Emperor's Bane

Chapter 642 Interlude: Echo of a Fearless Being (Part )

Unlike those trivial things that have been worn away by the tide of memory, I always remember clearly the day I died.

The moment of death is an unforgettable memory: when the scythe of the god of death stays beside your bed for a long time, kissing your fate for the rest of your life, the deep memory it brings, the fear and trembling it spreads, are far beyond the reach of those house-like [life and death crises].

So, I remember very clearly that I died at the end of the Terra Unification War, died in the seventy-seventh year of official service, died at the moment when the gradually rising keel of the Indomitable Truth cast a shadow in the sky, died in the place where I could see the Thunderstone Cathedral: the great Emperor watched my final chapter.

He also determined my fate.

That's damn generous.

Memories brought back anger, and I started coughing roughly again. Mixed in the dull footsteps and the echoes in the corridor, it sounded sticky and disgusting, like an old mortal who was at the end of his life: the best dreadnoughts did guarantee my combat capability and allowed me to vent my anger, but even these ingenious creations could not change the sad fact that my body had long been broken and I was now just lingering on in the world.

Whenever this happens, I can understand my old brothers: why they would rather fall into a long sleep like the cowards they despise the most, and no matter how much they plead and lament, they are unwilling to wake up, because they know that after waking up, there will be an even more terrible hell.

We all know that this world no longer needs us. Even the younger generations and warriors who respect us the most only respect our bravery and legends when we were alive, not our current old age. As an Astartes warrior, what we are most proud of is our powerful military force and unparalleled loyalty, but these are now invalid. All we can offer is the so-called wisdom that we once disdained.

As for fearless power?
That's the credit of these mechas, what does it have to do with us old guys? If it weren't for cost considerations, putting those young guys in this fearless mecha would not be less powerful than us. The so-called experience and experience are just icing on the cake, and there is rarely a chance to help in times of need: but they don't need these living coffins.

After all, the fundamentals that any true Astartes warrior must master are: even if he loses all his armor, weapons or other equipment and can only fight with his bare hands, he will still be the deadliest killer in the galaxy.

Boltguns, chainswords, Terminators or Dreadnoughts: these sacred gear make us stronger, but they are not our strength. We can still fight without them, but now I can’t.

Without this coffin, it would be extremely difficult for me to even crawl a few meters above the ground.

So, I see it very clearly: no matter how respected I am, it doesn't change the reality that I am a useless person. I have long lost the original meaning of existence, making reality the most terrifying purgatory in my eyes, and making sleep the choice I choose most of the time.

I don't know much about other legions, but at least here, this huge gap is the reason why I and other old guys choose to fall into sleep: As for the pain of the fearless mech? That's just an excuse to fool people and deceive ourselves.

This thing does hurt, but it's not so painful that we have to run away.

Besides, if we were really enduring terrible pain all the time, how could we fall into such a long and peaceful sleep? Again, I don’t know much about other legions, but if it is in our Second Legion, even in the dark years when the legion almost collapsed, the young people did not forget the care of us old guys. Fearlessness does bring a sense of torture, but careful and meticulous care can offset most of it.

(I remember that the setting of the Dreadnoughts torturing people is actually quite confusing, but one explanation is that the ones who take care of the Dreadnoughts are usually characters like the Mechanical Priests, who habitually treat people as non-humans, so it is inevitable that they will be a little rough when taking care of the elderly.)

What makes me happy is that after our Gene Mother took over the Second Legion, she did not cancel the benefits for us old guys, but strengthened them a lot: she has an order composed of Astartes warriors, mortal doctors and gear boys, who are specifically responsible for the daily life of us old guys.

This behavior is consistent with her reputation for being sentimental. I know this is definitely not a good word in the outside world, but it seems to be well accepted within the Legion, because although most people don't see the Primarch often, they will definitely see him once or twice: it is said that the Mother of Genes' behavior perfectly fits this word.

Sentimental... um...

He is also mysterious, shrewd, good at using psychic powers, and petty.

"Like a slightly more extroverted Eugénie Grandet."

The old friend's comment slipped into my mind at this moment. He was a man who fought alongside the Mother of Genes. I had to believe his evaluation of our Primarch, and then I remembered the ancient book we all read: When we could still walk on Terra, we dug up thousands of books from the Golden Age or even older, and the Legion's earliest entertainment was to study them.

It is said that it is still the same now: and it has become more and more refined.

Refinement: goes well with sentimentality.

I still don't like this word. I don't know if this rumor has spread, and whether those old bastards from the First and Third Legions know about it: if they have the slightest intention of mocking me the next time we meet, I will have to punch them until they lose their memory.

Better to practice now: someone will take care of my daily maintenance anyway.

There should be no care for them: if they become like me.

Although I still think it's a waste: the Legion Council did pass it unanimously.

This is good.

But over the years, our Primarch has been in charge of the legion for a hundred years, and no new Dreadnoughts have been sent: these young men seem to have new means, returning to the battlefield so lively, or simply closing their eyes cleanly.

This is not good.

Why am I not so lucky!
"Damn it, it's too early to die..."

"If I had known to be born a little later, maybe I could have lived to the fortieth millennium."

"By then, we can still see the good future that we have fought for with our own hands."

Walking on the long corridors of the North Star, which should now be called the Aurora, I admired the murals, flags and various honor banners that have changed a lot since the past, trying to remember the achievements of the Legion in my absence, and in my heart I couldn't help but lament: lamenting that I have fallen to my current situation.

I even blame the gene mother who gave me the seed and power: Why wasn't she the first child of the empire to return? Look at the achievements she made, look at the legion she pulled back from the edge of the cliff, look at the country she built with her own strength, she is more worthy of the warmaster than that Cthonia bastard!
If it was my genetic mother who performed the Warmaster Ceremony in Ullanor, I would definitely wake up those sleeping old creatures one by one with my own hands, and then gather a team to wake up my old acquaintances who were also sleeping in other legions.

Of course they can scold me and go back to sleep, but I must let them know that my great gene mother is the Warmaster, which is very important: of course, it is also important to give those bastards a hard time.

I laughed, briefly indulging in this rare fantasy time. The kid leading the way in front of me seemed to tremble: young people nowadays are so cowardly, far from being brave enough to fight against heaven and earth like us back then, holding either radiation weapons or melta bombs in our hands, unlike these little kids I introduced to me, holding...

Ok?
"Why are you holding a book in your hand?"

I couldn't help but feel strange because the name of this book is really weird.

"Well, tell me first."

"What is the Fearless Codex?"

"Well...this..."

The little guy opened his mouth and looked towards the gear boy next to him for help, but after receiving a strange electronic noise, he could only turn his stupid face towards me again: I'm surprised that I'm so patient.

"Report to you, Elder: these are instructions... prepared by Master Guilliman."

"Guilliman? Instructions?"

Both of these words are unfamiliar to me.

"Who is this little brat Guilliman?"

"Lord Guilliman is the Primarch of the 13th Ultramarines Legion and the Lord of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. He is the closest brother, friend, and ally of our Gene-Mother. The bond between Mother and him is second only to that between Lords Jonson and Conrad."

"I have heard of Jonson. He was there when the Primarch returned."

"Who is Conrad?"

"Uh...our champion swordsman?"

"what?"

"..."

"Forget it, what next?"

"Then, then, mother told Lord Guilliman about the establishment of the Dreadnaught Order to take care of the daily maintenance of the elders. Guilliman thought it was a good idea, so he came to visit. After returning, he wrote this book, the Dreadnaught Codex, to tell others how to take care of the mental and physical state of the Dreadnaught as much as possible in daily life." "It sounds like a big-assed babe who just made a career in his poor hometown, and can't wait to run into the nearest rural TV station to sell his success theory and outlook on life to everyone. It's not enough to be on TV, he also wants to publish a book: Do you have to give personal lectures? Go to various universities and units to spit shit?"

"..."

It was obvious that the kid standing in front of me was shaking unconsciously: I could see recognition in his eyes.

"I'm telling you, elder: don't say this in public."

"What else?"

"Otherwise, it will easily destroy the... unbreakable alliance between us and the Five Hundred Worlds."

"Got it: I'll talk to you in a few years."

"Now, kid, continue to lead the way for me. By the way, take out a pen and paper. I want you to write down a few names and then find out if these bastards are still alive. Since you summoned me, if you want me to accompany you to perform tricks, you have to fulfill my wish in the next few days."

"What... wish?"

"It's very simple."

I noticed how hideous the smile on my face looked at this moment. Even though we were separated by the heavy dreadnought mecha, just the leaked laughter was enough to make the kid tremble: these juniors are really cowardly, although I know this may just be respect for me.

After all, I am the genuine first batch of Fang Angels, or the first batch of Dawnbreakers. My number in the legion is [Fifteen]: literally, I am the fifteenth member after the establishment of the Second Legion, and I am also the first Dreadnought in the entire army. Strictly speaking, I am also the 336th Astartes warrior of the Human Empire.

This status still exists.

But this still didn't stop those old guys from tricking me into this state back then.

It's time to settle accounts with them.

I spat out all the names in my mind, one after another: According to the exclamation of this little guy, some of these guys have become legion commanders, the worst ones have become company commanders, and a few old guys are actually in semi-retirement.

Fuck, lucky me.

I cursed again, and it was like clearing the last blockage in my brain, and I finally remembered the important things: As we moved forward again, I remembered how I died.

Just like I said.

I died at Thunderstone Church.

But he did not die in battle.

……

This statement is also inaccurate.

After all: I was indeed beaten to death.

Just as we were doing the most popular hobby in the Corps.

Hmm...archaeology...

------

I remember very clearly that when the Emperor went to the Thunderstone Cathedral to deal with the personal matters he mentioned, he did not intend to choose us as his guard at first: he only brought some of the Imperial Guards and Thunder Warriors, and although a few of us Fangs also went, most of us were left outside by him to roam free.

We couldn't say we were free range, we did have a mission at the time: the Thunderstone Cathedral was one of the best-preserved ancient monuments on Terra, and next to it were countless ancient tombs, vaults and dungeons. Digging up any one of them could bring tangible benefits to the empire at the time, and that was our mission.

No one really thought that we would devote a lot of manpower, material resources, and even our lives to such an amateur activity as archaeology: although it was called an amateur activity, it was actually one of the main responsibilities of our legion at the time. Otherwise, how could those bastards from the First Legion be so kind as to clean up our mess every time?
Because that is also their duty: to make things easier for us pathfinders.

It's all the Emperor's mission.

I am a veteran in this business. In my more than seventy years of military career, I have emptied hundreds of tombs and bases. But I suffered a setback this time. It can’t be said to be a setback. Facing several security robots left over from the golden age, I think it was a great feat to lead the team to escape unscathed.

The only price?
Probably the only one who was beaten to pieces was me, the rear guard.

Death came as expected, but none of us panicked at the time. The atmosphere was like seeing off an old friend. We even had the leisure to discuss how to divide the spoils while waiting for the medical officer: most of the things did need to be handed in, but we could keep the small parts for ourselves.

But some things, which are not so important but are indeed valuable, are often the premise of walking in the gray area: although in most cases we cannot keep these trophies in the hands of the Imperial Guard and the First Legion, there have been successful cases.

What's more important is that we did dig out good stuff in the vault that time, so good that I felt my death was well worth it: it was military armor from ancient times, more than enough to match the Imperial Guards. After we handed over most of the finished products, the descendants of these military armors are still spreading their names in the land of the Human Empire.

The Custodes possess two Contemptor-level Dreadnaughts, Achilles and Gratus.

That's right: this is what we dug out from the underground vault. It's worth risking my life for. But it's a bit regrettable because most of my attention was attracted by the Lord of Mankind and the movements in the Thunder Stone Church. In the end, I didn't wait for the late medical officer.

I went to death: death did not frighten me at that time.

But before I died, those bastard comrades who fought alongside me surrounded the coveted military armor and my gradually cooling body, looked at each other, and started a tacit conversation.

------

"We suffered heavy losses this time."

"Yes: an old fellow is involved."

"That can't be said: look at these treasures from the golden age."

"So what? Those imperial guards may not bring a medical officer, but they will definitely take away these priceless military armors. We risked our lives to bring these things out, but in the end, we can't keep any of them. I can't think of any reason why those imperial guards would show mercy. They are not the easy-going First Army."

"..."

"It's not like we can't leave anything behind..."

"……How to say?"

"Have you forgotten?"

"Our brother is a ruthless man whose name is in the Emperor's hands. Even if the imperial guards come in person, they can't bear the Emperor's wrath and worry and bury our old brother in fearlessness and then pull him out again. If we calculate the time, it should be enough."

#Collective silence#

"Fuck...Great!"

"Fuck... absolutely!"

"Fuck... Stop it!!!"

(End of this chapter)