Warhammer: My buddy has too many secrets!

Chapter 171 A worthy death

The steel walls of Hamigendon had already proven just how powerful this Primarch was in the previous battles. With a swing of his blade and giant axe, he could reduce even the most formidable defenses to ruins, forcing the Empire's lines to retreat again and again until they had nowhere left to go.

This is the last mountain ridge. Beyond it lies a vast, flat plain. The last few nests of the empire in this world will be reduced to dust under the iron hooves of the devil.

What they had to do was to use their own flesh and blood to block those things here.

Or rather, delay them as much as possible.

So the judges set off.

He walked along the trench, his gaze sweeping over every face. He saw faces so young it was heartbreaking; some soldiers looked no more than seventeen or eighteen, their uniforms hanging loosely on their still-developing bodies.

They were the last batch of conscripts, pulled from the factories and mines at the bottom of the hive. They were stuffed into uniforms stripped from corpses as scum, given a laser gun, and sent here.

Suddenly, he recalled the scene when he met the elder Lancelot.

At that time, he was surrounded by the Lamenters Chapter, a chapter known for its friendship and spirit of sacrifice with the people of the Empire. However, they were a cursed existence, despised by countless allies, but loved by the people.

On that forging planet, Commander Dante commended them, but he understood that it was actually the will of the elder Lancelot. He had a private conversation with Commander Dante, during which he learned that Lancelot had once...

Based on what he had said about the duties of the Astartes.

"Countless people make up the empire, not the other way around."

Now he was preparing to die, perhaps wanting to add some meaning to his journey before he died. He took off his rose rosary and handed it to the child in front of him.

"Try to live on, child."

He spoke very softly, and the child looked up at him.

"Sir." He uttered a hoarse but still childish voice. The judge saw the freckled young man and noticed a bewilderment in his eyes that seemed out of place for someone his age.

"Sir, I heard from the platoon leader that we will have reinforcements. Is that true?"

At this moment of intense gunfire, upon hearing these words, all the soldiers' eyes turned to look.

At this critical juncture, the word "reinforcements" is too sensitive to be heard. Everyone is waiting for an answer, even though they already have some idea of ​​what that answer is.

There was a few seconds of silence.

According to the regulations of the Ministry of Military Affairs, he should say something to boost morale, saying that the Space Marines are on their way, that the Empire will not abandon them, and that victory will ultimately belong to humanity.

But looking into those eyes, those heartbreakingly young eyes, he suddenly realized that those bureaucratic pronouncements were meaningless today.

The judge shook his head.

"What if I said there were no reinforcements?"

He spoke softly but clearly: "The debris in orbit is almost completely blocking out the sky; we are the only ones left on this planet."

The judge said this, words that would have been seen as undermining morale if anyone else had said them before. Any judge or political commissar would have pulled out a gun and blown his head off.

But now these words are coming from the judge himself.

A deathly silence fell.

"but."

The judge raised his voice.

His voice echoed through the trenches: "Do you know what this means? It means that right now, on this very line, every one of you is the entirety of the Empire!"

"By the Emperor! By Saint Gilles! Glory to the people of the Empire! One of the sons of the Divine Emperor once chose his great sacrifice, and today, you too are granted such an honor! Believe me! Saint Gilles is watching over you!"

The judge shouted, and then he revealed to everyone what he had been clutching tightly to his chest: a feather sealed inside a crystal cylinder.

And it was this feather that seemed to radiate light outwards. Even if that light was just their illusion, even the lowest-ranking scum of the Nest City felt as if they were being watched.

"The son of the God-Emperor, the noble Saint Gilles, also died for the future of humanity. And now, people, people of the Empire! Be glorious for him!"

"Those vile evils, those twisted monsters, seek to strip you of your last right to live. So fight! For your final authority, for the rest of your souls! Saint Jerace will guide us to the great Valhalla! We will stand alongside the heroes, both famous and nameless, of history!!"

"Set off!"

No one could have imagined that this old judge, who was almost halfway to his coffin, would ignite at this moment and shine like a supernova.

All words seemed to ignite at this moment. No one cheered, no one shouted slogans, but the judges only hoped that they could hold their weapons firmly in their hands at the last moment.

Death can be as light as a feather or as heavy as Mount Tai.

To die a worthy death is to be honored.

This is enough.

The earth began to tremble, and something crashed down from the sky—or rather, a deeper, more profound rhythm, as if tearing reality itself apart. A stench of sulfur and rotting flesh filled the air, and the ochre-red hue in the sky thickened, like congealed blood slowly churning!

"All hands on deck!"

The judge's roar pierced everyone's eardrums.

The soldiers surged towards the breastwork, the safety on their laser guns snapping open in unison with a series of clicks. The old judge stood at the forefront, plasma pistol held at his side, his overcoat fluttering in the stench.

On the distant horizon, the earth cracked open.

A crimson light surged from the crack, as if hell itself were peering out.

Countless figures climbed out from those cracks, initially as blurry outlines.

Then it became clearer and clearer: horns, claws, fangs, twisted limbs, and burning eyes.

The vampires were the first; their bodies were like skinned muscles exposed, and they wielded brass swords, emitting a piercing shriek as they ran.

Behind them are larger and uglier things, in various shapes, but the only thing they have in common is that their very existence is tearing reality apart and distorting the air!

And deep within this army, there is something.

Looking directly at something in the distance, mortals would feel as if endless souls were burning in their pupils, screaming and momentarily blinding them, thus preventing them from seeing its full form.

But your body's instincts will tell you that his approach is a kind of oppressive feeling that almost stops your heart, as if gravity itself has suddenly increased tenfold.

Amidst the churning blood mist and flames, a gigantic silhouette moved, each step causing the earth to groan in agony.

The thing's outline was barely human-like. But it was larger than any mortal, even larger than most war machines, and the anger emanating from it was like tangible waves, pounding against Ax's consciousness in waves.

Angron!

Traitor, Primarch! Slave of the Blood God!