“A nobody…
who is loyal to the Emperor and human civilization.” Kaelen shrugged, his tone devoid of much emotion.
Truth be told, Kaelen didn’t have much goodwill toward that yellow-skinned old man sitting on the golden toilet, let alone die-hard loyalty.
Helping the Emperor and helping Horus stemmed purely from two reasons: first, to complete the system’s tasks, and second, his own personal vision.
Who wouldn’t want to witness—or personally create—miracles in this godforsaken Warhammer universe?
After all, men naturally thrilled to grand heroism and blood-pumping miracles.
As for human civilization, Kaelen stood firmly and unreservedly behind it.
He was human himself, after all, and had always taken pride in that identity.
Having not received the answer he wanted, Cullen’s brows knitted into a tight knot.
The veteran turned his head and stared hard at the massive bald figure…
Horus.
“And what about you, Horus Lupercal?” he demanded in a low, heavy voice, every muscle in his body still taut.
“Are you still loyal to your creator, our Lord of Mankind, the Emperor?
Or are you going to lose your mind and spark another damned rebellion!” “I am his First-Found Son, his beloved warrior.” Horus’s voice was as calm as stagnant water, yet it conveyed an unmistakable sense of vicissitude and sorrow.
“I, Lupercal, will remain loyal to the Emperor of Mankind until death.” There was no impassioned speech, nor any fury at being questioned to his face by a warrior.
The Wolf God felt only guilt.
After being wounded by the Anathame, those four bastards in the Warp had deceived him, twisted his mind, and controlled him to commit those atrocious acts—deeds that had permanently nailed his name to the Imperium’s pillar of shame.
This monumental sin was a stain he had to wipe away with his own hands.
Seeing that the atmosphere had turned heavy, Kaelen asked in turn: “And what about you, Cullen, knight of the Dark Angels Legion?
Are you still loyal to the Emperor and your Primarch?” “Of course!” Cullen’s voice rose reflexively, and he glared fiercely at Kaelen.
“It was true in the past, and it is true now!
Just because I bear the name of a Fallen Angel and am hunted by my Legion’s descendants doesn’t mean I will ever abandon my loyalty to them!” Seeing the veteran grit his teeth, standing his ground to the bitter end, Kaelen rolled his eyes inwardly.
Look at this damn tsundere—truly worthy of inheriting the Lion’s bloodline.
And no sooner had he scoffed in his heart than his thoughts were proven right.
Cullen drew his dagger once more and pointed it at Horus.
“Before I believe your words, I need to test myself against…
the Master of the Luna Wolves!
I shall fight on behalf of my Legion’s champion!” Horus and Kaelen reflexively exchanged a glance.
*Hiss*, definitely Lion’s kid, alright.
Horus couldn’t help but chuckle softly.
“No problem.” He even obligingly assumed a sparring stance.
“Perhaps your swordplay already approaches the threshold of your Legion’s Corswain.
His mastery of the blade left a deep impression on me.” “When my brother awakens, you will be more than qualified to join his honor guard.” “When that time comes, you can stand tall and tell him: ‘In your name, I challenged Lupercal to a duel.'” Watching Horus casually paint such pie-in-the-sky promises, Kaelen leaned in and lowered his voice.
“My Wolf God, aren’t you just teasing a kid here?” “Half and half, my friend,” Horus replied in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.
“I accepted his challenge because he needs to prove his loyalty.
He doesn’t draw his blade to beat me.” “He does it to find closure—for ten thousand years of exile, for the battle-brothers who died in the heresy, and for his own stubborn, unrelenting loyalty.” “Of course, what I said just now was also to give him a graceful way out while building some rapport.” With that, Horus raised an eyebrow at Kaelen, turned around, and casually pulled a rusted piece of rebar out of the rubble.
He tested its weight in his hand, using it as a dueling sword.
Kaelen, however, didn’t entirely buy Horus’s explanation.
In his eyes, it wasn’t purely about proving loyalty.
He recalled that in the book *The Son of the Forest*, when Lion El’Jonson awoke and met his Fallen Angel descendants, they too engaged in a sword duel.
Words could deceive, but a Primarch’s combat instincts would not.
Furthermore, as knights, the Dark Angels often preferred to converse through the sword, discerning much about their opponent through their bladecraft during a duel.
He wondered what kind of face Lion El’Jonson would make when he woke up and saw his little kitten challenging the Wolf God on his own.
Good luck, buddy.
“I hope he doesn’t get beaten black and blue,” Kaelen prayed silently for the Fallen Angel, Cullen.
Having cleared a space, the two assumed their combat stances.
Cullen drew his power sword—a weapon whose power field was long since broken.
He struck first!
The veteran’s blade was astonishingly fast, seamlessly shifting between single-handed and two-handed grips.
Every movement carried lethal intent, his assault pouring down like a torrential storm, leaving no room to breathe.
Relying purely on muscle memory, Horus took half a step back and swept the steel rebar upward in a sharp parry!
*Clang!* The scrap metal collided with a deafening thud, kicking up dust all across the ground.
With swordplay at this level, back during the Great Crusade, few in the Luna Wolves Legion could guarantee a win against him—unless Abaddon himself stepped into the cage.
Horus held him in high esteem in his mind and praised aloud, “Fine swordplay!” Before the words faded, the Wolf God attempted to sidestep and flank him.
But Cullen’s footwork was exceptionally tricky, firmly cutting off his angles.
Far from slacking, his offensive grew even fiercer.
Seeing the tip of the blade about to graze Horus’s chest— The Primarch casually raised his hand and gave a light slap.
Seemingly effortless, it swerved Cullen’s lethal strike right off course.
Immediately after, Horus shifted from defense to offense.
Cullen instinctively tried to alter his technique into a reverse thrust, but forced his movement to a halt mid-way.
That jarring, unnatural pause instantly fractured his defensive balance.
How could the battle-tested Wolf God miss such a golden opportunity?
With a flick of his wrist, Horus sent the rebar shrieking through the air in a feint toward Cullen’s face, forcing him to raise his guard.
His forearm then flipped, converting the strike into a heavy, suffocating horizontal slash!
If this bar struck home, the power armor on Cullen’s right arm—along with the bone inside—would be smashed to splinters on the spot!
But a microsecond before contact— The Wolf God forcibly checked his force.
*Clang.* Even so, the tremendous recoil numbed Cullen’s grip, knocking the power sword from his hand to crash onto the metal floor.
The duel was over.
For right now, the rusted piece of rebar rested firmly against the narrowest gap between Cullen’s helmet and chestplate.
Had Horus so willed it, Cullen would have been run clean through.
“Why didn’t you thrust?!” Cullen panted heavily, his voice laced with indignation.
“I could not.” Horus’s tone was gentle as he casually pulled back the rebar, tossing it aside like trash.
“Because I will never slaughter any knight who is truly loyal to the Emperor, and to my brother Lion.”