Chapter 131: Teaching and Nurturing People
They tried to dissuade Luther.
"Luther, this is not the way for us! The Emperor has bestowed upon us glory and a mission; we cannot betray him!"
A veteran soldier stepped forward, trying to bring Luther back to his senses. There was still honor in the old bonds, still a chance to turn from this precipice, or so he believed.
Luther's gaze fell coldly on the warrior. He raised his hand, and light flashed from his fingertips. A wave of energy suffused with Warp force blasted the soldier away, sending him crashing heavily to the ground, the impact driving breath from his lungs.
"Will you choose Caliban, or those imperial bureaucrats who treat us as mere tools? Today, you must make your choice!"
The seeds of betrayal had taken deep root in the land of Caliban.
Luther rallied more and more Dark Angels, forming a rebel army loyal to him. Under his orders, they began purging all opponents, vowing to liberate Caliban from the shackles of the Empire. Those who tried to stop him were either executed on the spot or banished deep into the forest to become prey for the beasts that dwelt in the shadows of their world.
Darkness had enveloped Caliban, a planet that was once a symbol of honor and loyalty, now a battlefield of revenge and betrayal.
...
Several months passed as if accelerated by warp-currents, time compressed into mere moments. The boundary between now and then had grown fragile.
Inside the laboratory, Francis remained focused on a complex psionic rune diagram. Faint light from the psionic lamps illuminated the unsettling bottles and specimens lining the walls. Rows of transparent incubation chambers stood in silent rows, filled with an unknown liquid in which various experimental subjects floated, some twisted beings half-human and half-beast, others exuding a faint aura suggestive of warp-touched corruption.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The door hissed open. A group of fully armed Grey Knights walked in, their armor gleaming with pure silver light. They moved as one, a wall of purpose and terrible certainty, their presence creating an overwhelming sense of oppression in the laboratory's cramped space.
The scene before them ignited something deep within one of them. A pure, righteous spiritual energy surged through Sacher's soul, as if it might tear apart this blasphemous place and erase everything within. His hand tightened on his warhammer; his fingers turned white from the force of his grip. The urge to swing, to cleanse, to purge was almost overwhelming.
But on the surface, he remained perfectly still. His face beneath the visor remained expressionless, a mask of disciplined calm.
"Who are you? What brings you here?" Francis looked up from his work. He did not recognize them, genuinely uncertain what these armored figures were doing in his laboratory.
There was a moment of silence. The lead Grey Knight, Sacher, finally spoke. His voice was measured, controlled. "Honored Primarch, we have come to inquire about how to interrogate daemonic entities and how to awaken those possessed by demons."
When Francis did not react, Sacher continued with the care of one addressing an unknown force: "It was Lord Malcador and Lord Sanguinius who sent us."
Francis paused, momentarily speechless.
"Why are you looking for me?" He asked. The question puzzled him. Why had they sought him out specifically?
Sacher continued carefully, mindful of the terrifying power he sensed emanating from this man. To underestimate him would mean instant annihilation. "Because I originally served in the Blood Angels Legion. I learned from my brothers that you have unique insights into the study of daemonic entities. That you have even persuaded demons to turn toward redemption. That's why we've come to learn from you."
Understanding dawned on Francis. "Please sit down. Since they sent you to see me, go ahead and ask what you will."
The Grey Knights' eyes lit with purpose. They walked directly to the nearby table and sat in practiced silence, each upright with hands resting on their knees, eyes focused. Military discipline was evident in every posture, the bearing of men trained since childhood to perfection.
They waited for Francis to begin.
"I don't have any special skills," Francis began, "I rely only on sincerity."
Several Grey Knights immediately produced exquisite tactical notebooks and rune pens from their equipment, beginning to record every word. The pen strokes glided across the paper, making soft rustling sounds.
"Lord Francis," Sacher continued, "could you tell me how you redeemed Carlos's soul?"
Before becoming a Grey Knight, Sacher had scoffed at such things. Redemption was abstract, faith for the weak. Force was concrete. Break a man's will, and information followed. Only now, having served under the Ordo Malleus, did he realize what a magnificent feat it was to save a soul consumed by corruption.
"Oh, that!" Francis gestured casually, though his eyes remained sharp. "The dwelling where Carlos lived is still standing. You can examine it. It contains information records, how long the first stage of laying the foundation takes for a child, how long the second stage of contemplation requires, and even the third stage of reciting and memorizing the entire Four Books and Five Classics."
Upon hearing this, Sacher looked at Francis with utmost reverence. Understanding flickered across his mind: structure, consistency, the slow rewiring of belief through repetition and truth. "Thank you for providing the Grey Knights with such a powerful interrogation tool."
"Besides dealing with daemonic entities," another Grey Knight asked, his voice carrying the hunger of one who sought knowledge that could save worlds, "do you have methods to persuade other demons and cultists to turn toward good?"
Seeing the thirst for understanding burning in their eyes, Francis sensed the solemn weight beneath their question.
"If dealing with a cultist, lock them in a small hut made of black stone. Bind them, blindfold them, and play footage of them committing their evil deeds repeatedly. Let them watch without rest or sleep until they completely hate themselves and despise what they've done."
The Grey Knights leaned forward, absorbing every word as if it were scripture.
"If someone believes in hedonism, I have a set of brain experiment tools here. Remove a specific part of the brain, and they lose all emotional perception; even pain itself becomes distant. No matter what you command them to do, they cannot feel extreme emotions. Then force them to experience their favorite things repeatedly, but ensure they feel no joy from them."
Francis moved toward one of the shelves, his tone remaining matter-of-fact, clinical, yet carrying an undertone of something darker, pragmatism without mercy.
"For certain daemonic entities, different approaches are necessary. Show them what they desire most, then force them to do it endlessly, nothing but that one thing, whether they refuse or comply. Bring black stone with you as well."
He continued methodically, outlining approaches for different entities: demons of cunning, to be shown elaborate deceptions while being told all the answers beforehand; demons of entropy, to be caught in cycles of treatment and deterioration; demons of violence, to be presented with those weaker or chemically manipulated.
"You can also show them inspirational examples, how I began with nothing but worked hard to become what I am now."
As Francis shared his "research," he paused at key points, allowing the Grey Knights time to record. They wrote with mechanical precision, never hesitating, as if each word represented a doctrine ready for immediate implementation into their sacred duty.
The Grey Knights listened intently, their pens dancing across paper, capturing every detail. They had never imagined daemonic entities or heretics could be interrogated in such intricate ways.
One thought occupied all their minds; the Primarch's intelligence was truly extraordinary, his methods both terrible and perfect.
Francis remained unaware of the changes his words would bring to the Grey Knights.
At Terra's spaceport, the four Primarchs, Francis, Perturabo, Ferus, and Khan, stood at the front of a massive fleet of warships. They prepared to lead their legions in an attack on the Webway.
The ground beneath them was layered with interwoven metal plates that gleamed with cold luster. Francis stood before the assembled fleet, his black armor appearing exceptionally composed and dignified in the surrounding light.
Beside him, the machinery of war hummed, generators, targeting arrays, communications arrays, all the terrible and necessary infrastructure of a Primarch's will made manifest.
Behind him rose a magnificent warship, its massive hull standing silent like a giant steel beast, waiting to unleash devastation.
Perturabo stood beside him, surrounded by mechanized troops under his command, ready to depart.
The engines of war rumbled to life.
[End of Chapter]
Want to read more than 50+ chapters right now!
patreon.com/cw/Mr_UmU
https://www.patreon.com/Mr_UmU
____
Want bonus chapters? You got it.
Goal: 300 – Achieved: 247 = 2 Bonus Chapters
📌 1 Power Stone on the Book Page = 100 on Chapter Pages!
!! VISIT the BOOK PAGE to donate your Power Stone.