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

Page 278

"I'm not thinking straight right now, Mortarian. I don't want you trying to provoke me, even if you'd like to."

Motalian smiled and released his grip, seemingly confirming that Fernus was still functioning normally.

【The Eldar are always cunning; this is not the place for conversation—Vulcan and your offspring await us; we must depart.】

【but,】

Motalian said slowly,

Would you be willing to let me see the monster behind you, my brother?

Fenus remained silent. He walked coldly to Mortarion's side, keeping a close eye on Mortarion out of the corner of his eye, awaiting the Lord of Death's reaction.

Mortarian turned his head; the serpent's face was disheveled, tangled in messy hair and blood, but his distinctive eyes still allowed him to recognize who it was.

...Fugen?

Motalian had never actually met Fugan, but he had seen portraits and sculptures of his brothers—especially the ones who liked to publicize themselves.

The answer was as expected. Mortalian himself had seen the illusions, and the feeling was unforgettable.

Mortarian opened his mouth,

[So you and Fugen are on good terms; I had indeed heard about it before.]

His response was met with Phenus's wide eyes, clearly puzzled and surprised by Mortalian's lackluster reaction.

Mortarian spoke calmly.

【Excuse me, let us go find Vulcan first. Time is running out. A candidate for the Great War General, experiencing something like this... there's no need to panic so much.】

That's it! Great!

Chapter 333 Motari was ashen-hearted.

Mortarian strode ahead, with the Foundry and the Soulless clearing a path for him. Fenus followed behind him, puzzled, but did not interfere with Mortarian's actions.

Following the same method, the Death Guard blasted open the first door, and Mortarion stepped right in—then he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Is it not an illusion?

A strong stench of blood filled the air, and a thin layer of blood accumulated, reluctantly dripping from Mortarion's pale boots as he walked.

Human corpses lay scattered on the ground.

In the very center of the room, the Lord of Fire Dragons stood sadly with his warhammer, and at his feet lay the Eldar witch whose neck had been snapped.

As soon as the Lord of Death stepped into the room, Vulcan and his Firewood followers immediately bowed to him. From their reaction, Mortarian judged that Vulcan was not yet at the point where he wanted to punch him in the face.

But… Mortarian glanced at the Eldar corpse. He could understand Fenus, but this was…

Are you mourning the Elven race, Vulcan? There's no need to mourn for so long over a single corpse; there are many more out there.

Fenus let out a disgruntled sigh behind Mortarian, but Mortarian ignored him, his eyes fixed on Vulcan.

Vulcan turned around. The good news was that the Lord of the Dragons had not lost some of his original qualities like Gorgon had. Vulcan's face still bore the expression of pity and guilt that Mortarion despised.

A dried tear stain clung to his dark face.

Beneath the gas mask, Mortarian let out a muffled sound of disgust.

I know this Eldar, Mortarion.

【What? Did it give you some vague prophecy, or do you... take it very seriously?】

Mortarian felt Fenus stir unhappily behind him, but Gorgon ultimately remained silent.

【No……】

"Vulcan said softly,"

She was one of the Dark Eldar who attacked Nocturne, and she killed a blacksmith I knew.

Now that you've avenged yourself, why are you crying?

Motarian's aggressive words startled Vulcan. He subconsciously rubbed his face with his fingers, but apart from the sticky sweat, he didn't feel any tears.

[I... am not grieving for the death of this Eldar, my brother. The humans here have fallen. When I saw them, they were torturing this Eldar in the manner of the Dark Eldar.]

Vulcan took a deep breath; he felt his tongue trembling.

Human civilization here has been corrupted, unimaginably... intolerably... The Eldar here rescued these people from the Dark Eldar, but they have instead absorbed the Dark Eldar's culture, and they have begun to torture their former abusers.

Vulcan took another deep breath, his anger burning quietly in his chest, and he made his resolve even stronger.

This planet... needs an extinction order.

He had hoped to save humanity on this planet, but now he realizes he is powerless to do so.

Vulcan awaited his brothers' reaction—would they argue with him, would they ridicule him?

But when he looked up, he saw Mortarian looking at him with a complicated expression.

The Lord of Death spoke,

"…Vulcan, do you mean you believe that human civilization on this planet is beyond saving, and therefore you want to use an extermination order?"

Vulcan nodded heavily and slowly. He had killed these unarmed people, and he had to bear the consequences.

Fenus, who had been following Mortarion, spoke up. After leaving the serpent's illusion, the Lord of Medusa had clearly recovered quickly; perhaps he simply wanted to stop thinking about that incident.

[Vulcan, you've invested too much affection in the local people. This isn't a good thing; your empathy will destroy you and your army.]

Vulcan looked back at Fernus and said softly,

No, it shaped us. I understand now. This is what he wants us to do.

However, while Fernus and Vulcan were talking, Mortarian remained silent. The Lord of Death was breathing heavily under his gas mask, as if pondering why he was there.

Finally, Mortarion interrupted the two Primarchs' conversation with a low voice.

Let's get out of here first, and then issue that damned extermination order—no, Vulcan, don't look at me like that, I didn't agree to your extermination order because of the savages here.

The Lord of Death left first, and before he stepped out of the door, Vulcan clearly heard Mortarian mutter a curse.

He didn't understand what he was cursing; Mortarian was cursing in Barbarosian.

But the things he said must have been very vulgar.

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

【Fireforge】

The Salamander's Glory Queen is practically a giant blacksmith shop, with furnaces burning fiercely everywhere. The Salamanders seem to treat the furnaces and steel as some kind of decorative stickers that can be stuck anywhere.

The Lord of Death leaned lazily against a large sofa, his giant scythe casually placed beside the armrest. In front of him was a small decorative hearth, the flames crackling.

The Deathguard ships were lurking near the Salamander ships, and Mortarion could order them to attack immediately if necessary—which was why Mortarion was currently safely aboard the Salamanders.

Perhaps there is another possibility: that Mortalian did not believe that someone as empathetic as Vulcan would suddenly go mad or fall into depravity.

...He was too...kind, so kind as to be foolish.

Mortarian leaned back on the sofa, waiting with a mixture of satisfaction and a touch of speechlessness, as if he could sense the Cyclone torpedoes being loaded through the trembling of the deck beneath his feet.

Fernus paced anxiously to the side, his movements restrained but unable to conceal his unease.

Mortarian glanced at Fernus; compared to Furgan, even the Lord of Death could understand Fernus's behavior.

Even after five standard Terras, Mortarian still couldn't understand Vulcan's thinking.

[Shall we sit down and talk?]

Fenus stopped walking and gave Mortarian a deep look. Vulcan had gone to direct the deployment of the Extinction Order, and the Lord of the Dragons had asked him to personally participate in and remember this inevitable crime.

Are you here?

Mortarian indifferently hid his gaze in the shadow of his hood.

There was no one else here, or any eavesdropping devices. I asked Vulcan for a room to talk alone, and our "kind" brother actually prepared one for us—he didn't even seem to care.

Finus glanced at Mortarian, then began to look around the room, and Mortarian believed he would come to the same conclusion.

Moreover, Finus was more familiar with these metal objects than he was.

Finally, Fernus remained silent for a moment, then sat down opposite Mortarion.

His piercing gaze was hidden in his deep-set eyes.

You don't seem surprised at all.

Mortarian looked at him.

That's just an illusion; its purpose is to stir up your deepest emotions and make you lose your mind.

Fenus's lips tightened into a taut line as he thought of the two Eldar... they... didn't seem to have any ill intentions.

I reserve my opinion, my brother. So what did you see in your illusion?

Mortarian looked away and mumbled something indistinctly.

[Pretty much, the death of a close friend, the depravity of offspring... that's about it; they can't think of anything more distinctive.]

Phenus pressed on,

Are you completely unmoved by this, Mortarian?

Mortarian scoffed.

Instead, ask yourself, Fernus, why is your reaction so strong?

Fernus's lips twitched slightly.

I don't believe this is simply a hallucination; it's too real, so real that my senses don't tell me I'm being deceived.

These words made the Lord of Death, who was leaning back on the sofa, sit up straight. Mortarion leaned forward, gripping the armrests tightly, and a curious light shone in his eyes hidden by his hood.

【Phenus, if you insist on this... assuming all of this is true according to your reasoning, then what would you do?】

I mean, my brother, if... your dearest friend Fugen has truly fallen.

"boom!"

A sudden clang of metal rang out as Mortarian held his scythe, sparks flying between the scythe and Fernus's hand. Fernus left his seat, seemingly still intent on punching Mortarian.

Reason, my brother.

Mortarian maintained his sarcastic tone, but his voice trembled, and it took considerable strength for him to confront Fernus.

Phenus, sitting opposite him, stared straight at him, his iron-gray eyes filled with rage. He was like a wild beast from his homeland, so angry and impulsive.

【Motalian, I'm warning you one last time: you are not to mention this again—neither in front of me nor in front of anyone else.】

He looked at Mortarian, and to his surprise, Mortarian chuckled softly. He seemed pleased with Fernus's attack, though the laughter made the scythe he was using to block Fernus tremble.

If you want me to shut up, what are you willing to pay me?

Fernus abruptly pulled his hand back, causing Mortarion to stumble forward, but the Lord of Death quickly regained his balance. He remained seated, watching Fernus with interest, who was now standing awkwardly due to his earlier lapse in composure.

The Queen of Medusa spoke coldly.

Is this what you wanted, Mortarian? What do you hope to take from me after mocking me?

To his surprise, Mortarian's smile vanished, and the Lord of Death stared at him gloomily.

No… I just… feel a familiarity with your current situation, a sorrowful familiarity, Finus.

What I want...

Mortarian whispered.

I'd like to hear your thoughts on this—if it's true, what would you do?

Mortarian stared at Fernus, and he thought of himself.

Finus stared at Mortarian with a mixture of caution and anger. Mortarian looked back at him calmly, his eyes as still as lakes, as if vouching for his words.

So Phenus carefully sat back down, his head bowed in annoyance, but he was not upset about his rash actions.

If my line of thinking holds true, the future truly is this absurd...

Phenus gasped for breath as the serpent's face reappeared before him, a face that resembled his best friend's, yet carried an aura of blasphemy and depravity. Desire clung to the serpent's body like a veil, and the monster teased him, telling him a story known only to the two of them.

...Fugen should have been noble; even Fugen himself could hardly tolerate blasphemy and frivolity.

If that day ever comes, Fugen himself will be the first to feel that life is worse than death.