I summoned the Fourth Scourge in Warhammer

Chapter 218 For those facing death, retreating requires more courage than advancing.

In a safe zone temporarily enclosed by the Oglinta Shield behind the front lines, Balian, an apothecary of the Starclaws Chapter, was performing a delicate operation. His white terracotta armor was splattered with the green fluid of the alien, but his mechanical arms and hands remained as steady as a rock.

Logically speaking, even if the Tyranids attack relentlessly at the front, as long as the Oglins at the front are not breached, the Astartes behind them should not suffer heavy casualties.

But on the battlefield, logic and common sense are often shattered by sheer misfortune.

This Starclaw warrior, whose chest was being ripped open, was such an unfortunate fellow. Just a moment ago, he was wielding his power axe, having cleaved a Tyrannosaurus warrior in two from head to toe, and was in that split second—a mere fraction of a second—when a bone shard, flying from who-knows-where, pierced his helmet visor at an incredibly precise angle, penetrating directly into his brain and exploding. His skull instantly turned into an irreparable mess, and he died on the spot; even the apothecary couldn't save him.

Barian's movements were practiced and solemn. He used the medical instruments on his robotic arm to probe his combat comrade's chest cavity, carefully skirting the ribs and internal organs, and finally successfully extracted a gene seed.

Barian finally breathed a sigh of relief after successfully retrieving the seed that held the future of the chapter and safely storing it in a portable container. He had accomplished his most important mission.

Then, he reattached his comrade's breastplate and carefully moved his body to the very center of the commando formation. Now, five fallen Astartes lay side-by-side there. Without exception, they were all unfortunate souls like the one he had just killed, dying purely from bad luck.

Just as Balian laid out the bodies, removed his helmet, and began to whisper a prayer to the Emperor for the souls of his fallen brothers, he suddenly caught a glimpse of something black that shouldn't have been there, flashing across the back of the head of the first brother to fall.

"Ok?"

Balian's prayer abruptly ceased, and he immediately became alert. Astartes' genetically modified senses and brain were not capable of "misreading." He abruptly stood up, drawing his combat dagger from his waist with his right hand. Several Space Marines on guard nearby also noticed his unusual behavior and immediately directed their assigned Oglin squads to surround him, the massive tower shields forming a temporary barrier.

The pharmacist strode forward and, without hesitation, removed the helmet from the fallen comrade.

The next second, his pupils shrank, and a mixture of horror and anger surged into his heart.

On the once resolute face of the fallen comrade, a strange black flower, seemingly made of flesh and blood, had somehow sprouted. It bloomed silently, its roots, like black blood vessels, deeply embedded in the corpse's eye sockets and nasal cavity. Some of the finer roots could even be seen piercing through the skull and intertwining with the brain tissue inside.

Barian's first reaction was overwhelming rage. This was the greatest blasphemy against the Space Marines and the glory of the Emperor! But for a moment, he couldn't bring himself to remove this disgusting thing because its roots were too tightly attached to the corpse. Who knew if he would further damage the body that should have been intact if he acted rashly?

In fact, at this point, the ultimate fate of this fighting brother is most likely to be complete purification by the holy flames.

"Quickly!" Barian immediately began to take remedial action, turning back to the group of tall Oglin players and sternly ordering, "Quickly lift the bodies of these brothers off the ground!"

The Oglin players hurriedly obeyed the order, and in a flurry of activity, they lifted the remaining four corpses and left them suspended in mid-air.

The apothecary immediately reported the situation to Agman, who was fighting on the front lines, via the tactical channel. Agman heard the apothecary Barian's urgent report clearly through his helmet. Upon hearing the description, a surge of anger, identical to Barian's, immediately welled up in Agman's heart.

"Damn aliens!" he growled, his voice trembling with rage. "How dare they defile the sacred bodies of our fighting brothers with such disgusting methods!"

But along with his anger came a wave of fear and relief. Agman's gaze swept across the entire battlefield, past the fighting Astartes, and landed on the front line of defense made of flesh and steel.

It's important to understand that the majority of the Space Marine casualties were borne by those massive Oglins. If they hadn't been at the forefront, absorbing the Tyranids' fiercest first wave of attack, and if the Starclaws and Ultramarines had continued with conventional Astartes tactics, the Space Marine casualties would likely have far exceeded one hundred, not just a mere five.
Agman initially wanted to order a full retreat immediately, take a sufficient amount of promethium, and then return to burn this damned land to the ground. But when he saw the Oglins fighting the Tyranids ahead, and saw their massive bodies repeatedly shielding the Astartes behind them from fatal attacks, he hesitated for a moment.

Ultimately, he changed his mind and issued a new order through the team channel: "Gather the corpses of the Oglins and purify them with promethium! The rest of the units, prepare to provide cover, we are retreating!"

However, to Agman's complete surprise, when he issued the order to retreat, the mortal troops belonging to the dying chose to refuse to carry it out.

Upon hearing the order, a Deathbringer commander responsible for liaising with Astartes replied directly: "Then you retreat, we'll stay."

Agman frowned deeply; he clearly couldn't understand the other person's logic: "Why?"

"Being harassed by the Tyranids during the retreat is also a problem. You Astartes are very precious. We'll stay behind to cover your retreat," the commander said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Besides, for us soldiers who are going to our deaths, retreating requires more courage than advancing."

This statement caused Agermann to fall into a brief silence. He tried to persuade the other side with rational military logic: "There's no need for that. As long as we retreat in an orderly manner and maintain our formation, both you and we can withdraw with relatively intact formations. We don't need this method of completely sacrificing one side to preserve the other!"

"Ugh, I'm fed up. What are you being so dramatic about?" The commander of the suicide squad on the other end of the communicator said impatiently. "I've been fed up with you sardines trying to steal our kills for ages. Can't you just leave already?"

What this person who went to their death said was the truth from the bottom of their heart.

But to Agman, it was quite the opposite. All the Ultramarines knew that the Deathbringers loved getting their autographs, which the Ultramarines saw as a sign of their admiration and respect. This innate affection they felt for the Deathbringers was natural. Although Agman was somewhat saddened that they had never asked him for an autograph, he never doubted the warriors' enthusiasm.

He then automatically interpreted these rude and impolite words as a provocation from the other party, intended to make his group retreat without any psychological burden!
What a noble lie! To use the crudest language to cover up the most selfless sacrifice! These mortals... their loyalty and dedication to the Empire have reached such an awe-inspiring level!
Agman took a deep breath, suppressing the complex emotions in his heart. He knew that any further persuasion would be an insult to his resolve.

He spoke into the communicator with the utmost solemnity he could muster: "Then, I wish you many insect kills, loyal warriors."

(End of this chapter)