The dagger was firmly stuck in mid-air.
Horus’s large hand gripped the Fallen Angel’s wrist; though it looked effortless, it felt like an insurmountable mountain ridge pressing down upon the blade’s edge.
A low growl rolled out from the Fallen Angel’s throat.
He did not back down.
The muscles in his arms bulged intensely, and the servo-motors of his black ceramite power armor whirred frantically, letting out a sharp, overloaded scream.
The peak strength unleashed by an Astartes warrior was enough to flip a Chimera Armored Vehicle upside down with bare hands.
But this inhuman brute force crashed against the giant before him like a clay ox entering the sea, failing to stir even the slightest ripple.
Horus lowered his eyes.
On the face of this former master of the legion, not a trace of anger from the assassination attempt could be found.
Faced with lethal intent inches away, he didn’t even perform an instinctive counter-attack stance.
His expression was very subtle.
Like an elder who had seen many great storms looking at an unfortunate little nephew.
There was tolerance, compassion, and even a hint of helplessness.
“Traitor!
Regicide!
Eternal Evil!” The Fallen Angel ignored the crisp snapping sounds of his wrist bones under the terrifying grip.
Even if his entire arm was ruined, even knowing this was a hopeless situation with a complete disparity in strength, the pride and honor of the First Legion did not include the option of retreat.
His left hand reached directly for the bolt pistol at his waist, intending to fire the last remaining bolt in the magazine into the face of this eternal sinner.
“Stop!” Karen strode out from behind a discarded lathe, his voice echoing back and forth through the messy workshop.
“Stop acting crazy and open your eyes to see clearly!
There is no corrupted Great Traitor of Chaos here!” Karen pointed at Horus and shouted, “He bears no shadow of the Chaos Gods.
This is the loyal Wolf Shepherd God, Lupercal!” The air stagnated for two seconds.
Then, a dry, cold sneer came from behind the helmet.
The laughter sounded like coarse sandpaper grinding against rusted iron; the mocking tone did not need to be hidden.
Believe such nonsense?
Ten thousand years have passed, and it was this face that dragged half the galaxy into a bottomless abyss, a price the First Legion paid for in horrific tragedy.
Now a mortal comes along, pointing at the greatest war criminal and calling him a loyal version?
Sensing that the Fallen Angel had no intention of stopping, Horus did not panic.
He simply let out a very faint sigh.
Then Horus directly let go of his hand.
Not only that, he took half a step back, exposing his broad, unprotected chest—completely devoid of armor—directly to the tip of the Astartes’ dagger.
“Stab right here.” Horus even took the initiative to raise his hand and point to the position of his left heart, his tone as flat and ripple-less as before.
“If driving this short blade into my chest makes you feel like you’ve saved this riddled Empire, then go ahead.” The Warmaster paused, his tone gaining the evaluative air of an elder.
“If Lion could see this, he might even praise you a little.” Faced with a Primarch who had completely withdrawn his defenses and even abandoned the intent to counter-attack, the Fallen Angel’s murderous movements instead froze.
In his endless flight, this Fallen Angel had seen too many Space Marines fallen to Chaos; the madness and tyranny in the bones of those scumbags could not be hidden.
But the giant before him was sober, rational, and even carried a certain grand sense of compassion.
This reminded him of the true Wolf Shepherd God in his memories from the era of the Great Crusade…
Karen would never miss this fleeting pause and immediately took control of the situation.
“Calm down first and sense for yourself!” Karen spoke rapidly.
“He stands here; has there been a single distortion in the veil of reality?
Is there the foul stench of corruption found on those cultists?
Look at his eyes; is there even a hint of the evil of Warp pollution in them?” The Fallen Angel gripped the dagger tightly, not daring to relax for a moment as he stared intently at that face.
Inside the helmet, the suit’s life-sign radar and environmental monitors were quiet, showing no errors.
More crucially, the instinctive intuition of an Astartes told him that this person was clean.
The physiological nausea that a mortal inevitably feels when facing an evil creation was completely absent here.
But the stubbornness of the First Legion was etched into their genes.
“I don’t believe it!
The head of the traitors, who was personally slain by the Emperor of Mankind, would actually appear before my eyes!
This must be your conspiracy!” He gritted his teeth, emphasizing every word heavily.
Karen stopped wasting words and decided to use the heavy hitters.
“This is no illusion, let alone a conspiracy.
All of this is the will of the Emperor.” He continued as the Fallen Angel’s pupils suddenly constricted.
“I know you don’t believe it.
But think about it: if not for the Emperor’s great power, who could allow a slain Primarch to return to this sea of stars in a form untainted by Chaos?” Karen did not stop; he pressed on step by step.
“You think this is just the beginning?
Before long, Roboute, the genetic father of the Ultramarines, will awaken from his stasis field to reclaim the authority of the Empire.” “But these are just the start.” Karen’s voice suddenly grew heavier, “What I want to tell you is that The Lion, Lion El’Jonson, is also about to return!” “What did you say?!”