Forced to die just after becoming invincible in Warhammer?

As the footsteps got closer, Guilliman launched an attack suddenly, and the power sword instantly pierced through a figure in the darkness.

However, he discovered that it was just a modified mechanical puppet, equipped with a powerful self-destruct device. Guilliman thought to himself that it was not good and shouted, "Retreat!"

But it was too late. The puppets exploded with a loud bang, and the powerful impact knocked them away. The pipes also began to shake violently and could collapse at any time.

The aftermath of the explosion still reverberated within the pipe, filling the air with choking smoke and dust. Guilliman and the soldiers struggled to rise from the rubble. Before they could even catch their breath, a chilling wind blew in from deep within the pipe, carrying a hint of chill and ominous air.

Guilliman gripped his power sword warily, his gaze piercing the darkness, trying to catch any sign of danger.

Suddenly, countless Night Lords emerged from the shadows all around. Their figures were as elusive as ghosts, and the weapons in their hands flashed with cold light. They instantly surrounded Guilliman and his warriors.

Koz's figure slowly emerged from the shadows. His face was stern, and his eyes revealed madness and determination. "I predicted your arrival a long time ago. I have seen such moments twice. It's time to end this game." His voice was low and cold, echoing in the pipe, like a whisper from hell.

Guilliman scanned the surrounding enemies, rapidly formulating a strategy for a breakout.

The Primarch's competitive spirit was playing tricks on him. "Koz, although this is just a game, I want to tell you that I will definitely win this game." The Primarch roared and rushed towards Curze first.

The Night Lords immediately surrounded them, the flashes of their bolter fire flickered in the darkness, and Guilliman brandished his power sword, like a flash of blue lightning, repelling the approaching enemies one after another.

Each of the Lord of Ultramar's attacks was delivered with immense force and precise technique, but the Night Haunters were too numerous, and he gradually felt overwhelmed.

At the same time, his soldiers were also caught in a bitter fight. They fought hard in the enemy's encirclement, the roar of grenade launchers and the clash of weapons intertwined, and the entire pipeline turned into a bloody battlefield.

A soldier was unfortunately hit by a bomb during the battle, and a big hole was blown in his power armor. He fell to the ground, and his blood stained the ground red.

Guilliman saw this scene, and even though he knew it was just a data-compiled game, he still felt sad.

But he had no time to be sad. He was concentrating, but his mind was always wandering.

Trying to break through the Night Haunter's defenses and rush towards Curze.

However, Curze seemed to have anticipated this. He kept commanding the Night Haunters to adjust the encirclement, preventing Guilliman from getting close.

During the fierce battle, Guilliman's power armor also suffered multiple damages, and the energy shield flickered.

But the Primarch still fought tenaciously, and every time he swung the power sword, it was filled with anger towards the enemy and desire for victory.

However, the situation became increasingly unfavorable.

The Night Lords' attacks became more and more fierce, and Guilliman and his warriors were gradually trapped in a desperate situation.

Finally, Curze seized an opportunity and took action himself. The lightning claws he wore merged with the shadows, like a black lightning, stabbing at Guilliman.

Guilliman tried to dodge, but it was too late. Curze's weapon pierced his already damaged power armour and lodged in his chest.

The Primarch's body shook, and the power sword in his hand fell to the ground. He looked at Curze with eyes full of unwillingness, but his life was quickly fading.

"No..." His soldiers cried out in despair, but they fell one after another under the enemy's attack.

With Guilliman's death, the entire battlefield fell into silence.

Curze looked at the corpse on the ground, a smug smile on his face. "I've said this many times. I can see your every move, every attack, without sending soldiers to investigate. I can see it all. I've even seen what my offspring will look like in the future. They'll be completely different from these obedient statistics. I'm very grateful to you for actually believing that my Legion's moral character is the same as yours."

"And then there's you, my brother. You're too easily influenced by others, even by data-generated offspring. Their deaths can distract you. You have too many shortcomings to correct, otherwise you won't be able to be compared to the galaxy's greatest hunter, myself, Konrad Curze."

This thrilling data game between the Primarchs finally ended with Curze's victory.

ps: Please vote, please vote.

Chapter 249: For the Leisurely Future

"Please, let's do this again!"

"no"

"I really beg you, let's play again, this time it will definitely be different!" Guilliman clenched his hands unconsciously. He had already clearly planned in his mind how to restrain Curze. The feeling of being blocked when he was about to achieve his goal made him extremely tormented, just like he was about to climax but was severely blocked, unable to go up or down, and he was so suffocated that he was about to explode.

"I said, no, you only think about yourself." Koz frowned slightly, his expression determined and unmoved.

"Brother, no matter what conditions you put forward, as long as I can do it, I will agree to you. Please give me another chance." Guilliman was very sincere.

Curze wanted to refuse again, but swallowed the words back. He thought of the prophecy about the future capable man of the Night Lords. He looked at Guilliman and put forward his own conditions: "Only if you agree to postpone the teaching time and allow me to bring someone to attend your lessons with you."

"Okay, I promise you!" Guilliman agreed without hesitation, the excitement in his eyes evident. "Now let's continue playing."

Guilliman was impatient.

Koz reached out and picked up the gaming helmet, put it on his head with swift movements, and instantly plunged into the gaming world.

Seeing this, Guilliman was not willing to be left behind. He quickly put on his helmet and followed in.

In this round, Guilliman decisively activated the operation mode he was best at, deploying troops and making plans.

In contrast, the Night Lords controlled by Curze, a legion that excels at street fighting, showed its weaknesses on the open battlefield.

Guilliman's strategy was like a precise scalpel, cutting straight into the Night Lords' vital points, and without much effort, he defeated them.

"One more time, brother, let's do it again!" Guilliman grinned excitedly. The pleasure of victory just now made him more determined to fight, and he couldn't wait to start the next round of competition.

"We've already played it, there's no need to play again." Curze's face was full of rejection. After all, he knew in his heart that after this game, Guilliman had almost figured out all the strengths and weaknesses of the Night Lords Legion. There would be no benefit if he continued playing. After all, the Night Lords, under his leadership, were a legion that was only good at street fighting.

"This time, I've devised a more powerful war strategy," Guilliman said, his eyes gleaming as he spoke non-stop. "When the commander or I die, other heirs will quickly fill the command gap. So I'm thinking of changing the rules of the game so that victory is no longer determined by killing the enemy leader."

"Do you think I'm the kind of Primarch who would enjoy seeing his own legion destroyed?" Curze asked back, poking himself with a finger, his face full of doubt.

Guilliman thought for a moment, then said, "I can tailor a course for the person you wish to bring."

"How different is this from a normal course?" Coze raised his eyebrows, his face full of confusion.

"It's more efficient and intuitive, concise and clear, allowing him to grasp the essence quickly." Guilliman said.

Hearing this, Koz was silent for a moment, and finally nodded in agreement. He thought to himself, what does it matter if I get beaten today? It is worth it if I can completely get rid of the complicated affairs of legion management tomorrow.

The game was in full swing. In the core area of ​​the battlefield, Curze and Guilliman were facing each other. Sparks seemed to fly when their eyes met.

Behind them, their respective legions were also caught in a fierce firefight.

The roar of the grenade launcher was deafening, and the dense sounds intertwined together like the music played by the god of death; the chainsaw sword spun wildly, and the saw teeth cut through the air with a sharp whistling sound. When it collided with the lightning claws, a series of dazzling sparks were splashed, and the friction sound of the metal was sharp and piercing, which made people's teeth ache.

The Night Lords shuttled across the battlefield like ghosts. With their ultimate understanding of combat and stealth, they cleverly separated themselves from the Ultramarines and formed a confrontation.

Every Night Lord's movements were swift and ruthless. They dodged nimbly amidst hail of bullets, searching for the enemy's weaknesses.

The battle between Guilliman and Curze was extremely fierce.

Guilliman held the Primarch's sword with molecular strength in his hand. The sword was shining with strange light, and every swing was accompanied by powerful force.

However, when his sword clashed with Curze, it seemed to have chopped into a void of shadow, with no point of force at all.

"I wanted to ask you in the last game, is your ability psychic? Or your instinct?" Guilliman asked while fending off Curze's attack, his eyes full of confusion.

The sword in his hand kept colliding with the claw tip while resisting the attack of the lightning claw. Every collision produced a strong flash of light, illuminating the figures of the two people in flickering light.

"This is my instinct, and it's also psychic power, and it can be passed down to my offspring. Just like your offspring, they're as good at thinking as you are." Curze's attacks intensified. His lightning claws danced impenetrably, their tips flashing with cold light, and every swing carried a deadly threat.

Soon, Guilliman's azure armor was covered with deep and shallow scratches, and his cloak was torn in several places, fluttering in the wind.

No matter how smoke-filled and raging the battlefield is, nothing can compare to the thrilling duel between the Primarchs.

"Guilliman, can you please have a serious fight?" Curze shouted angrily, his eyes full of dissatisfaction. The attack of the lightning claws in his hand instantly became more rapid. The shadows of the claws intertwined, as dense as a woven web, and the sharp sound of the claw blades cutting through the air flow echoed in the air.

Every time he fought against Guilliman in the game, this guy would always be distracted in the middle of the battle because of the casualties of his offspring or other inexplicable things. In Curze's view, this was a great disrespect to the contest and to him personally.

Guilliman hurriedly held his sword across his body, trying his best to block the wave after wave of swift attacks. The sword collided with the lightning claws, splashing countless sparks.

"Sorry, brother, but you should understand that I am a worrywart." As he spoke, he secretly regretted it in his heart. He tried hard to put pressure on himself in his mind, forcing himself to concentrate and fight without distraction, but those complicated thoughts were like weeds and could not be suppressed.

In the brief moment of his distraction, Curze seized the opportunity and slashed Guilliman's chest armor with his sharp claws, leaving a shocking deep mark, and the harsh sound of metal being torn was particularly loud.

Immediately afterwards, Curze continued his attack, and his next claw went straight for Guilliman's head with the force of breaking the wind, with a cold light flashing and as fast as lightning.

Guilliman frantically dodged, his embarrassed look completely different from his previous composure.

After this attack, Guilliman's originally steady battle rhythm was completely disrupted and full of flaws.

Like a deadly bat lurking in the dark shadows, Curze is terrifyingly aware of everything around him.

The subtle sounds of every movement made by Guilliman can perfectly coincide with his other prophecy. Through this, Curze can always foresee Guilliman's intentions in advance and gain the upper hand.

Under Curze's fierce and violent attacks, Guilliman gradually lost his ability to resist. In the end, his virtual image was declared dead, and this fierce Primarch duel came to an end.

"This is not over yet," Koz murmured softly, his brows furrowed and his face full of confusion.

In an instant, a heart-wrenching roar filled his ears. He turned his head abruptly and saw a group of Extreme Warriors abandoning their original opponents and rushing towards him like a tide.

There was determination in the eyes of those soldiers, and their bodies were bulging, obviously hiding bombs. They ran towards him desperately.

Koz's heart trembled, and he hid in the shadows without hesitation.

As an excellent hunter with many years of experience in the battlefield, how could he be easily attacked by these prey?

He moved silently in the shadows, each step steady and cautious, keenly capturing the enemy's every move, exuding a dangerous aura, just waiting to give these ignorant extreme warriors a fatal blow.

The Midnight Ghosts are like demons crawling out of the dark abyss. Led by their Primarch, the Midnight Lords appear and disappear in the darkness, filled with murderous intent.

They were like messengers of death, pressing forward step by step and launching a ruthless crackdown on the remaining extreme warriors who had fallen into madness.

The moment the battle ended, the whole world seemed to be paused and everything returned to peace.

Guilliman stared at the screen displaying the game, the rage in his eyes burning like flames. The death of his children in the game pained him deeply.

But reason forced him to suppress his inner anger and try to calm himself. His hand unconsciously touched his chin, and he muttered thoughtfully, "It seems I must continue to learn and improve. The warrior manual I compiled must include another item - what to do if the Primarch unfortunately dies in battle or loses the ability to command."

Curze slowly took off his helmet, placed it on the table, and retreated into the shadows. Then, with a tone that left no room for doubt, he said, "What you need to improve most urgently is your lack of concentration during combat. As for what you mentioned, they are merely minor details."

Guilliman frowned slightly and analyzed methodically, "But brother, this is simply unrealistic. I cannot go against the instincts given to me by the Emperor. They are ingrained in my bones."

A sarcastic smile played on Koz's lips, but hidden deep in his eyes was a subtle envy. He sneered, "That's because you haven't found the right way yet. After all, you've been immersed in the warm embrace of love, and you've been blinded by the gentleness of it."

Guilliman's face was full of confusion, his eyes full of puzzlement. He said sincerely: "But every Primarch should have the right to love and be loved. Is there anything wrong with that?" He really couldn't understand it, just as he could never understand why his brother was always full of rejection towards him.

Upon hearing this, Koz fell silent and did not respond for a long time. He just stood there quietly, shrouded in an indescribable loneliness.

In the silence that left both sides speechless, Curze finally spoke slowly. His voice was low and hoarse, no longer as loud as before, like the sound of sandpaper rubbing against each other: "You should think carefully about how to let yourself fall into anger, or other strong emotional states, so that your mind can temporarily avoid those turbulent thoughts and complicated ideas. Only then can you fight without distractions and focus on the fight at hand."

Guilliman nodded gravely, his expression serious. "I will consider this carefully. This is indeed a question worth exploring in depth."

"Alright, then, consider it carefully," Curze said as he stepped out from the shadows. The Primarch, with his tall, slender figure and an inherent sense of oppression, stepped forward and patted Guilliman's shoulder hard, causing him to feel pain. "I must go first. I'm going to find my most valiant and capable future admiral. I have some matters to discuss with him, and we can learn knowledge together."

After saying that, he turned and strode towards the door. His figure quickly disappeared from the room, leaving only the empty room and Guilliman lost in thought.

Far in the depths of the Ultima Segmentum, on the edge of the Ghoul Stars, lies Nostramo.

The home planet of this Prototype is a planet shrouded in eternal night. The sun is often hidden behind the moon, and thick industrial smoke permeates the air, dyeing the entire world gray and depressing.

Jago Sevitarion is just one of the gangsters on this planet.

This young boy was filled with disgust towards everything around him.

As a gang manager, he witnessed brutal fights between gangs and bloody and decadent gatherings of nobles every day.

He hated everything here. The blood and gore were like a cancer that made his soul tremble.

In his opinion, all the darkness and evil on this corrupt planet should be completely eliminated.

The Midnight Haunter is supposed to bring judgment.

His reign of fear once made the evil on this planet fearful, but now he is gone, and with his disappearance, the order built by fear has gradually collapsed and faded.

Sevatar was helpless. He had a passion to change the world, but he felt that his power was too limited. In this dark torrent, he was unable to turn the tide and could only watch Nostramo continue to sink into the endless abyss of sin, and he himself was even about to become an accomplice of the gang.

"Jago Sevitarion, Jago Yilingyi Qi% SiwujiuIX8tarion!"

Sharp and hoarse shouts came from outside the gang. The voice had the cold and hard texture of metal colliding. It was immediately known that it was from Midnight Haunter's mechanical subordinates, who seemed to be members of the Mechanicus.

Despite being large or oddly shaped.

They exude a cold mechanical aura, but in Sevatar's eyes, these guys only have a terrifying appearance.

"What a bunch of useless people." Sevatar frowned and muttered in a low voice with disdain on his face.

Although these mechanical subordinates belong to the powerful Night Haunter, they do not know how to properly manage affairs, nor can they easily plant the seeds of fear in people's hearts like the Night Haunter.

In this world where the strong prey on the weak, their incompetence is particularly glaring. Sevatar secretly complained that if this continues, the great and terrifying rule of the Midnight Haunter will become increasingly nominal.

Chapter 250: Sevatar's Courage is Unstoppable

Based on the intelligence Curze had relayed, the Mechanicus had located Sevatar in a local gang stronghold. Without hesitation, they quickly apprehended Sevatar, tying him up and loading him onto the spaceship like a piece of cargo.

The spaceship started up slowly, emitting a blazing tail flame that cut through the sky and sped off towards Ultramar.

Inside the spaceship, Sevatar was filled with confusion and unwillingness, struggling constantly, trying to figure out what was going on. He widened his eyes and angrily questioned the Mechanicus members around him, but the only response he got was cold silence and the humming sound of the machinery running.

"The transformation process must be strictly controlled." A member of the Mechanicus, commonly known as the Mechanicus, said with a stern expression, his tone unquestionable, "This is a clear order from the Yuan-Ti. There can be no mistakes."

On top of the spaceship, a huge glass container stood quietly, with Astartes' organs soaked inside. Under the dim light, it emitted a cold luster, as if telling an unknown secret.

Sevatar fell into a deep sleep, his consciousness seemed to fall into an endless dark abyss.