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

Page 363

Most Space Marines have a habit of disrespecting civilians, and even Salamanders have a condescending attitude.

Hades praised the roadside food stalls in Macurag with great interest and expressed his determination to try them.

Guilliman believes he would hardly ever see another soldier say such things again, so approachable and sincere.

Unfortunately, none of them were Hades.

Guilliman exclaimed again and again.

Oh... my brother, what is Mortarion doing?

Angron's abrupt question interrupted Guilliman's thoughts, and Guilliman sighed inwardly.

He was visiting Makula.

Killieman said,

I very much wanted to accompany him, but I still had official duties to attend to, so I had my children accompany him instead.

Guilliman paused for a moment, his voice tinged with a hint of gritted teeth.

He didn't mention wanting to inspect the defenses of Macragge—he just seemed to be aimlessly wandering around; I can't understand his behavior.

Angron responded to Guilliman's words. The Lord of the Red Sands was gazing into the distance, his eyes gleaming.

Even though Angron has not fully recovered, he still felt... rather intense emotions.

That direction... seems to be... Mortarion?

I can understand the actions of the Lord of Death.

Anglong said it was as if he was recalling something funny.

I met Mortarian once, and it seems he's still hung up on Macurag too.

【but,】

Angron paused,

Should we check it out, Killieman? There seems to be some commotion at your Macurag location.

Angron turned his head and saw that Guilliman had a look of helplessness and disgust on his face.

【Motalian?】

Lord Macurag asked tentatively.

Then Guilliman saw the affirmative answer in Angron's eyes.

Mortarian?!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In the civilian district far from the port, a tall, gaunt, ghostly monster stood on the street.

Behind him, the crowd thronged together, whispering in surprise.

Mortarian lowered his eyes, staring at the food stall in front of him, without saying a word.

The stall owner in front of him looked like he was about to cry. The mortal looked at the Ultramarines behind the Lord of Death with pleading eyes, but the Ultramarines, who were usually trusted by people, looked so insignificant next to Mortalian.

Perhaps only Lord Guilliman could stand against such a giant.

Finally, perhaps because Mortarion had remained silent for too long, causing traffic congestion and a crowd to gather, the unfortunate Ultramariner beside Mortarion silently took a step forward.

"……grown ups?"

He asked tentatively, but Mortarian raised his hand, stopping him from continuing.

Motarian ordered some of the Macurag specialty foods displayed by the stall owner.

I want this, this, and this.

The mortals before him, as if pardoned from the death penalty, immediately prepared themselves at top speed. Garo, who was beside Mortalian, stepped forward, and the veteran took the pancake-like dessert with cute animals drawn on it.

Mortarian turned his head and looked at the Ultramariner who had just stepped forward.

You pay double, then go to Guilliman to collect the money and tell him it was his treat.

【…】

If he refuses, then tell him that he invited Hades.

"Motalian said without changing his expression."

Great!

Chapter 427 Two people were squatting, and one person was standing.

At this moment, Makula is teeming with people.

People came and went, men, women, old people, and children, bustling about as they crossed the wide streets toward their destinations, whether it be a tavern or the port of Macurag.

This scene was reflected in Mortalian's eyes. He seemed to be thinking, or perhaps he wasn't thinking at all. He silently noted down what he saw and observed.

……

Perhaps staying here is not the right choice.

Motalian's eyes darkened, but he said nothing. He leaned against the wall naturally, holding the pancake-like snacks he had "bought" in his hand. The fruit pancakes, about the size of an ordinary person, looked like a biscuit in his hand.

【Motalian,】

Guilliman's voice came through the communication channel, tinged with barely concealed anger. Mortalian wisely shut down the communication, waiting for his brother, who was always quick to anger over the smallest things, to arrive.

He watched indifferently as the crowd that had gathered around them dispersed after a gasp, followed by the familiar blue armor. Mortarion raised an eyebrow as he saw his brothers walking toward him.

Unsurprisingly, Guilliman maintained his standard smile, but Mortalian could see the murderous intent in it, but another…

...Angron?

An unexpected fellow, but Mortarian didn't care.

------

Killieman took a deep breath, silently turned his head to glance at the two people beside him, then took another deep breath and resignedly covered his eyes with his hand.

At this moment, the entire street was blocked off, and the extreme warriors were patrolling the intersections seriously, patiently persuading pedestrians to take alternative routes.

And all of this is for...

Killieman took another deep breath.

Beside him, two Primarchs, Mortarion and Angron, were squatting by the street, eating and chatting.

They have no awareness or self-image as the original entity.

If Guilliman had studied some kind of ancient Terran proverb, then he would probably be thinking now,

It's hard, the fist is hard.

Killieman took a deep breath. He would certainly like his brother to visit his territory—but not now.

Lacking any Primarch authority, Guilliman felt ashamed to be on the same street as Mortalian.

His brothers must have been noble and honorable men, like Saint Gilles or Fugen, all Primarchs who valued their personal and legionary image, even Ruth—

No, Ruth won't do, Killieman thought. That wolf might also rush into the streets of Macurag and harass his people.

Now Mortari is positioned behind Russ.

Killieman thought angrily, but based on his initial impression of Angron, Killieman automatically assumed that Mortalian had corrupted Angron.

Instead of doing what he had done before, Angron skillfully took the pancake from Mortarion's hand, and after looking around, found that there was no chair the size of the Primarch, so Angron naturally squatted down.

After Angron crouched down, Mortarion also silently crouched down.

The two Primarchs turned their heads to look at Guilliman, who was still standing beside them.

Killieman maintained a perfect smile, like a statue.

So the two stopped paying attention to Guilliman and began to focus on dealing with the Macurag specialties they had.

What do you think of this place, bro?

Angron said he observed this street-side pancake, personally selected by the Lord of Death and forcibly paid for by the Lord of Macuragh.

This was a simple white pancake, covered with cloud-like light cream, interspersed with fresh red and purple berries. This reminded Angron of Nuseria. Had similar berries grown in the high mountains of Nuseria? He had seen such fruit-colored garnishes on the tables of nobles.

Angron smiled; all that was in the past. He looked at the smiling dog shapes that had appeared on the pancakes due to varying temperatures, took a bite, and

Mortarian slowly examined the tortilla he had just chosen, as if he had anorexia. The look in his eyes was less eager than when he looked at the bullets from his bomb gun.

But a long time ago, when he hadn't received his meals in his office for three days in a row, the look in his eyes when he kicked down Hades' office door wasn't like this.

【……not good.】

Motarian said he carefully picked up a mint-like green leaf from the outside of the pancake and ate it. The stimulating, slightly sweet taste burst in his mouth, and the expression on Motarian's face proved that he did not like sweets.

Guilliman turned his head and laughed, a laugh brighter than the August sun, as was the anger in his eyes.

【I implore you to repeat what you just said, Mortarian.】

No, Mortarian thought, we've already fought, there's no point in fighting again.

【very good,】

Motalian said,

[In terms of aesthetics alone.]

He added, then turned away, bored, deciding not to argue with this guy who was always making a fuss over nothing.

Mortalian didn't understand Guilliman's emphasis on personal image and honor, just as Guilliman didn't understand that sometimes, for the sake of security, he needed to sacrifice some freedom and prosperity.

He wouldn't understand.

Mortarian thought that at least Guilliman would have to suffer a bit. He would remind Guilliman, but the choice was in the hands of the Lord of Macragge, after all, this was his Macragge.

He stared at the canine creature smiling at him on the tortilla. This shouldn't be happening. Mortarian should be on the battlefield, not idling here. He's wasting his life in such an extravagant way.

He should be fighting against alien races on the battlefield, he should be at the command table, he should be on the front line, he could even be in the medical room, instead of squatting aimlessly on the streets of Macurag, wasting his life with two idiots who have no idea what's going on.

Even someone as lazy as Hades wouldn't choose to relax at a time like this.

Angron blinked, and the Lord of the Red Sands sensed something. He stared at his now empty hands, savoring the taste of Makurag.

With its sweet and sour flavor and perfectly balanced mellow aroma, Macurag is synonymous with freshness and vitality. Everything here is vibrant, full of hope and energy, but for some, it might be a bit too intense.

Are you nervous?

Angron abruptly asked the question, without looking at Mortalian, even though the wind generated by Mortalian's sudden turn of his head blew onto Angron's face.

It seems you have everything under control, Angron, completely informed of what's happening.

Mortarian's mocking voice rang out, and Angron raised his hand to indicate that he meant no harm.

I'm very nervous too.

He says,

We don't know what happened, but we're certain something bad has occurred.

Mortarian sneered, mocking Angron's nonsense.

Angron slowed his speech, feeling each word linger in his mouth, then carried by the winds of Macurag.

【Motalian,】

Angron's tone turned serious.

Right now, I have a bad feeling about this, so I want to confirm something with you.

He heard Mortarion's breathing stop, and after a long while, the Lord of Death whispered a quick sentence.

I am willing to answer.

It seems he may have realized what the Lord of the Red Sands wanted to ask.

Angron paused for a moment, as if in mourning.

Is he still alive?

Angron asked,

But the answer he received was not a declarative sentence.