Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 315 Barbarus’ War

At first, the appearance of the hermit Fath caused quite a stir in Mortarion's haven camp.

The dark-skinned, weather-beaten old man, supported by the young man in black robes beside him, got down from the iron frame connected to the rear of Mortarion's vehicle, and slowly but surely landed on the ground in the camp. .

Leader Mortarion personally introduced with a straight face that this was the mysterious hermit who had been helping behind the Overlord War for several months. Now, after negotiations and discussions between the two parties, Hermit Fath finally agreed to come out and join Mortarion's battle ranks as a provider of wisdom.

The fact that an old man and a young man have been able to live alone in the mist-filled deep mountain valleys for many years is not only an abnormal phenomenon in the common sense of the Barbarus people, but in fact, this is something that even the most bizarre local legends dare not dare to do. Compiled tall tales.

No one can understand how two mortals like them survived the poisonous fog, ghosts in the cold night, scarce living resources, and the plunder swept by the overlord like a strong wind, and lived alone in the depths of the wilderness. and even provided foreshadowing and assistance to their venerable Reaper Mortarion.

Some warriors choose to trust Mortarion's judgment, pay respect to the two assistants who have made great contributions, and are willing to find food for the old man that is easier to chew and digest, or surround the old man after returning from victory and listen. This wise man told about the starry sky and ocean that Barbarus had never heard of.

Other warriors couldn't help but wonder if this was a conspiracy by a certain sorcery overlord, using some small favors to deceive the trust of their leader who was strong on the outside but soft on the inside, in the hope that Mortarion would become the overlord in the future. Rule willingly.

In any case, after the old Fath and the young Morse sent advice to Mortarion one after another and brought victory after victory to many camps and settlements, the masses were pragmatic. Let go of your doubts and draw nourishment for victory from the wisdom of the hermits.

After discovering that the old man Faz could accompany them to drink Barbarus' poisoned wine, the deep fighting friendship between the two parties reached its peak.

Cheers immediately echoed in the haven of dawn.

After staying up all night to watch how the two would decide the outcome, the crowd knew that it was the final moment of the fight. They all stood up unsteadily and stared attentively. Fath and Mortarion's next move.

During the next period from midnight to early morning, the two of them engaged in a silent drinking contest without giving in to each other. By the time the weak sunlight penetrated the thick fog and fell on the eaves of the Haven City Gate Outpost, not a drop of poisonous wine was left in the several brewing machines.

In the square, some soldiers who could still stand noticed the actions of the hermit Faas and rushed forward to avoid seeing the tragic scene of the old man foaming at the mouth and dying on the spot seven seconds later.

At first, everyone just had a small taste of it. Relying on their own toughness, they survived a wave of severe pain that burned through their hearts. They patted each other on the back in cold sweat to celebrate the victory.

However, after the old man drank the first cup, his complexion gradually turned rosy, and his eyes shone with a sharpness that did not match his age. With just one glance back, the mortal warriors named Death Guard trembled in awe and did not dare to say anything.

They try to get enough rest and sleep at night, living in groups in settlements sheltered by firelight, resisting the unusual calls coming from the thick fog and the noise of demonic nails scratching on smooth surfaces.

Soon, some people who were particularly interested in the pungent and refreshing pain, or soldiers with painful faces who had lost consecutive boxing bets with their comrades next to them, began to taste the second glass of poisonous wine.

"A toast to you, Mortarion." Fath raised his glass to Mortarion.

Morse put the matter through some minor artistic processing and sent it to the Perturabo case through letters. Presumably the next time Perturabo and Leman Russ get a chance to communicate, Russ will learn about this and laugh out loud, drawing out a chain of inequalities in which he is better than the Emperor and better than his new brother. .

It was precisely this way that the Emperor finally achieved a great victory in drinking for the first time in various meeting ceremonies with his heirs.

After looking at each other for thirteen seconds, Mortarion's legs swayed slightly, stretched out his hand to support the large iron can of the brewing machine, and began to pant.

To Mortarion, the previous poisonous rain did not add much flavor to the pure water that passed through the water purifier. At most, it was just the difference from pure water to light herbal tea. Only now, after careful refining and brewing, did Barbarus's poisonous wine finally give him a feeling of stimulating his taste buds.

Outside of the short leisure time used to celebrate victory and soothe their spirits, the Barbarus almost always implement the silence and resistance they were born with and trained in the poisonous fog, following the direction pointed by Mortarion's scythe.

That day, as long as the returning combatants could still open their mouths, they were carried to the central square, waiting to be put into the brand-new brewing machines built for them by a clan that had joined and were skilled in craftsmanship. , what kind of soul-shaking wine can flow out.

Mortarion walked from the steps on the side of the square to the center, bent down to take a glass of wine, and touched Fath lightly.

According to Mortarion's order, the water used for brewing was naturally the poisonous rain dropped by Barbarus, and the fermentation raw materials were the grain harvested from the wheat fields.

It was a good day when Mortarion returned from a great victory, returned to his safe haven from his military stronghold in the northwest, and invited his warriors to a feast.

Mortarion squinted his eyes, letting the burning sting spread warmly in his body. He was intoxicated by the drunkenness brought by the poisonous wine. Suddenly he saw a hale and hearty old man approaching the row of poison-brewing plants with windy steps. The wine machine's eyes suddenly opened wide.

Mortarion drank cup after cup with them, monitoring the situation. If someone clutches the clothes on his chest and falls to the ground with a face as stiff as a mask, he will call the medical staff for him after more than fourteen seconds.

The two figures still stood on the ground, letting the morning light pass over the two resolute but slightly white faces.

When the dying sunlight illuminated the path of battle, they trained day after day to wear heavy armor, use heavy weapons or large swords and clubs to fight, and learned how to judge before receiving Mortarion's call. Comparing the concentration of the fog with the anti-toxic ability of the body's anti-toxic armor, and learning how to put into use the captured munitions of the Witchcraft Overlord.

The constant attempts to adjust armor and enhance the armor's protection resulted in a lot of lives being wasted in Barbarus' poisonous gas pools or death restricted areas that were rarely visited by humans. It also caused the Death Guards' armor to continue to thicken until it was completely It developed into a distinctive heavy armor.

They didn't move very fast, but they were heavy enough. And it is irresistible, showing a destructive quality. When a dark mountain range is surrounded by the Death Guard troops that are gradually becoming famous in Barbarus, it is basically equivalent to the arrival of a completely ruthless battle of annihilation.

Mortarion is often at the forefront of battle sequences, relying on his far stronger physique and ruthless endurance to create a winning start for his team.

Deep in the mist, his scythe swung like a crescent moon on the battlefield. The blade shuttled, pierced, cut, and pulled through the entrails and flesh of sorcerer golems and ferocious beasts, pulling out the rotten entrails from the enemy's chests. Then he threw it at his feet together with the corpse, indicating the enemy's death. From the mouths of two extraterrestrial visitors, Mortarion confirmed that sorcery puppets still have the ability to feel emotions, that they understand the meaning of pain, and that they can be robbed of their consciousness by the fear of facing death. Perhaps this is the power of destruction and the horror of death - as long as there is still the instinct of thinking, and the closer the ability of thinking is to the innate nature of living things, the more the enemy will fear death.

Death creates the foundation of power. Mortarion gradually touched upon this point of view. This was the way of rule that Naklay and he had emphasized many times, and was the root of the tyranny imposed on Barbarus by the sorcerer overlords.

He had scoffed at it, and the more Nacre emphasized it to him, the more he couldn't stand it. But in his own battle journey, Mortarion himself rediscovered this law.

Or maybe the thought never left him. After all, his name is the Son of Death, and his legion is called the Death Guard.

But, Mortarion thought, death brings fear, fear brings obedience, and obedience brings the basis of power.

But what truly crowns power should be a word that is contrary to death.

His squad followed his path through the blood, firing blazing cannons or wielding huge machetes.

These weapons were snatched from the hands of various overlords, making the process of unifying the legions' armaments too unattainable.

Cold weapons are not a big problem, but there may not be a second box of ammunition for each gun. Therefore, the equipment department, which is becoming increasingly manic, asks them to throw away these messy firecrackers without ammunition replenishment after they are used up. , if there are no weapons temporarily available on the battlefield, they can also be used as sticks and daggers.

The heavily armored warriors are also more inclined to use large-caliber firearms at close range, causing the blood and dark poison to burst and explode in the smoking muzzles, splashing everywhere.

In any case, this has never affected the morale of the Death Guard army. They march quietly on the battlefield - some guys like to shout and touch the side of their forehead with the barrel of a gun that emits a wisp of smoke, proudly Tell Mortarion that they are invincible; or rush towards Mortarion at the end of the reconnaissance mission, excitedly reporting that there are no enemy troops in this direction, because they conveniently took over the Overlord's stronghold during the reconnaissance process. All guards are cleared.

Mortarion warned them reprimanding them not to be so relaxed in the battle, not to let their blood flow unnecessarily between the mountain strongholds and fortresses because of distraction or excessive mental excitement.

During the months of war, Mortarion once suffered from the casualties of his warriors, and resented the fragility and fragility of mortal flesh. These biological weaknesses and dregs accumulated over tens of thousands of years make mortal bodies unable to bear the hardness and weight of their souls.

He needs a legion with enough physical strength and fighting will to keep up with his pace, otherwise, objectively speaking, they will be dragging each other down. Even if Mortarion wanted to fight to his heart's content and bring mortals with him to fight, the unchangeable differences in physiological conditions would cause him repeated setbacks.

Mortarion was also confused and frustrated by his own strength.

His unparalleled strength seems like a natural curse, or a gift. The richer the methods and techniques he gained from intuitive calculations in battle, and the colder and sharper the bloody thoughts that emerged, the more he felt that he was a weapon born for war.

It was too late to feel resentful about the purpose of his birth. When Mortarion saw the mortal Fath and the wizard Morse leaning against the door railing at the entrance of the haven, waiting for him to return, one seemed to have endless patience, and the other was obviously because of waiting. When he was wandering around in the world with nothing to do, he felt that his behavior of depressingly struggling with the meaning of birth and doubting whether the two people and the Overlord were essentially the same was hopelessly weak.

With the help of Morse, Mortarion planned the location and outcome of each battle, using limited material and time resources to optimize the path, sequence and method of solving the battle.

One transfer station after another was destroyed, one transportation link after another was destroyed and overturned, and Mortarion's chemical bombs made outstanding contributions.

The monitoring radar station was suddenly blasted, the mountains collapsed, and the signal was interrupted, making the overlord's army feel as helpless as mortals in the fog.

Warehouses and workshops were uprooted and burned to the ground. Military factories and civilian factories that provided the overlord with a wealthy life were captured by the Death Guard, and the enemy lost the source of its supply chain.

At the same time, the scout team, diligently in charge of another psyker, Karas Typhon, worked day and night, exploring the mountains and fortresses, reporting every piece of information needed for the war to Mortarion.

In such a long-lasting and constant offensive, the Barbarus Resistance Front swept across the entire dusk planet, like a beacon suddenly lighting up in the mist, and the light penetrated into the depths of darkness.

More and more overlords fall under Mortarion's scythe. They are often immersed in extreme shock before they die, and they don't understand why their extremely strong rule is suddenly overturned by the low-level races. Those who hand Mortarion a self-righteous letter of alliance and invite him to become a member of the Overlord often die faster.

Mortarion, with no extra emotion in his heart, cut off the overlord's head step by step and threw it at the door of the hermit Fath. He began to understand that the true gift the Emperor had given him when they first met was a template for behavior. No explanation is needed, no report is needed, all the Emperor wants is the victory of the Legion and the surrender of the enemy.

Finally, there was only one last enemy left in front of him.

Heavy but steady breathing passed through Mortarion's mask, echoing under the dark mountains. He raised his head, looking through the rolling poisonous fog and accumulated clouds, staring indifferently at the dark realm exposed in the gap between the lightning and cumulus clouds.

On the day he escaped from Nakre's fortress, he jumped from this towering cliff and fell into a freedom he had never experienced before in his life.

In this year's war, Nakre's army has been retreating steadily, and all the secondary forces affiliated to him have been killed. Mortarion will not accept any surrender. Destruction and death are the only good news he brings to his enemies.

The same goes for Nacre.

Mortarion's fingers slid over the scythe, and the blade tilted forward slightly. Silver light passed over the blade, stopping in the silence of preparation.

Behind him, the Death Guard awaited the call.

The hermit Faz and the wizard Morse ignored the well-meaning advice of the people in the haven and insisted on following the end of the team, waiting for the final battle that was bound to come.

(End of this chapter)