That was an insignificant moment.
A moment that even Morgana herself had long forgotten.
But Lion El'Jonson remembered it, clearly.
——————
[The most efficient method and the best method are not synonyms, my Lord. Rationality and sensibility are inherently a pair of contradictory conjoined twins.]
[To speak somewhat offensively, if the fastest way to destroy the Rendan Empire is the dissolution of the First Legion, what choice would you make?]
——————
Lion El'Jonson remembered that day.
It was a very ordinary day.
Between the second and third year of Morgana officially becoming his psychic advisor, which was around the fifth Terran Standard Year since the Rendan Empire's army initiated this war,
at that time, the Imperial fleet had just achieved an incredibly difficult victory in the Vollaston System, earning a soiled medal purely accumulated from flesh and attrition.
Millions of elites from two galactic powers engaged in a tug-of-war over an entire agri-world sector. A single frontline fortress world required the lives of one hundred
and forty thousand human auxiliary troops and a thousand Dark Angels to neutralize. There were twenty-two such fully armed worlds in the entire Vollaston System.
Not to mention, the Rendan war engine cluster, spanning the center of the sector, boasted six battle moons and over a thousand capital ships.
In the Dark Angels' archives, this fleet bore a most jarring name: [The most powerful, most blasphemous, most insane, unprecedented foe, the Rendan Invincible Armada.]
It took the First Legion a full six months just to tear through the outer defenses and invade Vollaston's primary star system.
It wasn't until the silver-haired Miss [Soul Drinker] tore apart the Rendan fleet's flagship and two largest capital ships with a prolonged spell that the Dark Angels' vanguard seized the brief interval when the alien army was in disarray due to losing its command structure, and truly surged into the Vollaston System.
But even so, the siege, annihilation, encirclement, and breakout battles that occurred in the primary star system still lasted for over two hundred Terran Standard Days.
At least five thousand Dark Angels' blood was completely shed on this land, and the number of fallen Rendan warriors was more than thirty times that figure.
For any Astartes Legion, this was a great victory worthy of being carved into any monument in the Queen's Gallery of Glory, a moment worthy of being commemorated with grand parades and extensive hymns of praise.
But the First Legion was the sole exception: no celebrations, no medals, not even whispers of praise among mortals and other Legions. The main forces of the Dark Angels left without hesitation the moment the battle ended. All they took from there was their exhaustion, the blood of their comrades, and more orders from Lion El'Jonson.
From that moment on, almost no one remembered the name Vollaston. This tragic battlefield, where tens of thousands of corpses and warship wreckage drifted, became one of the most ordinary of the First Legion's unheralded achievements.
But not everyone forgot that name.
Even Astartes warriors are not truly, purely, utterly war machines, ruthless butchers, especially in this soaring era, an era where every Legion sings triumphant songs and is joyful.
As the ruins and wreckage of Vollaston were thoroughly left behind, the whispers and malicious remarks on the Unbending Truth had already reached a clamor, even flowing into the Primarch's ears with a deliberate provocative attitude.
They, the Terrans, certainly had reason to be displeased.
Lion El'Jonson had taken over this war with the Rendan Empire for only a few short years, and in this fleeting period, at least one-third, or even more, of the Legion's Terran veterans had been consumed by him.
From Xana, to Sabis, and now to Vollaston, the Rendan's arrogance remained unchecked, while the Dark Angels' battle lines had suffered a real loss of over thirty thousand warriors, at least twenty thousand of whom were Terrans.
One must know that when Lion El'Jonson returned to the Imperium, the total number of warriors in the entire First Legion was only slightly over sixty thousand. Even if the Primarch increased this number to one hundred thousand with new blood from Caliban,
these raw recruits, who couldn't even perfectly execute the most basic tactics, simply couldn't sustain the bloody slaughter of the Rendan Empire. In this war, those who fell one after another were always the warriors from Terra.
Countless honored companies never returned after a brutal siege. Countless meritorious chapters had their heritage cut off after a bloody struggle. Countless warships were destroyed.
Countless positions were left vacant. Until those Calibanites learned the art of combat, seated themselves in positions stained with the blood of their predecessors, and reached out to claim the Legion's traditions and honors.
Until the never-weary Primarch emerged from a bloody slaughterhouse, then raised his head, surveyed the star system with merciless eyes, and threw himself and his Legion into yet another endless struggle.
His gaze seemed never to fall upon his sons.
As if he alone could represent everyone.
As if all he did was to sever the next head.
As if he never cared about death and attrition, and never believed that anyone other than himself could bear all of this.
How arrogant.
How ruthless.
How insane.
There were always Terrans complaining like this.
Their whispers drifted through the Legion, through the warships, and into Lion El'Jonson's ears.
And it was amidst this tide of whispers that the Primarch of the First Legion pushed open the door to the training ground.
——————
Morgana, who had been waiting, bowed to him. Her body still resonated with the chaotic energy caused by excessive use of psychic power.
This was the first training session after the Vollaston campaign, and it should have been an uneventful one.
But as Lion El'Jonson raised the [Lion Sword] and quietly listened to the churning sounds in the Sea of Souls, his mind was suddenly filled with a question, a question he had wanted to express long ago, but had never found an audience for.
Luther wouldn't do; he was too far removed from the war, too far to grasp the flow of blood.
Corswain wouldn't do either. Lion El'Jonson was unwilling to burden him with the weight of this question. He deserved more anticipation and trust to accomplish true great deeds.
Nemire was also unsuitable. While this former Caliban knight was upright and trustworthy, his advice would only adhere to the most standard Knightly Orders' charter and Imperial law.
As for the Terrans, they needed no consideration. While their advice might be sincere, earnest, and wise, their status alone made them unsuitable for this question.
He needed something unconventional, something sufficiently rebellious and unconventional, and insignificant. He needed different voices, even if they were worthless, even if he wouldn't seriously consider them.
The Primarch's eyes lifted, looking a hundred meters away at the mortal who was chanting an arcane array.
——————
[Are you tired?]
...?
Morgana, who was putting on an act and chanting those long spells, paused, then realized that Lion El'Jonson was asking her a question.
This was a rare occurrence. In past training sessions, this Primarch of the First Legion would often not say a single word from beginning to end.
Morgana tilted her head, letting psychic energy gather at her raised fingertips.
[Tired?]
A psychic arrow, along with this rhetorical question, shot out, overwhelming the Primarch.
Lion El'Jonson didn't dodge. He casually moved his shoulder, dispelling these petty tricks, until the last ethereal arrow shot towards him.
In a trance, the Primarch actually saw the angry figure of Corswain. His son was raising a greatsword, leaping in mid-air, its dazzling edge aimed at his head, his eyes filled with ruthless determination.
This scene was so real that Lion El'Jonson could even see the drops of sweat on his son's neck, the damp, thick eyebrows squeezed by his pupils, and his mouth agape from tension and fear, spewing angry saliva and hot air.
The Primarch frowned. He flipped his wrist, and the greatsword in his palm swung out a hurricane, instantly tearing the false son before him to shreds.
[Illusion...]
He growled in a low voice, displeased, as if a hungry lion were watching its prey escape.
[You are always keen on illusions, worthless and uninspired.]
From a distant place, the Primarch's answer was a faint, emotionless chuckle.
Morgana seemed to ponder for a moment before answering the Primarch's anger.
[Because it's practical, my Lord.]
[For a psyker of my level, a crude illusion is effortless. I only need to exhale to create a false kingdom, to become a false creator. I can summon a company of raging warriors like this in an instant, and the mental power consumed wouldn't even be enough for me to utter half a spell.]
[But as long as my enemy hesitates for a moment under such an illusion: whether it's hesitation in front of a familiar person,
astonishment in front of a terrifying object, or the natural distraction humans experience in unexpected situations, it will all become a firm step towards my victory.]
Lion El'Jonson didn't speak. He walked leisurely through the psychic storm raised by Morgana, casually deflecting countless psychic tentacles of will reaching for him. He had faced too many such attacks.
From the initial surprise and rage, to now being unfazed, Lion El'Jonson adapted quickly. He only needed to raise his will to easily distinguish which psychic offensives needed to be taken seriously and which were merely bluffs.
The Primarch dodged the attack, which was enough to torment a hundred Astartes. He even had a leisurely mindset to ask an additional question.
[If I don't dodge, will the illusion cause damage?]
[Of course not, my Lord.]
The psychic flames in Morgana's fingertips transformed into a budding flower, exuding an aura interwoven with life, miracle, and death.
[Ultimately, an illusion is merely a false, non-existent garden maze. As long as you choose a direction and remain steadfast, you can easily break through even the most realistic illusion.]
Lion El'Jonson's lips curved slightly.
He had remembered that sentence.
[Then now, you should also answer my question, Lady Morgana.]
[I believe I already have.]
——————
Lion El'Jonson listened to the laughter, and once again, he frowned.
[Don't speak in riddles with me.]
[Are you tired? Of this war, of the endless slaughter, of the most monotonous blood flowing across countless worlds? Do you feel tired, disgusted, too weak to continue this war?]
Morgana fell silent.
She was silent for a while.
Then, a thick fog began to obscure the Primarch's vision.
He could feel it, he could hear it. On the other side of this endless fog, the silver-haired lady sighed with a voice accustomed to mockery and derision—a long, genuine sigh.
[Does my answer matter, my Lord?]
[What right do I have, what ability do I have, what reason do I have, to represent the countless warriors you truly wish to ask in your heart?]
From Lion El'Jonson's direction, only a profoundly suppressed and deathly silence emanated.
[My comrades did not fall one by one.]
[My honor was not lost one by one.]
[Everything I possess has not been shattered by this war. I don't have to charge on the front lines. I only need to face what I'm good at, instead of exposing my fragile body to radiation and firelight.]
[So, my answer is worthless, my Lord.]
Silence.
A deathly silence, lasting for several seconds.
Then, came a hurricane.
The fearsome [Lion Sword] roared, thirstily devouring the mist imbued with psychic energy. In the blink of an eye, the sea of smoke that filled the entire space vanished without a trace, leaving only two of the most powerful combatants facing each other in silence.
Lion El'Jonson's gaze was dangerous. His emerald pupils had never flickered like this before. It was the instinctive rage of a true beast whose territory had been trespassed upon.
[You, explain yourself.]
[I have explained myself very clearly, my Lord.]
Morgana merely smiled, a smile utterly devoid of sincerity.
[Just like those illusions just now, in the same amount of time, I indeed had better methods, such as a psychic lightning bolt. But I habitually chose illusions as my means, because they are the most cost-effective and consume the least. And in my previous combat experience, it was also the most effective method.]
[So, instead of the best one, I chose the most effective one.]
[And are you not doing the same now?]
[In this regard, and in many others, we are very similar.]
Lion El'Jonson didn't answer. The corners of his mouth turned downwards, forming a reverse arc that showed no joy. His golden hair and beard were intertwined and tangled. Beneath his overly broad forehead, his emotionless gaze was obscured by thick eyebrows.
[I do not doubt your loyalty and ability, my Lord. I believe there is no one in the entire Imperium who could contend with you in both aspects simultaneously. At least, among the people I know, there isn't.]
[I can also roughly guess your thoughts, my Lord.]
[After all, I have been fighting by your side for some time. I know your habits: your tactics are constantly changing, yet your style is down-to-earth.
You like to utilize everything you can, and you are keen on the most effective methods. If you can achieve a great feat with little effort, or deliver a decisive blow, then all the better.]
[Therefore, I can vaguely guess some of your thoughts: if the Rendan war is limited to the fringe regions of the galaxy, if the Rendan's power only causes the First Legion to shed blood,
thereby ensuring the safety and prosperity of other regions of the Imperium, allowing the Imperium to eliminate this powerful foe with minimal casualties, then you will do so.]
[In fact, you are doing so.]
[You and your Legion bear all of this, bearing the suffering that the Rendan would have inflicted upon the entire Imperium, keeping this war always under the Imperium's control, even if the price is that the First Legion's honor will not be known, and the First Legion's blood will not stop flowing.]
[But you still made this choice. When a sacrifice was needed, you stepped forward.]
[This is truly great, extremely great. Such a belief cannot be summarized by pale wisdom and courage, because they are insignificant.]
[When you made this choice, no matter how much loyalty weighed in this galaxy, you were as heavy as loyalty itself.]
[If you are not the most loyal.]
[Then the word loyalty becomes meaningless.]
Lion El'Jonson listened to these words, not missing a single one.
His eyebrows twitched unconsciously.
He closed his eyes, trying his best to detect a trace of falsehood or flattery.
But after the longest effort, his brain ruthlessly told him that every word in those sentences came from the bottom of her heart.
So
Lion El'Jonson could only breathe.
His breathing was somewhat trembling.
Just like his mind.
Soon, he would forget these meaningless flatteries.
In his heart, he convinced himself of this.
——————
[But.]
This abrupt turn, like falling from a steep peak, made Lion El'Jonson's indifferent brows furrow in an instant.
[You overlooked one point, my Lord.]
[You are too noble, to the point of mistaking exhaustion for cowardice.]
[You are too resolute, to the point of mistaking hesitation for foolishness.]
[You are too self-disciplined, to the point of mistaking fatigue for betrayal.]
[Your loyalty is unquestionable, and for that loyalty, you chose the most effective method to deal with this war.]
[But the most effective is not necessarily the best, my Lord.]
[The most efficient method and the best method are not synonyms, my Lord. Rationality and sensibility are inherently a pair of contradictory conjoined twins.]
[You chose the most effective method, marching triumphantly towards victory, but you forgot that you are a giant, a great giant. Every step you take requires others to exert all their strength to keep up.]
[So, when you turn your head, you will wonder why everyone looks so tired.]
[They are naturally tired, my Lord, because they are not like you.]
[You are unique.]
[You shed sweat, but they shed blood.]
[You chose a method that benefits everyone, but the price must be borne solely. This price might be heavier than you imagine, my Lord.]
[To speak somewhat offensively, if the fastest way to destroy the Rendan Empire is the dissolution of the First Legion, what choice would you make?]
——————
Morgana waited for a while.
It wasn't until much later that she finally heard Lion El'Jonson's laughter.
What kind of laughter was that?
Heavy, indifferent, calm, yet one could feel a fiery burning and heat within it.
He just stood there, head down, continuously laughing, slowly laughing, frighteningly laughing, as terrifying as a silently roaring lion.
Finally, he gave his answer.
——————
[This...]
[Is not a choice.]
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