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

Page 374

The bells rang in the garden, seven long and lingering tones. With just one chance to fall into the illusion, He gained more weight in persuading the rebellious son to turn back...

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[Too rushed.]

Mortarian commented, his eyes reflecting the ominous atmosphere emanating from the hospital buildings.

Vox wasn't sure whether Mortarian was referring to themselves or their enemies.

At first glance, these buildings seem fine, but as soon as you get closer, a stench of decay hits you.

Everyone present donned the highest level of gas masks at the Lord of Death's warning, but the stench still seeped into their bones and penetrated their souls.

Fragmented screams and cries for help rose from the shadows behind the window. In a daze, Vox even saw the figure of a Death Guard swaying between the windows?!

Vox remained silent, checking his ammunition again to confirm the number of Death Guards following them.

"Sir, the Death Guard is ready to strike at any time."

He said, but then he saw Motarian frown at him and mutter something in a low voice, clearly displeased.

Then Mortarian opened the communication channel.

[Gage,]

Motalian spoke, casually propping up his sickle like a farmer standing on a field ridge, not at all like someone about to launch an attack.

[The Makulaq First Hospital and its three attached residential areas were subjected to saturation bombing with phosphorus and incendiary bombs. It is recommended to use phosphorus bombs with residual radiation.]

After Mortarian finished speaking, he looked up at the buildings again, then the Lord of Death turned around and began to retreat outside the bombing zone.

Vox fell silent again. As a Death Guard who had misunderstood the intentions of the Father of Genesis, he began to reflect.

Vox believed there would be a serious assault, a war against the warp creatures—just like Mortarion had done every time before.

The Lord of Death's recent agitated and belligerent mood seems to have led him to misjudge the situation...

Immediately afterwards, a channel of radio waves exploded like screams, and Vox could imagine the unfortunate vice commander screaming on the other end, while his Ultramariner comrades probably wished they could kill the man who had given the Death Guard authorization.

"My lord! I don't understand what you mean?!"

Mortarian frowned.

[I believe you can understand High Gothic. A saturation bombing with radioactive phosphorus bombs will cover three districts of the Macurag First Hospital. The bombing will begin in forty seconds.]

"Sir, this seems—"

If you don't do this,

Motalian said he looked up at the horizon, where thick clouds had gathered in a very short time, and it looked like it was about to rain.

Seeds and life will flourish after the rain.

The other side understands this principle, and so does Mortarion.

[If the Ultramarines don't follow my orders, Gage,]

Motalian said,

[Then the Death Guard will take over—you might say that the Death Guard doesn't currently have the air superiority of Makula, but the Death Guard can.]

Gage's anxious voice rang out.

"Sir, Macurag will not authorize..."

Mortarian listened with satisfaction as the Ultramariner's voice faded away. He deduced the unspoken meaning behind the Death Lord's words—the Death Guard wouldn't mind attacking Macragge and gaining air superiority over it.

Mortarian frowned. Time was running out, and he didn't want anything to go wrong at this point.

He took a deep breath, the stench of decay filling his nostrils.

If my judgment is wrong, then I am willing to bear all the consequences—I will personally await his trial when Guilliman returns.

The slightly trembling radio waves seemed to be trying to argue something.

Drip, the first barely perceptible raindrop fell at the feet of the Lord of Death. Mortarion lowered his head and silently gazed at the deeply damp ground.

Mortarian's serious, authoritative voice rang out.

Now, bomb this place. This is the last chance.

The Space Marines on the other side were torn; on one side was an area of ​​at least tens of thousands of people, and on the other was the Primarch's command—

Gage recalled Robert Killman's last words, and at that moment, he desperately wished that Killman hadn't left.

He stood there, feeling crushed by immense pressure.

Finally, Gage said,

"Sir, please give us a reasonable explanation afterward."

Mortalian's eyes crinkled into a mischievous wrinkle. He chuckled dryly, watching with satisfaction as the roar of stormbirds echoed from the sky, and the warship's sleek fuselage pierced through the clouds, flying towards the area.

He seemed to hear the exclamations of busybodies in the distance; perhaps their family, relatives, and friends were in this hospital—but they were powerless to help.

The first phosphorescent bomb traced a perfect arc through the air, exploding in a violent and eerie burst of bright flames, blasting through the hospital walls and sending limbs flying.

From the Primarch's perspective, Mortarion saw the mottled walls stained with fungi.

He saw those still standing, "living" corpses.

But they were about to disappear again, Mortarian thought, and he would not recklessly rush into the enemy's trap again, even if it would come at a great cost—but it would be worth it.

Phosphorus bombs rained down one after another, and the Ultramarines even threw smoke bombs. Perhaps for them, this was necessary to cut off the outside world from this hell on earth.

He will not lose this battle easily.

Mortarian realized that he could accurately predict the enemy's trajectory, and that being shared a very high degree of similarity with him, which made his calculations even more precise.

And he was no longer the Mortarion who could be easily provoked by emotions and jump into enemy traps.

Even if you do that, it means giving up a lot.

Mortarian chose to give up.

Mortarian remained silent. Even though the veil here was trembling, this was still the physical world. Chaos could not directly summon their demonic armies; they needed rituals and anchors—and Mortarian would not allow these things to exist for long.

He was curious about what other tricks the enemy might have up their sleeve.

Beneath his hood, Mortarian chuckled. Ruthless and unscrupulous—this was originally used to describe Hades.

The Primarch stood there, his scales burning fiercely, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air, which put him in a good mood.

The hospital and surrounding buildings are now half-destroyed, and after a second round of bombing, this place will become a true wasteland.

There is no life left, and the residual high radiation from the phosphorus bomb will also eliminate any life that follows, thus disinfecting the area for a long time.

Mortarian thought, his Primarch's instincts alerting him to something amiss—he looked up again.

His eyes reflected a new round of phosphorescent fireballs that were precisely falling towards his area.

? !

In the instant he was struck by the shockwave of the phosphorescent bomb into the wreckage of the hospital, Mortarian realized what he had overlooked—

There are traitors among the Ultramarines, just like the Deathguards.

Unfortunately, Robert Killieman did not eliminate them.

Yay! That's all!

Chapter 442 Saving Two

With a frown, Makado couldn't wait for the shuttle's steps to extend before the old man jumped down with remarkable agility.

Behind him, the Sage Gold Statue crashed down like a giant beast, sending a deafening roar across the Devourer's deck.

The fleet led by Makado has now arrived at the side of the World Eater warship that is furthest from the spaceport.

"Sir, shouldn't we join up with the Ultramarines and Death Guards who are currently providing aid?"

Jin asked, and Makado waved his scepter, causing golden sparks to fly out and the blood-red color to dissipate.

"No need."

The flames pointed them in the right direction, and Macado headed straight for the nearest hatch on the deck.

Gold and Sister Silence followed him.

The old man moved quickly, and Makado knew that at this moment, time was life.

He hunched over as he walked into the blood mist. The good news was that the veil here had not weakened further—the previous summoning had consumed too much of their energy.

In the narrow corridor, the crimson monster cast its gaze upon the group. Macado coughed; he was not a martial man, and this first battle was against Khorne…

This was quite a shock for his old bones.

Macado slammed his scepter down on the ground, causing his robes to flutter and rustle without wind, and an invisible shockwave carrying golden flames rippled outwards!

He sensed the locations where the two Primarchs were trapped. Macardo casually wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. Angron and Robert Guilliman—one of them, if they possessed even a shred of psionic knowledge…wouldn't…

Makado took a deep breath.

Those useless fellows! Let him do it!

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The arid, scarlet desert stretches endlessly.

Anglo breaths came from his mouth as the Primarch sat half-sitting on the sand, breathing weakly.

Angron gave a wry smile.

You need to take a break, bro.

They were trapped here, in a dream world, where time had lost its meaning.

Robert Killman, who was sitting next to him, didn't even lift his eyelids. He was muttering to himself like a program that had entered an infinite loop without any input signal.

Anglong recognized that it was Robert Guilliman summarizing his failures, not just this battle, but Guilliman recalling every mistake, and the subsequent review and changes.

Killieman stopped before summarizing the mistakes of his 19th Company.

I realized very early on that the truth is always cruel.

Guilliman said hoarsely, "Not everything gives you a chance to learn and change; events are often worse, they don't even give you a chance to observe."

Angron lowered his eyes, stroking the dry handle of the battle axe in his hand.

Survival requires luck.

Guilliman turned his gaze to the distant, dry horizon.

I was once lucky.

Killieman shifted his gaze, his eyes trembling for a moment as they fell upon the dead nail on Angron's head.

Angron sighed.

Let's wait.

He says,

I believe Mortarian will come, and even if he acts extremely, he will be rational.

Guilliman also sighed deeply, and he said calmly,

[...I admit, I was prejudiced against him.]

But now I realize that this is his own wisdom for survival.

The Lord of Red Sand smiled.

After we leave, you should have a proper talk.

Guilliman remained silent for a long time before finally speaking.

I hope Mortarian—

"come over!!!"

The two Primarchs abruptly turned their heads simultaneously, staring at a corner of the crimson desert where faint shouts seemed to emanate.

Killieman looked at Anglon, silently asking whether he was friend or foe.

Angron frowned, struggling to make out the shapes with his lips.