40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 686 68. Belated Judgment (Chapter , )
The devil's tide surged, the wind howled, ashes and flames rose slowly, carrying with them an incomparable evil force that occupied every inch of darkness. Pairs of blood-stained hands or claws tightly grasped sharp blades that had long been soaked and twisted by hatred, and slaughtered people wantonly here.

They can't wait any longer. The endless hatred throughout this world is driving these demons into a more terrifying hell.
Rusxu held his axe in his hand, looking at everything in front of him, speechless for a moment.

He had many questions to ask and many things to say, but when they came to his lips, he couldn't utter a single word. He could only watch as the demons swept past him mercilessly like the cold wind in a cemetery and rushed towards the evil beast.

They ignored him and focused on killing - they were really good at it. They were extremely ruthless and had reached the pinnacle of killing skills long before they tore the skin off a person.
And now, they have entered a new realm that even Russ cannot describe accurately. At this moment, the Fenris people only feel disbelief and another emotion that should not appear.

Regret.

Finally, he called out.

"you--"

The syllables were barely out of his mouth when Ruth swallowed them back. He realized that the question that was not asked would probably sound ridiculous. Just by looking at their appearance at the moment, Ruth could come up with the answer without thinking.

He looked at these former heroes, who were now evil spirits, demons, ghosts, and monsters. They had spent their entire lives training themselves to be the first line of defense for humans when facing these things, but in the end they had to abandon everything and become their most hated enemies.

Rus gritted his teeth, anger surging, but at this moment a voice sounded behind him, extremely strange, and every syllable sounded like the sharp sound of a sword being drawn.

"—This is our destiny," it said in a calm voice.

Russ turned around and saw a tall, skinny demon.

It had two ferocious horns on its head, but it did not have any beastly features, and its face remained human. It was wearing a set of broken armor, with countless ashes filling the gaps and firmly binding the broken armor to the demon's body. A pair of bat wings were folded behind its back, with dull blades hanging on the top.

Despite such an evil image, Russ couldn't take his eyes off its face. He knew this demon, or rather, he knew what it looked like in the past.

"Fell Zalost?" Russ asked softly.

The demon nodded slowly, his eyes as deep as black holes. His pale face was covered with dark red fine lines, flickering like breathing.

"That's right, sir. But I don't think you need to be so sentimental. In ancient times, the barbaric tribes needed night watchmen. They had to risk their lives to patrol the camp, maintain the fire, and warn the tribe. We are the same. In essence, I think this is just a night watch mission."

Russ looked up and was silent for a long time before he made a joke that lacked any sense of humor: "But how can there be such a long night, Captain of the Third Company of the Eighth Legion?"

The demon smiled, seeming to like the name. Of course, its smile did not seem to have anything to do with kindness or gentleness.

It walked to Russ's side and replied, "The era of the Legion is over, sir, and I am no longer the captain of the third company. Anyway, I am glad to see that you are safe."

As the demon spoke, it shifted its gaze to a giant wolf beside Rus. The creature didn't seem to like its gaze, but it still stood there, even though its hair had already stood up, it didn't move even a step.

"please forgive."

The demon bent down, apologized to it, and then reached out to touch the body that was wrapped tightly by Russ. His movements were very quick and careful, but the giant wolf still became extremely irritable.

It began to pace and prowl around Russ, its canine teeth sticking out of its lips and shaking threateningly. The Fenrisian squatted down, hugged it, and locked it in his arms, half restraining and half comforting it, and began to soothe its now restless instincts in the ancient language.

The demon took a few steps back, and only spoke after it was sure that the current distance would no longer make the wolf uncomfortable.

"The lion's soul has left his body—"

As it spoke, it raised its hand meaningfully and pointed behind Ruth.

There was no need to look back, the Fenrisian knew exactly what he was referring to. He slowly exhaled a mouthful of turbid air that still smelled of blood, and his expression had become somewhat dangerous.

The demon saw all of this, so he immediately spoke again: "-It's not too late now, we just need a thorough exorcism."

"Exorcism?"

Russ stared at him and asked. The mood of the giant wolf in his arms was recovering rapidly, which seemed to have the same effect on him. The lost sense of humor returned.

The wolf king grinned and asked in the same tone as before: "I need someone to bring a mirror and put it in front of us, Phil, and then you tell me what you just said again."

The devil smiled, and the broken lines on his face suddenly lit up, as vivid as boiling blood.

"You heard it right. It's about exorcism. But we can't do it."

Russ stood up and hung the hatchet back around his waist.

At this moment, he had regained all his composure - logically speaking, this was unlikely, the power he borrowed from Fenris would lead him into madness, the hunter and the king were previous examples, he should be the third sacrifice.

But now, the effect was gone, and he didn't even notice when it happened. He thought about it, and inevitably felt a chill on his back.

The things I had discussed with Lion El'Jonson over and over again over the past ten thousand years came to my mind at this moment. In fact, these discussions could be summed up in two questions.

Will he come back?
What should we do if the person who comes back is not him?
Ruth looked at the demon expressionlessly.

The latter understood, nodded slightly, and answered calmly: "He has regained his life. Before the boundary between life and death is completely blurred, even if he loses all his humanity, Caryl Rohals will still only be Caryl Rohals. In other words, sir-"

The demon suddenly raised his right hand, and the bat wings behind him stretched out suddenly, and the veins like blood vessels lit up. In the dazzling red light, countless ashes hung upside down and flew behind Russ. The Fenris people turned around slowly and saw a pile of severed limbs.

It was not until then that the last few words of the demon's speech softly reached his ears, just like the whispers in the ears of the Eighth Legion that were famous throughout the galaxy.

When they talk like that, you know something is going to die.

"--If he dies again one day, he will be buried as a human being."

"Is this a good thing?" Russ asked, staring at the severed limbs.

"Of course it's a good thing for him. But, it's probably very difficult to make him die completely."

The demon answered as it walked past Russ, its footsteps sounding like burning fire.

The Fenrisian man sniffed the ash-like smell with his nostrils twitching, and a wave of extreme disgust and horror surged in his heart, which he could not control.
"We will do our best to kill this evil beast," the demon said nonchalantly. "What happens after that will be up to you and your helpers."

helper?

As if to echo Rus's thoughts, a roar sounded from above. This was not the sound of the demons that came to kill as promised. There were only a few of them, and each one was extremely silent.

Rus looked up and saw a figure wrapped in a faint golden light. He fell like a meteor and plunged into the essential land after the illusion was broken - that is, among countless corpses.

Blood and flesh splattered, the golden light faded, and a face that Russ had seen before appeared before him, tired and ferocious.

"I have to go now, Lord Russ." The demon whispered without turning his head. "If we continue this conversation, I'm afraid you will have to spend a lot of time talking to him next."

"I understand. See you next winter, Fel Zharost. Tell my brothers to say hello and tell them I have mead ready for you someday."

Ruth turned away without finishing his words.

He howled, calling out another giant wolf, which leaped out from the void behind him, solidified quickly upon landing, and then, together with its brother, ran wildly towards the man who had fallen.

The wolf king followed closely behind, his blood-stained hair dancing wildly, his demeanor more like a mad beast than a human.

His behavior naturally set off alarm bells in the heart of the fallen man, but when he saw the face of the person coming, indescribable shock and complex emotions emerged one after another. When Ruth really rushed in front of him, he exclaimed directly.

"Ruth?!"

"Hey, you don't even use a respectful title?" the Fenrisian asked cheerfully, and before he could come to his senses, he put his arm around his shoulders. "I say, I have a job that I need your help with, what do you think, young man?"

Zabril, with his wrinkled face and gray hair, was silent for a few seconds before he gave a wry smile.

He clenched the badge in his right fist, feeling its still warm temperature, and a few flashes of enlightenment flashed through his mind. However, before he could answer yes or no, the impatient Fenris people pulled him to the other end completely opposite to the magic tide.

The Dark Angel stretched his neck and looked back. The surging demonic tide and the huge monster that was being besieged made his eyes twitch and his muscles tense.

Apparently, he felt the same unspeakable evil as Ruth, but unlike Ruth, he had no idea of ​​the truth.

Russ, who had already learned about his past experiences from the lion, did not stop him from looking around, but coaxed, tricked, and even half-forced him to a place where the darkness was about to break.

Soft light fell from above, illuminating the two of them. One was covered in blood, the other was covered in dirt. They stared at each other, and finally, it was Zabril who spoke hesitantly.

"grown ups."

"You remember to add a honorific now? Forget it! I don't like adults coming and going. Only a few people and those who meet me for the first time can call me that, understand? Just call me Ruth."

The Dark Angel instinctively took a few deep breaths to control his heartbeat and blood flow. When he finally controlled himself and wanted to answer Russ, the latter pulled over a giant wolf carrying something.

It seemed very reluctant, and its black and gold eyes, exactly the same as those of the wolves, stared at Zabril closely, even making him feel a little scared - and this ominous premonition was fulfilled when Russ reached out and tore off a piece of his cloak.

The Dark Angel's knees weakened and he suddenly knelt down.

Russ was not surprised by this, and the lightness he pretended to have on his face completely disappeared, leaving only coldness. He raised his head, looked at the warm light that was slowly pouring down, and let out another wolf howl.

The other wolf turned around and ran away without hesitation, as fast as a gust of cold wind. In less than half a second, it returned to Rus with a spear in its mouth. Rus reached out to take the weapon, raised his hand and stood up, throwing the Spear of Dionysus fiercely.

In fact, there is nothing magical about it. Its extreme sharpness is its only advantage. But sometimes, the simplest things can produce the most direct effect.

Following the sound of the spear's explosion, Zabril looked up and saw the dull golden light streaking through the darkness. Then, a big hand pressed on his shoulder.

"Get ready, helper." The wolf king warned seriously. "You will have a long way to go, and you can only rely on yourself for this journey."

As soon as he finished speaking, the surrounding scenery changed rapidly, like a rag that had been torn apart. Zabril had seen too many things that could not be described in words during this period of time, and at this moment he miraculously remained calm.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and felt everything around him - then, he heard a sound of something breaking, and something screaming in frustration, and finally, the whistling cold wind.

The dark angel opened his eyes and looked around, and suddenly found that they were in a snowy field, surrounded by vast white snow.

No, wait, that's not them.

Leman Russ and the two wolves were gone, leaving only his spear still standing and, of course, a body.

Zabril could no longer maintain his calm, and couldn't even take a deep breath. He gasped for breath, and the white mist came out of his mouth and nose, quickly turning into ice, and the little heat left in his body was quickly slipping away.

He didn't know where he was, and had no idea of ​​the harsh environment here. And now, he didn't care about it. He just knelt down, pulled off the completely useless right hand armor, and tried hard to touch the neck of the corpse.

As expected, no pulses traveled down his aching fingers.

Zabril fell backwards with a groan, then immediately got up. He ignored the dizziness in front of his eyes and performed several more checks. The results were the same. His understanding of the human body told him: Lion El'Jonson was dead.

He stared at the haggard face in silence. The sun was high in the sky, but instead of providing any warmth, it made his eyes go dark.

But
But three seconds later, Zabriel closed his mouth, and his teeth collided with each other, making a dull sound.

He clenched his right fist and punched himself. The pain came, blood and broken teeth splashed out, finally dyeing the white and hopeless snow a second color.

Well, that's a ways to go, isn't it?
The Dark Angel stood up, lifted his father, and carried his now frail body on his back, grabbing the spear in his hand, ready for the long journey.

Soon, he found himself in a vast snowfield, the snow was very thick, but there was a faint green in the distance on the horizon. He carried the corpse on his back, limping towards them using his spear as a crutch.

At this moment, a question came to my mind - how heavy could a Primarch weigh?

Zabril asked himself this question, and soon heard another voice answering him. That voice was reliable and steady, and it slowly echoed in his heart.

There are many answers to this question, depending on who you ask.

I'm asking about Leon El'Jonson.

So, is he wearing armor?
No, he was dead. He bled out.

So he must be terribly light now, right?
Yes.

Zabril's nose suddenly felt sore for no reason. Did he want to cry? Maybe, maybe there was a moment when he was really so weak.

However, the man who was carrying his father's body and moving slowly forward in the cold wind; the man who was wearing tattered armor, walking with difficulty, and being attacked by the cold had no tears flashing in his eyes, only pure willpower roaring silently.

Zabril strode forward. One minute, two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes—he walked for two hours and twenty-two minutes without stopping or slowing down.

The heat generated by the exercise did not turn into sweat, but it did warm his body, which was almost frozen at first. The white mist produced by his breath turned into ice, which he swallowed into his mouth and turned into a little water to replenish his insignificant physical strength.

He took advantage of everything, even his own grief - he wrapped his father's dead hands around his shoulders and used the corpse to keep warm.

And now, the green was right before his eyes.

So what were they? The answer was coniferous trees, towering like spires, their branches covered with snow. That was good, because it meant that the unnamed, extremely cold place he was in still had its natural environment intact.

And where there are green plants, there will naturally be animals, or at least insects.

Zabril stopped outside the needle forest and observed carefully. Soon he saw several moving shadows in this impenetrable spire forest. He slowed down and approached one of them, then immediately threw his spear.

Blood splattered, steam billowed, and a stag fell without pain. Zabril stepped forward quickly, pulled the spear out of its heart, and then put the body down and began to drink blood like a barbarian.

He had no idea how many days it had been since he had eaten, but he knew that this meal was exactly what he needed. In just a few minutes, he had eaten the huge stag to the point where its bones were exposed. He looked just like the greedy zombies in myths and legends.

But he did not continue. He just peeled the skin, removed the fascia, and rubbed the bloody inner side quickly back and forth on the snow several times until it became a fur cloak that could temporarily retain some heat, and then he stopped immediately.

He stood up, wrapped the cloak around his neck, tore a part of it roughly with his fingers, and then tied it into a knot. Then he carried the body on his back again, grabbed the spear, and came under a tree.

It was very tall, at least ten meters high. Zabril bit the middle of the spear and began to climb using his hands and feet. He was incredibly agile and soon reached the top.

He looked into the distance and easily saw a dark area in the white snow. At first glance, he even thought it was a cliff or a steep wall, but he soon realized that he was wrong. How could there be a cliff that towered into the clouds or even reached the sky?
His past experiences and the information he had read during the Legion slowly surfaced in his mind. Coupled with the fact that he was not sure whether Leman Russ was real or fake, Zabril soon came to a conclusion.

He was now in Fenris.

And that cliff is the wolf pack's lair, the Wolf Fang Castle. Or as they call it: Etter.

Zabril let go and jumped off the coniferous tree. The height of more than ten meters was no problem for him, not to mention the snow as a buffer. As soon as he landed, he quickly found the direction and walked towards the Wolf Fang Castle.

However, he couldn't always be so lucky. Soon, Fenris showed him his worst side - in just a few breaths, the sky suddenly darkened, and the broken storm slowly gathered on this dark curtain.

The snow was falling, the wind was howling, and visibility was suddenly reduced to an almost unacceptable level. If Zabril was not an ordinary person, he would have been lost in the snowstorm.

But even if he was an Astartes, what would it matter? He still had to endure the torture in this cold wind. In a short while, many scars appeared on his exposed skin, and the blood coagulated due to the low temperature before it could flow out.

Realizing that something was wrong, the Dark Angel stopped immediately and bit the spear again. At the same time, he tore the knot with one hand and pulled the cloak, and with the other hand he held the lion's now withered body and carefully wrapped him in the fur, leaving only his two hands outside for him to hold on to for support.

Without the warmth of the thick deerskin, Zabril soon felt the real chill. He had never been so cold before, but it was inevitable.

His power armor was damaged, and the machine soul was destroyed, leaving only the soulless machine to add weight in vain. The internal life support system had long been shut down, and it could not even bring any warmth now, but only added weight, leaving him with a series of deep footprints in the snow.
And if he knew anything about Fenris, not just the superficial knowledge he has now, then he would know how dangerous this matter is - creatures always learn to coexist with the natural environment, and Fenris is no exception.

There are creatures in this desolate place that only appear when winds and snows come, stalking anyone unfortunate enough to find them and devouring them whole.

Zabril naturally knew nothing about this matter, but he was a Dark Angel after all. After the eleventh minute of the blizzard, he realized that something was wrong. His intuition was giving him a warning.

This unusual instinct, gained after going through countless life and death experiences and being tempered in the flames of war, told him that something was targeting him.

Zabril was convinced of this, but he did not do anything he shouldn't have done. He still held the spear in his hand as a walking stick, his pace did not speed up, and even his breathing was normal.

He was very patient, waiting until the right time to show his claws, but that thing seemed different. Soon, with a flash of shadow, some kind of huge monster suddenly pounced at the end of Zabril's vision.

The Dark Angel, who was well prepared, took a step back, raised the spear in one hand, and aimed it at the attacker without exerting any force. The attacker had no way to avoid it due to his huge size, and could only let the spear penetrate his body and let out a painful roar.
The wind and snow were raging, and the stench of the wild beast's mouth filled his nose. Zabriel looked up without changing his expression, only to find that the one attacking him was a giant bear that was almost as big as an armored vehicle.

It was completely white, even its ten claws, which were thicker than the Astartes' combat daggers, were of this color. And at this moment, it was bleeding - seeing this scene, Zabril didn't know what to feel.

What? You've grown into a shape that looks like you could eat me alive, but your blood is still red? Why don't you just bleed some warp maggots?

The Dark Angel cursed the mutants in Fenris silently, drew his spear with his backhand, and retreated quickly - if he was half a second late, the giant bear's right claw would have ripped him apart.

In nature, size equals combat power, and he didn't want to test the sharpness of the claws of that thing with his tattered steel. But the giant bear didn't seem to be as cautious as ordinary predators who would pause for a moment to observe after missing a strike.

Perhaps because it was injured, it followed with a roar, completely ignoring the gleaming tip of the spear in Zabril's hand. Faced with this opportunity that came to its doorstep, the Dark Angel naturally accepted it without hesitation.

This time, he thrust the spear with all his might. Although he used one hand and lacked strength, he was accurate.

The Spear of Dionysus, which was covered with broken lines, pierced deeply into the chest of the giant bear. According to Zabril's idea, it should have pierced the heart of the thing and then passed through the body. But the fact was completely opposite to his idea. After the spear penetrated to a certain distance, it seemed to encounter resistance and could not go deeper.

Without caring about the reason, Zabril immediately abandoned his spear and retreated, pulling out the combat dagger from the outside of his thigh. The beast had already rushed over, its two small and somewhat ridiculous eyes full of ferocity.

Zabriel only needed to take a glance to understand that this thing's purpose had changed from predation to a fight to the death.

Obviously, it was not an ordinary animal. It did not have the instinct to seek benefits and avoid harm, and did not know when to stop and stop when it was good. If you had to say it, it was even a bit like a human - this extreme revenge mentality made Zabril frown for a while, feeling quite difficult.

He had hoped to make this thing retreat, but judging from its current appearance, a deadly battle was inevitable.

After making the decision, the Dark Angel held the battle dagger across his chest, and instead of retreating, he charged towards the giant bear that he was completely powerless against at the moment. This was simply a suicidal act. Given his current armed state, a head-on confrontation was obviously not the best option, but he did it anyway.

In a flash, the giant bear's five sharp claws collided with the single-molecule blade, sparks flew everywhere, and Zabril felt a strong sense of shock in his right hand holding the knife, as if he was holding a rusty knife to cut a rotten tree root soaked in water.
He gritted his teeth, threw the knife, dodged sideways, and barely avoided the giant bear's bite. Then he immediately reached out to grab the spear stuck in its body, twisted his wrist, pulled out the spear with his backhand, and even dodged another claw attack while pulling out a large piece of flesh and blood.

The evil wind blew across his cheeks, and the blizzard came, with the chopped snowflakes flying onto his cheeks like blood, with an impact so great that it made people feel confused.

But Zabril had no time to think at this moment. He held the spear, roared, aimed at the giant bear's head, and stabbed it from bottom to top. His opponent was not to be outdone, and the remaining five claws were wrapped in the terrifying power of breaking a tree with a palm.
Two muffled sounds flashed by, blood splattered, and Zabril staggered back two steps, his chest was a bloody mess. He looked down at himself and saw pale broken bones and a beating heart.

And what about the giant bear?
It was standing there motionless, its half-upright body swaying slightly in the wind and snow, blood gushing out of the hole on its head, flowing down like a waterfall, staining its fur and the spear itself red.

Zabril raised his hand to his chest.

Damn it.
He suddenly felt a strange itch in his throat, but all he coughed up was blood foam. With no other options, Zabril walked to the side of the beast he had just killed and raised his hand to try to pull out the spear.

The giant bear fell on its back, stirring up the thick snow. Zabril looked down at its claws and found that his own flesh and blood were hanging on them. He wanted to curse the monster that was raised in this damn place, but he really had no strength left and could only lean on his spear to barely stand.

Perhaps the only thing that made him happy was that the corpse behind him was still intact on his back, with one hand tightly held by him.

Zabril could no longer hold on and fell to the ground, shaking. He tried several times to stand up, but to no avail.

His self-healing ability was taking effect, helping him to stop the bleeding, but his injuries were too severe. Even if he was lucky enough to survive, he would have to go into shock at this moment.

Adrenaline could not help him, and his transformed body was now exhausted. The Dark Angel had to rely on willpower to untie the body of the original and put it behind him.
He only had time to do so much before his vision fell into darkness.

Ten minutes after he fell unconscious, a storm bird tore through the snow curtain and cast a blinding light over his head.
-
Bjorn raised his hand to his brother's shoulder and asked, "Are you sure?"

The blind man replied without even turning his head: "Since I asked you to come, it means I am 100% sure."

He paused, and the work in his hands slowed down a little - as if to make his words more convincing, he turned his head to look at Bjorn, his sunken eyelids making this gaze weird and absurd. But neither he nor Bjorn laughed.

"Ten percent," Azek Ahriman said. "I'm not kidding."

"Okay," Bjorn said. "Then I'll leave him to you. I'll tell the Wolf Priest to stay away from you."

He turned around and gestured to the four bloody wolves waiting for orders. They all nodded, then immediately turned around and left, doing what they were supposed to do.

Those who needed to be healed healed their wounds, and those who wanted to rest rested, but according to Bjorn's understanding of them, these five young wolf cubs would definitely rush directly to the banquet hall to eat and drink to their heart's content, disgust their brothers with their stinking bodies, and then loudly proclaim what they did last night.
They would definitely be very proud to tell others that last night, they had fought a bloody battle with the ancient evil spirits under the ice of the Far North, side by side with the blind man. And until dawn, they did not die.

Of course, if they don't seek treatment after finishing their meal, then the description of "not dead yet" may have to be modified.

Bjorn suddenly felt like laughing.

"You've taught them well..." The Lone Wolf laughed softly and patted Ahriman on the shoulder. "If your brother Khayon knew you were so popular among us, he would probably scold you in a meeting again."

"Are you endless?"

Ahriman cursed impatiently, his hands suddenly raised, the blood-stained scalpel gleaming in the dim light, to show where his attention was at the moment.

But Bjorn did not answer, but laughed wildly, and Ahriman turned around in anger and roared at him.

"The leader wolf has called you! Are you suffering from Alzheimer's? Go see him and stop bothering me here! Can't you see I'm stitching up his wound?!"

Bjorn finally stopped smiling, shrugged his shoulders, and walked to the door of the dark room, but he did not forget to say one more thing at the end.

"What do you think he would think if he woke up halfway and found that we sent a blind man to treat his injuries?"

"The old antiques of the First Legion have never liked you stupid wolves." Ahriman said coldly.

"You blind fucker," Bjorn cursed, then turned and walked away.

The cold wind was blowing outside the dark room, which meant that this place was not as well heated as other places in Etter. This was indeed the case, this was an abandoned part.

Et rose from the depths of the highest mountain in Asaheim, and has been constantly transformed and built over the past ten thousand years. The appearance may still be roughly the same as it was ten thousand years ago, but the inside is already very different.

Bjorn saw clearly that this was a good thing, and that stopping would only bring disaster, but he also knew that these changes would never have been so easy without Lion El'Jonson's visits every century.

Although wolves are frighteningly open-minded in some ways, they can also be described as stupid, superstitious, stubborn, and conservative.
Bjorn finished his thoughts and stopped in front of a naturally carved stone cave. It seemed that there was no one here, but there were many pairs of eyes shining in the darkness. Light gold, dark pupils, with pure heat.

"What are you looking at here?" the oldest of the wolves asked coldly. "Don't you have your own things to do?"

"Leader——"

"——Shut up." Bjorn scolded coldly, interrupting him. The wolf obviously couldn't stand this, and the bone ornaments hanging on the armor made a rustling sound.

Bjorn narrowed his eyes and looked at him hard, his sharp canine teeth sticking out from his thin lips, bringing a sense of wildness. His face didn't seem to age much despite the passing of time, and he still had the same cold and stern look as if he had been hacked by a knife or an axe. Especially at this moment, his gaze was particularly oppressive.

After a few seconds, the wolf that was looking at him sighed, looked away, and muttered, "I know I'm wrong and I'll correct it."

"I'll take care of everything." Bjorn said to him in a gentle tone. "Trust me, no one's life will be broken today."

After that, the wolves retreated silently and disappeared into the darkness. Bjorn strode into the cave. It was very primitive here. The inner wall was so rough that it seemed like it had never been polished. However, it showed a deep blackness that was absolutely beyond nature.

In front of him was a towering stone platform, which was extremely smooth. There were two deep pits where he stood, matching his feet.

Time is so powerful, Bjorn thought.

His shoulders suddenly sank, for no other reason than the emaciated corpse on the stone platform.

a thousand years.

Bjorn closed his eyes and exhaled, and suddenly he heard the howling of a pack of wolves. They started from the bottom of Etter and went all the way up, colliding in the gaps between stones, pipes and mechanical components, and finally fell into his ears.

He could hear the sadness in the voice and understood that the wolves already knew about the departure of their leader.
Yes, Lion El'Jonson, the leader of the wolves. Ten thousand years ago, Gunnar Gunhildr himself acknowledged this. Ten thousand years later, he has fulfilled this duty. Ten thousand years later, he lies before Bjorn, lifeless.

The lone wolf looked away, avoiding his grief, and reached out to grab a spear. Suddenly, the cold wind whistled, and a voice sounded from the bottom of his heart.

"Why so sad, Bjorn?"

"Death of the Leader"

"Oh, screw you," Leman Russ cursed softly. "He's not dead. You hear me. He's not dead. Do you understand? Now get all the rune priests here. I have something to say to them."

Bjorn pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and said in his heart: "Excuse me, Wolf Leader, not everyone is like you, who can -"

"——What can I do?" The wolf king interrupted him sinisterly, just like he had done not long ago. Bjorn choked, but still wanted to finish his words, but Russ didn't give him the chance.

"Stop being so timid and worried about this and that!" the Fenrisian shouted. "I'm telling you again, he's not dead! Did you hear me? All-Father, Ahriman is blind, and you're deaf too, right? You two are really good brothers, do you need me to call Thunder and the others over so they can see what a horrible state you're in now?"

".Why do you speak so harshly, Primarch?"

A hissing sound came from the bottom of his heart. Bjorn let go of his hand in annoyance, leaned his spear against the side of the stone platform, turned around and fled away.

He was prepared to do as Russ said and call all the rune priests over. Apart from that, he didn't think about anything else, but his steps had become much lighter.

(End of this chapter)