Luther's office was pure white. This seasoned warrior had clearly meticulously arranged his workspace. The room wasn't large, but all its furniture originated from the forests of Caliban, exuding a refreshing scent of nature and raw wood.
The Lion King's former foster father, now his dear friend, stood before his desk. He appeared slightly shorter than Arimian and Zahariel, possessing an aged aura uncharacteristic of an Astartes warrior, and a calm, reassuring smile on his face.
"Welcome, my friends. Thank you for extending your aid in this time of peril. I, on behalf of the First Legion, welcome your arrival and assistance." Luther actively stepped forward, warmly shaking Arimian's hand and greeting him. Then, he looked at Zahariel. The two Dark Angels nodded, clearly sharing a certain unspoken understanding. When his gaze shifted to Morgan, Luther revealed an even warmer and more gratified smile, as if a lonely swallow had spotted a long-lost kin.
"Magnus mentioned you in his letter, Lady Morgan. He praised your abilities and resilience, and mentioned that you would be the principal liaison officer for the Thousand Sons' forces. This is no simple task."
[Yes, it requires me to put in double the effort and blood, to compensate for some innate shortcomings, both before and after bearing it.]
Morgan's answer made Luther smile, a genuine smile born of understanding. Clearly, he had comprehended Morgan's words and their meaning. And so, a half-Astartes from the Dark Angels Legion, and a human advisor from the Thousand Sons Legion—these two 'mortals' from two Astartes Legions—extended their hands and shook them.
"Luther."
[Morgan.]
Morgan had always prided herself on her observational skills. She understood the rarity of this power and knew how to utilize it. She had never mentioned this to anyone else: she could see into others' hearts, see their thoughts and desires, their hopes and goals. This was an incredibly powerful ability;
even the Primarch Perturabo had been briefly glimpsed in the depths of his inner workings by her. She had never spoken of this power openly, for she knew how dangerous it was, enough to make her hunted and murdered by various powerful figures.
But even without this almost divine power, Morgan still possessed exceptional observational skills. This was the result of her continuous growth and learning. Therefore, when Arimian and Luther discussed the affairs of their two Legions, Morgan only devoted half of her attention to listening to their conversation and occasionally answering their questions.
The remaining half was guided by her awareness, observing every detail of the small room. She quickly discovered some interesting things: Luther was not a refined man. He might be very talkative, friendly, and possess great social and diplomatic skills, capable of handling diplomacy and negotiations well. But none of this meant that a Calibanite who loved paperwork and banquets resided in his heart.
Just look at his room. The walls, made of steel, covered with wood from the forests of Caliban, and decorated with pure white paint, were not bare. Wooden hanging platforms were placed on them, adorned with the heads of various beasts. Some were scaly monsters resembling mutated lizards or crocodiles, while others were stripped of their fur,
leaving only pale skulls, but still clearly showing them to be top predators, like gigantic felines or canines. And these displayed were only small figures; the truly massive beasts could not be placed in such a confined room. So, they were confined to paintings—a series of works that depicted great hunts with colors and brushstrokes: mountain-sized monsters, nightmares that could sever rivers, or aerial reapers with wings and flying scales. They had all been slain.
These paintings depicting great hunts, along with the heads, were displayed on both sides of the room. Behind Luther was another collection of works: paintings filled with joy and celebration. The Knightly Orders returned victorious, their armor stained with the blood of monsters. They held magnificent feasts of celebration. In the first of these paintings, a young Luther stood in the center of the knights, fully armored,
like a valiant savior. The next few paintings were much the same, only Luther's beard grew longer, new faces appeared among the knights, and some no longer appeared, until in one painting, Luther was no longer alone: a half-grown blond child stood beside him, like a feral child of the deep forest, yet exuding a cold sharpness. The child grew rapidly. In the next painting, he was clad in armor, becoming a member of the knights. He grew taller and more massive, easily surpassing his foster father. His achievements and sword also grew daily, becoming larger and more exaggerated.
Until in a certain painting, the once golden-haired child was taller than all the other knights. He stood in the very center of the knights, with a gradually wrinkled Luther beside him. Many of the knights from the first painting were now completely gone. The sequence of paintings ended there, but it did not truly conclude, for a massive painting was placed in the highest position behind Luther, at the very top of all the paintings.
It was clearly the culmination of this silent epic. That was the grandest feast. Even the painting spanning the entire wall could barely contain its splendor and countless guests. Flags of the Knightly Orders floated at the edge of the castle. Countless new faces appeared in the painting. Countless beast carcasses were piled up into mountains, boasting of martial prowess.
This was clearly an unprecedented spectacle, the end of past sorrows, and the first cry of a nascent dynasty. The great golden-haired knight stood in the very center of the painting. Beside him were countless leaders of the Knightly Orders. They uniformly stood on a step lower than the Lion King, proclaiming their reverence and submission. And on their outer periphery were even more knights, hundreds and thousands of knights. They surrounded the Lion King, as if surrounding their own deity.
Morgan looked again and again. In this grandest celebration, she couldn't find Luther for a moment. She looked again and again. Finally, in a not-so-remote, yet inconspicuous corner, she found Luther's somewhat lonely smiling face. She looked again, and found that Luther's position was actually so important: he stood among the leaders of the Knightly Orders, even so close to the Lion King.
But beneath that radiant light, this wrinkled old man was so small. Morgan's gaze left. She looked at Luther's desk. It was covered with documents and books. Countless medals and seals attested to their owner's noble status. And right beside them, within Luther's reach, sat an exquisite table. On it was only one item: a longsword, a rather sharp longsword, which had presumably quenched its thirst with the blood of countless monsters and enemies. But now, it was placed here, meticulously wiped clean, and cast aside. Morgan withdrew her gaze. She looked at Luther.
He was just smiling. Gently, kindly, flawlessly smiling.
"This will be a difficult battle." Arimian might be arrogant, rude, and overconfident, but after clearly hearing Luther's explanation, his brows couldn't help but furrow. He fell into a most primal state of gravity and thought.
"According to you, Luther, we basically have no advantage in this battle, except that we are backed by the Empire's vast size. But this size is not exclusive to us. The Shadow Moon Wolves are expanding their territory in the western galaxy. They can't possibly want nothing."
"Actually, we have another advantage." Beside him, Zahariel crossed his arms, his tone imbued with an undeniable confidence. "We have the Lion. The greatest and wisest military commander. He once single-handedly led the knights of Caliban to exterminate the giant beasts. His bravery, wisdom, and determination were the main factors in that victory."
"Without him, there would be no victory for the Caliban knights. He led the knights to win an impossible war with his individual strength. And now, everything is merely a re-enactment of the old events of Caliban." Arimian listened carefully to Zahariel's words, while Morgan looked to the other side. She observed Luther, observing the old man's face. When Zahariel mentioned the [Lion], Luther chuckled. It was an unconcealed, instinctive smile. He laughed happily, as if a father was being praised by others for his child, revealing the most genuine pride and joy.
But as Zahariel's words continued, this smile slowly solidified and cooled. As the young Dark Angel enthusiastically proclaimed the Lion King's greatness and achievements, Luther continued to smile, but his smile had returned to his initial standard courtesy. Morgan narrowed her eyes. She began to ponder.
Zahariel's enthusiastic presentation lasted for a while. When he finally finished speaking, Morgan's attention had returned to her own mind. [The Lion King is indeed very great. His reputation is known even on Prospero.] Morgan looked at Arimian, who then revealed a knowing smile.
He nodded to the two Dark Angels, confirming the truth of those words. [But ladies and gentlemen, war is never a one-man show. It depends on everyone.] [Not just the Lion, but you, me, us, and the contributions and blood of all warriors and officers in this star fortress and on countless fronts.] [Everything relies on everyone's dedication.]
Zahariel blinked. Arimian was still stroking his chin in contemplation. At this moment, Luther had already begun to clap. "Yes, everything relies on everyone's dedication. This further necessitates our unity and cooperation against the enemy." Such words were, of course, perfectly correct. So, soon, the room was once again filled with laughter.
The Lion King is very difficult to write. Writing him directly would easily cause a collapse, so I decided to approach him from the perspective of those around him, constantly shifting viewpoints to shape him. Gradually, I will refine this most peculiar Primarch.
Also, one more thing... I truly haven't decided on the color of the Second Legion yet. What would be good...
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