40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 804.1. The Dead Volcano
In the ancient language of the star Nocturne, its name, 'Nocturne', usually has two meanings.

One is darkness, the other is night. Both can be associated with quiet, but the world is not like that.

Every fifteen Terra years, it will face an inescapable, global catastrophe. Thousands of volcanoes will erupt simultaneously, followed by earthquakes, tsunamis, rising radiation, and a series of other unusual natural environmental events, ending in a long, harsh winter.

During this period, everything will be on the verge of collapse, without exception.

However, the people of Nocturne were not pessimistic. On the contrary, they even viewed this series of disasters as a harsh trial, a 'time of testing'.

They sound like a bunch of crazy people who worship suffering, but that's not the case at all.

Nocturne is generous; its crust holds countless treasures, and the continuous tectonic movements during the trials provide the perfect opportunity to reveal them to the world. Whether they are precious mineral veins or ancient technological creations, the Cult of Mechanics is always willing to pay exorbitant prices to acquire them.

In fact, the nearby casting worlds had long ago sent their own trade representatives to be stationed on Nocturne or its satellites to obtain first-hand intelligence.

In conclusion, this world can be described as extremely prosperous. Furthermore, Nocturne Star possesses seven colossal cities, all situated in locations unaffected by major disasters. Each city is fortified with massive void shields and alloy walls, making them incredibly sturdy and capable of withstanding the trials.
Moreover, each city even has a company of salamanders stationed there, equipped with the best gear and undergoing the most rigorous training.

Therefore, in the imagination of the general public, the people of Nocturne Star should all be living a simple, happy, and fulfilling life.

Unfortunately, the truth is often quite different from what we imagine.

The seven great cities have a large population, but most people in the world are unwilling to stay in them and would rather live in the wild.

There are many reasons, but according to the survey and research of the Imperial Historical Society, as well as their book "The Anvil of the Empire" published in 278.M37, the main reason should be the ancient tribal tradition of the Nocturne Star People.

They still have the ancient profession of shamanism and a rich culture of death, believing that the body of the deceased will nourish the earth after being buried. This makes them generally unwilling to leave the place where their tribe has lived for generations, even if there is a risk to their lives.

These tribespeople would only travel sadly and reluctantly to the nearest major city if they encountered a situation that would lead to the destruction or disappearance of their settlement.

The book "The Anvil" also mentions that in the culture of tribal peoples, such things are generally seen as warnings or punishments issued by the spirits of ancestors.

If the shaman believes the latter, the tribe's most elite warriors will set off together towards the most magnificent and dangerous volcano on Nocturne.
They must hunt a fire dragon before they can return to atone for their sins.

—The Fourth In-Depth Study of Nocturne and Salamander.

Author: Meek Goun, Imperial Scholar.
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Imo of Shtar opened his mouth and bit a rope, then wrapped it around the joint of the spear to reinforce it.

If he had a choice, he wouldn't treat his weapons in such a rudimentary and laughable way, but he had recently been in a life-or-death battle that nearly caused him to fall off a cliff.

If he hadn't been prepared, he would probably have already fallen into the abyss and been smashed to pieces.
However, surviving by chance often comes at a price, and the price he paid was his backpack. Inside were food, forging tools, and even a bottle of precious, clear water. This water came from the Sea of ​​Asepian, which a merchant from the megacity of Epimetheus had sold to his tribe four and a half months earlier, along with some other supplies.

At that time, he would never have imagined that it would be handed over to him by the shaman and the elders.

And now I've lost it. The boy thought with frustration.

He set down his spear, reached into his belt and took out a second rope, continuing to tighten it. Once he finished, his loose spearhead was firmly in place again.
It's just gotten a little uglier.

He tried to comfort himself with that thought, but couldn't help staring at the spear for a long time before admitting: Well, not some, it's become ugly.

Imo sighed heavily, his face filled with shame—what if others saw it? Such a spear would surely be a laughingstock.
But he doesn't have any better options right now.

The boy stood up, walked to the winged beast he had just killed, took out the skinning knife strapped to his thigh, and patiently began to cut the flesh.

He didn't take too much, because it was unnecessary. He couldn't take much with him, and rather than adding to his burden on the road, he would rather leave the meat for the other creatures here so that they could have a good meal after he left.

A few minutes later, he carried a large piece of winged beast meat to a protruding black rock and casually tossed the meat onto it. It quickly began to hiss and emit a fragrant aroma, making Imo eager for more.

However, when he put the fully cooked meat into his mouth, it felt like he was gnawing on a rock.

The last elite warrior of the Shitar tribe finished gnawing on the stone with a sour face, and then continued on his way.

He had been on his journey for over a month, traversing the Serpent Fang Mountains alone. According to the shaman, he would see the Death Volcano in a few more days.

Imo once asked him what he would do if he lost his way, but the shaman smiled and told him that such a thing would not happen.

why?
"Because the volcano's temperature can burn you back from the wrong path," Imo murmured to himself, reciting the shaman's words, feeling the rising temperature around him, and continued walking forward.

That night, he chose to sleep in the shadow of a boulder, which attracted the attention of carrion worms. These swarming monsters seemed unconcerned about attacking him while he was still alive, so Imo had no choice but to fight back. He bled a little, killed twelve carrion worms, but broke his spear in the process. With no other option, he improvised, taking the hard carapaces of two carrion worms, binding them together with their slime and blood, and finally, through intense heat, creating a reasonably large shield.

But disaster did not leave him alone. The next day, while climbing a low mountain, he was attacked by winged beasts again.

The wretched winged creature seized its opportunity and nearly pecked out his eyes. In the end, Imo killed it with his shield and spear, but he wasn't much better off. The winged beast hadn't lost his eyes, but it had slashed his right cheek, taking several of his molars in the process. The boy had to find a sufficiently flat stone, dig a hole, bury it in the ground, and wait until it was red-hot before taking it out. He pressed it against his right cheek, thus scalding the wound.

After receiving simple first aid, he cut off a few pieces of flesh and continued on his journey.

On the third day, the surroundings grew hotter and hotter, even making him, a Shitar man living on the ridge of Longding Mountain, dizzy from the heat. With no other choice, he stopped and used a piece of meat as a makeshift bait, thus hunting an old rock bear.

These beasts, capable of drinking lava raw, are usually enormous, but the one he killed was shockingly thin, almost nothing more than a massive skeleton. In fact, Immo even thought it had deliberately come to its death, because the bear didn't even resist when he charged at it. Immo used its skin to make a simple, furry water bag, but instead of water, it was filled with the old rock bear's scalding blood.

He survived on this bag of blood until the sixth day, and on this unbearably hot morning, he finally reached the foot of the deadly volcano.

He stared in disbelief. The old shaman who had visited this place in his youth had spoken of its appearance several times after getting drunk, and his mother—the best hunter in the Shitar tribe—had also been pestered by him to tell him about it, but words were always inadequate, and it was only at this moment that Imo Shitar finally understood.

He had absolutely no idea how to describe the enormous, dark red mountain range before him; he only knew that it looked incredibly huge.
Several minutes later, he seemed to wake up from a dream and began to walk down.

Several hours later, the still absent-minded boy stepped alone onto the iconic, cracked ground of the dead volcano.

For some reason, the never-solidifying magma gurgled within, forcing him to stop and observe every few steps. But this stop-and-go pace didn't just slow him down; it gave him more time to think—Imo of Shtar immediately realized that in his current state, hunting a fire dragon was a complete pipe dream.

He was injured, many injuries. The ones on his face weren't that important; at most, he just had to chew food on his left side. The real injuries were the hidden wounds from continuous fighting and the exhaustion. He hadn't had a proper rest for over a month. He ate a lot, but he had actually lost a lot of weight.

Moreover, his current weaponry consists only of a shield and a short spear—to challenge a fire dragon with those? That would be suicide!

"Well, I need to find a place to rest first," the boy thought. He found a towering rock, climbed to the top, took off his shirt and laid it on his body before lying down.

Near the dead volcano, he didn't need to worry about attacks from winged beasts or other wild animals. The fire dragons had already designated this area as their territory, and they wouldn't dare to step onto the edge, let alone attack him.
These terrifying and magnificent creatures only roam deep within the volcano, so Imo doesn't need to pay attention to them unless he deliberately ventures into their territory.

He let out a long breath, gazing at the dark, cloud-covered sky above Nocturne, a wave of melancholy washing over him.

"Can I do it?" he wondered. "Can I really kill a fire dragon?"

The faces of the shaman and the elders flashed before his eyes, followed by his home, then the clay statue of his father, and finally settled on his mother's blood-stained, pained face.

Imo closed his eyes and began to take deep breaths.

He hid his pain well, and exhaustion immediately took its place, leading him into a light sleep—until he was awakened by a rough and deep voice that pierced through his restless sleep and reached his heart.

"Wake up, child."

The boy, clutching his shield and short spear, leaped to his feet, looked warily toward the source of the sound, and then stared in disbelief once more.

"How did you get here?" the person who woke him asked in a low voice with concern. "This is not a place for a child like you to sleep. Where is your tribe? Who brought you here?"

"I, I," Imo stammered, struggling to utter a complete sentence.

He was sweating profusely with anxiety, and even tried to use gestures to make the other person understand what he was saying—but the man simply reached out and effortlessly lifted him off the rock.

He put him on the ground, then half-squatted down and carefully examined him for a moment.

The shtar man swallowed nervously; the other man's crimson eyes, exactly like those in the legends, frightened him.

"Did you come alone?" the man suddenly asked.

Immo nodded immediately.

"from where?"

“Dragon Peak Ridge,” Imo answered nervously—and then he noticed that the other person was laughing.

"You're all alone?" The other person stood up, casting a shadow that completely obscured the boy. "You actually made your way all the way from the Dragon Peak Ridge?"

Immo completely failed to grasp the underlying joy in those words. In fact, the impetuousness typical of youth led him to misinterpret the statement and the giant's posture as disdain and contempt. On Nocturne, this was often how liars were treated. His face flushed red, and he began to loudly retort.

"You don't believe me? Fine, then look at this, look! The carrion shell of a stone forest carrion beetle, and this, a water bag made of rock bear skin, and, and more..."

Seeing that he couldn't provide any more evidence, he paused for a moment, then started gesturing wildly, pointing at his face, completely forgetting that he was still holding a short spear.

A giant hand descended from the sky, landing on the spear and gently yet irresistibly grasping it.

“I believe in you, child,” the giant said softly. “Now come with me, okay? You need to have a good meal and then get a good night’s sleep.”

He turned around and led Imo in another direction. The boy followed silently for quite a while before realizing he should ask something, so he cautiously spoke up.

"Cough, what's your name?"

"Norn." The giant turned around kindly, his crimson eyes gleaming like jewels. "And you, child?"

"I am Imo of Shitar!" the boy said loudly, puffing out his chest.

Norn smiled, but the smile didn't last long before it was interrupted by a sudden, dull thud from above them.

He and Imo looked up together and saw a silver metallic monster tear through the rolling clouds like lightning, plunge into the thick radioactive dust, and then reappear, shrieking as it flew over their heads.

"What is that?" Imo stared in disbelief for the third time. "Ancestor, is that a dragon?!"

“The original species of dragon went extinct a long time ago, leaving only its offspring. Besides, it was an airship,” Norn said. “And it came from the Inquisition.”

He seemed to be deep in thought, but then he frowned very seriously.

(End of this chapter)