Jonson stood on the arena's last remaining flat ground, watching the mortal named Morgana slowly walk away.
He merely watched her, narrowing his eyes, allowing his emerald green pupils to dart with thought and bloodlust, much like a sated lion calmly observing the vast herds moving back and forth during the rainy season.
He watched her, watched that contemptuous trickster, that overestimating eight-legged spider, that lazy kitten eager to use petty tricks against sharp fangs and claws. He watched her take her last steps, enter the corridor, and slowly disappear from his sight.
The Primarch of the First Legion closed his eyes, granting himself a very brief moment of rest.
Then, he turned around.
[Come out.]
The command echoed through the ruins, and as always, it was not delayed for too long.
Two figures soon slowly emerged from the shadows at the other end of the arena, which had been reduced to ruins. They were two Dark Angels, who had come into this private space through another secret door.
[Asmodai.]
The Primarch addressed one of his sons. That was a warrior with long black hair, and one of the First Legion's few experimental Librarians.
He quickly walked up, bowed slightly to his genefather, then stood to one side. Only then did the second warrior step forward.
Jonson's lips curled into the slightest of smiles.
[Cypher.]
"My Lord."
Cypher had completely confined himself within the pure black Legion insignia and hood. He saluted Jonson with normal etiquette, not the ancient traditions popular and inherited by the Caliban Knightly Orders.
This was what was special about this Lion's son: although also from Caliban, Cypher was unusually detached from the Caliban Knightly Orders and had not adopted more of their rigid culture. This gave the Primarch a special expectation of him.
In him, Jonson saw the possibility of bridging the overly vast and obvious gap between the Calibanites and Terrans under his command, although with the blood of the Rangdan Xenocides growing more rampant, such a possibility was fading at a visible rate.
[How long have you been here?]
"One Terran standard hour, my Lord. My apologies, but the situation at the time prevented us from reporting to you."
[No, that is my fault. My training session clearly ran overtime. Before this, I did not expect it to take so long.]
Jonson simply walked to where Morgana had been sitting, and sat down as well. However, this seat, specifically prepared for an Astartes warrior, was clearly not well-suited for two successive guests.
Jonson's knees bent at an angle that could not possibly be comfortable, and Morgana, earlier, could not even touch the ground, her knee-high boots swinging freely in the air, like a doll in the wind.
The Primarch's brow furrowed noticeably. He seemed about to rise, but seeing his two sons having followed his footsteps and now standing respectfully on either side of him, Jonson's brow twisted further.
Ultimately, he maintained this sitting posture, as if all was well, and even straightened his back, exuding authority.
The Primarch's gaze first turned to the Librarian.
[Asmodai, in the preceding Terran standard hour, you witnessed various demonstrations from my sparring partner. Now, tell me your thoughts.]
This command caused the Librarian's expression to enter a subtly nuanced state: his forehead involuntarily creased with wrinkles from recollection, his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows slowly gathered together, and his mouth was tightly pursed, the corners drooping, causing his features to gradually bunch up.
But in the next moment, all of this suddenly burst open, revealing a relaxed, wry smile.
He spoke, his voice more like a sigh.
"If we are to compare the mastery and application of psychic abilities, and how to better balance these powers with their backlash, my Lord, I dare not conceal anything from you."
"I am inferior to her, far inferior."
"In that one Terran standard hour just now, her various displays in terms of psychic grasp, application, and balance were among the most powerful and perfect examples I have ever seen.
Even the psykers of the Thousand Sons Legion probably cannot compare to her. Perhaps, only the Emperor and Magnus-sama, who is also a Primarch, and that legendary Lord of the Imprint, can possess such great psychic talent."
"With all due respect, some of her moves and spells, I had always considered impossible. Although she certainly seemed to be concealing something, that inadvertent confidence, grasp, and effortless execution could not be hidden."
"She is like... like a monster, a monster born knowing how to wield psychic power."
Jonson did not reply.
He simply listened to his son's words, tilting his head, rubbing his golden hair with one hand, and simultaneously observing the Librarian before him. This veteran of the First Legion, who hailed from Terra, was also one of the most skilled psykers in the entire Legion.
[Can you guarantee the correctness of every word you utter, Asmodai?]
"I cannot guarantee it, my Lord, for [psychic power] and [stability] are inherently irreconcilable enemies."
"But I swear, every word I just spoke reflects what is in my heart."
Jonson nodded.
[If you were to confront her, how many individuals would you need?]
This question made the Dark Angels Librarian begin to think very seriously. The other two present did not rush him. Asmodai's lips continuously twitched slightly, uttering vague calculations and considerations.
Finally, he looked up.
"If it's a purely psychic duel, and we have the initiative, or at least a direct confrontation."
"Five individuals, my Lord. I would need at least five Terran Librarians of my rank, along with a dedicated anti-psyker squad equipped with weapons that can briefly confine space, and preparations for mutual annihilation if necessary."
"Her power is entirely at the [Alpha] level. Among psykers of this level, while very few can truly control their own power, once they do, their power will be extremely terrifying."
"Given enough time, a stable external environment, and necessary reasons, they can achieve anything we can imagine: destroy Titans, ravage fleets, and even cause entire worlds or more to self-destruct with a single thought."
"Five individuals and a squad is the minimum configuration. If we're aiming for absolute safety, then, my Lord, the safest method would be for you to lead the team personally, and for us to confine all possibilities of her escape, striving for a decisive strike."
The Primarch's finger rested on his lips, contemplating something. Finally, he nodded to his Librarian.
[Very well. Now, you must proceed to the corridor, catch up with Hasfield and Albelin, and conduct the necessary memory cleansing for my sparring partner. You may also bring other Librarians, any Librarian on this battleship. This is by my permission.]
[If there are any problems, report them immediately.]
Asmodai acknowledged the order and quickly walked out.
Jonson, meanwhile, lowered his head, as if deep in thought.
Cypher waited quietly until he sincerely felt that his genefather had been contemplating for an overly long time.
"That mortal... is there something wrong with her, my Lord?"
[No.]
Jonson raised his head.
[It is not whether there is a problem.]
[It is that she definitely has a problem.]
——————
[According to the information I've received, my two blood brothers, Magnus and Perturabo, had contact with her on Prospero, and the result was that Magnus personally appointed her as an advisor and personally wrote a letter of assurance for her, with Perturabo as the second guarantor.]
[I'm not sure about the logic behind this. I'm not sure if Magnus saw through her problem, but I'm more inclined to believe he didn't, and Perturabo didn't either.]
[They were blinded by their own incredible foolishness and arrogance.]
[And I am not surprised by this.]
——————
Morgana walked down the corridor. She was not walking very fast.
After all, she was currently an [injured person], a poor wretch who had just undergone memory cleansing surgery, thus suffering additional injuries.
Her figure cast an even darker shadow on the black wall, trailing all the way to the other end of the long corridor. This seemingly exhausted lady simply kept her head down, chaotic psychic energy radiating around her.
In front of her, Asmodai was leading the way, but nine-tenths of the Librarian's attention was on his too-dangerous colleague behind him.
But until he led Morgana to her temporary room, everything was normal. So normal that... it was disappointing?
Asmodai leaned his head, replaying everything in his mind: He led half a dozen Librarians, making a big show of performing this spell, precisely cleansing Morgana's memories of the past three Terran standard hours, and then bringing her here.
Incredibly smooth...
The Dark Angels Librarian tapped his head, carefully searching, but then had to confirm: these memories were real, Morgana was truly... unusually cooperative.
Asmodai's gaze once again swept across Morgana's room. This time, there was a hint of admiration.
Inside the room, Morgana glanced at the pot of grapevines on the table, which had just sprouted tender shoots. She reached out and slowly toyed with it. The vines, guided by psychic energy, seemed to come alive, rubbing against her palm.
Sometimes, she would think of getting a cat.
Listening to Asmodai's gradually receding footsteps, Morgana revealed a faint smile.
This time, unlike the operations in the Sabis system, she had not touched Asmodai's memory, nor that of any Dark Angel Librarian. On the Unbreakable Truth, she temporarily did not want to take any risks.
For someone like Jonson, secret actions behind his back were more detestable than overt ones.
Facing the Dark Angels' psychic surgery, Morgana simply chose a straightforward trick: the Dark Angels would, of course, believe the surgery was successful, because Morgana herself had [hidden] all her memories.
Simply put, the psychic world of ordinary people was like a pond, while that of an Astartes Librarian might be larger, like a lake.
The Dark Angels Librarians naturally performed the surgery and examination according to this standard. They dug three feet deep into Morgana's [pond], confirming everything was safe.
But unfortunately, what they examined was nothing more than a spoonful of water Morgana scooped from her psychic ocean.
They didn't know this, and even if they did, they wouldn't choose to believe it. After all, pebbles at the bottom of a river cannot imagine the treacherousness of huge waves.
——————
How pitiful...
As pitiful as she is.
——————
Cypher felt his breathing become difficult.
"You suspect... this is related to Lord Magnus?"
[He does not have the mind, nor the disposition for such things.]
Jonson rose. He plunged his greatsword into the seat he had just occupied, his hands empty, and walked to the center of the arena's ruins.
[If this person were from the Thirteenth Legion, then I would indeed give careful thought to whether my Ultramarine brother had some ulterior motive.]
[And if she had served the Thousand Sons, the situation would actually be better. Horus is a vain showman; he prefers overt methods.]
[But Magnus...]
Cypher could sense a cold sarcasm on his genefather's face.
[She does not have any of my brothers standing behind her, but that does not mean she is without problems.]
"...Do you need me to bring people to capture her?"
[Why capture her?]
Jonson turned his head, looking at his son.
"Because she is a... problematic individual."
[And then what, imprison her, just in case?]
"...Yes."
The Primarch patted his son's shoulder. He spoke in a tone almost like a lecture.
[Setting aside the fact that she currently bears the identity of a Thousand Sons Legionary, and that she herself indeed possesses a certain utility, these reasons are enough for me to tolerate her life until she officially acts foolishly.]
[What's more, if it's about safety and confinement...]
[In this fleet, where is a better place for confinement than within my line of sight? And where is safer than within the reach of my blade?]
[Just in case? Am I not doing precisely that right now?]
Cypher was momentarily speechless.
Before he could articulate new words, his genefather merely waved a hand, issuing his command.
[Reserve a room for her on the Unbreakable Truth.]
[And then...]
He thought for a moment, then looked at his son again.
[What position did my brother give her?]
"Hmm... high-ranking mortal consultant."
[A good position. It just so happens that I also lack a mortal consultant in psychic matters. Consider it borrowing her from my brother Magnus for a while.]
[His consultant is good. I'll use her for now.]
[I trust he won't mind.]
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