Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

Page 754

Orichen calls this behavior “guarding” time.

Therefore, Tarachin called him a madman.

The animosity between Aurikan and Tarachin was well-known to all the dynasties. During the long and tedious years, the Silent King would watch videos of Tarachin and Aurikan's debates and fights in court to pass the time.

Compared to other lifeless or ambitious space necromancers (especially Storm King), these two space necromancers are clearly more energetic.

Did Tarasim kill Eurycan...?

The Silent King pondered that this possibility was not zero. Although Tarachin was known among the Deathbringers to be in poor legs, Orikan was no match for him. To the Deathbringer generals, their fight was as harmless as Persian cats scratching each other.

But now, the Silent King needs its former prophet.

Beneath the throne, the three time technicians temporarily summoned by Szalak knelt, never raising their heads. They each gave the Silent King three different prophecies, but each one was a warning.

The prophecy forks at this moment: the Silent King sees one destiny of the rise of humanity; another of chaos that completely pollutes the real world; and yet another, a completely desolate universe, where only Tyrannosaurus and black holes remain in the Milky Way.

None of these outcomes were what the Silent King desired, especially given the revival of the kings; fate had presented him with such a bleak picture.

The Silent King rested his head on his arm. Although he never felt tired, the Three Lords still had this habit. He was pondering where Orikan had gone—he needed a more precise answer.

A dim star map flickered beside the Silent King's throne, but it didn't really mark the human empire on it. Instead, it remained the sleeping map of the dynasty from back then. The Silent King glanced at it, pondering whether to return.

Although many undead planets in the Great Hibernation have become completely lifeless, the remaining surviving dynasties have already begun to recover, and those that awakened earlier are already stirring.

The Silent King stared at the planet that had been annexed by the Sotek Dynasty. It had been many years since he last saw it... When did the Sotek Dynasty expand to such a vast territory?

Storm King Imotek...

The Silent King felt a surge of displeasure at that fellow who opposed his rule...

If the Storm King insists on continuing to challenge its rule, it will use its army to show Imotek who the true ruler of the Necromancers is.

..............................

"Really, of course it's true."

"Tarasin said in a low voice, placing his hand on Guilliman's hand. If you ignore Guilliman's slightly surprised expression and Tarasin's little gesture of trying to hook the sapphire on Guilliman's gauntlet, everything will be very harmonious."

Guilliman tried to withdraw his hand with a slightly embarrassed expression, but the Primarch's strength was slightly greater, and Tarasin could only watch regretfully as the Macraglan blue slowly drifted away from him. The Primarch coughed.

[If you like, my friend, I have the same batch of gems in my collection.]

"Oh, hahaha, fine, but I want this translucent blue, the great empire's ruler."

Tarachin felt no embarrassment whatsoever; it was a death-fearing creature that had been dead for countless years. Embarrassment was reserved for the living, and it no longer needed such emotions.

Guilliman coughed again, trying to steer the conversation back on track. This was the suffering ruler of the Empire. Even though he was the nominal monarch of the Empire, there were still people/space necromancers eyeing his collection, and they were ruthless in doing so.

Has the Silent King truly returned?

"Absolutely true,"

Upon hearing the name of the Silent King, Tarachin nodded solemnly. The space necromancer lowered his voice again, shifting himself out of his domineering state.

"It's back, and it's currently clashing with Storm King, fighting fiercely."

Tarasin said nonchalantly that he had no liking for either of them, and that their armies had long since become pure machines, or a few crazy generals and obedient technicians.

【That……】

Killieman looked at Tarachin hesitantly. In his tragic history of rule, what kind of foreigners and people hadn't Killieman seen? He was wrong. Tarachin was a rare breed among rare breeds.

Tarasin chuckled and waved his hand.

“They won’t care about me. Who would care about a crazy, lowly museum curator? The nobles only care about enemies who challenge their reputation, and they would disdain a rat like me in the gutter.”

Just like when the Storm King invaded other dynasties, after conquering them, it would send a notification to the Necromancer's Court in space, informing the Silent King that the territory had become the land of the Sotek Dynasty.

Under the Silent King, the various pharaohs and overlords fight amongst themselves, but the Silent King will not interfere in these matters, unless one of them goes too far.

Tarachin, a fearsome being who acts stealthily, is almost an anomaly among anomalies. In fact, Tarachin doesn't even know what it plans to do—perhaps it just needs to displease the Silent King, and make him stop bowing down to those idiots.

But deep within Taracin's logical code, perhaps the one who was once named Taracin, the fearful of death, left it something. Faced with those mad, space undead trying to restore their past lives, Taracin always remained silent.

Incidentally, it is still secretly trying to piece together the ancient saint—despite Orikan's mockery, it is still futilely trying to seek a part of the past soul for its race.

Perhaps among the billions of undead in space, only the madman and avid collector of all sorts of artifacts, the former librarian Tarachin, had ever caught a glimpse of the shimmering souls of the fearful dead—not only those of the great nobles, but also those of the lesser nobles, the poor, and the slaves—and still tried to reclaim them.

It collects love tokens made of clay by slaves in the former Minor Kingdoms, as well as simple plates and bowls, which will be displayed in its exhibition hall along with the sapphire matching the one on Robert Guilliman's helmet, so that visitors can appreciate the shimmering galaxy.

The fearers of death are gone, and the magnificent kingdom has become nothing more than a puppet show for the leader's self-entertainment. Tarachin now only wants to see the joys and sorrows of the former fearers of death one last time, or perhaps to bring the undead of space back to life.

Hades also gave an OK sign.

“Tarasin’s army is well hidden, I can attest—at least they won’t be discovered by other space necromancy.”

Killieman sighed inwardly as he helplessly watched Tarasin and Hades exchange glances again. Sometimes he wondered if Tarasin was a qualified leader.

Perhaps it wasn't at all, but by a twist of fate, this power just happened to fall into its hands.

"So—don't worry! The Silent King won't be focusing its attention on the Human Empire anytime soon! The Storm King is going to give it a run for its money!"

Tarasin laughed heartily.

"I promise!"

Yay, it's gone!

Chapter 776 [219] Mortarion on the Earth

Beyond Terra

Barbarossa

[While everyone in Terra was working overtime]

A gentle breeze rustled through the tall crops, like pale white waves rolling from one end of the field to the blurred horizon. The slightly pink sun slowly rose from the horizon, bringing a moderate warmth.

The distant tolling of bells rose with the dawn, startling flocks of birds that flew over the forest toward the fields. The silent Death Guard disappeared into the night, and the streets gradually came alive. Children and young people who had gotten up to go to military school ran noisily toward the school, occasionally bumping into the red-robed mechanical sages who walked slowly along the road.

The sage made a few displeased electronic sounds, but the children didn't care. They laughed and continued on their way. In Barbalus, pilgrims from the Mechanic Church would come to worship at any time, and the spontaneous chanting in the morning, noon and evening was a common sight for the people of Barbalus.

When the first rays of sunlight shone on the ear of wheat in the mouth of the three-headed dog on the church, the priest opened the church doors, cooked and cleaned, and let the people who had stayed overnight leave.

After the children’s laughter and frolicking dispersed from the streets, farmers, hunters, merchants, and children of the dead appeared. Compared to the planet Nest City, Barbarus, under Mortarion’s direction and with the participation of the army, still maintained a relatively ancient social structure.

The needs of the entire Fourteenth Legion of the Death Guard are enough to consume all of Barbaros and its ring's production capacity.

Barbalus, this charming pale green planet, is like a calm and gentle lake in this noisy, chaotic, and crazy galaxy. She is silent, but not voiceless; she is dim, but not ashamed because of it. The society that has been running for thousands of years will remain the same for thousands of years to come. Time does not flow much here. Except for batches of warriors leaving school, life here is almost unchanged.

All Barbalusians, even the most rebellious sons of the dead, often yearn for their home planet in their dreams—a unique rhythm and charm found only on the star Barbalus.

This is the land created, maintained, and cherished by Mortarion, the Grim Reaper, the Pale Lord, and the Fourteenth Legion's Champion.

This is also... the light that Hades once inspired Barbaros and Death.

As the sun rose higher and higher, the outer layer of pale pink light gradually turned into rose-red, sprinkling onto the bone-white and grayish-brown insect helmet. The dew that had accumulated due to the night shook off its coolness and gradually disappeared.

Mortarian remained motionless.

Only a gentle breeze lifted the cloak-like wings behind him.

The original was resting quietly in the field, surrounded by nothing special, just a cornfield.

If one had to pinpoint the exact location, there was a black cross fourteen miles from Mortalion, and a military school twenty-one miles away, which was once the burial ground of the first Death Guards. Herrera was buried there, and Mortalion had once comforted the distraught Hades there. Later, the cross was corroded by poisonous gas, the cemetery turned into fertile fields, then into a lake, and finally, it was bustlingly rebuilt into a hospital by later generations.

If Mortalian were to speak of these past events, it would likely only be Hades, Karas, and Vox who still remember them.

These immortal beings were nothing more than a speck of dust left behind by Barbalus.

Mortarian thought of nothing and did nothing. The towering monster simply stood in the fields, like insects that lingered aimlessly on branches, seemingly for a lifetime—unless a hurricane was coming, after which the insects would flap their wings and take flight.

But if there is no wind or waves, then Mortarion will merely remain there.

In their leisure time, the Primarchs each have their own hobbies and ways of relaxing. Robert Guilliman likes to go to his bathhouse in Macragge. Of course, if Guilliman has a vacation now, he will probably spend the whole vacation in a coma in bed. Angron is used to going to the gladiatorial arena or the school. Saint Gilles likes to paint or sculpt alone. Conrad is similar to Saint Gilles, with artistic hobbies, but his tools are more bloody.

Mortarian sometimes spent time in his apothecary, or on a day when the stars were clear, scribbling on his abacus—but now that he had arrived in Barbarus, and on a holiday he had earned by abandoning Hades and Karas, why not stand in the fields?

This would be Mortarion's favorite suggestion.

So Mortarion remained motionless, as if he were dead.

He did nothing, thought nothing, simply stood there, on the land he had defended for millennia, on the land he had come to understand and comprehend for millennia. Mortarian felt a calm joy. If the galaxy no longer needed him, he was willing to remain silent on Barbaross for eternity.

Of course, it would be best if Karas, Hades, and the Death Guard also came over—no, they absolutely must come over.

....................................

Another line of fate

Barbarossa

"Return! Lord Mortarion is back!"

The noisy white skull lay in the mud beside the dirty street, chattering in simple low Gothic language. Beside the skull, countless skeletons were piled up haphazardly and buried in the ground, making a creaking sound along with the white skull's voice.

The exhaust fumes from hundreds of nests piled up heavily in the clouds, then slowly descended, mixing with the original poison gas on Barbarus and fermenting into a new venom. An unprepared natural would suffocate on Barbarus; in just seven minutes without a gas mask, he would turn pale and die.

"The master is nowhere to be found! He is nowhere to be found!"

The white skull, its jaw agape, cried out, "Not here! Not here!"

Hurried footsteps swept across the street beside it as the fully armed Barbalus people, dressed in black raincoats and wearing gas masks and protective goggles, departed—it always rained in Barbalus, and this melancholy lady was always weeping softly; she was forever mourning, forever shedding tears.

Acid rain continued, and it seemed to be getting heavier and heavier.

【…】

A pale, unprotected hand reached into the air to catch the pungent raindrops. Above Barbarus, only one person could walk unprotected and unhindered on her muddy, filthy body.

That was Mortarion, the first rebel and son of Barbaros.

His pale lips pursed, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he said nothing. His amber eyes, hazy and confused, looked up at the sky, but all he saw was the thick, endless sky from which he could never see the stars.

To land on Barbaros, the spaceship needs to undergo special modifications, and the pilot must be a Barbarosian. If an unsuspecting outsider lands there, they will be devoured by Barbaros's poisonous gas sky.

Robert Guilliman demanded that all planets in the Empire, except those designated for special purposes, be transformed into hive cities.

Barbalus would have been even more crowded, but the melancholy First Rebel argued his case and refused Guilliman's final development. Therefore, there is still a wasteland and a mountain on Barbalus that have not been developed, and Barbalus has been preserved in its original state.

As the Primarch, the planet also possesses certain special rights, including the right to educate and cultivate the people on that planet.

This is why, among the various legions, recruits from the Primarch homeworld are most favored by the Primarchs, because their culture originates from the Primarchs, not from Robert Guilliman, the Lord of the Empire.

Mortarion chose suffering and eternal forbearance as the main colors of Barbarus.

This also makes the Barbarus people the most resilient group in the entire empire. No one can endure the harsh environment better than these taciturn, pale-faced people who always have dark circles under their eyes. Guilliman once described these people as silent ants. Even with physical disabilities, they seem to feel no pain and move little by little to complete the orders given by the Ant King.

As Robert Guilliman said this with a smile, Mortalian stood silently beside him, his Primarch's droopy, lifeless eyes like those of a dead man. He simply did nothing, staring at Guilliman with a somber expression.

【call……】

Motalian took a deep breath; the air of his homeland reminded him of his own country and also brought him a rare sense of relaxation.

He felt the rain of Barbarossa dampen his hair, moisten his parched lips, and comfort the long-lost traveler. Even though he was utterly wicked and had killed countless people, his mother in his hometown would still weep for him.

Only Barbarossa.

[I’m back…]

Motalian murmured, his eyes hazy. After a brief hesitation, he began to walk toward the place he knew well.

He didn't want to teleport there or fly there; Mortarion just wanted to walk there step by step. Every time they went, they walked there step by step—even though they rarely visited him after he became a demon.

Pale spirits wandered across the wasteland. The foul-smelling behemoths, sensing the presence of the planet's lord, gathered in droves of pale laughers and bone beasts from all corners of the wasteland. These coarse creatures awkwardly tried to rub their heads against Mortarion's clothes in an attempt to curry favor with the First Rebel.

Their viscous bodily fluids stained Mortalian's clothes, just like Robert Guilliman. Mortalian always appeared before his brothers in spotless clothes. The First Rebels would not choose overly flashy clothes, but the necessary tailoring and insignia would never be absent. The clean lines of his clothing further accentuated the upright posture of this Primarch with the aura of a leader.

Mortarion might have been a more benevolent ruler than Guilliman—but unfortunately, Mortarion had already lost the conflict ten thousand years ago.

The Primarch did not feel any anger at being offended. In fact, nothing or no one who came out of Barbarus could anger him. He had almost complete tolerance for Barbarus.

Let's leave here first.

Mortarian said calmly, nudging the bone beast that was nudging him. After a soft whimper, these big guys from Barbarus left. They were also part of Barbarus's legacy. If Gilliman came to rule, these big guys would probably be the first to disappear.

Mortarian simply walked and walked, and gradually, the scenery transformed into the image he remembered. Under the Primarch's psionic protection, the acid rain had not yet completely eroded the area.

【? 】

Mortarion lowered his gaze, and the Primarch's clear vision allowed him to discern the only crimson spot on the dark brown ground—blood, fresh blood.

It seems someone arrived before him.

This was unexpected. Mortarian's breathing quickened slightly. He hadn't actually gone to see Vox.