"So, it's actually a pilgrimage?" Ur Pesson asked breathlessly.

He carried the gun and held its once-good butt on the ground. It had to be so, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to stay on his feet. Orr's waist was almost too tired to straighten up.

The path chosen by Constantin Waldo was getting rougher and rougher, as they descended into ruins, deep underground, and eventually had to climb a huge mountain of corpses formed by twisted metal tangled with the living dead who were not yet dead.

At this moment, Orr's military uniform was covered with blood-red handprints, which were the marks left by the dead.

Valdo didn't answer, just looked around warily. Orr wasn't sure if he hadn't heard or if he had deliberately ignored him.

Along the way, he already had a preliminary impression and understanding of Konstantin Valdo's character, so he spoke again and asked a second time.

"Is this a pilgrimage?"

Still no response, Orr raised his gun and began to check its condition. He sincerely hoped that the blaster would stay with him for a little longer, but what he had learned after careful observation made his heart sink sharply.

The gun belt had been worn to the point where it could no longer be worn over the shoulder, and the sturdy composite rope had been corroded and weathered to the point of being antique.

There were many irregular spots on the barrel, which looked like dried blood. Orr hurriedly wiped them with his sleeves, but they never disappeared, but his dark green sleeves turned a dull rust red.

"It's not." Konstantin Valdo finally answered, his voice escaping in the breeze. "It's a journey of betrayal."

Orr looked up at him from his busy schedule, and then came to a conclusion: "Did he say something to you again?" ”

The Praetorian Marshal turned around and began to observe the ground of Terra from the height they were at the moment.

"I suggest you look at the opening points."

Orr babbled down his head and began to wipe again. He didn't seem to care how dirty his sleeves had become.

"He will always use words to confuse your mind and achieve his own ends. Can you take this thing off my neck? ”

Konstantin Waldo looked down expressionlessly, and it was only after half a minute that he slowly removed the Sun God's spear.

"Don't have a next time."

"I think," Ur Persson said slowly, glancing up at him. "Even if there is, you can't do anything about me. So, we might as well be open and honest – what did he tell you? ”

The Janissary suddenly felt the urge to smash his eye sockets with a fist, and it was only a third of a second after it arrived that he felt incredulous about it.

He had a bearing on the mission objectives. Killing intent, and this thing is absolutely not allowed.

Valdo hurriedly looked away, hastily sinking his attention into his instinctive instincts, and began to try to figure out where the next path was.

The level of chaos in Terra today is terrifying, like a vast and complex Rubik's cube with countless secrets and paths hidden inside.

Waldo naturally can't master everything, I'm afraid that only the emperor or Machado can find every hidden secret in the true sense of the word on Terra at this moment, but Waldo doesn't need to master it, he just needs to feel it.

After a few seconds, the scarlet cloak behind the Forbidden Marshal began to flutter again, and he silently walked down the other side of the corpse mountain.

I don't know how much more difficult the way down the mountain is than it is up, and the mountain they are walking on is not a natural product of a combination of stone and earth.

Orr frowned, enduring the wails under his feet and the firm, soft and hard touch of the corpse, and little by little caught up with Constantin Valdo, who was slowing down.

Then he heard an answer.

"Yes, it may indeed be a pilgrimage." The forbidden army was unwilling, and reluctantly admitted, as if he was forced by someone.

"But we are not pilgrims." He emphasized. "We're just. No, you're just a betrayer. ”

Orr looked down at the bulge on his chest, the gem tormenting his chest with the metal base.

He held the gun in his left hand and held the gem firmly in his right hand so that it would not shake again. A burst of warmth bloomed from the palm of the hand, bringing a little warmth.

Orr stiffened his face and whispered.

"In the past, there were some devout monks who would have embraced the doctrine of original sin. They believe that human beings are indebted to God and are therefore born sinful and need to atone for their sins with extreme piety. ”

They would do anything to show their piety, such as donating all their possessions to the poor. Or with knives and horses, they stormed the so-called pagan cities, killed all the men, and burned all the women at the stake. ”

They likewise proclaimed that it was a pilgrimage, nothing more than an armed pilgrimage, and that they were free to do whatever the doctrine permitted under the patronage of religion and the so-called gods. Murder is the slightest sin compared to this kind of thing. ”

"But you're also religious." The Forbidden Army said meaningfully. "You also believe in a fabricated god, Ur Pesson."

"Do you know how many gods Terra used to have?" Ur Person immediately asked rhetorically. "A land can give birth to thousands, tens of thousands of gods. There may be dozens of gods in the name of justice alone. ”

"But the definition of justice is broad. A knight canonized by the Church can proclaim righteousness while burning, looting, and bullying the innocent. Humans have been like this since ancient times, and the gods are just fabricated clay puppets that can be redefined countless times. ”

"Therefore, why should I believe in a good god of my own fabrication?"

Valdo didn't reply, but suddenly stopped and stabbed the Sun God's Spear into the chest of one of the dead.

Her young body immediately stopped twitching, and her cries ceased with it. She stared blankly at the sky, her cloudy, dark eyes reflecting Ur Pesson's wrinkled face.

The veteran sighed, squatted down on his rusty knees, and closed his eyes.

After a few seconds, the Sun God's spear was slowly drawn without bringing out a single drop of blood, and it wasn't because of Waldo's skill.

It's just because her blood has dried up.

"Keep going." The Marshal of the Forbidden Army said in a low voice. "We're still some way away, and you can go on."

"What? Are you interested in this kind of topic? I thought you'd never talk to a traitor like me. Orr stood up, deliberately snarking. What do you want to hear from me? ”

"The subject of the gods, continue, Ur Pesson." Valdo said, ignoring his provocations.

"I don't think I have anything more to say." Orr refused. "Also, tell him that if he wants to hear these clichés that I have said many times before, ask him to come to me himself."

"It's what I want to hear." Waldo said calmly. "It has nothing to do with the sovereign."

Ur Pesson looked at him in amazement, and for a moment, he even forgot to speak, only an awkward silence slowly crept in. And when the silence finally passed, the matter was abandoned, and they stopped talking about it, but hurried away.

Beads of sweat rolled down Orr's face like rain, and he struggled to control the shaking of his legs, trying to see the ground only out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to look directly at any dead people anymore, that kind of mutual gaze was too torturous.

It was about a few hours before they were back on the surface. At this moment, the sky was completely darkened, and only a faint golden light tried to pierce their obscuration.

Valdo clenched his spear with a serious face, shielded Orr Persson behind him, and began to move forward cautiously. Orr gulped down the smoky air, trying to calm himself.

They now look like two blind men, trying to fight against the envelope of darkness with their natural flaws. On several occasions, Orr wanted to ask Valdo - where did you take us?

And he didn't ask this sentence after all, because gusts of breeze had replaced the forbidden army and gave him the answer.

From the wind, Orr smelled a smell that he had only become familiar with in recent decades, the peculiar smell of the burning promethium flame. He constantly stirred his nose, sniffing at the scent that might contain trace amounts of toxins, feeling an undeserved comfort.

They kept walking, and they kept walking, and time lost its meaning again. Both remained silent and began to endure the torture.

This is not the first time they have experienced the consequences of the chaos of time, it feels like being in an infinite cell, and yet there is only darkness around you, and you are condemned to walk endlessly, and the only way to complete the punishment is to walk until the end of time.

But the warden doesn't tell you the exact time, nor does he give you any yardstick that might be able to figure out the time. There was only darkness, and sore knees, weakness from sweating, and parched lips.

Giving up the idea of cursing, Orr grasped the gem and began to pray grogily.

I know you can hear me, and I know you probably can't answer me, but are we really on the right path?

It's been a long time since you've given me any guidance through the Jewel, and if we're on the right path, let it shine, so that if something comes out of the darkness and bites my guts, I know I've died a well-deserved death.

You've made Terra so bad, you know? You should have been more cautious

The gem began to heat up slightly, and a bright light came through between Or's fingers. A sudden gust of wind struck, forcing Orr to close his eyes, followed by a loud noise, so loud that it almost blew his head off.

"Forward!" A man roared. "In the name of Motarian, break through this barrier! Lord Vulcan and the brothers of the Salamanders need our support! ”

Orr opened his eyes and saw a group of Astartes in gray-and-white armor. Konstantin Valdo reached out and pulled him without saying a word, so force that Orr almost thought he was going to be thrown out.

However, after only a second, he began to wish he could actually be thrown out.

As the ground shook, he saw a cannonball land beside him and Waldo.

It's not terrible to be hit directly by a shell on the battlefield, because you will die unconscious. But if it falls next to you, I'm afraid you'll have to endure a horrible torment that is short but almost eternally long. In the eyes of the wounded, everything in the world will be slowed down.

Most people scream at the first moment and are unaware of the outside world. Others would stare at the sky, as if they were unconscious, just bleeding from a daze. Only a very small number of people can quickly get rid of this pain and save themselves a chance at life.

Orr didn't know which one he was, and when the violent explosion ended, he could only lay on the ground with his head covered and moan quietly. He felt that all his internal organs were displaced, and his ears were ringing, and the back of his head was like a heart-piercing pain.

One hand did not give him time to breathe, and the other lifted him up again, very roughly. Orr barely looked up and found Konstantin Valdo, who was bleeding from the corners of his mouth, striding expressionlessly.

The flames were blazing, and all around were covered with dust and the stench of decay, and the true face of war opened its hideous claws to Orr at this moment, enveloping him in it.

Orr began to curse loudly, and instinctively put his finger on the trigger of the blaster in his hand. It is paradoxical, but he has obviously been shaken by the shock wave brought by the cannonball, but the gun has never been released. Not only that, but he even started shooting with a gun raised

Waldo let go of his hand so that Orr could hit the ground. The veteran in the blood-stained uniform obviously had a blood stain on his forehead, but he still began to aim and shoot in a standard kneeling position.

His field of vision was blurry, with almost a simple distribution of color patches. But this also strengthened his clear understanding of the relationship between friend and foe in disguise, wearing gray-white armor, with occasional green and gold accents, it was his own people, and those sickly dark yellow or dark green were naturally enemies.

He shot so distractedly, as if he had entered a state of primitive wildness that remained. The Marshal of the Forbidden Army looked down at the goal of his mission and felt a wave of absurdity - who is this traitor?

He thought as he tightened his grip on his spear, turned its tip, and stabbed something behind him. The soft, sticky touch and terrible stench didn't shake Waldo's icy thoughts.

He turned back step by step, his spear shaking, and in an instant he provoked the enemy, spun it in a circle, and smashed it the ground. Waldo took the opportunity to draw the Sun God's spear, stepped back, raised his left foot in the air, and fell heavily.

With a dull thud, a head was trampled by him. The flesh wrapped in the rotten dark green armor immediately began to disintegrate, and the pus-like blood and all kinds of minced flesh leaked out along the openings in the armor, and it was extremely disgusting.

Valdo frowned, a slight dizziness in his mind. He saw something not so good, so bad that it made him wonder if he was on the wrong track.

Then he saw Vulcan, and was with him. Fighting, that thing.

Valdo hesitated, he didn't know if he should call this scene a battle.

And Vulcan knew that this was not a battle, it was just destruction, like using engineering equipment to destroy a dilapidated building in an old city.

The hammer roared by, shattering the air, destroying everything in its path with great force, and finally striking a pair of twisted and swollen breastplates. The thing that was hit didn't react, it looked like a corpse.

His armor and flesh shook under the blow for a few seconds, and a huge visible hole appeared in his chest, and internal organs and scraps of flesh suddenly poured out, but there was only a dead silence in those cloudy eyes.

A huge scythe was swung by him and struck Vulcan with equal force and force. The Lord of the Dragons raised his left hand and struck the scythe with a punch before it could hit him.

He swung his hammer again, shattering the corpse's knee with calm and determination.

He fell to the ground, putrid miasma and acid splattering from the wound, completely staining his surroundings in an instant. Maggots rolled, rejoicing in the blood-soaked mud.

Vulcan was indifferent to this, he raised his hand, lowered his arm straight and smooth, and the warhammer smashed down furiously, completely shattering the corpse's head, but the hand holding the scythe did not let go at all.

It was swung again, and even forced Vulcan to take a step back because of the angle, and with that single step, the corpse stood up again.

The hammered and flattened armor was embedded in the body, hanging from its shattered bones and juicy entrails. Two multi-colored, insect-like wings spread out from behind and began to vibrate.

The corpse's eyes fell out of its sockets, and its chin and shattered face were crookedly joined together by the mycelium entangled in the flesh, stubbornly preserved.

His eyes were staring at Vulcan, his pupils were becoming lesions, cloudy to the point of being double, but if he looked closely, he could see that the things that were densely packed with eyeballs were actually eggs.

They are multiples of seven, they are a certain sum of three, they are eyes, they are rot, they are endless reincarnation, they are a word, they are a name.

Nurgle.

Constantin Valdo, who had seen this with his own eyes, felt the urge to vomit, and almost instantly, he clenched his spear and was about to run out to tell Vulcan to stop, but a voice from within the link told him to be restless.

So he watched as the corpse kept its wings vibrating and flew into the sky, but the continuous humming never stopped.

Vulcan jerked around and began to charge. His swarthy countenance and lava-like eyes turned the charge into a mythical legend of the destruction of the world, the Lord of the Fire Dragon, the Demon God of Destruction, who made the earth tremble with every step.

He was fast, at least faster than he had been, but still no faster than the flying corpse.

He smashed through the dark clouds, and the scythe swirled and sliced, killing a dozen or so Death Guards in an instant. Mycelium spilled out of his body, enveloping the shredded corpses deeply.

As if self-aware, they spontaneously bypassed the armor plates and plunged deep into the flesh, devouring the spirits that belonged to the Mortarian heirs to replenish themselves.

The corpse's face suddenly began to recover.

Someone roared behind him.

Vulcan galloped forward, knocked him flying with a hammer, and grabbed his feet and poured him into the earth. The Lord of the Dragons gripped the hammer with both hands and began to destroy the wings in the pit he had created.

The first hammer landed on the back, shattering the left wing into pieces. The second hammer landed on his waist, splitting the whole body in two, but the third hammer could not fall, and the corpse blocked the blow with a scythe, and the remaining wing vibrated again, leading him to his feet.

Vulcan chased after him and punched him in the swollen face, destroying the newly healed face once more.

With just one punch, the head of the corpse that Vulcan had hit was crooked, its head hanging strangely on its left shoulder, and its eyes slowly flowing out like shards melted by heat.

"Die." Vulcan began his plea in a soft voice that was completely out of step with his size. "Hurry up and die."

He swung his fist again, knocking his head flying completely. Then he dragged the arm-waving corpse out of the pit and found the head. He lifted his foot to crush it, raised his hammer again, and began to swing it numbly and mechanically, imprinting it on the horrific body of devastation.

Each blow creates a deep pit, and each blow is enough to kill many immortal creatures

However, he just didn't die, he had no head, his spine was completely shattered, his armor and flesh were fused together, his two knees were reduced to pieces, and the remaining half of his wings were torn off by Vulcan's hands and thrown aside.

But he didn't die, he couldn't die, he didn't have life to speak of.

The Lord of the Fire Dragon took a half step back covered in blood, he was tired, and anyone could see how tired he was at the moment.

He had killed the corpse long before this moment came, but he couldn't kill a lifeless thing after all.

Then, it will be necessary to destroy him.

Vulcan changed his tactics and began to fight with all his might, trying to destroy the corpse. He'd used promethium flames, he'd used plasma, and tried to lead him into traps, immobilizing his hands and feet.

But promethine couldn't destroy his flesh, plasma energy couldn't vaporize everything he had, and traps didn't do anything for him. He could cut off his bound hands, feet, body, and even head himself. Then he will crawl out and get up again.

Then everything will be reduced to the last resort - the simplest, most direct, purest violence.

Vulcan began to murder his long-dead brother with his hands, again and again, with no end in sight.

He was the one who inflicted violence, but he also suffered a lot in the process.

Whether or not the primordials are humane has long been an enduring topic. Opponents believe that they are just laboratory products created by the emperor, and that their handsomeness and height only prove their ruthlessness.

Those in favor of it will prove their argument with many examples, such as Robert Kiliman's proper governance of the Five Hundred Worlds, or Vulcan, the Lord of the Fire Dragon.

There was no need to say anything, only to mention his name, and now, even if there really was a person who was convinced of this matter standing in front of Vulcan, I am afraid that he would no longer think that the original body was human.

Well, this time. Did he succeed? At the cost of abandoning humanity, removing superfluous emotions, throwing away kindness, brotherhood, and what he once held onto, did he succeed in killing this corpse?

Vulcan clenched his hammer tightly and without coming up with an answer, the hammer smashed down again. There were dull echoes in the pit, especially in this chaotic battlefield.

The death guards who were fighting their own traitors noticed it, and the salamanders who vented the wrath of the Father of Genes with fire and swore to bring rest to the civilians noticed it, as did demons, traitors, and even Echoes of the Darkness.

And Constantin Valdo did not look away from the beginning, he kept staring at Vulcan, until this moment, he saw the eyes of the Lord of the Fire Dragon who had nothing but numbness and dead silence.

and the hyphae that drifted silently in the pit to the back of his head.

The Praetorian Army moved and began to run wildly.

Ur Pesson shouted behind him: "Where are you going?!" ”

He didn't notice that the jewel on his chest was blooming with an undetectable brilliance.

Valdo didn't answer, just charged. The golden armor has long since lost its former brilliance, and blood is all over it, and it looks like rust when it dries. But this is not the case with the spear of the sun god, which is always bright and dazzling, and is the sun in the sky. It's hope itself.

A little faster. Valdo told himself. It has to be a little faster, or it's going to be too late.

Where he hadn't realized it, his emotions were boiling. That emotion is called anxiety, and if you dig deeper, you will find that it is actually just a lead, something that the forbidden army is inherently missing, and this thing is called empathy, or rather, empathy.

In other words, Konstantin Valdo did not realize that he was sympathizing with Vulcan's plight and regretting and grieving his misfortune.

He just ran, just run, and in the process reversed the spear, aiming it at his chest. He jumped into the pit and cried out loudly as thunder.

"Vulcan!"

The Lord of the Fire Dragon turned his head slightly.

"Bang!"

With a muffled thud, the hammer in Vulcan's hand fell into the pit.

There was a bit of confusion on his face because he didn't understand two things. First, why did Konstantin Valdo appear here and shoot down his weapon? Second, where did the power of the Forbidden Marshal come from, and even deprive him of the weapons he had already held tightly?

But he didn't have time to ask the question, and a spear was passed into his hand by the Janissary Marshal before it could be said before it could be said, and then turned into an illusory light that pierced Constantin Valdo's chest.

Vulcan saw a pair of golden eyes, felt a warm connection, and then heard his father's voice.

It's just that the voice is full of anger. The language he used was beyond Vulcan's comprehension, but was that really language? Can a language codified by man be so majestic, so powerful?

The original body was shaken and dizzy, and he felt a terrible sense of insignificance, as if he was just a rock facing the waves—and it wasn't until much, long later that he realized that his father wasn't yelling at him, but at something else.

His father was observing the world with the help of his eyes and using his voice to roar at the thing in Motarian's corpse.

"You killed my son! You stole his body! You let him not rest! ”

The Lord of Humanity roared hoarsely, as loud as ten thousand people shouting in unison. With Vulcan's hands, he pulled out the spear in the chest of Konstantin Valdo.

The corpse didn't answer, but just opened its mouth, and the three eyes of Huang Chengcheng bloomed from its throat. Time stood still, darkness pierced with light, and Orr Person saw a golden thunderbolt burst silently from the pit, without a sound, only with a terrifying force that nearly destroyed the entire battlefield.

The light came and enveloped him, and he thought he was dead, so he closed his eyes and knelt down.

He thought it was the end until a terrible pain came from his knee.

Ur Pesson opened his eyes in pain and heard a cough. He turned his head in a daze and saw an Astarte with a bloodied face walking behind him, staring blankly ahead. After a while, he seemed to sense Orr's gaze, and lowered his head and pulled him up.

"What's your name. Ah, Company Commander Ur Pesson? You have a logo on your clothes. The man nodded at him. I am Nathaniel Garo, the Death Guard. We won, you can put down your guns for a while. ”

Orr Persson turned his head to look ahead and saw the mountain-like body of the Lord of the Fire Dragon kneeling in the pit. He couldn't see his face, but, judging by the expression of Konstantin Valdo, who also had his head down, they should be mourning.

"We won?" Ur Persson muttered to himself.

"Temporarily." Garo said. "It's going to come back, I know it's going to come back, but we're going to stand forever."

He touched the eagle emblem in his hand, smiled slightly, and suddenly seemed to remember something, and asked, "Have you ever seen the emperor's son?" One of them was a company commander named Saul Tavitz, have you ever met him, Ol Pesson? ”

Orr shook his head.

——

"Anyway, he told me, let me say hello to you on his behalf, if I see you." Earl Pesson said. "Anyway, greetings to Nathaniel Garro, Company Commander Saul Tavitz."

The Emperor's Son nodded, and touched the Eagle emblem on the armor of his right arm with his hand. Azek Ahriman handed him a loaded blaster behind him, Thunder sharpened his knife, and Sigismund and Björn stood together, staring into the distance.

Konstantin Valdo raised his spear with a blank face.

"Let's go, now that you've brought the letter." He said. "We still have a long way to go."

Ur Person sighed, shrugged, and said, "He's like my jailer."

Saul Tavitz smiled wordlessly, "Good luck, Courier. ”

"I am not a messenger." Orr stood up and clenched the jewel on his chest. "I think I'm just a hapless bastard."

He turned and left with the Janissary Marshal.

Update complete, 8k

(End of chapter)