John was a farmer.

To put it more accurately, he was a peasant on Maculag. His ancestors were hard workers, and Macurag never treated them badly. The land passed down from his ancestors lives on to this day in John's hands, but he still considers himself a farmer, not a farmer.

It's an old-fashioned idea, and if you look into it, it's going to get endless, and it started in Maculag many years ago, when King Connaugh was still in power.

To get back to the point, just how old-fashioned is John? To give you an example, he didn't even want to replace the workers with machines, even if it would bring dozens of times more profits.

"It's going to leave a lot of people without food." That's what John always told his son. "We have more than 30 helpers, and if I let those machines run into the fields to help us, where are those people going to make a living? Their grandfather used to work in the fields with my grandfather, and I won't let that tradition go away. ”

His son listened attentively at the time, but then he did not, and the boy's attention shifted elsewhere. For example, participating in the selection of Ultramarines for recruits - John has nothing to say about this, he is neither proud nor trying to stop it.

His daughter, his son's sister, was proud of the affair and spent her days at school promoting her brother's ambitions and then everything fell into place, and John's son entered the Ultramarine, stepped into the sea of stars, and never looked back.

Twenty-one years after he left Maculag, John received a letter from the front, in which the genetic protologist Robert Killiman personally apologized to him.

He admits that it was his 'wrong command' that led to John's son's death, and although the details cannot be disclosed, his son was definitely honorably killed. Killiman's court gave John a large amount of compensation, as well as two special forms of mourning.

A replica of the Ultramarine's company flag, from his son's company, is now hanging in the most prominent part of his home. There is also a monument in the southern city of Makulag, on which his son's name is located.

Individually engraved on it.

John did not hate Robert Killman, he knew what the cost of war was. His wife did not hate, or rather, did not have the opportunity to hate. She died a year before that letter returned.

But his daughter was so dissatisfied with this that she cried all day long, and even refused to teach students at the university anymore.

John was worried, but what else could he do? His children have grown up and have their own ideas. And he is already sixty-three years old, and he is no longer young.

He didn't want to have a life extension operation, and as for the field, he planned to give it to a young man who was a latecomer, and the other party was as interested in the field as he was when he was young.

However, he will never stop working until he dies. This field has nurtured countless Ultramarines, so he must stay here at all times until he dies.

For example, at this time, he stood on the ridge with a hoe and saw countless meteors falling from the sky.

"The throne is above." John grabbed his beard in shock. "What's going on?"

He soon got an answer, because a meteor was falling from the sky. John stood there for several seconds before he realized that the thing was about to land in his field. He could see it from the trajectory, but it was a pinprick intuition that really moved him.

John roared at the top of his voice, as if he had gone back to when he was young, when he sang all night in the tavern.

"Run!" He roared and waved his hands at the workers in the fields. "Get out of place, get out of place! Come on! ”

At first, the workers just watched the meteor fall in a daze, and did not move. On the contrary, it was only after hearing his roar that he suddenly realized that he should run for his life, so he immediately scattered and ran along the ridge towards the shelter in an orderly manner.

At least a dozen people wanted to take John with him, but he refused all. The gray-haired old man sat on his ridge with a hoe on his shoulder, determined to witness the meteor fall.

Dozens of seconds later, it hit the ground with a heavy impact and landed on a piece of land he used to grow cotton. The shock wave from touching the ground spread for hundreds of meters, still causing him to fall from the ridge and fall to the ground, in pain.

His body, which had been tormented by joint disease and age for a long time, should have taken a breather to regain the strength to get up, but the laws of nature were no longer useful to John at this moment.

He immediately rolled over and got up from the ground, and the smoke and dust scattered and almost obscured everything, and the flames were so bright that his eyes were very uncomfortable. John grunted, picked up his hoe and walked over there.

There was no doubt that he had acted boldly, but the guards' rebuke was no longer a concern for him—he had a strong instinct that this was his son's return.

It doesn't feel logical, but there are always things in the world that don't need logic.

He went deeper, and soon coughed from the smoke of the burning, but it didn't get in the way, because John always had a way of doing something. He rolled up his clothes and covered his nose and mouth, and walked to the meteor with the burning smoke that poisoned his lungs and took away the air.

The cotton field had been so scourged that it could no longer be wanted, and a huge pit had taken its place, and everything around it was glowing with fire and the afterglow of destruction. It should have been heart-wrenching for the land to be ruined like this, but John didn't have time to grieve, because he saw an airborne warehouse.

A faint glimmer of joy rose in the old man's heart: Is it possible? Is it possible, what if? What if Robert Killiman was wrong and my son didn't die in battle, just disappeared?

He tightened his grip on his hoe and crept cautiously down the pit. At first, it was going well, until he slid down with one foot in the air.

This fall was much worse than the previous one, and he lay on the ground for a while before he could barely straighten up, and there was a cone pain in his forehead, and the things in front of him became foggy. Just then, he heard a strange muffled sound.

At first, he thought it was his hallucination, until the sound kept coming, one after the other. It sounded like a blacksmith was striking iron, or someone was breaking something with a hammer

Hammer? Why does it have to be a hammer? John felt a grotesque smile, but he couldn't laugh because a huge piece of steel flew out of front of his eyes, and then a giant.

He rolled out of the burning airborne bunker, his armor mottled and his face covered in scars. John was stunned—he didn't think his son looked like this.

"You!" The giant spotted him at once, and his voice sounded like it was blood. "Get out of here, civilians, it's not safe here!"

"You're—"

"—Leave!" The man glared at him, and propped himself up with the massive hammer.

The weapon was covered in blood and looked extremely vicious. It wasn't until he stood up that John realized how tall the man really was, and the last shred of hope in his heart vanished.

It should have been painful, but John became more and more grounded.

What the hell are you thinking? Running here alone? He asked himself, knowing very well that Robert Killiman would never lie, and that was the case with Ishmael's death

But, what about this person? Who is he?

"Who are you?" John clenched his hoe warily. "Tell me who you are, big man, where are you from?"

The giant looked at him, his expression shifting back and forth between exasperation and deep thought, almost ridiculously fast. It took a long time for him to speak, and although his tone was not gentle, his words were relaxed.

"Put that hoe down, civilian. If you're going to hurt me, you'll need at least one blaster. A hoe stained with mud won't hurt me. ”

"I want to know who you are!"

"I'm Perturabo, the primordial form of the Iron Warriors of the Fourth Legion, and you" He looked up at the sky, the smoke obscuring everything, but he looked as if he could see the sky, his gaze very focused. "You're from Maculag, aren't you?"

"Who do you say you are?" John looked at him in disbelief.

The giant sighed, "I don't want to repeat it again, civilian, get out of here." Find yourself a safe place to stay, everything I bring with me is not something you should care about. ”

"But you're standing in front of me."

"So?"

"According to the laws of Makurag—" John exclaimed. "—Anyone, be it civilians, officials, soldiers, or legionnaires, should fight for Macurag!"

"And then?"

"You say you're a primordial, I don't know if that's true, and I haven't seen Robert Killiman with my own eyes anyway. But the Bearer is besieging us, and Lord Yingjie has spoken about it many days ago. How do I know if you're with them? ”

Perturabo almost laughed.

"If I were, do you think you'd still be alive to say so much to me?" He asked.

John looked at him, and after a long while, he put the hoe down.

"I think so."

The old man nodded casually, but sat down on the ground again, his legs limp, and his body trembled. He threw down his hoe, clasped his hands together, and sighed deeply, deeply.

Perturabo stood still, listening. Out of a thousand different voices, he captured the one he needed. Even the sound of fast-moving vehicles, he could even tell that at least three airships were moving towards him.

This discovery made the Iron Lord lose the desire to move, and besides, landing in such a way that I am afraid that only staying where I am can soothe the nerves of the Ultramarines. He stood there and waited patiently.

"Your Excellency?"

Perturabo looked at the civilian and raised an eyebrow: "I didn't expect you to call me that. ”

"But you're the original."

"Half a minute ago, you thought I was a traitor to the Bearers."

"That was before." John grunted, looking up at Peturabo and hesitantly asking a question. "But what are you here for, my lord?"

"As I said, everything I bring with me is not something you should care about. But you have courage, civilian, what are you called? ”

"John."

"Just John?"

"It's just John, I'm just a farmer, my lord."

"Very well, John, I can reveal a little bit to you. I am here to find the Lord of Maculag, Robert Killiman. Peturabo replied reservedly, knowing that the situation was urgent, but that the necessary etiquette was needed

And he was about to meet with Robert Kiliman's legion later, and Perturabo thought that treating a civilian in Kiliman's realm would make the atmosphere of the meeting more favorable to them.

Moreover, he did like the courage shown by this old man.

Of course, he won't say it explicitly.

Do all Otramar people possess this fearless trait? He pondered, and received an answer that was expected.

"But—" John's eyes widened. "—he's not here, my lord."

"I know." Peturabo said.

——

"Our original body is not in Macurag, Master Peturabo." Valentus Dollo said.

"I know." Perturabo said, raising his hands and letting the two medical servants stitch up the wound in his ribs. His expression was calm, as if he had not been hurt in the slightest. "He's in Cowe."

Valentus frowned and pressed the sword at his waist: "I beg you to give an explanation, my lord. ”

"Don't be stupid, Valentus Hero." Perturabo glanced up at him, pronouncing the word Yingjie very seriously. "Horus's orders are not a secret to us, we know what he did."

"But that doesn't explain why you fell from the sky."

"There is a reason for this." Peturabo said briefly, frowning slightly.

The medical servant's hand was holding the needle and thread to and fro through his wound, the single molecule needle barely penetrating his flesh, which required the combined efforts of two servants to pass through the flesh. He could feel every centimeter of their progress, and it was almost a punishment.

Valentus was also aware of this, and after much thought, he let go of his sword and began to report a great deal of bad news to Perturabo.

"There's one thing I need to report to you." He pursed his lips sternly. "Your brother, one of the Emperor's sons, Vulcan, Lord of the Fire Dragon, succumbed to his injuries. Our physician confirmed the news twelve minutes ago, and I'm sorry, but we were unable to treat a single protoplasm. ”

Perturabo's eyes narrowed, and he pushed the servant away and grabbed his hammer.

"Take me to him." The Iron Lord commanded.

"Why?"

"Take me, Yingjie." The original body bared its teeth and said coldly. "Then you'll know why."

Valentus thought for a moment and did as he was told.

They walked down the long corridor into the depths of Robert Killiman's court, and after passing through several metal gates unlocked by iris, they arrived at an extremely specialized medical room.

Even with Perturabo's discerning eye, there is absolutely nothing wrong here.

In the center of the hall was a huge iron bed, and the medical equipment had been withdrawn to the side, and the personnel had already been evacuated in advance. The bed was covered with a white cloth, revealing a strong figure.

The Iron Lord strode over and threw his hammer to the ground.

Valentus frowned, irritated by the loud reverberation, but what Perturabo did next really challenged his nerves—he tore off the white cloth and grabbed Vulcan's body.

"Throne above, what are you doing?!" Yingjie shouted. "Are you going to blaspheme the dead?!"

"Quiet." Perturabo said without looking back, and pulled open the eyelid of his brother's one-eyed, intently observing the dilated pupil. After a few seconds, he put him down and picked up the white cloth to cover the body.

"He will wake up in a few hours, send someone to monitor him, and let me know as soon as he wakes up."

Perturabo said emotionlessly, his words causing the anger on Valentus Dorlo's face to fade into a kind of confusion.

He couldn't understand Peturabo's words, and he couldn't even figure out for a moment whether he was insane or if the gloomy primordial being, who was known for his erratic temper, was insane.

Perturabo glanced at him and walked over to pick up his hammer, "We're not crazy, Hero. It's just that I know something that shouldn't be known, like my brother won't die. ”

"What did you say?"

"He's not going to die, Valentus." With his back to him, Perturabo sighed wearily. "How else do you think we escaped from Horus?"

"Who?" Valentus asked in shock, looking like a baby being punched by his parents.

He was shocked so many times in a short period of time that there were even faint signs of spasm in his facial muscles. This continued until twenty minutes later, by which time they had changed places to talk and there were more people present.

"Go on." Perturabo commanded, and manually donned his armor. "I didn't tell you to stop, don't stop, Dantiok, understand?"

"Understood." The War Blacksmith said, and turned in a different direction so that the group of Ultramarines officers and an elderly lady in front of him could hear more clearly.

"We ventured into subspace after that, and the voyage went well at first, but the cursed traitor soon caught up with his fleet."

"His wolf pack has decreased a lot due to the turbulence of subspace, and we are no longer as stressed as we used to be. But something even more incomprehensible happened, Horus somehow appeared directly on the bridge."

"He was alone, but he couldn't be hurt by any bullet or sword. We suffered heavy casualties, and then, the Lord of the Dragons asked us all to stand back and let him and the other Primordials settle the matter. And then, Horus—"

He turned his head to look at his original form.

"—continue." Perturabo told him indifferently. "We don't have anything to hide from the Ultramarines, and even more so I didn't tell you to stop, Dantiok."

"Yes, Proto." The Iron Warrior sighed heavily. "Then, he killed Vulcan, and he also seriously wounded Lord Motarian and used his blood to summon some of the evil creatures in the subspace, I'm not sure if it's a group or one."

"It's a bunch."

Perturabo interjected into the conversation again.

"It's a bunch." He repeated. "It's a collection of malice, a swarm of flies, but it's just a superficial manifestation. It's a plague for what it really is, I'm not sure what it is, but it's definitely a plague. ”

"Primordial?" Dantiok looked at him.

"Forget it, I'll tell you." Perturabo shook his head. "You go down and rest first."

"Yes." The war blacksmith strode out of the room.

The Lord of Steel clasped his wrist and checked the status of the power armor. His expression was still calm, but the words that came out next were like a poisonous snake spitting out letters, which made people shudder.

——

"I'm tired of fighting you, Vulcan." Horus Lupecar said that his armor was covered in blood.

"I'll admit you're a challenging opponent, but you've only left me with a little bruise. So, do me a favor and just lie there and don't move anymore, how about it? ”

In response, Vulcan, whose jaw was shattered and his skull barely humanoid, twitched his right finger.

The wolf god sighed: "You can't be my opponent, why don't you understand?" ”

"Then I'll do it." Motarian said hoarsely, the silence in his hand cutting through the air with a sharp sound.

The eyes of the Lord of Death breathe fire, and blood and tears are flowing from his eyes. The bridge is littered with corpses, steel warriors, salamanders, and death guards. They died with angry eyes, blood dripping from them, making it almost like a slaughterhouse.

"Face me, traitor!" The Barbaros roared and rushed forward. "I will avenge Vulcan!"

"Don't, Motarian!" Perturabo shouted dissuasion.

He was half-kneeling when Horus had just knocked him back dozens of meters with an understatement, and inflicted more serious internal injuries. He saw very clearly that if he was to be a threat to Horus, he would have to be three of them together, at least two of them

But the Lord of Death didn't listen at all at this moment, and he rushed straight to Horus. The latter smiled slightly, and the Worldbreaker lifted it slightly, and the hammer smashed into Motarien's breastplate like a missile.

Steel, gold, and bones all cracked with a crisp sound, blood pouring from the mouth and nose of the Lord of Death, but he roared and spun his wrist as if he were not injured at all, and the scythe smashed down in an extremely brutal manner.

The silver light flashed, and the Scythe of Silence actually created a deep wound on Horus's face, and blood splattered, and Horus took two steps back in surprise, not angry but happy.

His eerie smile was extremely distorted on his increasingly terrifying face.

"Interesting." He burst out laughing. "It's not what I foresaw, Motarian, you seem to have broken through yourself. But it's not supposed to happen, you're tough enough. Stop it, that's it, brother. Don't go any further. The god of corruption won't like you like that. ”

"I curse you! And your goddamn god! The Lord of Death snarled inarticulately, dragging the silence on again.

Perturabo followed, and the Iron Lord's face glowed with an inhuman light at this moment. Horus, however, still had the strength to smile, and he knocked out Motarian, then grabbed Perturabo's hammer with one hand, pulled it over, knocked him to the ground with his backhand, and threw it over as if it were throwing garbage.

"You can't win." Horus calmly declared. "From the beginning I wanted you to enter the subspace, and now, that you are really here, I am invincible, brothers."

He grinned, his sharp canine teeth glinting, and a burning red glow appeared in the depths of his pupils.

"You're just a monster, don't call me a brother." Peturabo said with difficulty. "Vulcan is right, that Horus I know is dead, you are clothed in his skin, but you."

He spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Just a monster!" Motarian roared and rose from the ground, picking up the rest of his sentence. His famously strong physique seemed to have taken a step further at this moment, becoming a tenacity that could not be explained by science at all.

He dragged his stump and rushed towards Horus again, his will to fight so strong that it burned in his eyes. His enemy smiled and stepped back, raising his right hand, and a thick green light suddenly appeared.

In the light, a swarm of buzzing flies suddenly appeared. The Iron Lord slammed the ground in anger and forced himself to his feet, of course he recognized the true body of the flies, why did he forget?

Picking up the hammer, the Iron Lord and Motarian join forces to kill Horus - until the flies begin to explode, one after the other, and a vast and terrifying image briefly appears on the bridge through the still-dying flies.

The green light was abundant, and the three rotten eyes that Motarian had seen before appeared in front of them at this moment.

How can you put this thing into words? No, there are no words that can describe one ten-thousandth of his horror, one thousandth of kindness.

He is a cancer, multiplying. He is seven million seven hundred seventy seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-seven different plagues, He is the reincarnation of the cycle of life and death, and the rotten black fills Him, twisting the ships wrapped in Geller's position where He appears, causing countless demons to roar and praise His name.

Horus bowed his head slightly, and pronounced his name.

"Loving Father Nurgle." He opened his arms. "I have made a sacrifice for you!"

Who is the sacrifice? In a split second that seemed like eternity, Motarian understood everything. His teeth began to rattle and then shattered. Blood spilled from his lips and teeth, and he trembled and raised the scythe in his hand high.

"How dare you—" he growled. "-I'm going to kill you!"

——

"And then?" Talasha Yuton asked with a pale face.

Perturabo leaned back in his chair in silence and shook his head. He didn't want to describe what was going on, it was rare for him to be able to say it here, but it obviously didn't satisfy the Ultramarines.

"Your Excellency, how did you end up in Macurag?" Valentus asked, his expression so serious that he couldn't have said more. "I don't understand. But I followed your words and thought about it, if that thing really existed, how did you escape? ”

"Ask my brother Motarian." Perturabo smiled mockingly, his smile full of bitterness. "The thing tried to bring him to his knees, and before our eyes, He began to torment him and his dead offspring. But he resisted until the last moment, and even—"

He closed his eyes.

"Let me be quiet for a moment." He said. "I'll talk about these things later."

There's another chapter.,It's expected to be updated today 15,000.,Add more 5k.,It may not be finished.,The less will continue to be made up tomorrow.。

(End of chapter)