Forced to die just after becoming invincible in Warhammer?

Looking at the original body so close, admiration and shame clashed fiercely in my heart.

He wanted to be like Brightman, to be able to hold his head high, speak his name in a loud voice in front of the original body within eight seconds, win attention and be remembered, and he was full of envy.

All that was left of him was this barely breathing body, his voice was broken and incomplete, his name was stuck in his throat, and every syllable he uttered was muffled by the blood.

“…I…my name is…” The warrior stared at the Principal with his only remaining eye, breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently as if it was about to explode. Every difficult breath caused severe pain in the wound, and blood gushed out. However, he still moved his lips stubbornly, trying to let those simple words penetrate the noise and fall into the Principal’s ears before his consciousness faded, just to leave a small but burning trace of himself in her memory.

"Wesnafor, don't speak."

Aurora used her free hand to gently stroke his scarred cheek and soothed him.

"I know your name, the name of every soldier in the Second Legion, and every figure is engraved in my heart."

These words seemed to have magical power, and a trace of comfort appeared in Wisnafor's dull eyes.

"Mother...it is truly an honor for us to have you as our...Primarch."

Vesna's breath was weak, his words coming out in a halting slur, each one uttered with all his strength. Memories of the past played slowly in his dying moments, like an old film.

Looking back, the news that the Primarch had airdropped into the Second Legion was like a bombshell, causing a huge storm within the legion.

As a member of the welcoming team, Wisnafor was full of resistance, with a frown on his face and undisguised annoyance in his eyes.

At that time, his mind was full of the Legion's past glory and the familiar command system. He believed that the airborne Primarch was just an "intruder" who broke the original order and would definitely cause unrest in the Legion.

Until the moment the original appeared, all doubts and resistance melted away like the remaining snow in spring.

When the mysterious, ancient and powerful beating in the blood suddenly sounded, it was as if a giant beast that had been sleeping for thousands of years awakened in the depths of the soul, roaring and declaring its belonging.

Wisnafort felt that his body was out of control, his knees became weak, and he fell to his knees with a plop, his head lowered, his heart beating wildly with the strange rhythm, his soul trembling, and the consciousness of surrender swept over him, leaving him no room for resistance.

At that time, that power came from blood instinct and the original connection deep in his genes; but now, when he was on the verge of death, his heart was full of relief and gratitude.

This emotion has long transcended blood ties and turned into pure admiration and dependence.

Looking at the majestic yet gentle figure of Primarch Aurora, blood flowed from his eyes. "Being able to... to follow you is the greatest... fortune of my life. Mother... I wish you... invincibility."

The soldiers of the legion stood quietly around, witnessing the scene before them, as if they were cast under a spell. For a moment, no one made a sound, only the heavy breathing sounds that came one after another revealed their excited emotions.

PS: The author doesn’t know whether this is a good way to write it?

When the author was writing about this war, he always thought of the unknown soldiers on the battlefield, who didn't even have tombstones and died without their names being remembered.

I don’t know if this is a good way of writing. If readers see it, please comment on whether it is good or not.

Please comment.

Chapter 108 After the War

"When I arrived, your descendants were praising you non-stop, calling you the greatest Primarch."

Huile walked into Aurora's room silently like a ghost.

At this time, Aurora was busy packing up and preparing to start her artistic creation.

"I'm not as good as they say. If I were really that good, there wouldn't be so many casualties in this war."

Aurora spoke softly as she picked up the wood in front of her and looked at it from left to right, as if she was looking for the most suitable angle to put the chisel down and start the carving journey.

Huile noticed that the atmosphere was a little strange and quickly changed the subject, saying, "Lyla's experiment was successful. The Astartes she created is indeed very powerful. According to her estimation of this boy, he can probably withstand three punches from the Primarch."

"Yeah, it's really powerful."

Aurora nodded in agreement. After all, this Astartes could withstand the Primarch's attacks. "So what's this guy's name?"

"Maud, Maud Wells, his fangs are very strange. They can infect others and make them his vassals." Hui Le introduced the situation.

Upon hearing this, Aurora paused, her expression becoming extremely serious. She said solemnly, "If Mod shows any signs of abnormality, kill him immediately. His ability is too dangerous."

"Don't worry, all decisions regarding him are made by the Eleventh Primarch, and Legion Commander For has been arranged to teach him personally." Hui Le said hurriedly.

It seems that I have no choice but to change the subject.

"You're just going to hand over the Battle Moon like that, directly to those great sages?"

Hui Le spoke, her eyes fixed on the carving knife in Aurora's hand - at this moment, the carving knife was moving across the wood, sawdust falling, and gradually outlining the figures of the dead Dawn Messengers. The lines were smooth, like nimble dancers, and every mark seemed carefully choreographed, revealing artistic beauty.

"I don't need those things anyway."

Aurora didn't even raise her head, her hands didn't stop moving, and her tone was light.

Hui Le snorted coldly and continued, "Those Mechanicus guys are extremely arrogant and disrespectful! For a mere machine, they would destroy countless lives like ants. Moreover, their power has expanded rapidly. The Empire cannot tolerate such a powerful force."

Aurora's hand trembled slightly, and the carving knife hovered briefly in the air. It was obvious that these words touched her heart.

"Why not, we support this great sage and let him challenge the Casting General of Mars?"

A hint of cunning flashed in Huile's eyes.

"Easier said than done."

Aurora frowned slightly as her hands continued carving. "This great sage serves under the Casting General. Could he betray his superiors as easily as you say?"

Huile was confident, took a few steps forward, and lowered his voice:

"Aurora, you don't know that there is no such thing as unbreakable loyalty between the Great Sage and the Casting General. An attractive template and some tangible benefits can make the Great Sage change his allegiance." As he spoke, Hui Le's dark eyes reflected Aurora's focused look, as if waiting for her response.

"And mother has always hated these guys." Hui Le added.

"Then what should we do?" Aurora was already tempted because of her mother.

"Just publicly support the great sage. I'll go and win over the empire's left and right chancellors to work with me."

“Is that it?”

Aurora was full of doubts. Could anything really be accomplished by supporting just one person?

"The key isn't this, nor is it the Archmagos himself. It's the Second and Eleventh Primarchs, the Left and Right Chancellors, who all support him. With our support, the Martian general feels that this news carries the Emperor and the Regent's intentions."

"Our parents ruled the Empire. With a flick of their fingers, they could rewrite the fate of humanity across billions of stars. They were already dissatisfied with the Mechanicum's wanton expansion."

Aurora nodded slightly after hearing this.

"If these two supreme beings of the Empire were to show even a hint of malice, their countless followers would bring catastrophic destruction to the Mechanicus."

"Do Mother and the Emperor really hate the Mechanicus?" Aurora looked at her blood relative Hui Le, the other's figure reflected in her blood-red pupils.

"That's right, the Mechanicus is destined to be despised by them." Hui Le nodded firmly.

As the undercurrent of fate quietly surged, Aurora's inner defenses were finally penetrated by Hui Le's eloquent persuasion. Those bewitching words, like a sugar-coated drug, made Aurora struggle for several seconds before she reluctantly nodded and accepted this unusual proposal.

At that time, the highly respected Great Sage, inspired by the Primarch's heroic spirit, solemnly took over the mysterious green-skinned "Battle Moon" with both hands.

This object, emitting a strange light, carries the greenskins' treacherous and fierce fighting essence, which attracted the great sage's keen gaze. He couldn't wait to study it, as if he wanted to unravel its mysteries one by one between his fingers.

On this scarred and smoke-filled planet, the Dawnbringer is like the light of dawn, carrying fearlessness and determination, launching a final charge against the remaining greenskin forces.

They were agile and their armor shone brightly. Wherever they went, their shouts and screams shattered the clouds, and the cold light of their blades tore apart the greenskins' resistance.

When the dust settled and the smoke slowly dissipated, everyone looked at the towering statue of the Primarch with piety and respect.

The statue looked like a god of war, with a tall and majestic figure and a resolute face. One hand tightly grasped a huge sword, the sharp blade had drunk the blood of the enemy, and its cold light seemed to be able to penetrate the years; the other hand held high the head of the greenskin leader, with disheveled hair and ferocious face frozen in the moment of defeat, which further highlighted the primarch's majesty and dominance.

Since then, the passionate legend of the Dawnbringer turning the tide and saving the planet has been like a lively musical note, flowing freely in the streets and alleys, towns and countryside, with the people's admiration and respect, and gradually becoming a magnificent legend that is passed on by word of mouth and known to every household.

The survivors looked at their rebuilt homes and the new greenery with full of longing.

Hand in hand, they folded the sufferings of the past into paper boats and exiled them to the long river of time; holding hope, they strode towards the shining tomorrow and the beautiful future gently wrapped in the dawn.

The roar of its engines, like the roar of a sleeping beast, shattered the surrounding silence. The magnificent "Glory of the Sun" slowly set sail, its massive hull breaking free from the constraints of gravity and heading towards the vast universe, its target set directly for Terra.

It shoulders a heavy responsibility to cross the vast sea of ​​stars and return to report to its mother planet. The flame at the stern of the ship is like a blazing flag, burning the darkness all the way, rushing towards its predetermined mission.

PS: Please, I want everything.

Chapter 109 This two-meter machete

"Maud, Maud Wells."

Forle, the commander of the 11th Legion "Son of the White King", whispered this name. At this moment, he felt the same state of mind as Brightman did back then.

Bryman had been ordered to teach him, a new recruit. Even though Bryman knew at the time that Bryman had a bright future, he couldn't refuse. Fowle now felt the same helplessness and complexity.

Fore still remembers the scene when he first met Mod.

The guy had a head of lush, red hair that was spreading wildly, a young face that was unruly, and a pair of bloodthirsty eyes that were particularly eye-catching.

At just one glance, For felt resistance in his heart. The murderous aura in him seemed to be tangible, oozing out without any disguise. If someone didn't know him well, they might mistake him for a member of the "Ghoul Legion".

Looking at this appearance, he doesn't look like the "Son of the White King" at all, and it doesn't match the temperament of the legion at all.

The 11th Legion is very unique, and the root of its difference lies in their Primarch who is well-versed in history and modern times.

The Primarch imparted his vast knowledge without reservation, and all his descendants benefited from it, and their knowledge and attainments far surpassed those of others.

The psychic adaptability of all members is the highlight of the 11th Legion. When teaching the use of psychic powers, the Primarch was extremely cautious and repeatedly reminded them:

"The Warp holds many unknowns. Some things are not for you to touch. For an Astartes, it is too dangerous."

The Primarch's words sounded like a long-lasting alarm, keeping the soldiers alert at all times.

While many legions still had to rely on the Adeptus Mechanicus to provide them with sophisticated armor, the 11th Legion stood out.

The key craft of weapon forging had long been carefully taught by their own Primarch. From material selection and mold casting to hammering and carving, the warriors were familiar with the entire process.

Therefore, they seldom seek help from the Mechanicus for daily armament maintenance and armor upgrades. Only when faced with difficult problems such as creating new super weapons will the two sides sit down and work together to bring out their respective strengths.

The field of genetics is a trump card of the 11th Legion.

Those outstanding pharmacists who shuttled across battlefields and brought people back to life were all direct disciples of the Primarch and mastered cutting-edge genetic technology.

His reputation was so great that even Russ, the Primarch known for his ferocity and brutality, couldn't help but look at him with awe.

Leman Russ valued this professional accomplishment and once humbled himself and warmly invited the Primarch of the 11th Legion to join him in genetic research, which shows his recognition and appreciation.

This honor allowed the 11th Legion to firmly occupy the technological high ground among the numerous legions.

For thought about his other brothers, then looked at Maude. Did he think Maude's gene seed had mutated?

In his hand, Mod held tightly the broadsword forged by the Primarch himself. The blade was narrow and long, at least two meters long, and shone with a cold light. Just by looking at it, one could imagine its murderous power on the battlefield.

Not only his weapons, but also the armor he wears is made by the perfect Primarch.

The Primarch's mother has always been fair and never favors anyone, so every warrior of the "Sons of the White King" has the honor of wearing the armor made by the Primarch himself.

This honor is unique in the entire legion system, and naturally makes other legions jealous.

Those who are jealous feel sour in their hearts, but are unwilling to give in. In the end, they can only curl their lips and make a few harsh remarks. Names like "young master soldier" and "mama's boy" come out of their mouths, just to make amends for themselves and vent their envy and jealousy.

"I am only a legion commander. My knowledge is not as profound as that of the Primarch."

Fore stared directly at the new recruit in front of him and said in a deep voice, "For the next few days, go to the duel arena to hone your combat skills. Later, I will teach you some basic tips on using psychic powers."

After saying this, he paused slightly and added, "Once you have mastered it, I will find the top casting masters and geneticists in the legion and have them explain these two subjects to you in detail."

“Why do I have to learn so much?”

Mod opened his mouth to ask, with a hint of ruthlessness on his young face, and the corners of his mouth seemed to be showing "fangs", which made For feel uncomfortable.

"I'm doing this for your own good." For explained patiently.

"I'm asking you to learn these things in advance so that when the Primarch starts teaching you about psionics, weapon manufacturing and maintenance, and genetics, you can understand them and not be completely in the dark."

He sighed inwardly. Although he looked down on Mode's behavior, these arrangements were for his long-term benefit - to hone his combat skills and dabble in other knowledge. The Primarch would take over in the future, and hopefully by then he could tame Mode's bloodthirsty nature.

Mod listened and nodded continuously, his head moving up and down, his eyes full of recognition.

After all, who could resist a lecture from their mother?

In the heart of every son, his mother is like a bright star hanging high in the sky that cannot be desecrated. To make a fool of oneself in front of her is something that one dare not even think about. Even if one loses face in front of one's own brothers, one will surely become a laughing stock and be ridiculed in the future. This feeling is more tormenting than dying on the battlefield.

"Okay, I'll go to the arena and hone my martial arts skills!"

Mode suddenly clenched the two-meter-long machete in his hand, and the handle made a slight sound. His words were full of urgency and impulse, and he raised his legs and ran towards the arena.

At this moment, his mind was filled with only one thought: to hone his martial arts as quickly as possible and bring his combat power to a new level. Only in this way would he have the leisure and confidence to plunge into the mysterious world of psychic energy, explore the exquisite skills of mechanical casting, and delve into the hidden knowledge of genetics. Fortunately, when he finally went to his mother's professional lecture full of practical information, he would be able to understand it, answer calmly, and not lose face.

The legion commander looked at Mod's back as he hurried to the arena, and the corners of his mouth unconsciously rose up and he let out a chuckle.

It was true that no one could resist the Primarch's charm. Even the young recruit in front of him, when he mentioned preparing for the Primarch's lecture, his eyes seemed to be burning with two flames and his whole body was full of endless energy.

Thinking of this, the legion commander became curious and followed.

He wanted to see how powerful this new recruit, who was looked upon with special regard by the Primarch, was.

Was it his razor-sharp swordsmanship that allowed him to carve out a path through the arena? Or was it some unparalleled talent, dormant within him, waiting to erupt, that caught the Primarch's eye? Filled with so many questions, he strode towards the arena.

In the arena, the sound waves were like a raging tsunami, and the shouts were deafening and resounded through the sky.