Forced to die just after becoming invincible in Warhammer?

Mortarion's armor was covered in scratches, sweat soaked his hair, and every swing of his sword was accompanied by heavy breathing.

The alien king opposite him was wielding a huge sickle. Every attack was carried out with overwhelming momentum. The sickle cut through the air, making a sharp whistling sound.

At this moment, the Emperor swung the sword in his hand.

This sword may seem ordinary, but it carries the power of death that can destroy the world.

A flash of light passed by, and the alien king and the sickle in its hand were instantly split in two, and the cut was as smooth as a mirror.

Warm blood splattered and splashed on Mortarion's face. He stood there in a daze, a flash of astonishment in his eyes, which was quickly replaced by anger.

Mortarion gripped his weapon so tightly that his knuckles turned white with the effort.

In his mind, this battle was his chance to prove himself, a fateful showdown between him and the Alien King. The Emperor's intervention made him feel that his glory was being stripped away and his dignity was being trampled upon.

The Emperor's gaze was as sharp as a torch, staring directly at Mortarion. His voice was filled with unquestionable authority, yet also with a hint of disappointment:

"You should have won this battle. As long as you commanded your forces well, these aliens would have been nothing to worry about. But you, blinded by impulse, completely disregarded your entire army and charged headfirst into the enemy's heart. Do you know that if I hadn't arrived to help you clean up this mess, you wouldn't have had the slightest chance of defeating the aliens and liberating Barbarus?"

Every word of the Emperor's words struck like a hammer upon Mortarion's heart.

Mortarion gritted his teeth, his face turning pale and blue.

The Primarch's hands trembled slightly with anger and unwillingness, veins bulged on his forehead, and his eyes burned with rage.

But under the emperor's mountain-like pressure, all his emotions had to be forcibly suppressed.

He lowered his head slightly, trying not to let his dissatisfaction show too obviously on his face, and squeezed out a few words from between his teeth: "Yes, I understand."

This brief response was full of helplessness and frustration.

Although he was extremely unwilling in his heart, he was powerless to refute in front of the emperor and could only swallow his anger silently.

…………

In the silent bridge, the lights shone softly, illuminating the figures of the two.

The puppet leaned against the console nearby and started the conversation with interest: "What kind of weapons do you think Mortarion would choose from your personal arsenal?"

There was a hint of curiosity and inquiry in his tone, and his eyes sparkled with a vibrant glint.

The Emperor stood with his hands behind his back, his expression calm, his gaze looking off into the distance. He responded calmly, "I don't know. There's no need to speculate. Mortarion will take whatever he wants."

The Lord of Mankind's voice was deep and powerful, revealing an unquestionable sense of freedom and grandeur.

The puppet pouted slightly, feigning dissatisfaction, and said with a hint of jealousy, "As soon as you boarded the ship, you didn't even bring him to me. You took him directly to your personal armory and let him choose his own weapons. It seems you really like this heir."

As he spoke, he stamped his feet lightly.

The Emperor frowned slightly, thought for a moment, and then spoke slowly: "He does not like psykers, and he hates oppressors and tyrants."

His tone showed some understanding of Mortarion's character.

Upon hearing this, Xi, who was in the palace, choked on the water she had just taken. She coughed and patted her chest. After finally recovering, she said jokingly, "Then I'd better not see him. After all, in his eyes, I'm just a witch who plays with psychic powers!"

After saying that, she manipulated the puppet and made an exaggerated face.

The Emperor shook his head slightly, a resolute smile on his face, and said gently, "There's no need. He wouldn't dare and wouldn't do anything to you as long as I'm by your side."

Just then, the door opened.

Mortarion strode out.

The Primarch was of burly build, with steady and powerful steps, and exuded a solemn and murderous aura that came from someone who had been baptized by the battlefield.

I saw that he was holding a khaki pistol lantern tightly in his hand.

The lantern has a simple shape and seems to have a faint texture on its surface. Under the reflection of the light in the cabin, it emits a faint glow, as if carrying the power of time and the unknown.

PS: Please, give me some.

Chapter 186: The Weapons of Mortarion: The Thoughts of the Iron Lords and Iron Warriors

The puppet's gaze was fixed on the gun in Mortarion's hand.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, a trace of memories of the past flashed in her eyes, and she slowly spoke:

"This gun has a complex history. It was created during a time of conflict, by a sect that worshipped the supremacy of the dragon. At the time, it was an extremely fanatical sect."

The Emperor nodded slightly, his expression calm, and continued, "Later, that sect was wiped out by me, and this weapon fell into my arsenal, where it has been sealed until now."

After saying this, he looked indifferent, as if he was describing only a trivial matter, completely ignoring the slightly complicated expression on Mortarion's face beside him.

Mortarion gripped his gun tightly, his eyes shifting back and forth between the Emperor and the puppet, his expression somewhat solemn.

At this moment, the puppet's face lit up with a friendly smile, and he took a step forward and said enthusiastically:

"Well, hello, Mortarion. I am the Regent of the Empire, and genetically speaking, your mother. Of course, the body you see now is just a puppet stand-in. My real body is still commanding the troops on Terra."

Her voice was clear and pleasant, and her eyes were full of gentleness and kindness, trying to close the distance between her and Mortarion.

The resolute Mortarion nodded slightly, his expression still stern, but his mind was full of thoughts.

The Primarch couldn't help but wonder, "Does she not want to see me or doesn't like me, so she uses a puppet as a substitute? Or is there something else going on?"

A hint of subtle disappointment flashed across Mortarion's eyes, but he quickly found a reason to be the regent.

"I guess I was dragged down by those mortal matters."

He began to make excuses for the Emperor and the Regent.

They shoulder the heavy responsibility of the entire empire and have to deal with numerous affairs every day. Perhaps she really can't spare the time.

Despite this, Mortarion still had a vague concern in his heart. He longed for the regent's recognition and attention, rather than just conveying information through a wooden doctor Qi Yi (III) II (IX) doll.

But he also understood that as the Primarch, he should put the greater good first and not allow these personal emotions to affect his loyalty to the Emperor and the Regent, or his responsibility to the Empire.

Seeing Mortarion's silence, the puppet adjusted his stance slightly, his eyes filled with expectation and trust, and continued:

"From now on, the Fourteenth Legion will follow you closely. Every soldier in the legion will obey your command without reservation. They come from different worlds, but they are united under your command because of a common belief. They are full of admiration and loyalty to you."

She paused slightly, raised her hand and pointed into the void, as if she could see a distant galaxy through the endless darkness, and her voice unconsciously rose a few degrees:

"And you, Mortarion, will use Barbarus as a solid starting point. Barbarus is your homeland, and the people there have witnessed your growth and will be your strongest support. From this familiar land, you will lead your legion, like a sharp blade, bravely advancing into new regions of the galaxy."

"Those new areas may be suffering from xenos oppression right now. Innocent lives are struggling in pain, and the spark of civilization is in jeopardy. But the arrival of you and your legion will be their light of hope."

"You must liberate them, let those oppressed people regain their freedom, and let the trampled civilization regain vitality. Every battle, every victory will be a medal of glory for you and the Legion, and a testimony to the continuous expansion of the Empire's territory and the extension of order."

The puppet's words were full of power, and every word seemed to paint a magnificent picture of the future for Mortarion.

"Yes." Mortarion nodded in agreement.

It was as if he had already seen the future that the Regent had laid out for him, that he would become the most persevering person praised by the world.

Billions and billions of the empire's citizens are singing his praises.

His parents are proud of him.

……

Perturabo stood atop the towering command tower, looking down at the neatly arrayed Iron Warriors below, which filled him with disgust.

"A will of steel is indestructible"

Watching and listening to the slogans shouted by those iron warriors.

At this moment, it became a great irony in his heart.

The Primarch's heart felt as if it were being gnawed by countless poisonous insects, filled with distortion and resentment.

His eyes swept over the Astartes warriors wearing heavy power armor, his eyes full of disdain and disgust.

In his opinion, these Iron Warriors were a world apart from the renowned First and Second Legions, or the Silver Moon Wolves and Ultramarines.

They were too weak to be worthy of the glorious name of Astartes warriors.

Recalling the scene of returning to the Empire, Perturabo's face became increasingly gloomy.

At that time, his legion was so weak that he, the Primarch, had to go to the battlefield in person to command the rescue.

This is a great humiliation for the Lord of Steel.

In his eyes, these warriors were synonymous with incompetence and weakness, and were even worse than ordinary mortals.

But in the end, he still spent a lot of effort to organize these soldiers into large camps, trying to improve their combat effectiveness through strict organization and training.

But in his opinion, everything was in vain.

Perturabo sneered, thinking to himself: If it weren't for his gene-seed flowing in their bodies, they probably wouldn't even be qualified to wear this power armor that symbolizes strength and glory.

……

I am an Iron Warrior from Terra. Whenever I think of the transformation of our Legion, my heart is filled with gratitude to Perturabo, the Father of Genes.

I still remember that fierce battle with the aliens. The situation was once desperate. Our Fourth Legion was retreating step by step and suffered heavy casualties.

Just when everyone was almost in despair, the Father of Genes appeared.

He stood tall and straight, his eyes revealing unquestionable determination and calmness, and strode into the command center.

At that moment, it seemed as if a ray of light dispelled the haze that shrouded our hearts.

The Father of Genes' commands were meticulous and every decision was extremely precise.

He quickly analyzed the battlefield situation, redeployed troops, cleverly utilized the terrain, and directed us to move through the hail of bullets.

Under his leadership, our counterattack was like a tiger emerging from the mountains, instantly turning the tide of the battle.

The victory in that battle gave us new life and brought our admiration for him to its peak.

After the battle, he gave us everything new. "Iron Warriors," this new name imbued with power and glory, carries his expectations for us; the slogan "Steel Inside and Out" constantly reminds us that both our bodies and our minds must be as tough as steel.

He also brought in a brand new legion camp system, which made our organization more rigorous and greatly improved our combat effectiveness.

However, recently I have noticed that the Primarch has been in a low mood and his expression is often unpredictable.

This makes me worried. What went wrong?

Did we make mistakes in training and combat and fail to live up to his expectations?

Or was it the behavior of someone in the legion that angered him?

Or is it that some powerful and troublesome alien has appeared, making him worried?

But if the Primarch is willing to speak, the Iron Warriors will fight with all their lives.

Anyone who offends him, no matter who it is, will be brought before the Primarch to face the harshest punishment.

Facing any alien enemy, our iron and steel artillery fire will pour down mercilessly, allowing them to be completely annihilated in this universe and turned into dust, in order to defend the majesty of the Primarch and practice our loyalty to him and the Legion.

PS: Please, give me some.

Chapter 187 Mortarion's High Ideal: The First Legion's Back-up

The Emperor's Dream slowly sailed away, and the huge ship left a faint trail in the starry sky, gradually disappearing from everyone's sight.

At this moment, Primarch Mortarion stood on the land of his hometown, Barbarus.

This land carries his past; every inch of soil and every breath of air feels familiar and intimate to him.

He took a deep breath. The air was filled with the unique scent of Barbarus, a mixture of minerals and soil, simple and mellow, and also highly toxic.

Mortarion wore a heavy black robe inlaid with silver runes that gleamed coldly in the sunlight of Barbarus.

The Pale King's face was stern, and his pale skin was almost transparent in the sunlight, revealing an innate majesty.

The Primarch waited quietly, his eyes revealing a hint of anticipation and relief.

Soon, the Empire's Fourteenth Legion - his descendants, slowly approached with neat and powerful steps.

These Astartes warriors are tall and burly, wearing black and green power armor, and every step seems to be stepping on the heartbeat of this land.

Their helmets reflected the dim sunlight, making it difficult to see their expressions, but from their resolute postures, one could feel their deep respect and loyalty to the Primarch.

When they came before Mortarion, they knelt on one knee in unison, their movements skillful and smooth, their way of showing respect.

However, Mortarion immediately stretched out his hands, making a gesture to stop him. His voice was low and powerful, echoing in the empty square:

"I am your Primarch, the Lord of the Legion, but I do not require you to kneel before me. That is slavery, meaningless, and the act of a tyrant."

The Primarch's words were firm and sincere, and every word seemed to carry power, striking the hearts of the warriors.

After hearing this, everyone in the legion was stunned for a moment, and then a hint of understanding and recognition flashed in their eyes.

They quickly stood up, raised their right arms in unison, clenched their fists, placed them on their chests, and performed a standard imperial military salute.

This military salute is simple and powerful, representing their loyalty and devotion to the Primarch.