees, thinking this subconsciously, then slowly shook his head.
The refugees could barely take care of themselves. This was a flower of humanity blooming in the inhuman mire. The original intention of the Calibanite Knightly Orders was for the strong to band together to protect their kin on a planet surrounded by beasts. Countless knights had died in the maws of beasts to save others. This behavior was beyond reproach.
"..."
Recalling the various creeds that had once come from his own mouth, the Lion suddenly thought of how time had alienated him.
In the beginning, he left the jungle, united the Orders, hunted the Great Beasts for the safety of Caliban's people, discussed governance with Luther, and drank and bonded with the knights.
Back then, he was the Guardian of Caliban, the Grand Master of the Order. He rejoiced in the admiration of his people born from their newfound safety, and pondered how to make their lives better.
Until he met the Emperor.
He accepted the duty bestowed by the Emperor on behalf of all Caliban, but he ceased to fulfill the responsibility of ruling Caliban.
Luther, Zahariel, and the countless people of Caliban had always viewed him as the true ruler of the planet. But after stepping into the stars, the Lion lost that self-awareness.
He only needed to say one word. "Okay."
To say that he no longer intended to rule Caliban personally, that they could develop on their own.
Thinking of the words Ramesses and Arthur had said to him, the Lion fell into a brief daze.
He believed he hadn't failed Caliban; he had strictly adhered to his knightly code. But when he placed himself in the position of Caliban's ruler, could he truly say with a clear conscience that he had kept his own oaths?
He believed he was consistent, but when he met the Emperor and took up a greater duty, how long had it been since he cared for the people he protected behind him?
"Back to earth, Boss."
Just as the Lion was engaging in rare introspection, Ramesses' voice roused him.
"I have a name."
The Lion couldn't understand why Ramesses refused to call him by his name properly.
He didn't like Horus, nor did he like these gang-style nicknames.
"I call Old Nineteen that too."
"Fine."
The Lion accepted the title instantly.
"What is the mission?"
His tone was much more polite.
"Get your people out. Master Art is about to start it up."
Ramesses reminded him not to space out.
But for a Primarch, thinking took only an instant. Even the warrior standing right in front of the Lion didn't notice he had been pondering.
"Start wha—"
Just as the Lion was puzzled, a bright light suddenly rose from the horizon.
He looked up, following the direction of the light. It was coming from Aldurukh. From the Angelicasta.
It was a light like a supernova explosion.
As someone he had only just met, yet felt far more familiar with than brothers he had known for centuries but remained strangers to, the Lion still held a grudge over losing to Arthur by a single move in their duel.
He would not give up challenging Arthur. He would analyze this defeat, and just as he had defeated Curze, he would use his advantages to win the next battle.
He believed he could adapt to that pressure. A Primarch's pride would not allow him to admit he would be forever weaker than another brother.
But—
Now.
At this moment.
Right here on Caliban.
The Lion took a deep breath, watching the ever-brightening brilliance on the horizon.
He admitted he had overthought things.
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