Warhammer: Black Emperor

Chapter 440 Mortarian: The equipment from the trade is really useful.

The highest peak in Barbarossa is shrouded in poisonous gas year-round.

The gray castle stood atop the mountain peak, completely shrouded in thick, poisonous fog.

The Barbarosians launched an attack on the sorcerous overlords who had enslaved them; this was the final battle for liberation.

Mortarian held a scythe, with Karas Typhon and other elite warriors he named the Death Guard behind him.

Unlike previous offensive battles, this time all the militia were mobilized.

This was both because Mortarion needed all his strength to breach the last stronghold and because the militia no longer needed to defend their villages.

All the enemies are on this mountain peak.

An endless expanse of zombies emerged from behind gray rocks, from behind white trees, and from green poisonous gas.

Mortarian wore a specially designed respirator on his face, knowing that his alien foster father, the Pale King Nekalé, was waiting for him on the mountaintop.

He fought his way to the mountaintop, which would consume a great deal of his strength.

Nekare will only appear when he reaches the place where the fog is thickest, which is where the overlords who breathe the poison gas can exert their abilities the most, and also where he is the weakest.

But he was prepared; his mission had to be accomplished.

Mortarian gripped his scythe tightly, swung it, and sliced ​​more than a dozen zombies in half at the waist.

His superhuman vision pierced through the horde of corpses, locking onto the pale-skinned sorcerer overlord.

The sorcerer raised his staff, a green aura spreading from him, and the zombie's unsteady steps suddenly became swift as he charged towards Mortalian.

Mortarian strode forward, his scythe flashing, and the zombies fell in droves.

He walked slowly and indifferently, his sickle tearing open the rotting body, the mangled limbs scattering like shrapnel.

Mortarian smashed through the line of zombies, rushed to the sorcerer's master, and swiftly felled him.

Mortarian didn't shake his scythe to shake off the grayish-white chunks of flesh and blood clinging to the blade. This was going to be a long battle, but he was resilient enough.

Mortarian kept swinging his scythe, the giant scythe drawing a wide arc as limbs fell like raindrops.

After an unknown amount of time, the gray fortress came into view.

Mortarian's eyes gleamed; his mission was nearing completion.

He stormed straight into the gray fortress, pulled out a combat nutrient potion, and his exhausted body was once again filled with power.

His scythe swung with increasing speed, and wherever it passed, swathes of gray-white bodies fell.

As Mortarion stepped into the fortress, the memories lingered in the corners of his mind became clearer. He followed those memories, searching for Nekare.

In his memory, his former alien foster father was most often associated with palaces and witchcraft laboratories.

"You've come." A deep, familiar voice echoed in Mortarian's ears; he could already smell the stench of witchcraft.

"Stop playing those witchcraft tricks!" Mortarian looked around, trying to locate Nekare by sound.

"There is no escape, only revenge and punishment!"

Following the sound, Mortarian smashed through four walls before finally seeing that familiar, tall figure.

His grayish-white body was similar in height to his own, and he held a dazzling, unpleasant staff.

"My son, it's been a long time."

As he spoke, dark green smoke billowed from his mouth.

Mortarian's voice came through the respirator, "Die!"

He raised his scythe and charged toward Nekare.

The scythe struck the green psionic shield with a loud bang. Nekal's staff slammed into the ground, and green pus spread rapidly, engulfing Mortalian like tentacles, reaching for his former adopted son.

Mortarian's grey boots slammed heavily on the ground, and his scythe slashed down with lightning speed, shattering the venomous tentacles of the smoke.

The shockwaves and roars echoed, the walls collapsed, and a gray-white figure emerged from the gray fortress.

Poisonous gas billowed, and green psionic lightning streaked across the sky.

The two reduced the entire mountain to ruins.

Nakare's head was buzzing. He raised his hand to block the scythe and exclaimed in amazement.

“My son, you are more capable than I imagined.”

Mortarian did not reply; he knew that Nekare was trying to glean information from his response.

The respirator provided by Nimrod was very useful. If I had used the rudimentary filter I made myself, it would have been damaged by inhaling the toxic gas, and I would have felt weak all over.

I will win this battle of destiny!
Mortarion swung his scythe repeatedly, slashing at the psionic shield.

Amidst the crashing sound, Nekare raised his staff.

A blinding green light erupted, and countless green spikes shot out from the gray armor.

Mortarion's armor clanged with a piercing sound as green spikes pierced it, turning it into a hedgehog-like structure, the green venom coating the spikes crackling and popping.

Mortarian knew that if it were the crude armor he had made earlier, he would have been injured by that attack.

The excellent armor he acquired through the Tongninglu trade protected him from the attack.

But the crisis was not over; he could not withstand the thick poisonous gas at the mountaintop.

With a venomous explosion, the palm-sized gray armor rapidly dissolved, instantly shrinking to the size of a finger before falling to the ground.

The poison gas seeped into the armor through the breach.

“My son, you are still too young. Come back to my side, and I will continue to teach you.” Nekare said mockingly, pulling away as he took a deep breath of poison gas, the buzzing in his head seeming to subside.

Having regained some of his strength, Nekare's eyes turned cold. His former adopted son was actually able to fight him to this extent, which was completely beyond his expectations.

The psychological impact contained in his sarcastic remarks was nothing more than to undermine Mortarian's will.

The name means Son of Death, it was given by Him, and now it is His turn to bring about its end.

Nekare grinned maliciously as he raised his staff, his eyes brimming with murderous intent.

Just as he was about to launch a fatal blow, he saw Mortarian struggle to pull a black potion from his waist and inject it into his body.

Mortalian injected the most precious black potion he had obtained from Nimrod into his body.

In an instant, the Primarch's body rapidly digested and absorbed the antidote created by Malena Skala.

Mortarian felt the numbness in his body instantly dissipate, and his limbs moved smoothly according to his will.

In an instant, he rushed in front of Nekare and brought his scythe down.

Nekare frantically raised his hand, a green psionic shield protecting his pale body.

With a loud bang, the scythe pierced through the fragile psionic shield and struck Nekalé.

The last overlord of Barbaros, the Pale King, fell to the ground.

"I have freed Barbarus." Mortarian paused for a moment, then, upon hearing footsteps, swung his scythe again and severed Nekare's head.

He smiled and said to Taifeng, "Except for the head of the Pale King, the heads of all the other overlords will be traded to Ninglu."

"The focus of the trade is no longer weapons, but antidotes and farm tools. No one will enslave us anymore. Barbaros will usher in a new era."

(End of this chapter)