Emperor's Bane

Chapter 978 Reluctant
Dear Diary.

This year marks my seventy-sixth year of service in the Avalon Army.

Even by the strictest standards, I've reached the age where I could retire.

Just a few hours ago, I went to the Avalon Bank and the military's finance department to make sure that I had saved enough money in my savings account.

Well, the result was still pleasing.

I am now fully capable of buying the farm I had my eye on, and all the land around it.

It covers approximately 200 acres, equivalent to over 800,000 square meters. It has a farm left by the previous owner, a two-story house, and a large number of abandoned houses that need to be renovated. In addition, there are several lakes, a woodland, a large grassland, and a small valley, all of which are places that can impress me and make me spend money.

The only problem is that it's a three-hour drive from the nearest neighbor and even requires a helicopter to reach the nearest colonial town. The conditions are also far less complete than in the ordinary civilized world. But then again, if it weren't a colonial world, I wouldn't have been able to buy such a nice place with the little money I had.

I've calculated it many times.

My daily savings, bonuses, and Avalon's generous retirement fund are enough to buy this land outright with some money left over, allowing me to renovate the entire farm from the inside out. The remaining money will also be enough for my future daily expenses.

For at least sixty years, I won't have to worry about money anymore.

If I could, I might even buy a helicopter for transportation, or hire a few young men to make good use of this land: when I went there last time, I found several places that were particularly suitable for building orchards, or planting potatoes and corn, or perhaps raising a few Grookes would also be a good idea.

The expenses will definitely be high.

But I have plenty of money anyway.

Long live Queen Morgan: for the sake of her ever-generous and never-late wages and bonuses.

Also, considering the pension she receives every year.

May she reign for a long time.

After all, I want to get more money.

------

Olpeson has been in a good mood lately.

In the world of this immortal being who lives in anonymity, a world so mundane it is almost unchanging, almost everything that has happened in recent months has been good.

The most important of these, and the one that had the greatest impact on him personally, was his decision to end his military career in the Far East.

It wasn't for any other reason, but mainly because Olpeson himself felt really tired.

As an "ordinary" immortal, he is not a monster like Neos or Makado: both of them have long lifespans and memories that almost never fade, so they can devote hundreds or thousands of years of energy to one thing.

But Olpeson is not an option.

Although he also enjoys an infinite lifespan, in terms of other software and hardware issues, he is not much different from ordinary people. He can get injured, and he has to learn new knowledge from scratch. More importantly, his memory can only last for a hundred years at most, and things before that are as blurry as phantoms.

Therefore, even if one enjoys military campaigns, it is inevitable to get tired of them after doing them for sixty or seventy years straight.

However, the more important problem is that he feels he has already aroused some suspicion.

For a long time, Olpeson had considered himself a mid-level officer in the Avalon mortal auxiliary army. At his level, he couldn't enjoy life-extending or rejuvenation surgeries, but he had enough ways to extend his lifespan, and living for a hundred or two hundred years wouldn't be a problem.

However, although Olpeson had done his best to disguise himself, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that his performance on the battlefield was no different from that of more than seventy years ago: even the Astartes warriors who fought alongside him began to whisper among themselves that their mortal friend was a little abnormally healthy.
It's time for him to retire.

To fade from everyone's sight, to live out one's days in a remote colonial world, and then, after a hundred years, to start life anew with a new name and identity: Olpeson has experienced this cycle countless times.

This time will be no exception.

Closing the diary, the immortal stood up and went to get the leftovers heated in the microwave for breakfast.

As he passed through the living room, his gaze lingered for a moment on a huge glass cabinet: it was filled with all sorts of certificates and medals, some from Olpeson, others from his adopted daughter Cyrene, but all of them were polished to a gleaming shine, clearly well-cared for.

At the very bottom of this glass case, there is a neat row of photos, all of the immortal and his adopted daughter posing for pictures at various tourist attractions.

Olpeson looked at them, a slight smile playing on his lips.

But it quickly calmed down.

Because in the recent photos, a third face has appeared out of nowhere: God knows how that old geezer Neos managed to sneak in with the face of a little girl, as Cyrani's best friend: it's disgusting, like swallowing a fly.

But...then again.

That guy Neos hasn't shown up or bothered him for a long time.

When I asked Cyrene last time, she said she had moved to a very far place.

That's the kind of excuse that can fool a young girl.

Olpeson, of course, could see things more clearly.

He couldn't help but think of the chaos that had gripped the human empire in recent years, and the rumors of the emperor's disappearance.

And the strange actions of the Lord of Avalon.

"..."

The immortal shook his head.

It seems that his old friend is preparing for another high-stakes gamble.

It's really not easy: he actually managed to persuade the Spider Queen to gamble with him.

Either he promised an exceptionally generous reward, or the thing he was betting on was of great importance.

Even Morgan had to help.

"..."

Never mind, it has nothing to do with him anyway.

Olperson shook his head, his gaze finally settling on the newest of all the photos: judging from the wear and tear on the frame and the appearance in the picture, even this one was taken many years ago.

Indeed, since Cyrani graduated with excellent grades from the Dawn Goddess and was directly recruited by the Hunter Rose Legion, the young girl has rarely been able to go home to visit.

As one of Avalon's most outstanding legions, the workload of the Rose of the Huntress is unbelievable. Even though Cyrani is just a civilian employee who does not participate in combat (something Orpeson fought hard to secure), she has very little personal time left for herself.

Busy, being busy is good...

The immortal shook his head and sighed.

He had grown accustomed to the feeling of parting.

Over the years, he had a wife, a son, and a daughter: even the most painful separations, once experienced many times, become a habit.

However... I still care a little...

Breakfast was placed on the table, but Olpeson had no appetite for a long time.

He is neither a heartless person nor a fool.

In fact, according to the Spider Queen's rules, a mid-level officer in the mortal auxiliary army can retire after serving for sixty standard Terran years. Avalon implements an inverted triangle structure on this issue, meaning that the lower the rank, the shorter the service time required, while the higher the rank, the longer the service time required.

But whether they are generals or soldiers, as long as they meet the standards after serving their full term and are willing to serve in the military, they can stay in their posts indefinitely.

However, to avoid blocking the path to advancement, even if senior officers are willing to extend their service, they will be transferred to more relaxed positions, leaving the truly important positions to their eager successors.

But for mid-level officers like Olpeson, and for lower-ranking soldiers and sergeants, there was no such obstacle.

On the contrary, in order to keep these true backbones of the military in their posts for as long as possible, Morgan also established a rule that the longer the service period, the richer the salary, bonus and retirement pension: this is also one of the reasons why Olperson was willing to stay in the military for an additional fourteen years.

But another reason is clearly more important.

Only by staying in the army could he obtain the latest information about his adopted daughter and take care of her to the best of his ability; if he really retired and went home, then Cyrene would truly be all alone.

What can a retired veteran do?

Needless to say, even with Olpeson's relatively secluded lifestyle, he could still smell the increasingly strong gunpowder in the galaxy.

Based on Olpeson's experience, the war between Horus and Terra will eventually drag the entire galaxy down.

In a scenario like this, where an emperor loses his throne and a prince rebels, if the situation isn't resolved quickly and decisively, and instead escalates from a coup into a real civil war, then it's only a matter of time before the entire ruling class and even the whole country are drawn into it: he's seen this kind of drama countless times.

Not to mention, the arrival of Zhuang Sen seems to indicate that the Far East, as one of the few giant forces in the galaxy, will inevitably step into the battlefield one day in the future. At that time, as the face of the Avalon auxiliary army, the Hunter Rose Legion will have no reason to stay in the rear.

Should Cyrene be sent to the battlefield?
This was not part of Olpesson's life plan.

At the very least, she shouldn't have gone alone.

"..."

Olpeson sat in his chair, staring quietly at the plates of leftovers in front of him.

Until the clock ticked, until the white steam gradually dissipated from the no longer scalding hot porcelain plate.

The immortal finally shook his head and stood up.

Before he could fill his stomach, he had one more thing to do.

------

"Hey, old buddy: how have you been lately?"

"……nothing."

"Considering all these years, I'd like to ask you for a favor."

"Yes, yes, I know, I never ask anyone for favors."

"But this time, there's really no other way."

"Yes, you guessed right."

"It's related to Cyrene Jr."

"She's the one I can't let go of."

"Go and find out which support legion the Goddess of the Hunt is currently cooperating with."

"Then help me see if there's a suitable location."

"Could you transfer me there?"

"..."

"what?"

"On the western front?"

"The first troops to engage the enemy?"

"..."

"Fine, let it be the front line then."

"Help me find a suitable spot."

"As for retirement..."

"It's okay, there's still more than a year to go."

"I don't think a war will break out in the next year or two."

------

"After all, Typhon shouldn't be that useless."

The Lord of Death sat in his cold chair, surrounded by his most trusted mortal servants.

They were all Barbarus, and most of them came from several villages: these were the places where Mortarion first settled and gathered his power after leaving his alien foster father, and the Lord of Death had a special affection for these lands.

Naturally, he felt more favorably toward the talented young people who came from these villages.

So, after a routine military meeting, when one of the people raised a question, Mortarian unusually gave a patient explanation.

“I gave him a full 50,000 people.”

The Primarch opened his palm.

"Although not all of them are elite troops, I have also transferred his entire First Company there. That is an old unit that Typhon has commanded for over a hundred years. Most of the other companies participating in the operation also have elite veterans and officers stationed there, so their overall combat strength will not be too bad." "In addition, I have also specially allocated him a powerful fleet: more than five hundred warships are enough to blow Taran to smithereens."

"If Typhon has such a large army and still can't take down a single Taran, then there's no point in him continuing as a company commander."

Mortarian's tone was clearly dismissive, but not very serious.

He didn't believe Typhon would lose.

Therefore, he wouldn't consider any specific punishment.

It should be noted that, according to the Death Guard's reconnaissance, the Imperial Fist active in Taran and the surrounding star system has a total force of no more than five thousand people. Although many of them are veterans like Sigismund, there are also some rookies who were temporarily recruited, and there are also powerful but reckless and unstable elements like the Black Templar.

As for the mortal forces: From the time the human empire first discovered Taran in the early stages of the Great Crusade, it has been a lush and prosperous agricultural world. Lush jungles and forests are the most common landscapes in this world, and peace and abundance are the most appropriate adjectives to describe Taran.

Even at the height of the Great Expedition, Taran never smelled the smoke of war. Naturally, its defenses were never particularly strong. However, from another perspective, Taran was a very important transportation hub in the northeastern part of the Storm Starfield, so it was fully capable of receiving strong support from external forces.

Even so, according to the deductions of Mortarion, Typhon, and the senior officers of the Deathguard, the defensive strength of the Taran mortals would not exceed several million, and their combat experience and equipment were questionable.

Fifty thousand Death Guards would be more than enough to crush the Imperial Fist, which numbered only one-tenth of their own, while also easily subduing these pitiful mortal resistance fighters.

Of course, if they surrender, Mortarion would also be willing to leave himself a future territory with fertile land and strong productivity.

Although this world now belongs to Dorne.

He will belong to himself after the war ends.

Just like the entire Storm Starfield.

The Lord of Death thought with great satisfaction.

In his view, the essence of this war was nothing more than the redistribution of power within the empire. It did not involve more profound topics such as loyalty or rebellion, because mortals would never be qualified rulers, and abolishing their regimes was simply a matter of restoring order.

In any case, their genetic fathers had made more than one or two mistakes before this, and even a psionic wizard like Morgan was far more reliable than the Emperor. It was just that the Highlord Council's mistake was so glaring that the Primarchs had no choice but to step in to correct it.

As a hero who helped restore order, he would naturally receive an even bigger slice of the pie after the war.

At least in Mortalian's own expectations, all the land south of the Sunfield could theoretically become his spoils after the war: this mainly included the fiefdoms of Dorne and Corax.

Mortarian still respected Dorne.

Although they were enemies in the war, he did not have much ill will towards the Lord of the Imperial Fist. If Dorn really fought to the last moment, he would not mind saying a few good words for Dorn after the war ended. Similarly, Dorn's hometown, Invit, could be left to him.

Mortarion can take the other lands.

Because he proved that he was more suited to be a ruler than Rogdorath: Dorne, though worthy of respect, was ultimately only a general commanding an army in the future imperial system, and his lands and the power therein should be given to someone like Mortarion.

Although he wasn't really interested in these things, he was clearly more qualified to be king than Dorne.

Putting aside everything else: under his rule, the Barbarosians certainly lived better than the Invites.

As for his other brother, Corax.

If he is willing to remain neutral, then Horus will respect his rule over his territory.

This was something that had been agreed upon before the war.

In the rebels' vision, this war would not escalate into a galactic free-for-all, but rather result in a complete reshuffling and division of the Imperial Central Government and the High Lords Council: Horus would continue to be the ruler of the northern part of the galaxy and would also remain the overlord of the Imperial Central Government, maintaining a more equal relationship of rule with the regional lords than before.

Terra's lands will be completely divided up and become spoils of Horus's followers. Brothers like Rogdoryn and Lemanrus, who "went astray," will receive more respect than complete purging. As for powerful forces that remain neutral, such as the Far East or Rhogar, they will be peacefully absorbed into the new order.

Of course, in Mortarion's view, Horus's distribution plan was still somewhat weak.

He compromised in too many ways: perhaps that's one of the reasons he's now in a dilemma?

If the Lord of Death were to make the decision, he has reason to believe he would do a better job than Horus.

Moreover, he also believes that.

If circumstances allow: one day in the future, he will be able to realize all the strategies in his mind.

Yes, it now appears that the master of the galaxy will have to choose between the Terran Council and Horus.

But what if Horus, after winning, fails to properly capitalize on his victory?

So, as his ally, and one of the powerful forces destined to rise after the war.

The Lord of Death is not without the opportunity to advance further.

The identity of that overlord.

Horus is not the only one qualified to sit there.

Even after the last mortal servant of Barbarus humbly withdrew from his room, Mortarion's mind still lingered on grand ambitions.

But things can change in an instant.

The door had just closed when the spacious room was filled with only the breathing of the Primarch, and his grand plans crumbled in an instant.

Instead, there was a piercing pain deep inside my head.

It made Mortalian's already emaciated face even more grotesque and twisted, enough to give even the most battle-hardened warriors nightmares.

"damn it……"

The Primarch gritted his teeth, forced to step back from his grand ambitions and concentrate all his mental energy to fight the pain.

And then there's the sense of disappointment that comes with it.

"Why is it like this again..."

By the time the Primarch realized what was happening, the chair on his body had been completely crushed into dust, but this did nothing to lessen the pain in his mind.

He still exists, as if a dagger is being plunged into his head.

In a daze, he was even able to recall the story of Angron and the Butcher's Nail.

Mortarian swayed until he managed to grab onto the wall made of thick bluestone.

He looked down and saw large amounts of sweat streaming down his wrinkled face onto the ground.

In the hallucinations caused by extreme pain, he seemed to be pulled back into that world: the world that had plagued him since his early years.

In recent years, it has appeared more and more frequently.

They have become increasingly domineering and brook no argument.

There, he heard eerie singing.

He smelled a foul stench, which was similar to the smell of Barbarossa, but not as repulsive.

But most importantly, in that blurry, swaying world, as if sitting inside a ship, looking out at the ever-changing sea through a round window, there was always such a figure.

It is so huge.

So fat and robust.

And yet so...approachable?
With its tree-trunk-like horns, it let out a loving laugh in my memory, stretching out its wet hands as if to reach out to Mortalian and invite the Primarch to its own realm.

If he wished, he could live in this generous country forever.

He could become the most favored one.

He can...

"Die!!!"

The Primarch's piercing roar echoed through the room.

He was furious, cursing and throwing everything he could grab at the ground. After the raging fire subsided, the pain in his head eased slightly.

He could keenly sense that his anger was like a dagger, deeply piercing the figure in his imagination.

It muttered to itself and disappeared into the darkness.

It wasn't genuinely angry, but it was indeed harboring resentment.

However, the original does not care.

Mortarian plopped down on the ground.

The fantasy in his mind vanished.

But he knew that it wouldn't be long before that enormous figure would return, accompanied by pain.

Just like it did before.

Countless times, pain and illusions were used to invite the Primarch to that otherworldly realm beyond fantasy.

It will not compromise.

I will never give up.

Time and time again.

Until he accepts its invitation.

but……

"Fuck you!"

Mortarian spat fiercely onto the ground.

He could sense that the enormous figure on the other side of his fantasy didn't actually harbor any ill will towards him.

Even this excruciating pain was not seen as punishment by the other party; in fact, it was considered a gift.

It was an invitation extended to him in good faith.

But... so what?

He is Mortarian.

His motto is to make no one comfortable.

Anyone who tries to force you.

Whether it was his adoptive father back then.

A tyrannical emperor.

Or is it just an illusion now...?

He only gave one answer.

"Go to hell, you bastard..."

Wiping the last bead of sweat from his forehead, Mortarion pounded his head hard, the force almost bordering on an attack. But this new pain effectively dispelled the old pain, making the Primarch feel that he had regained control.

He did not give in.

He is still himself, he is Mortarian.

He was the kind of guy who could proudly hurl insults at anyone who tried to enslave him.

"A bunch of bastards, tyrants..."

"One day."

"I will kill you all..."

Beneath the pale green poisonous gas of Barbarossa, the lord of the Death Guard muttered his grand plans.

This is his dream.

That's also his attitude.

From beginning to end, nothing has changed.

(End of this chapter)