I have traversed again.
Caelan slowly opened his eyes to an endless primeval forest.
Towering ancient trees blocked out the sky. Dappled sunlight filtered through the layered branches and leaves, tickling his face.
"This must be Caliban!" Caelan's voice was full of certainty.
Among the eighteen Primarchs, only three had yet to return.
Both Terra and Cthonia were Hive Worlds; their wastelands had long been turned into garbage dumps by the hive cities. Only Caliban still retained such a vast primeval forest.
'So, where would Lion be?'
Caelan looked up, judging the sun's position through the gaps in the canopy.
Just as he was about to follow the sun's guidance, a sudden figure standing in the forest's shadows caught his attention.
It was a short figure, no taller than an average man's waist, wrapped entirely in a dark green robe.
The robe fit tightly, ensuring no part of its body was exposed. Its face was hidden in the deep darkness of its hood, completely unidentifiable.
"A Watcher in the Dark."
This mysterious species was far older than Caliban's human civilisation.
They roamed the planet, yet no one had ever truly seen what lay beneath the robes.
The Watcher in the Dark raised its arm, pointing towards the depths of the forest.
"You want me to follow you? You know who I'm looking for?"
The figure beneath the hood nodded slightly, its arm still stubbornly pointing.
Caelan didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and followed the hooded dwarf.
Although the Watchers' origins were a mystery, they were undoubtedly allies.
There are two possibilities regarding the origin of the green-robed little figures.
One is that they were products of human genetic engineering during the Dark Age of Technology. The other is that they are one of the many races created by the Old Ones sixty million years ago.
Caelan leans towards the second possibility.
Because the Watchers guard the Ouroboros, and the Ouroboros is a legacy of the Old Ones.
The Watchers exhibit powerful psychic talent, very similar to other psychic races created by the Old Ones.
Most importantly, the Watchers have always actively fought against Chaos.
Although human civilisation during the Dark Age was very prosperous, it wouldn't have had such a deep understanding of the Old Ones' legacy. Even if they did, they would have used Men of Iron or Men of Stone, not xenos, to guard the Ouroboros.
Therefore, it is highly likely that the Watchers are creations of the Old Ones.
But regardless of who they are, the Watchers and humanity share the same goal: to fight Chaos.
Caelan is not worried about the green-robed dwarfs harming him.
The green-robed dwarf suddenly stopped and spun around, as if sensing something.
But behind him, there was no one.
He carefully searched the bushes behind him, but only saw mottled tree shadows swaying in the wind.
Still no one.
'Where had the person gone?'
'What person?'
'Who?
'What was I doing?'
After a moment of confusion, it seemed someone reminded him.
He shook his head, pushing aside the inexplicable feeling of incongruity, and continued deeper into the forest.
Caelan looked up. They were walking towards the sun.
His intuition had been right.
They passed through the deep, secluded forest. The soft soil underfoot emitted a damp, rotten smell.
The native species along the way ignored Caelan and the green-robed dwarf, each following the forest's cruel law of the jungle. Those who needed to hunt, hunted; those who needed to flee, fled.
As they pushed through a thicket, the view suddenly opened up.
A clear, bubbling stream flowed cheerfully, its water sparkling in the sunlight.
On a moss-covered boulder by the stream, an ancient-looking longsword was embedded diagonally, its blade gleaming coldly.
But the most striking thing was the wild man struggling with the sword.
He was naked, covered in mud, with a few dead leaves stuck in his matted hair.
He gripped the sword hilt with both hands, his arms trembling but refusing to let go. He had clearly tried countless times, yet could never budge the blade, which seemed fused with the boulder.
The wild man spun around, a hint of vigilance in his eyes.
He first caught sight of the green-robed dwarf, and his tense muscles relaxed slightly, as if accustomed to him.
But when Caelan came into view, he immediately arched his back like a startled wildcat.
White teeth gleamed beneath his matted, mud-caked hair. A low growl rumbled in his throat.
His eyes locked onto the stranger. He gave up struggling with the sword, as if ready to attack at any moment.
"My name is Caelan. I have come for you, Lion El'Jonson."
The wild man ignored him, because he couldn't understand.
He had lived in the forest for a long time, surrounded by animals. Human language was like a cipher to him.
He had learned the most primitive jungle law. When facing threats, he would bare his teeth, raise his hackles, and growl. When facing a stronger enemy, he would immediately roll over, exposing his vital points, to beg for mercy.
He was different from other animals. He never begged for mercy. It was always other animals begging for mercy from him!
The wild man let out a low growl, a ferocious glint in his eyes. He charged at Caelan without hesitation.
But just as he was about to reach him...
THUD!
With a dull sound, the wild man crashed face-first into the mud, sending a spray of dirty slurry flying.
His face was buried in the mud, his mouth full of foul-tasting earth.
He struggled to raise his head, an angry whimper in his throat, but an invisible giant hand held him down firmly.
"Don't move!" Caelan looked at the muddy mess before him. "I've never seen such a dirty child. Even Curze wasn't this filthy!"
Curze almost never bathed in the underhive, but that was because conditions didn't allow it. Water was too scarce down there. It was understandable.
This wild man was different. There was a stream right next to him, yet he wouldn't wash.
Caelan could understand, though. Animals often have very developed senses of smell, able to detect scents from dozens of kilometres away to locate prey and water precisely.
He used mud to mask his own scent. It's one of the skills a hunter in the wild must learn.
Human sense of smell is relatively dull, because humans primarily rely on their brains.
The invisible giant hand grabbed the muddy monkey by the scruff of the neck and tossed him into the babbling stream, scrubbing the mud off him repeatedly, turning the once-clear water murky.
The green-robed dwarf stood on the bank, tilting his head curiously, seeming to enjoy the show.
But when he sensed Caelan's gaze on him, he cautiously stepped back two paces, his wide green robe rustling against the bushes.
"Take off your clothes."
The green-robed dwarf shook his head frantically, retreating two steps and darting into the forest.
But he soon returned, carrying several new clothes.
The style was completely different from his own robe. They had probably been stolen from a nearby human settlement.
He had also thoughtfully included a towel and a bar of soap.
The wild man, probably realizing he was outmatched and now at Caelan's mercy, and that Caelan hadn't hurt him, stopped struggling and let the giant hand scrub him back and forth.
He even cooperated by raising his arms to let Caelan clean his filthy armpits.
Although he looked very slovenly covered in mud, he wasn't actually that dirty.
If he used mud to mask his scent, he wouldn't allow himself to have a strong body odour.
Caelan picked up the towel and walked towards the stream. "Raise your arms."
He couldn't understand at all, just standing there clueless.
Caelan sighed helplessly, had to take his arm and raise it himself, drying his body with the towel.
Finally, he understood Caelan's intention. He cooperatively raised his arms, letting Caelan dry his body with the soft towel.
His movements still held a beast-like wariness, but he didn't attack rashly.
He was just primitive, not ungrateful.
Caelan put the clothes on him. He immediately frowned, his fingers constantly scratching at the collar, as if the fabric was hurting his skin.
He let out a dissatisfied growl and moved to tear the foreign object off his body.
"No taking it off!" Caelan quickly grabbed his arm.
He looked up and met Caelan's stern gaze.
Although he couldn't understand human language, he could understand the warning in Caelan's tone.
The wild man finally reluctantly let go, twisting his body uncomfortably, like a beast fitted with a saddle, thoroughly ill at ease.
"My name is Caelan. You are Lion El'Jonson."
The wild man didn't understand. He blinked in confusion, his eyes revealing a clear, ignorant emptiness.
Caelan pointed to himself. "Caelan."
Then pointed to him. "Lion."
Finally, he understood. Like a babbling child, he awkwardly learned the language. "Lion."
"Lion El'Jonson."
"Lion El'Jonson."
He didn't understand, but his pronunciation was clear, not at all awkward.
Caelan explained, "Lion El'Jonson means 'the Lion, Son of the Forest'."
"It's okay if you don't understand. I'll teach you slowly."
He nodded. Although he didn't understand, he instinctively chose to obey.
That was the jungle law: whoever is stronger calls the shots.
Caelan turned to the green-robed dwarf. "How long has he been living alone in the forest?"
The green-robed dwarf wrote two Arabic numerals in the dirt: 1 and 0.
Ten years.
The green-robed dwarfs have no language, but they have telepathy.
This was exactly like the Jokaero. The more Caelan observed, the more they seemed like products of the Old Ones.
Perhaps the green-robed dwarfs were born even earlier than the Jokaero or the Aeldari, because their mission was to guard the Ouroboros.
And the Old Ones were on the verge of extinction by the end of the War in Heaven. The races they created then were born for war. They probably wouldn't have had the leisure to create a new species specifically to guard the Ouroboros.
Caelan looked down and began combing Lion's messy blonde hair.
After washing away the mud, Lion had regained his handsome appearance, but he was still a wild child.
Lion had lived alone in the forest for ten years, and now looked like a boy of about ten.
This growth trajectory lagged far behind his brothers, but this slow growth pattern was actually normal.
A Primarch's development rate is closely related to their cognitive level and environmental pressure.
Lacking a clear understanding of his own growth, and with the relatively safe environment of the forest, a ten-year-old Lion could easily tear tigers apart with his bare hands. He had no survival crisis. Therefore, his physical development remained at a normal level.
If he had been born in human society, he would have unconsciously compared himself to adults.
His ambition would have greatly accelerated his development, making him as big as an adult.
And to rule and lead mortals, his development would accelerate further until he became a four-meter-tall giant.
According to the Emperor's original design, if all the Primarchs had developed normally on Terra, perhaps they would have maintained a similar development rhythm to mortals for the first eighteen years of their lives, only entering the second phase of rapid development at eighteen.
In comparison, early rapid growth is actually abnormal and results in them having no childhood.
"Ah!"
Seeing Caelan was ignoring him, Lion didn't stay idle.
He let out a low growl from his throat and started struggling with the sword in the stone again.
But he couldn't pull it out before, and he still couldn't.
This made Lion doubt himself. He stared at his hands. Was he not strong enough?
"It has nothing to do with your strength. You're just not qualified yet."
He turned his head in confusion, his expression not asking why he wasn't qualified, but asking Caelan what he was actually saying.
He couldn't understand a word!
Caelan stared at the sword. He felt something was wrong.
In M-40K, 'Lion with raised hackles' had also pulled a sword from a stone. Its name was 'Loyalty'.
That sword was undoubtedly prepared for him by the Emperor himself.
But this was the 30K era. Where had this sword come from?
Had the Emperor started planning this early?
But whoever put it there, the current Lion could not pull it out.
According to the ancient Arthurian legend, this sword should be the Sword in the Stone, the sword of selection.
But the current Lion did not yet understand what a 'king' was. He was just a wild man.
He had neither the awareness nor the responsibility of a king. The sword would not recognise him.
"I will teach you. But at least until you learn the language."
If he couldn't even speak, even Caelan couldn't teach him.
He wasn't a god.
This didn't stump Caelan. He had gained extensive teaching experience on Fenris. Russ had also been taught step-by-step by him.
Caelan reached out and ruffled Lion's messy hair. "First, say 'thank you'."
Lion blinked. "Thank you."
"Say 'Dad'."
"Dad." Lion's voice was slow and serious. Although he didn't understand, he figured it wouldn't hurt to say it.
Caelan couldn't help but laugh. The current Lion was very obedient!
Caelan pointed to the sword in the stone. "You must first understand what a 'human' is, and what 'civilisation' is, before you can be qualified to pull that sword."
Lion's intelligence allowed him to instinctively extract keywords, but he didn't understand.
Human. Civilisation. What were those things? Could he eat them?
"What is a human?" Lion asked.
His syllables were word-perfect, but his manner of asking was still as clumsy as a parrot.
"We are both humans. There are many more humans beyond the forest. The sum total of the social culture formed by many people is 'civilisation'."
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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