40K: When evil spirits appear

"You need to grow a beard," Chrome Dragon's Gaze said very seriously.

Regardless of his demeanor as he spoke, and setting aside the two large wine glasses in his hands for the moment, you could tell from his expression and eyes alone that Crom was serious. He genuinely believed that Ald needed to grow a beard—but he quickly put that aside, as his gaze shifted to Ald's disheveled hair, and he fell into deep thought.

A moment later, he raised both hands, clinked the two glasses together, opened his mouth, and took a large, mixed gulp. The two different flavors and aging periods of mead successfully numbed his senses, so much so that the ferocious wolf lord was speechless for several seconds, a sinister smile appearing on his face...

He smiled stiffly and turned his head to look at Olde.

"But first!" he suddenly roared. "You need to take care of your hair!"

Old frowned, puzzled, and asked, "Why?"

"What? Why?" Krom looked at him strangely, as if he had asked a question similar to why swords can kill people.

"Why do I need to grow a beard, and why do I have to change my hairstyle first?"

The wolf lord immediately burst into laughter, as if he had heard a very funny joke.

He laughed as he slammed his right-hand wine glass against his thigh, almost breathless, and said, "Change—hairstyle? What kind of talk is that? I've never heard anyone say that before... but it's certainly a fitting description. Yes, that's right, Dragon Slayer, you need a new hairstyle. You don't look like a member of the wolf pack right now."

Ald thoughtfully raised his hand and touched his hair. He was about to say something when he was interrupted by Logan Grimner's voice from behind him. The alpha wolf didn't sound as drunk as Krom; he still maintained his rationality.

"Don't listen to his nonsense, he's almost passed out drunk."

Ald turned around and nodded at him: "I think I'm about to be poisoned."

Upon hearing this, the alpha wolf smiled slightly: "You could say that."

"So, why do you keep drinking poison with alcohol in it?" Old asked, puzzled.

Logan shrugged, slammed his left hand on the table, and pulled out a small knife that had somehow gotten stuck in the table with his right. He stabbed the knife into his hand with force, but the sound of the blade hitting his skin was almost like stabbing a wet, hard piece of wood. He then dropped the knife, raised his left hand, and shook it; only a small white mark remained where he had been stabbed.

"For we are Astartes, warriors of the Father," he said slowly and earnestly. "We have been transformed, we are no longer ordinary men. As you can see, ordinary blades cannot harm us, and so can ordinary wines; no matter how strong they are, they are no different from water in our mouths... But we need to get drunk, so Ruth bestowed his gift upon us—mead."

Ald glanced down at the wine glass in his hand.

"Mead?" he repeated.

"Or rather, poison," Logan grinned. "Not many people besides us dare to drink it. Sometimes we even use it to poison swords, or simply throw it into the furnace as fuel. It works quite well. Besides, the taste of mead isn't static; everyone's mead tastes different. For example, that always-stern-faced old man Ulrik's mead is bitter, but very strong, and it'll knock you out very easily..."

After a moment's thought, Olde cautiously remarked, "This sounds like some kind of brewing accident caused by your failure to establish fixed procedures."

"Absolutely!" the alpha wolf roared with laughter. "That's what makes it so interesting!"

Old nodded, then suddenly asked, "So, who are the Father and Ruth?"

Logan put down his glass, didn't answer, and stood up. He beckoned mysteriously to Olde, then turned and walked away, bypassing several young Bloodclaws who were fighting, heading straight for the side of the grand hall that was packed with people.

There was a deliberately left oval-shaped gap in the wall that was covered with weapons and prey bones, its surface a dark gray like rock.

He reached out and pushed open the door, leading Olde inside. Unexpectedly, instead of going down, they climbed the steps to the top of Et. After passing through several more hidden corridors that seemed straight out of a dream, they finally arrived at a quiet room.

It wasn't large, but it was filled with books, and the murderer Ulrik was busy here.

He had already taken off his black and gold wolf priest robes and was now standing in front of a stone table wearing only a sleeveless overcoat. On the table were many open, unbound pages of books with thick leather covers. The old wolf was completely unmoved by their arrival, not even bothering to look up, and continued to examine the pages intently.

"A library," Olde said softly.

“No,” Logan said. “I prefer to call this the graveyard of books.”

Why?

The alpha wolf chuckled as it walked to the wall, crossed its arms, leaned back against the wall, and appeared somewhat nonchalant.

"Because almost no one comes here to read them, Dragon Slayer. Only Ulric comes here, but all he does is write down the major events that happen in each year, bind them into books, and finally categorize them... Unfortunately, when he dies in battle, this task will fall to me, so I always hope he lives longer."

The killer interjected calmly, "I'll challenge the Sea Dragon tomorrow."

"I wish you a worthy death," Logan replied, raising his voice.

Old looked at the old pastor, then at him, and finally asked, "Why does almost no one read them? Isn't the purpose of books precisely to be read?"

“That’s true, but the wolf pack has its own way of passing on knowledge—we believe more in seeing and hearing than in writing,” Logan said. “The names of Father and Ruth have been passed down among us for ten thousand years, and the wolf pack has never forgotten them.”

Olde pondered for a moment, then nodded.

"Then let's use the wolf pack method."

The alpha wolf smiled approvingly, lifted himself off the wall, stretched his limbs, and suddenly slid down to sit cross-legged. In that brief moment, his expression became extremely serious. He raised his hand, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him, indicating that Ald should also sit down. The latter did so.

Logan Grimner begins: "The Father is Fenris, the supreme god—also known as the Emperor."

"He unified Terra, leading humanity to rise from nothingness and embarking on a glorious Great Crusade. Under his leadership and command, humanity reclaimed lost territories, vanquished the Xenomorphs, and freed the enslaved... And Ruth was one of his sons, known as the Primarchs. They possessed his blood and a portion of his power, and were demigods walking among humans. The Father created them, hoping they would be his right-hand men, but they alone were not enough, so he used them as a model to create the Astartes, that is, us."

"So you are..." Ald hesitated for a moment. "...Children of demigods?"

Logan Grimner's lips visibly pursed downwards, as if he were disgusted by the statement.

"I don't think so, even though we do inherit Ruth's blood. None of us were born Astartes. Even that old wolf over there was just a mortal before, but he's probably forgotten that part of his life. I, however, remember mine. I belonged to the Ironblood tribe, and I fought warriors from the Fenris tribe on the seas of Fenris... Don't get me wrong, Ald, I believe in myths and legends, and I believe in the Allfather, after all, every Fenrisian is superstitious, but I truly don't think I, or even we—"

He paused for a few seconds, raised his hand to point to the mass murderers who were still busy binding pages, and then looked back at his own face.

"—Where exactly does he resemble a god?"

"And what about the father?" Old asked again.

The alpha wolf grinned happily and tilted its head.

"Oh, well... that depends on how you look at it. Ruth made it very clear in his story that you shouldn't really worship the Allfather as a god. So I usually treat him as a trustworthy elder in the tribe. They've lived so long that you can get advice and support from them for almost anything. Of course, that's just my personal opinion, nothing special. Now let's talk about Ruth. First, I have to tell you something: I've never seen him. He's been gone for a very, very long time."

"Is he dead?"

Logan Grimner shook his head quite calmly and firmly.

"No, he has simply gone to a place we cannot reach. He is fighting there, searching for the Tree of Life for the whole Father. Once he finds it, he will return, and that will be the time of the wolves. We will assemble and stand in formation, awaiting his command, just as we did ten thousand years ago."

After a moment's thought, Olde suddenly said, "So the whole father was injured."

Logan nodded slightly apologetically.

"Ah, yes, I forgot to mention that part. I know I was wrong and I will correct it. Anyway, he was seriously injured and couldn't even stand or speak. He has been recuperating on Terra for the past ten thousand years, but his will still flows throughout the galaxy and is with us."

“You’ve said too much, Logan,” Ulric the Slaughterer suddenly joined the conversation. “And you really don’t know how to tell a story. Your descriptions are utterly devoid of poetry; they’re as jarring as hammering nails into someone’s head.”

He stepped away from the desk, holding the bound book in his hand, and personally placed it on the bookshelf.

Without turning his head, he continued, "If you ask me, all you need to do is tell Ald who we are and what we do."

The alpha wolf was clearly amused and tugged at his collar, shouting, "Then why don't you do it yourself, you great, eloquent killer?"

The old pastor turned around, glanced at him, nodded simply, then strode over and sat cross-legged.

"We are the wolf pack of the Father and Ruth." He approached Ald, who still stood ramrod straight, and spoke in a low voice. "We have been molded into deadly and untamed killers. We exist for one purpose only: to slaughter the enemies of humanity... In other words, we are the same beings as you, warrior. We too have sworn to eradicate all evil in the world."

He suddenly stretched out his right hand.

"And now, I would like to formally invite you to join us."

Ald didn't speak at first, but simply looked at the wolf priest's outstretched hand. It was pale, almost the same color as the snow of Fenris, with knuckles curved and protruding like an eagle's beak—the kind of hand only someone who had wielded weapons for years would have. But at this moment, it hovered harmlessly in mid-air, its five fingers spread and slightly bent, as if waiting for something.

"I remember a similar etiquette..." Old said softly.

He reached out his right hand and grasped the wolf priest's wrist. Although he couldn't hold it due to the size difference, it still brought a rare smile to Ulric's face.

Logan Grimner witnessed the whole thing, but instead of laughing, he appeared quite serious.

"You will accompany us, Old," he said. "I don't know when it will end, I only hope it comes because we have each found new paths, otherwise it would be a great pity... In this day and age, there are not many souls like you left."

The wolf priest nodded in agreement, then continued, "We won't hold you to the standards of the wolf pack. Ultimately, you owe nothing to the Father and Ruth, so you will be completely free. You can move freely up and down Etne and talk to anyone, as long as they don't refuse you."

Old frowned in confusion: "Then what should I do?"

"That's not something I should be thinking about. Like I said, you don't owe the whole father or Ruth anything, and neither do we. This is your problem, Ald, and you should deal with it yourself."

After saying his last words, Logan Grimner smiled, slowly stood up, and turned to leave.

Ulric released his grip, patted Ald on the shoulder, and asked in a low voice, "Want some advice?"

Ald nodded.

"First," the old priest solemnly held up one finger. "Stay away from Krom Dragon's Gaze and his cronies. You can choose not to, but be especially wary of a guy named Lucas. He's a filthy red-haired brat who never bathes and wears the same clothes for years. You can smell him the moment you see him. He's a shameless bastard, and you'd better avoid him."

After saying that, he raised his second finger.

"Secondly, you are not like us, so you don't have to wait by the fire for someone to tell you stories like we do. You can freely read all the books in this grave, but I'm afraid you'll have to learn how to read first."

Finally, he raised his third finger. At this moment, however, the corners of the wolf priest's mouth beneath his beard curved slightly upwards.

"Third, you need to find someone to make you a set of armor and two handy weapons."

Meeting Olde's questioning gaze, he began to explain.

"We won't stay on Fenris for long. There will always be new evils waiting for us to kill, and you probably can't stand being left behind. But your form is truly terrifying. To avoid unnecessary trouble, I think we should make you look like us, or at least similar. After all, you're traveling with wolves. Armor isn't a problem; I can have someone make it for you. But weapons—"

Ulrik chuckled softly and raised his hand to stroke his beard.

"—I'm afraid you'll have to try them one by one to see which one suits your taste best. Luckily, I know a place that can perfectly take on this responsibility..."