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

Page 392

As long as they remain human, do not succumb, and retain their human souls, they are a rare commodity in this long, dark night.

Saint Gilles was also aware of this.

No matter how corrupt the Midnight Lords became, they never knelt down in the end.

Yes, they eat people, skin them alive, go mad, break the rules, bring fear, and even harm the innocent, taking pleasure in tormenting humanity—but they are a good legion, they are not corrupt.

Therefore, the archangels, who were short of manpower, had no choice but to accept the Eighth Legion, no matter how much they disliked and hated them.

Severus followed the archangel silently, almost obediently, knowing this was their last chance.

Beside him, the archangel's footsteps rang out steadily. Gone was the smile he wore when facing his offspring and people; in the flickering firelight, the archangel's face was expressionless.

Severa knew that the Archangel had just had a "fight" with Leon Johnson and had also participated in eighteen battles, large and small.

The archangel tried to persuade the lion, but the lion was not one to change his mind so easily.

...But the lion will eventually yield.

Sevita knew this because that was reality, and the lion was not a true knight.

A true knight would completely abandon everything, including his life, because of certain ancient and stubborn rules, but Leon is not that kind of person. Judging from his fighting style, he is a person who will do anything to win.

"A beast," Sevita sneered inwardly, "just a knight in human skin."

Even if it were Conrad Coz, as long as Coz retained a shred of reason, he would not slaughter the innocent; this was the Lord of the Night's bottom line.

But whether lions have any bottom lines... that's hard to say.

This is also an advantage; the archangel only needs to clearly explain the pros and cons and give him some time, and the lion will be able to figure it out on his own.

And now... the archangel is clearly going to meet with Conrad Coz alone.

Severus glanced at the archangel without making it obvious; he had heard about the Blood Angels before.

If we use Imperial Truth as the boundary, we can simply categorize the Imperial Legions.

Tier 1: Those who absolutely believe in the Imperial Truth, and will even try to explain away demons using Imperial Truth—Ultraman, Fist of the Empire.

The second tier consists of those who believe in the Imperial Truth but are aware of what exists in the Warp and have always maintained an ambiguous attitude towards the Imperial Truth—White Scar, son of Horus.

The third tier consists of those who do not believe in the imperial truth and establish their own religion—the Word Bearers.

And among them... the Holy Blood Angels are actually in the middle between the second and third tiers.

The reason is simple—because on Baal, the mother planet of the Holy Blood Angels, there is indeed a religion that worships Saint Gilles as a god.

Back then, the archangel used his own return to the Empire with the Emperor as leverage to demand that the Emperor not abolish the religion on Baal.

The religion of the Word Bearers worships the Emperor as their god, while the Blood Angels worship the Archangels as their god.

From a worldly perspective, Saint Gilles' ambitions may be even greater than those of Luojia.

...This should have been a very worthwhile act to investigate, but Da Tian used his personal charm to suppress the probing gazes, so not many people criticized the religion on Baal.

Now, as Severta limped along, the archangel finally revealed his true colors: religion, the solution found by the emperor's perfect offspring.

Ironic.

Whatever, anyway, Severta couldn't bring himself to say anything praising the God-King or the Archangel with a devout expression; he'd rather have a demon crawl into his head.

However... speak human language to humans, and ghost language to ghosts. When you see an archangel, remember to praise the God-King!

That's how it is, Sevita muttered to himself.

Thank goodness Saint Gilles couldn't read minds, so he didn't know what this very cooperative Eighth Legion Commander was thinking. Otherwise, the Midnight Lord might have already been thrown back into the void.

The two walked in silence, the stench of blood growing stronger—a bad omen. Severta hoped Conrad wouldn't kill a few more Blood Angels in his madness.

The archangel before him had an expression that was almost icy cold.

Finally, after passing through one defense after another, the two stood before the prison cell.

Sevita remained silent.

He stared at his suffering father, Conrad Coz, and felt his eyes dry, wanting to cry, but in the end nothing came out.

Conrad stood there with his back to them, his bare upper body emaciated and covered in wounds. Before the Primarch lay a mass of countless machine servant corpses stitched together—

Statue of the Divine Emperor.

Using the original body's hair as threads, dense black lines emerged from the flesh, and the flesh writhed slightly, it was unclear whether it was maggots wriggling inside or the flesh still being fresh.

Sevita felt like he was about to vomit. Conrad was praying to a statue of a god-king... By Nostrama, kill him.

Meanwhile, alarm bells rang in Prince Raven's mind. Sevita cautiously watched the archangel, already considering what would happen if the angel felt insulted, or thought the Lord of the Night had utterly fallen.

So how should Sevita fight for Konrad until the very last moment?

Sevita's hand unconsciously reached for the dagger at his waist—

Saint Gilles, seemingly oblivious to his little trick, remained expressionless as he slowly raised his hand.

Start clapping.

Pop, pop, pop.

The angel clapped slowly, his expression stern.

[He has a real artistic talent; if you changed the material, I think Fugen would like it.]

Koz, who was talking to himself in front of the statue of the flesh and blood god, slowly turned his head, the blood tears already dried on his cheeks.

[…Fugen can't come back.]

He spoke hoarsely, and the next moment, the Primarch, imprisoned in the cell, slammed into the iron bar. Conrad shook the bar violently and in vain, his voice hoarse.

[He said He forgives me! He actually said He forgives me—what right does He have to forgive me?! My God—Foun is gone—and He still forgives me?! Does He forgive me on behalf of Fountain? Or does He forgive me on behalf of those I killed?!]

Severta realized that Conrad had fallen into madness again, more so than before, enough to frighten away any intelligent creature.

He was startled and took a step back, while the archangel, undeterred, stepped forward.

The angel, expressionless, bent down to meet the gaze of the hunched-over, tearful Kurtz.

[Scumbag]

The archangel suddenly broke into a familiar smile, staring intently at Koz, his blood-red eyes unreadable.

Then come out and atone for your sins.

【certainly,】

The angel smiled, reached out, and gently placed his hand on Conrad's hand, which was gripping the iron bar.

Then use force,

The prison guards who were holding Conrad Coz let out a faint scream.

Severta's pupils dilated as he watched the archangel casually pry open the iron bars and stroll into the cell. Conrad seemed to instinctively want to back away, but with the archangel holding his hand tightly, he had nowhere to escape.

Before proceeding, I believe it's necessary for us to get to know each other better.

Beneath the angel's smiling lips, sharp fangs were revealed.

[You agree, right? While everyone else is struggling to survive, this scumbag, relying on being the Primarch, only knows how to run away.]

The archangel slapped Coz, whose jawbone had just healed and who was screaming, shutting him up.

Great!

Chapter 462 Blood Exchange

The archangel stared at Koz.

He took a deep, deep breath, the bloodlust in his eyes fading, leaving only an eternal, chilling desolation.

Staring at Koz, the archangel caught a glimpse of the slowly collapsing statue of the flesh-and-blood god-emperor in his peripheral vision.

To be honest, he was very tired.

Saint Gilles is very tired now.

The whole world has fallen into hell.

And Saint Gilles stands right in the very center of the blazing world.

On the dark side of the empire, countless planets are falling, and the archangels can imagine the hellish scenes unfolding there.

The imperial truths proclaimed by the empire were shattered, demons emerged from the shadows, and amidst the flames, people screamed and embraced each other, ultimately transforming into monsters in the face of collapsing faith.

The determined soldiers may still be struggling, guarding the towers, the warehouses, and the airports, desperately clinging to the last glimmer of hope in their world with their dwindling ammunition.

Perhaps their sages used their bodies to support the last radio transmitter, perhaps their workers guarded the last signal array tower with their lives, perhaps their warriors used their blood and flesh to ensure the successful launch of the last spaceship—

But where can they go in this muddy world?

There is no hope.

For those beings, the time that mortals gain through their blood, flesh, and lives is meaningless.

Because these years without light have no end.

They can survive an hour, three hours, a day, a week on their faith in humanity, but after the last bullet is fired, those immortal creatures will return.

They face a blasphemous creation, a monster twisted from their own wives and children, and a hope they cannot see, a hope only in their own imagination—what reason do you have to criticize them, to tell them not to break down, not to surrender?

They collapsed, they surrendered, they died.

In the end, they will all be transformed into evil spirits in hell.

No one came to save them, no one told them that there should be hope in this world.

The angel's eyes were filled with weariness.

The truth of the Empire was false, and in the darker side of the Empire, its collapse brought even more unacceptable consequences.

This has lowered people's guard.

...They need faith to arm themselves.

The Archangel Baal knew this well.

They need strong people to save them, even if it's just to bring a glimmer of light to their world. They need to tell them that their hard work is meaningful and their struggle will have an outcome.

He needs to... establish a beacon of faith for the dark side of the empire as soon as possible.

Every minute, every second, billions of lives have been lost, and millions of worlds have been ignited. Now someone needs to stand up and tell them that this world can be saved.

...instead of being trapped on Baal by the demonic tide, arguing with his collapsing brothers.

The lion doesn't understand the value of life, and Coz is struggling to even save himself.

A strong person who does not seek his position is derelict in his duty.

The archangel stared wearily at Koz. To some extent, Saint Gilles, who was also a prophet, could understand Conrad Koz's pain.

But there is always greater suffering in this world, enough to crush an individual's misery.

Saint Gilles stared coldly at Conrad, then shoved Coz sharply backward.

The Lord of the Night crashed into the statue of the flesh-and-blood god-emperor. The Primarch's heavy weight caused the statue to collapse immediately, and Koz collapsed to the ground, beneath him were sticky chunks of flesh and blood.

Koz looked up and saw an archangel walking towards him against the light, the flickering candlelight burning on the archangel's blood-red shoulder armor.

Conrad felt his eyes burning. He painfully covered them, wanting to laugh, to speak sarcastically, to tell the angels that what he had seen was merely a tiny part of the Lord of Night's prophecy.

Koz chuckled, his broken jawbone scraping unpleasantly with each indistinct laugh.

He tried... he failed... his struggle was a necessary step in the process of fate completing a cycle—Konrad Coates, together with Leon Johnson, personally pushed Fugen into hell.

...He clearly resisted...Fugen will fall, he tried to kill the phoenix before that happened, he failed, he failed again.

Angel... angel... what will you do? You rebel against fate, but fate tells you that your rebellion is the necessary condition for its occurrence.

You can only watch helplessly as the world bursts into flames.

In a daze, Conrad Coz began to envy Mortalian—the Pale Lord had successfully escaped his fate, fleeing his predetermined destiny, relying on that person, relying on that person…

but……

Conrad Coates thought painfully and twistedly whether the consequences of their struggle against fate included this dead half of the galaxy.

If they hadn't resisted, would the dark side of the empire still exist today?

Koz was panting, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. The shadow of the angel loomed over him; the archangel crouched down, intently staring into Koz's fading pupils—