Emperor's Bane

Chapter 980 Death

Chapter 980 Death
I will become Death.

The destroyer of the world.

—Fabius, chief apothecary of the Emperor's Sons Legion, after his most successful experiment of his life.

------

"Have you heard the rumor, Fabius?"

Acudona chose a seemingly useless, unused table, leaned against it, and his slightly hoarse voice was filled with exhaustion.

"Rumors? Which ones are you referring to?"

Not far ahead of the court swordsman, his few remaining old friends in the Legion, and one of the few surviving Terrans among the Emperor's Sons, the most trusted medical master of Forgrim, was fully armed, sketching on a naked corpse with a scalpel, almost completely immersed in his own world.

Even so, as he traced the next dividing line along the blue veins on his arm, Fabius was still able to speak clearly and logically, managing to have a friendly conversation with the Second Company Commander, the son of the Emperor, without neglecting either his physical work or his verbal skills.

Just like the past two hundred years.

“You know, Acudona.”

Fabius's voice sounded a little muffled through his sweat-soaked mask.

Even someone as perceptive as Acudona couldn't discern the emotions lurking beneath the apothecary's words.

“I have never left my laboratory and first aid room since the outbreak of the war.”

"Even so, hundreds or thousands of rumors, true or false, still reach my ears."

“Every day.”

"A combat comrade carrying a seriously wounded soldier, a high-ranking officer coming to me to apply for stimulants or inhibitors, an ordinary commander looking for some [energy potions] for his troops, and those Terra veterans who come to reminisce like you, or even passersby talking too loudly in the corridor outside the door."

“Every day, every hour, all sorts of rumors and fake news get into my ears.”

"If I hadn't learned to block them."

Fabius turned around, and Abdona then saw that his pristine white surgical gown was covered in blood, some of which smelled of Astartes, and others of ordinary people. They were clearly piled up in different colors, with a filthy black being squeezed under a fresher red: the gown looked like it hadn't been changed in a long time.

"Those things will overwhelm my nerves after work even sooner than these things."

The pharmacist pointed to the blood on his sleeve.

"Do you know what this is, Acudona?"

"This is the thirty-seventh comrade-in-arms who died on my emergency operating table."

"……Feel sorry."

After a moment of silence, Acudonna had no choice but to lower his head somewhat awkwardly.

"I shouldn't have brought this up."

"If you're really sorry, could you please do me a favor?"

Fabius turned around and sighed.

"Go back and tell those new recruits in the legion."

"Next time, don't bring over a seriously wounded soldier whose chest was pierced directly by a shell from the Imperial Fist."

“Let them give him a quick death on the spot: that poor man struggled pointlessly on my operating table for two hours.”

Upon hearing this, Acudona couldn't help but glance at the white tiles at the apothecary's feet: although they had been meticulously mopped and washed many times, making them as white as freshly made cotton cloth from a textile factory, these beautiful works of art still exuded an unpleasant, fishy stench, the smell of death that only exists on the battlefield.

Clearly, perhaps just a few hours ago, this place was a battlefield no less fierce than any frontline.

Meanwhile, the Legion's chief apothecary was trudging through pools of blood that nearly submerged his boots, rushing around several dying sons of the Emperor: his scalpel and stimulants had just saved a beating heart, and before he could even savor the joy of being a healer, the life of another comrade-in-arms vanished completely before his eyes.

Even the largest dose of anesthetic cannot conceal the fear of death at this moment.

Although his death was already inevitable: when half of his body was shattered by the bullets of the Imperial Fist, his soul was already on its last legs, and he was simply pushed into the emergency room by his inexperienced comrades.

His death had nothing to do with the pharmacist.

But when all this happened before his eyes, even an old man like Fabius, who had seen many storms, was touched by the deep-seated kinship: this death would add an indelible fault to his heart, making him even more immersed in his own dereliction of duty.

Even if no one blames him for it: the most common criticism a pharmacist receives comes from himself.

The brotherhood among Astartes, originally intended to maintain unity within the legion, has often become the final straw that breaks the camel's back: when a fellow Astartes dies before their eyes, no Astarte warrior will calmly analyze their own responsibility; they will simply take the blame for their incompetence and negligence.

This is especially true for those who become apothecaries: as guardians of the Legion's heritage, they possess a greater sense of empathy and responsibility than the warriors who charge into battle.

This relationship could also overwhelm them.

Fabius had already revealed this to Acudonna many years ago.

At that time, their friendship was just beginning to blossom.

Now, that sprout has grown into a towering tree: without realizing it, Fabius has become one of Acudona's few good friends in the Legion.

There are many reasons for friendship.

They were both Terrans, among the two hundred survivors who were able to welcome the Phoenix Lord back, and among the last ancient remnants of the wraiths in the now vastly different Third Legion. Not to mention, both of them shared a high degree of contempt and hostility towards the Legion's current chaos and depravity.

The only difference is that Acudona, as a warrior of high moral character, instinctively despises any decline in the morals of the world.

But Fabius: He merely believed that these depravities hampered the efficiency and image of the Son of the Emperor as a legion.

As for moral issues: he doesn't think about that much.

After all, even in the selection process of Astartes, moral character of the candidates is not specifically considered.

Acudonna chose to accept this.

He would tolerate Fabius as much as possible, and tolerate the few friends in his legion.

Just like when they encounter difficulties, they will help each other without hesitation.

For example...now.

"I will remind them."

All the court swordsmen could do was make a promise.

“You know, Fabius.”

"The Legion has been at peace for too long. Most of its companies have not experienced any real war in the last fifty years, but they have not stopped recruiting either. This means that there is a large number of new recruits in the Legion who are experiencing war for the first time."

"Although they have already completed their physical training in the past, they still need more lessons and experience to truly adapt to the battlefield."

"I know."

Fabius nodded.

Then he gave a sarcastic laugh.

"But unfortunately: Imperial Fist and Space Wolf are definitely not good practice targets."

"You shouldn't be sending new recruits to the front lines."

The pharmacist picked up a needle-like object and inserted it into the freshly cut wound.

“Even I can see that, Acudona.”

"Rogdorn's army is small, but that means the vast majority of his legions are veterans, warriors who have come through the Great Crusade: we all know how different there is between warriors who have experienced the Great Crusade and those who haven't. Sending these new recruits to charge the Seventh Legion's defenses is practically sending them to their deaths."

“I know that too.”

Acudonna nodded somewhat dejectedly.

"But there's nothing we can do."

"The Fist of the Empire has made every world near Betangamon as solid as an iron barrel."

"When they and their mortal auxiliary forces are holed up in those fortresses that have already been built, we really don't have any good way to take them down: in the air, we have been slow to gain complete control of the sea, and the Seventh Legion's naval capabilities are not to be underestimated."

"On the ground, since Chagatai Khan's White Scar Legion parted ways with us and chose to be stationed on another front, our forces no longer have an absolute advantage over the defenders of Beitangamon: if we don't send these new recruits to the battlefield, we may not even be able to take down these few fortresses right now."

"Who else can we rely on? Ordinary people?"

"There are also elite mortal troops."

"But we are not on the Far East frontier."

"We only have so many elite mortals under our command. They are like the veterans in the legion, a trump card that can only be used at the most critical moments. If we exhaust them in these places, how will we deal with the main planet of Betangamon then? Lemanrus has brought tens of thousands more."

"Isn't there any explanation about the Primarch?"

Fabius looked a little distracted.

"Lord Fulgrim..."

Acudonna hesitated for a moment.

Then he sighed, whether from exhaustion from years of battle or for some other reason, it was unclear.

"He did indeed propose a tactical approach."

"In short, the plan is to lure out Lemanrus's personal guard with a massive offensive: then he will personally defeat King Fenris, thereby demoralizing Betagmon's garrison."

"The command is preparing this plan, but I am not optimistic about its implementation."

"me too."

Fabius nodded.

He seemed to have collected enough data and samples to satisfy himself, and poured a full box of blood into the nearby freezer. With the chief pharmacist temporarily gone, Acudona was finally able to see clearly what was lying on the operating table.

He frowned at this.

"Damn..."

The palace swordsman cursed under his breath.

"Fabius."

When the chief pharmacist returned, he was greeted by Acudona's disapproving gaze.

He pointed to the operating table.

"I thought it was the son of an emperor."

"Of course not."

Fabius shook his head easily.

"I have no habit of dissecting or cutting up the corpses of my comrades."

"But you can't do that to the corpse of an Imperial Fist warrior!"

Acudona raised his voice.

Just now, he saw the Imperial Fist tattoo on the corpse.

Do you know what you're doing?!

"You're dismembering and slaughtering another legion's comrade-in-arms like a dead pig, just like you're treating lab rats!"

"..."

Fabius remained silent.

He was still wearing that big, thick mask, making it impossible for Acudonna to see much of his expression.

But judging from the apothecary's lowered eyes, the court swordsman's accusations had indeed made him feel ashamed.

"Please believe me, brother."

The sincere tone seemed to confirm this. "This was not my intention, Acudona."

"As you know, I don't have the authority to have them bring the corpses of the Imperial Fist to my emergency room."

"Then who did this?"

Several figures flashed through Acudona's mind.

"Is it that madman Aidoron again?"

"Is it still that human modification fanatic, Kesoron?"

"Damn it, the Primarch actually made that guy who likes to transplant skins onto himself a company commander in the Legion."

When Acudonna shook his head and sighed, Fabius interrupted him with a heavy tone.

"Neither, brother."

He patted the operating table, which was still covered in blood.

"Everything I've done is in response to orders from the highest levels of the Legion."

"..."

The palace swordsman's eyes widened.

"Do you know what you're saying, Fabius?"

"Of course I know."

The pharmacist nodded calmly.

“Accudona, I also hope you know what you just said.”

“You have clearly told me so much about the difficulties and obstacles that the legions are currently facing.”

"And didn't you ever consider that the Primarch wouldn't let this situation continue to develop?"

After seeing the shock on the court swordsman's face gradually turn into gloomy contemplation, the chief apothecary slowly revealed the truth of the matter.

"That's all I'll say."

"The Primarch decides: to break the deadlock in a way that is not commonly used and may provoke some moral condemnation."

"And that's why he had me dissect these imperial fists."

"It is to study the most subtle physiological differences between the Son of the Emperor and the Fist of the Empire, so as to develop new weapons that can be tailored to address these differences."

"Treat the symptoms?"

"Yes."

Fabius nodded.

"After all, Lord Phoenix's method is highly uncertain."

"That kind of weapon, once the wind changes direction, could very well end up on our own positions."

"Therefore, we must develop a special type specifically for Imperial Fist and Space Wolf."

"That's why I'm standing here, my friend."

Before the court swordsman, who was so shocked he couldn't speak.

Fabius openly spread his hands.

"Everything is for the Primarch."

"For the Legion."

------

"And for my own sake too."

After Acudona's footsteps completely disappeared around the corner at the end of the corridor, in the empty room, Fabius slowly added his last sentence.

This is a truth that no one needs to know.

The chief pharmacist shook his head sarcastically.

That's right: the truth.

In the current Third Army: the truth is undoubtedly the most precious and the most detestable thing.

Of all the truth seekers, Acudona is undoubtedly the most difficult to deal with.

Every game against him is no less than performing surgery with a success rate of only one percent.

However, the prizes are also exceptionally generous.

The pharmacist's footsteps echoed quietly at the far end of the cold storage room, a place known only to him. He opened a secret room that required his own genetic lock to unlock, and then calmly took out his treasure.

It was a hand, the hand of Astartes.

The tattoo on the back of his hand indicates that he is a son of a Rogdorath.

"You know that, Acudona."

Fabius muttered to himself.

"Sometimes, I feel that I like the current Fogrem more than the old one."

"Of course, I know."

"The one from the past is the best."

"But for me, the current Primarch is the one who can maximize my interests."

"If he hadn't spoken up, these things would never have been able to appear legitimately in my laboratory."

"The corpse of Astartes?"

"Humph."

"Without a proper reason, what I am doing now is enough to warrant ten court-martials."

"But now, none of that matters anymore."

Fabius shook his head.

He grabbed the frozen hand and pushed open the door in the most secluded corner of his laboratory.

A pungent stench instantly assaulted their senses, but the chief pharmacist squinted his eyes as if enjoying it.

"As long as the Primarch speaks, no one will question why the corpse of the Imperial Fist is here with me."

"Similarly, no one cares how many corpses have flowed into my possession."

"As long as we can produce results."

"So what I did with these corpses is no one's concern."

"Including the original body."

"Including Acudonna."

"Including every poor soul who is being driven mad by this damned and ridiculous war."

"of course."

"Including myself."

Fabius stood in the foul-smelling shadow.

Before him, one could vaguely make out a sturdy cage.

Behind the cage, a silhouette even larger than Fabius breathed heavily in the shadows.

It is so powerful and robust.

Perhaps only the legendary bodies of the Imperial Guards could compare to this detestable being before us.

The apothecary, the son of the emperor, smiled at the creature.

"haven't seen you for a long time."

"sweet Child O Mine."

"Speak," he said, throwing the severed hand of the Imperial Fist into the cage.

Upon seeing this, the creature pounced, followed by a series of fierce tearing sounds and the sound of bones and flesh being crushed together in its throat.

Fabius stood quietly until the creature licked away the last trace of blood. Then, like a docile dog, he crawled to the cage, whimpering and raising his face, contentedly enjoying the apothecary's soothing touch with his withered hands.

"Where's the toy I gave you?"

Fabius, like a true father, patiently guided his not-so-bright child.

The creature, which resembled a human, responded with a wild, howling sound, and then suddenly ran away.

A short while later, a tortured and ravaged corpse, barely recognizable as human, was dragged in front of Fabius.

He had a tall stature, a wild face, and a beard that stretched almost to his chest.

This is a space wolf.

He is long dead now.

But what killed him was not bullets or blades, but the windows and dents all over his body: he was beaten to death by a more ferocious and savage creature with his fists in a reckless life-or-death struggle.

His chest was torn in two, and his thick arm was chewed up.

The missing piece was now hanging loosely in the mouth of this nameless beast.

"Ah...I see."

Fabius was able to miraculously understand the meaning of this monstrous, beast-like groan.

"Do you want [this] more than humans?"

The Emperor's apothecary smiled.

"Don't worry, my child."

"You'll soon have plenty of these toys."

"I assure you, very soon: you will soon be fat and strong, growing into a big young man."

"but……"

"Before you fully grow up."

"We still need to figure this out."