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

Page 296

Seriously, with this update frequency, any other story would have exploded in popularity long ago. Luckily, Warhammer is currently a blue ocean market, which is why I'm still alive. (Choking up, wiping away tears, the heart that was being manipulated by Warhammer is warming up again)

So I'm not asking for any votes, just subscriptions are enough. I'm also very grateful to everyone who has been following along and to the generous donors. If I have the ability, I will definitely make up for the missed updates.

Consider this post as a celebration of reaching one million words. When I first started writing, I never imagined I could reach one million words without too much of a mess.

Perhaps this is the blessing that my benevolent father, Nagu, bestowed upon me from beyond the heavens.

Great!

Chapter 358 The Embers of Ulanno

The Lord of Death stood silently on the wasteland, and behind his pale and weary figure stood his equally taciturn offspring.

The wind blew, and the tattered gray cloak billowed up.

This was intentional.

Mortarian's hoarse voice broke off with the wind, but Garo and Vox behind him heard it clearly.

The sound paused in his throat.

That conman is leaving.

Beneath the shadow of the hood, in the depths of his eyes, Mortarion gazed into the distance with an indistinct light. The Pale King could already picture the ridiculous and comical scene before him.

That was... the very heart of the war, the place where everyone was the center of attention, where the Lord of Mankind and his most "favored" son were putting on a boring drama, even though neither of them noticed anything amiss.

Will the other brothers, those brothers who are either jealous or defeated, be like the Lord of Death? They stand on the edge of the battlefield, the green shards beneath their feet emitting a foul smell, yet their hearts are tightly bound to that place that is destined to be out of their reach.

A sneer escaped from beneath the gas mask. Mortarian never believed his biological father's tricks. A man who could descend upon the highest peak of Barbarus without any burden—he wouldn't be defeated by the Greenskins, or at least... he wouldn't be so humiliated.

When the Emperor looked expectantly at Horus on several occasions during the council meetings, Mortarion already knew how things would turn out.

The only thing that puzzled him was that Mortarion knew Horus wouldn't be such a shallow person, but when it came to the Emperor... the Wolf God was terribly foolish.

He was too eager to gain the emperor's approval, even though they all knew that the liar's words were just a joke.

But that's Horus's business; Mortarion doesn't care about it at all.

The Emperor himself staged a grand drama to elevate his first found son to the empire's altar—Motalian could only interpret this as a signal, a signal that the symbol of the Emperor was about to dissolve.

After all, no country can have two monarchs; the ascension of a son to the throne inevitably means the passing of the old emperor.

Mortarian gripped his scythe. He didn't care about the Warmaster, nor did he care about the Emperor, but the question was... where was Hades?

Mortarian angrily confronted Macardo, demanding to know where he had sent his commanders, but received nothing but empty words.

So Mortarion chose an auspicious day, a day when several legions were preparing for war, and stormed directly into the Emperor's Dream. On that day, the golden guards lay scattered in the corridors, and Mortarion successfully received a reply from the Emperor himself—"We'll meet again."

The implication here is that Hades is at least intact enough to be identified by Mortarion.

The Lord of Death took a few deep breaths... Well, he accepted the reply.

It wasn't because the Emperor's psychic radiance was too overwhelming; Mortarion chose the date precisely when the Emperor was slowly comforting Horus, and Mortarion clearly did it on purpose.

War, that's how war is. Mortarian doesn't accept a foolish death, but he accepts dying in battle; it will be the final destination for every life.

Although he struggled to survive, crawling out of the ruins, barely alive, surviving enemy orbital bombardment, and stumbling out of a sorcery circle...

Motalian only knew that this was not his end, so he had to live.

He also hoped... that Hades had not yet met his end, but if Hades had, all the Lord of Death could do was offer his congratulations.

A congratulatory message tinged with a touch of sadness.

Mortarian let out a cough that sounded like he was dying, banishing the thought from his mind. At least the Emperor, that liar, had given him a promise that wasn't really a promise.

He gazed calmly into the distance; the smoke of battle still lingered, but Mortarian knew this comedy was over.

Golden light and cheers erupted from afar. The Lord of Death turned around indifferently, lowered his hand, and gestured for his battle-hardened, weary Death Guards to retreat.

------------

This was a grand military parade.

It takes place after the drama of appointing the war commander.

On the observation deck, Mortarian indifferently swirled the wine in his glass, watching with amusement as the endless array of warriors contorted into a ridiculous image at one end of the glass.

Among them were his proud Deathguards, but Mortarion preferred to see his offspring in the training grounds rather than in the mess hall, rather than in these meaningless privates.

A military parade is like showing off your guns one by one; Mortarian doesn't understand this foolish behavior.

Even though his pistol, the Netherworld Lamp, lay heavily beside him, it gave the Lord of Death a sense of security, because he wasn't the only one on the observation deck.

Mortarian sat motionless on the sofa in the shadowy corner, his brothers tacitly ignoring him—because he had already been labeled a "bad-tempered freak."

This saved Motalian a lot of unnecessary pretexts, thanks to himself.

He overheard Saint Gilles and Fugen talking loudly. The birdman seemed relatively restrained, but the chattering, boastful fellow was quite the opposite. Fugen was giving a high-profile analysis of the rationale for Horus becoming the warlord—a futile attempt to cover up his true intentions.

Khan, on the other side, would occasionally interrupt their conversation.

Aside from their blood and genes, Mortarian had no interest in them. Thank goodness the angels ignored him. Although Fugen clearly seemed curious about Mortarian, Mortarian's aura of unapproachability successfully kept him at bay.

The Khan, like Mortarion, didn't care.

But there are still more Primarchs on this planet than just these few. Magnus, whose head Mortalion wants to cut off, is talking to Horus.

Magnus initially chatted with the Khan and the angels here, but after realizing that the Lord of Death was heading to this terrace, Magnus decisively went to chat with Horus—while Horus was in his own little room, digesting the news of his becoming the Warmaster.

Hearing that Luo Jia would also be arriving here, Mortalian listened to Fugen's loud commotion, and it seemed that Luo Jia had started chatting with Magnus on the way.

not interested.

Mortarion only knew two Primarchs: Horus and Sangilius. His goodwill towards Horus was completely exhausted after witnessing Horus's foolishness before the Emperor. As for the birdman... Mortarion only knew that Sangilius could subdue him.

Therefore, Mortalian cautiously kept his distance from Saint Gilles, although Saint Gilles seemed to play a significant role in preventing Fugen from shifting his interest to Mortalian.

But in the end, Fugan raised his silver eyebrows and cast his purple eyes with interest at Mortarian.

Not good.

Mortarian thought to himself, while hoping the wind on the terrace would blow the poisonous fumes around him toward the flamboyant phoenix, thus deterring the glittering fellow from bothering him.

However, Mortalian was not a wizard; he could not change the wind's direction. He slowly and desperately realized that Fukugan was looking at him and had spoken. Fukugan seemed to relish the lively atmosphere.

Unlike his previous tone, Fugen had clearly made his accent more normal, no longer carrying that damned air of nobility.

【Mortalian, I've heard you have a good relationship with Horus. What gift do you plan to send him?】

The phoenix winked slyly at Mortarion, seemingly anticipating his reply in a friendly manner.

Mortarian remained motionless, and a voice, as if dead for seven hundred years, emanated from within the armor.

I have no affinity with Horus.

After a moment of silence, Fugen waited for Mortarian to speak next, but it was clear that Mortarian had no intention of saying anything more, so Fugen had to speak again.

But I think you also care for Horus—

Fugen laughed.

[Now you should call me Commander-in-Chief. Have you prepared a gift?]

He watched as the corpse slowly moved, and Mortarian picked up the bottles and jars tied to his armor, speaking in a hoarse voice,

I was prepared long ago... I was prepared the first time I met Horus.

And everyone has it.

Mortarian silently added the second half of the sentence in his mind.

Perhaps because he hadn't expected the Lord of Death's answer, Fugen paused briefly before smoothly leading into the gift he had prepared for the Warmaster. In addition, Phoenix had also thoughtfully prepared a consolation gift for Fenus, who had been rejected.

He started chattering again, describing and praising the gifts his other brothers had prepared for the warlord, which sparked a new round of discussion. Even the Khan, who had just thought he didn't care about anything, had carefully prepared a surprise for Horus.

Very well, attention has shifted away from Mortarian again, and Mortarian has chosen to remain a silent corpse.

He heard footsteps coming upstairs; someone was coming.

Motalian subtly moved his hand toward his waist; if it were Magnus who came up, he would give him two shots as a greeting.

A figure peeked out; it wasn't the flamboyant red-haired man. Mortarian sighed, expressing his regret.

He brazenly peered at the newcomer from behind his hood and the poison gas. The newcomer wore a dull hood, and his armor reminded Mortarion of some mad ascetic. Golden runes were carved on his face, making him look holy and devout.

Two lines of bloody tears, frozen on either side of her cheeks, also served as a unique decorative feature.

Mortarian had seen enough and silently looked away.

[Luojia?! I didn't expect you to come too.]

Fugen, relying on his usual enthusiasm, was the first to welcome the newcomer, but it was clear that he and the newcomer did not have a good relationship. After that, Phoenix shut up—while the Khan began to talk to Luojia.

Previously, it was the angels and Fugen who were talking, while the Khan, like Mortarion, rarely spoke, and his words were mostly insightful. This kept Mortarion interested in the Khan's words, so the Lord of Death began to listen to their conversation.

The Khan raised his hand, signaling the servant to pour Luo Jia some wine. Luo Jia smiled wryly and waved his hand, then ordered the servant to bring him a glass of water.

Then Luo Jia raised his glass and said in a hoarse voice...

Forgive my disrespect, but perhaps I shouldn't have been so abstinent at my good brother's ceremony, but I have already made a vow.

Then Luo Jia raised his glass and drank the water in one gulp, as if it were wine.

The man with the sweat on his back sat up and looked at Luo Jia.

How have you been? The air around you seems a bit stagnant.

Thanks for your concern, brother.

Luo Jia said hoarsely, his voice seemingly damaged.

"...I simply saw some of the truth."

Mortarian lifted his ear.

He is God.

Mortarian let out a disgruntled snort. Foolish! The Lord of Death thought he was starting to despise him for having just taken an interest in him.

But apart from Mortarion, the other Primarchs were aware of the situation of the Lorgar, who worshipped their father, which was nothing new.

The Khan frowned, as if a fly on horseback had bumped into his face.

A horse that only focuses on running will be broken by a mouse hole. Perhaps you should look at other scenery, Luojia.

Luo Jia smiled, a knowing look on his face.

I know what you mean, brother, but I can't... tell you what I've been through. I saw the other side of the paper, the shadow behind the light. Gods do exist, but not in the way I initially thought.

The Khan frowned deeply, leaned forward, lowered his voice, and let out a tiger-like roar.

Tell me, Luojia... is this related to the Supreme Heaven?

You mean the warp? No, it doesn't matter. This doesn't involve psionic powers; it's simply a matter of faith.

Luo Jia answered the Khan's question blankly, and after seeing Luo Jia's reaction, the Khan leaned back lazily in his chair again.

I was overthinking it.

[Psionic...you might want to talk to Magnus; he was just trying to tell me about his recent discoveries about the warp.]

Luo Jia smiled wryly, seemingly recalling his conversation with Magnus just now.

He also tried to analyze everything I experienced using psychic abilities—no, what I experienced was entirely a trial, a test of the believer by God, not simply a matter of the warp.

The Khan took a large gulp of wine, then thoughtfully toyed with the wolf fang attached to his helmet.

Did my words just now upset you, brother?

No, that's not the case.

Luo Jia immediately apologized humbly. Among the many Primarchs, he was the most gentle one, as he worshipped the Emperor as a god.

This is why he was able to get along well with the most arrogant Magnus.

But psychic powers aren't the answer to all problems; my brother, faith is.

The man in the thick sweat gave a muffled "hmm," which was taken as an agreement.

As if to refute Magnus, who had been talking to him about psychic powers, Luo Jia continued speaking.

Faith is what allows humanity to survive in this vast universe; faith tells humanity what they are and what they should do.

However, Magnus himself just said to Luo Jia, "Faith is an ugly word."