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

Page 723

Mortarian said that Herrera’s light cough suddenly turned into a violent cough, and the woman turned her head away with her arms crossed, unwilling to look at Mortarian.

"It would be better if he were dead."

Herrera said, coughing to steady her breathing, then smiling slightly as if she had thought of something.

"Besides, I hid it very well—didn't I start smoking a long time ago? He just didn't notice at the time."

Herrera tried to lighten her tone, but the atmosphere around the Death Guard was perpetually heavy, and her efforts failed.

Herrera pondered for a moment. In fact, during those last moments, his gaze had lingered thoughtfully on her slightly yellowed fingers—but he said nothing.

Thinking of this, Herrera took another heavy breath.

She was filled with regret—regret that she hadn't managed to catch him in the end. He should have been the one to survive, not her. The Legion didn't need women, and he would have done a better job than anyone else.

Perhaps even better than Mortarion, Herrera suddenly chuckled to herself. No, that was for sure.

You're blaming yourself again.

The Primarch, completely hidden in the darkness, spoke slowly and deliberately, his eyes shining brightly in the darkness.

"Aren't you the same?"

Herrera countered, as she was one of the few who could argue with the Primarch—the other being Karas Typhon.

And now, Callas Typhon is beside them, behind this tightly closed door. They all tacitly give Callas space—yet, without prior arrangement, they all linger in front of his door again after a while.

It's like a losers' league.

Mortarian looked up and gazed at the door again, as if hoping to see through it and see what had happened to Karas, but of course he didn't use his psionic powers to probe inside rashly.

Firstly, this was to preserve Karas's dignity, and secondly, Karas Typhon was also an outstanding psionicist, and the Primarch's rash probing would be immediately detected by Karas.

Go and try to persuade him.

Mortarian said, and Herrera let out a cold laugh.

"Should I play the villain?"

The woman pointed this out without hesitation. Mortalian frowned and stared at Herrera. Sometime later, another new cigarette appeared between her fingers, twirling between them.

“You know none of us have the right to make decisions for him.”

Herrera said coldly, pulling out the pistol from her waist. After a few soft clicks, the end of the cigarette hissed and lit up again, the sparks flickering.

"...Even Hades couldn't make this decision for Karas."

He will only stop us from making this decision.

Mortarian's tone was flat, yet there was an inexplicable sadness in his voice.

"Yes."

Herrera took a deep breath; the rough, pungent smell brushed against her nostrils, finally easing the lingering, oppressive feeling in her heart.

"How did we get to this point?"

Herrera said, shifting her position to lean against the door, using her back and the door as support to brace her weight, and looking up at the ceiling.

At least this is our own decision.

Mortarian crouched down at the entrance to Karas, pressing his hand against his gas mask. Tiny wisps of white smoke then drifted out from between his cheek and the mask.

"What a failure."

Herrera said that this statement seemed to provide a conclusion about their lives, the world, and their destiny: that failure was rampant here.

Mortalian clearly agreed with this statement, and like Karas who remained silent in the space behind the sect, none of them spoke again, leaving only the sound of breathing and occasional coughs.

"Do you really believe the images that Chaos showed you?"

Herrera spoke again, while Mortalian pulled up his hood, and the Primarch tried to pull the brim of his hat down to cover his eyes.

Even if I don't believe it.

The Primarch's hoarse voice sounded like a snake writhing on the ground.

This empire deserves to fall—Robert Guilliman wouldn't tolerate such a tyrant. If we strike first, we can at least gain a certain advantage.

The Lord of Change has placed his bet between me and Guilliman… Only one of us can emerge victorious.

"An ambitious king killer."

Herrera said thoughtfully,

"I remember Hades saying he was quite optimistic about the Ultramarines? I never imagined the Primarch of the Ultramarines would turn out like this."

Hades doesn't seem like the type to prevent people from resting—on the contrary, he almost always takes the opportunity to be lazy, slack off whenever possible, and encourages those around him to rest as well.

However, despite saying that, he still worked every day, which eventually led to him becoming so exhausted.

This is different from what he said.

Motalian points this out, noting that the hand gesture resembles someone who frequently holds a cigarette.

He said it was... a joke.

"But he predicted many things correctly."

Herrera lazily raised her eyes and glanced at the closed door.

"Including him."

She lowered her voice and chuckled.

"I never expected this... I never expected this."

"Do you remember how Hades treated Karas back then?"

He had an inexplicable prejudice against Callas.

The Primarch said calmly,

We all know it's their nature that's incompatible, let's not bring that up anymore... at least for now, we can still make things a little easier for Karas.

Herrera blinked, then switched legs to support her weight.

"but……"

Her tone lowered, and a strange light flickered in her eyes.

"But I think Callas really is going to change his name."

【……】/“……”

【Typhons.】/“Typhons.】

"Are you really willing to let him do this, Mortarian?"

Herrera suddenly asked seriously, looking intently at Mortalian.

"Are you really going to push him to Nurgle?"

Silence, a long silence. Mortalian looked down at the deck, wrapped his arms around his head, buried it in his knees, and lowered his head deeply, avoiding Herrera's questioning gaze.

I don't want to.

After a long silence, the Primarch spoke in a muffled voice.

I don't want him to do that.

"But we all know what he will choose."

Herrera pointed this out, and her impassioned questioning of Mortalian subsided once more; she let out a sullen sigh.

“But Karas will ultimately choose to do so—I can hardly imagine sending a psionic cleanliness-obsessed guy like him to the garden.”

Herrera's lips curled into a bitter smile.

“We’re not good people to just let Karas pass by like this.”

After setting aside his prejudices as much as possible, Hades focused on talking to Karas. During that time, Hades had deep conversations with Karas almost every day, and Mortarian was quite certain that Hades had said something to Karas.

I feel pain.

Mortarian raised his head again, stood up, and spoke in an extremely, extremely indifferent voice, as if the voice did not belong to him, but rather was detached from his body.

"Don't let Angron hear this."

Herrera interjected sarcastically, the cigarette between her fingers burning out again, the flame sizzling against her skin, but the woman showed no reaction.

"Otherwise, he will definitely keep bothering you for at least three months."

Mortarian blinked slowly.

I hate him.

He stated this bluntly, and the Primarch seemed to recall some less-than-pleasant memories of the past.

Herrera laughed again.

"Now I understand why he keeps coming to see you—that awful guy."

But I can't kill him.

Mortarion uttered something terrifying in his calm demeanor. At this moment, the Great Crusade was still ongoing, and at least on the surface, the Primarchs maintained a basic brotherly respect.

Herrera suddenly seemed to remember something. She released the embers in her hand and was about to speak when the door was suddenly flung open with a loud bang!

Both of them were startled. Herrera quickly stepped back and saw Karas's sour face, as if he had been dead for seven hundred years.

"You look like you could be burned today, so respectfully, and the newcomers are to address you as 'Your Excellency,' Lord Karas."

Herrera offered her greetings, while Karas, hunched over, rolled his eyes and uttered a barbaric "bitch" as a direct greeting.

Mortalian stood silently beside them. They greeted each other for a while, though Herrera and Karas disliked each other despite being high-ranking members of the Death Guard.

This may be related to the period when Hades and Karas were at odds, because Karas spoke ill of Hades, and Herrera directly rushed over and beat Karas up.

This is why Callas's hairstyle was always bald later on.

Finally, under the watchful eye of Hades, who wore a wry smile and seemed helpless, Mortarion picked them up one by one and separated them.

A flurry of rapid, lively Barbarosian slang rang out for a while, then both fell silent, staring at each other with mutual hatred.

Mortarian knew it was time for him to speak.

"...Are you feeling alright, Karas?"

Herrera sneered, clearly believing that Mortalian didn't need to ask the question at all, as Karas, who had just been arguing with her, was obviously in good spirits.

"very bad."

Karas said directly, a bitter, resentful smile on his face.

"I never thought I would betray him in such a stupid way, and I never thought I would choose the cesspool."

These words silenced both Mortarian and Herrera. Mortarian felt pain; Karas had clearly chosen that path, one that Mortarian had forced him onto.

The Primarch opened his mouth, trying to say something again as a final, albeit feeble, consolation, but Herrera suddenly spoke.

"Don't try to persuade me anymore, it's too late."

Herrera's words drew the attention of both Mortarian and Karas, but she simply turned her head away.

"He said it himself—that proves he has accepted it."

Herrera said calmly, which made the atmosphere a little awkward, but Herrera knew that when Karas could utter those words, it meant he had made up his mind.

"Hehehehe, idiot."

Karas laughed, his insult directed at Herrera. This successfully turned Herrera's head around, and a new round of verbal sparring ensued.

The Primarch stood silently, watching them like an observer—they were all trying their best to alleviate the heavy reality in their own ways, except for Mortarion.

Only Mortarian couldn't do these things; he simply endured them silently—enduring the fact that he had personally pushed Karas into the abyss.

"That stupid troll is crying to himself again."

Karas suddenly changed his target, starting with a greeting. Thanks to his practice with Hades, Karas had learned many subtle and "abstract" insults.

Karas made his classic head-turning, pointing-pointing, smiling face, pointing at Mortalian towards Herrera, who chuckled in return.

"You should have gotten used to these stupid Primarchs by now."

I don't believe I've offended you.

Mortarion raised his hand and said calmly, "Anyone else would probably be half paralyzed and bleeding on the ground, begging the Primarch for mercy."