40K: When evil spirits appear

Iron Island is a collective name for an archipelago located in the sea surrounding the Seven Peaks. The seawater there remains hot year-round due to the numerous active volcanoes within the archipelago, hence its name, the Boiling Sea. The Iron Priests* (1) of the Wolf Pack live and perform their duties on these islands, forging divine weapons so that Ruth's offspring can freely unleash their ferocious nature...

Of course, Old was completely unaware of all of the above, and had no interest in thinking about it—he was currently busy adjusting the seatbelts on his seat as instructed by the old pastor.

The transport plane they were on wasn't designed for ordinary people. Despite his towering stature, nearly two meters tall, the seat still felt quite empty. Therefore, he had to be secured to his seat with six straps, making him look like an ancient corpse about to be transported to some city for exhibition.

The turbulence lasted for several hours, and even the landing was far from smooth; the transport plane shook violently throughout, and the instruments in the cabin sounded alarms multiple times. Fortunately, they landed safely on a patch of volcanic rock.

Looking out the window, Alder could see only rising hot fog and large swaths of darkness.

The only spectacle came from a black mountain peak standing not far away, most of its body hidden in the mist, its summit rising above the sky, spewing dark red flames. Boiling lava flowed slowly down like the blood of the mountain, eventually flowing into the ocean, eliciting deafening roars that sounded like the howls of ancient beasts...

The squadron servant serving as the pilot shut off the engine, slumped in his seat, and let out a long sigh. Ulrik unbuckled his seatbelt, stood up, strode to the cockpit, and with a swift movement, grabbed the pilot's head. The pilot seemed used to this, but his expression changed when the old priest pulled some ointment from a small jar at his waist.

"Can I not apply it, Old Wolf?" he asked respectfully and fearfully.

Ulrik shook his head firmly, raised his hand to remove the prosthetic eye that had temporarily replaced his original eye, and applied ointment into the empty eye socket. As soon as it touched the skin, wisps of smoke rose, even hissing. The man took a deep breath, leaned forward, and became stuck in the driver's seat, too pained to utter a single word.

But at that moment, Alder noticed that Ulric was smiling, albeit only for a fleeting instant.

"Alright." The old pastor's expression turned serious, and he slowly spoke. "Remember to come see me on the top floor of Ete again tomorrow, otherwise the subsequent surgery might be a bit troublesome."

"Yes, ma'am..." the driver replied in agony.

The old pastor nodded in satisfaction, turned around, opened the hatch, and jumped out first, followed closely by Olde, who was rather glad that he hadn't forgotten to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Hurry, Dragon Slayer," Ulric urged. "We must reach the Iron Priests' Temple before nightfall. If it snows later, things will get complicated. The heat here will turn all the snow into scalding rain, enough to burn that frostwolf pelt off you."

At first, Ald was just listening attentively, but then he subconsciously tore off the Frostwolf Legacy, folded it several times, and stuffed it into his bosom.

The old pastor was puzzled. He didn't understand what the sound was. He looked back and was speechless. Finally, he couldn't help but growl.

"Fur is for wearing!"

“I don’t want to let it down,” Old said. “I promised Logan Grimner that I wouldn’t let this beast that has never eaten a man down.”

Ulric frowned, said nothing more, and quickened his pace to lead the way.

They quickly set off onto a rugged path in front of the platform.

It was carved out by human hands, the steps were very irregular, as if the builders had never intended for anyone to walk on it, but it was indeed a path, winding its way to a cave halfway up the mountain. After some time, they encountered two strange wolves in front of the cave entrance. They had no fur, but they had the appearance of wolves, and the way they lay on the ground was remarkably lifelike.

Ulric pointed to them and explained briefly, "Iron Wolves, things created by the Iron Priests, they use them as guards."

The wolves showed no reaction to his arrival or words; their mechanical eyes still glowed with a faint green light, allowing them to enter the cave. However, the cave was dark and extremely narrow. After walking several hundred steps, they finally encountered a bright, open space with a few negligible lights.

Considering the location of this place inside a volcano, the whole thing seemed rather ridiculous. The old priest, however, appeared quite used to it, continuing to wander through the labyrinthine cavern, only occasionally stopping to sniff around, as if searching for a way. Finally, after searching for about ten minutes, they arrived at a quiet stone chamber.

A giant, whose armor was distinctly different from that of the other wolves, was waiting there.

"Aldakrel," the old pastor called out his name. "Why are you still in charge of reception today?"

The latter bowed slightly and replied, "Since there's nothing much to pay attention to lately, I've chosen to temporarily step away from the forge. This is good for me, as it allows me to examine the weapons I'll be creating in the future with a more level-headed perspective."

"Wise," Ulric murmured in admiration. "You are far better than your peer, that reckless, ill-tempered Krom."

Aldakrel almost laughed; he was holding it in with great difficulty, and even his voice changed.

"...My lord, my lord, please stop telling jokes and just state your needs."

Ulric then turned to the side.

The steel priest's expression changed the moment he saw Ald, and he became quite interested.

He looked him up and down for a moment, then asked, "I presume this is the Dragon Slayer who killed the Frost Dragon with two punches?"

Upon hearing this, the old pastor immediately frowned: "How come you all know about this too?"

Aldakrel actually laughed this time.

"My lord, it's hard for us not to know, after all, Iron Island is not isolated from the world, and Krom's Dalian is going to great lengths to spread his deeds throughout Et. In fact, not to mention us, even the Star Speakers on Wolf Moon (2) probably know about this. I think it won't be long before you hear about the Dragon Slayer's miracle from the tribespeople."

The old pastor didn't speak, but Ald heard his teeth grinding, followed by a low curse.

"That damned bastard Krom..."

Aldakrel coughed lightly, interrupting him and preventing the conversation from continuing.

"In short, sir, what do you need?"

Ulric composed himself and said solemnly, "I want you to forge a sword for him, a two-handed greatsword."

"That's no problem," the Steel Priest nodded. "What are the specific details, Dragon Slayer? What are your requirements?"

"It only needs to kill," Ald replied. "I ask for nothing more."

Aldakrel smiled, as if he had heard a very satisfactory answer.

He turned around and pressed a spot on the wall behind him. The stone rose heavily, revealing a path behind it, and the faint sound of knocking could be heard.

He stepped inside, and the rock wall immediately collapsed, leaving Ald and Ulric alone to wait in the stone chamber. The old priest habitually spread his legs, slowed his breathing, and stood like a statue. Ald was no less imposing; were it not for the light still emanating from his eyes in the darkness, one might mistake him for someone who had fallen asleep standing up…

Interestingly, the silence didn't last long; after only a hundred breaths, Ulric broke it himself.

"Have you ever used a weapon before?" the old pastor asked, seemingly casually.

"I've used it."

How many kinds?

"I can't count them all."

"Then, why a two-handed sword?"

Alder lowered his head and did not answer Ulric immediately, but many images flashed before his eyes.

They belonged to a youth who knew nothing of the future, not to the warrior he is today. That youth, upon reaching adulthood, chose to travel the world, seeing many sights, and during that time, he did many different jobs to raise money for his journey. These jobs required almost no physical labor; they could be accomplished well simply by using their innate talents, but there was one exception.

That exception is a floating oasis city located in the middle of a desert.

Bored by their excessive wealth, the locals eventually turned to reminiscing about the past as one of their many ways to pass the time. After several years of this trend, the ruins of a gladiatorial arena in the city were restored, and many citizens began to indulge in practicing martial arts in their spare time, then going to the arena to spar with each other...

In their words, this is called "experiencing the life of one's ancestors"—the young man thought it was a bit silly, but that didn't stop him from being attracted by the huge reward. So he stayed in the area and spent ten years going from street to street, talking to every citizen. Finally, he defeated the champion at the time in the arena and won a large sum of money.

When he won, the weapon he used was a similar sword.

"Because I've used similar weapons before," Ald replied.

"So you like swords. Good, everyone has things they like." Ulric nodded. "But I'm not surprised. Many warriors love all kinds of swords, even though I think they're nothing without a disintegrating force field or a monomolecular saw blade, not even as good as a stone spear, but that doesn't stop them from being the choice of many people."

"And what about you?" Olde looked up and asked. "What weapons do you like to use?"

The old priest gave a rare chuckle and said, "I am a wolf priest, so whatever weapon I prefer, I will take my scepter into battle. It will both tell others who I am and allow my killings to be seen by the All-Father... When I hold the scepter, the enemies who die by my hand will become sacrifices to the All-Father, and their blood and souls will please him."

Upon hearing this, Olde showed a rare moment of hesitation, and after a brief pause, he asked, "So, Father... needs these?"

Ulrik shrugged and spread his hands nonchalantly.

"I don't know if he needs it, and I guess he doesn't. But since he hasn't uttered a single word of objection all these years, I'll assume he has no problem with it. After all, I really want the souls of those demons, traitors, and aliens to burn fiercely beneath him. Beyond death, they need to pay for what they did to humanity."

"traitor?"

Alder astutely picked up on this word amidst his long discourse and singled it out. Ulric nodded faintly. When he spoke again, his tone was no longer as relaxed and natural as before, but extremely heavy, as if it were stained with blood.

"Yes, traitors... just like those who betrayed you and your people and went underground, only the traitors we have to face are a hundred times more despicable. Most of your traitors just stood by and even helped you in the end, but our traitors turned their weapons against us. They stabbed us when we knew nothing, causing us to bleed profusely. To this day, the wound has not healed."

"What did they do?" Old asked softly.

Ulric seemed about to answer, but in the end he held back, letting everything end with a heavy sigh.

"Go back and read some books yourself. You'll know everything once you've read a few more," the old pastor said, waving his hand. "I really can't calmly tell you all this. The thought of those shameful conspiracies and killings makes my bones itch... They betrayed not only us, warriors, but in my opinion, they also betrayed themselves."

After saying that, he shut his mouth tightly, unwilling to chat any further.

Several hours later, as darkness fell, the stone wall rose again, and Aldakrel emerged, holding a gleaming greatsword.

It is entirely silver-white, with a blade length of two meters and a handle length of sixty-five centimeters. The guard is slightly curved and extends to both sides, both of which are engraved with Yuvik language. Its spine is particularly thick, and the blade is not thin either, making it look as if it could smash a person in half. Some kind of beautiful golden pattern extends from the center of the blade all the way to the tip.

The steel priest handed over the sword, speaking with a smile.

"The Great Forge is in a good mood today and didn't keep us waiting any longer. How about this sword, Dragon Slayer? I made a special design for it; it's absolutely worthy of your power. The next time you encounter a Frost Dragon, you can decapitate it in one strike and bring its head back. I'll use its horns and scales to make decorations to hang on your armor."

Ulric glanced sideways at the silent and calm man, noticing him staring intently at the greatsword in his hand, his eyes unblinking.

The old pastor smiled.

He wouldn't say it outright, but he liked this moment.