Chapter 532 - 50. Records of the Age of the Warband (Eleven, the Resurrection of the Dead)

Couss.

It was Carlil's first visit to it.

Even if he rewinds the clock back 10,000 years, he had never been here, but that didn't stop him from learning about it. So, what makes this world so special?

Ironically, there's only one reason for that - because so many people have died here, almost an entire world.

Even the usual Chaos invasions are not so extreme, and even the skull-hungry Asadomist armies will leave some of the weaklings they disdain to kill as slaves, or something.

Unlike Couss, as early as the beginning of the war, it was bombed, incessantly bombed. Then there are fixed-point blasting, cult sacrifices, and demon invasions. Loyalists and betrayers fight each other in a blood-stained land, regardless of the cost.

The sad thing is that when the loyalists briefly triumph and look back, they realize that the things they fought for are long gone.

Civilizations were destroyed, cities were scorched by the rain of fire that fell from the sky, and the people they swore to protect became the bones buried underneath. No more children or university readings, only corpses, ruins, blood, and broken flags in their hands.

That's when things started to look different.

From that moment on, the souls that go to the wasteland no longer have only unforgettable hatred. In addition to hatred, these people who died because of Cowes had another thing, a thought, or a question.

Why?

Why is this happening?

They wandered across the wasteland with godless eyes open and hollow voices, asking questions of the blood-red sky.

Carlil was eager to give them an answer.

Once, when he was not yet out of trouble, he would think endlessly about this question in the dark, trying to find an answer.

However, he was not a philosopher or scholar after all, and in his life, what he did best was only killing. He couldn't save anything, like these people.

They are all defeated avengers, and the only thing they end up holding in their hands is hatred itself.

Carlil didn't get an answer, he couldn't give an answer to those souls, he couldn't even save the things he held most dear.

Then, he felt, in the final analysis, that it was not the defeat of one or two people, but the desperate struggle of a race in the face of monstrous malice.

They have struggled, and although they inevitably failed, they still planted the seeds of resistance for future generations.

Half-kneeling, Carlil scooped up the rough dust with one hand, feeling their weight.

Couss' sun scorched him viciously, but it failed to cause anything unusual. It's as if everything that can endanger normal people is just a breeze on his face and a warm winter sun.

He watched the dust intently, and soon made a discovery. Half a minute later, a deformed skeleton was dragged out of the ground, but the ground he was on had turned into a deep pit compared to what it had been before.

It wasn't even level, but at least until Carlil arrived, it wouldn't have been treated like this.

In the pit, Karil brushed the dust off the skeleton's face, then slowly lifted it up. The dust on its body slowly slid down from the cracks in its bones, causing a rustling sound.

There were no insect creatures in the pit, they knew how to do it best, and they were gone as soon as the first moment Carlil arrived.

Now, it's just Karil Lohals and the corpse.

He looked at it, motionless, his dark eyes reflecting the present dignity of the skeleton. It had no hands or feet, and had some kind of serious injuries near the pelvis, spine, and ribs. Even after all this time, the traces are still visible.

The corpse, once named Herlock, came from the 61st Company of Numinas in Cous.

He was a member of the Otlama Auxiliaries and a sergeant. At the beginning of the Battle of Couss, he was dealing with conscripted soldiers at the Imperial Army assembly in Jude Province

And then he died.

What a miracle. Carlil thought.

It's been 10,000 years, and your bones are still intact in front of me, Sergeant Herlock, this is really a miracle that even the God Emperor in their mouth is unlikely to perform.

I think that when you died, it was probably the mud that was raised by the bombing that covered your body. Your comrades and your commanders run on it, their bullets and blood covering it, and of course, the corpses of traitors, with whom you must have been your companion.

And if you're still conscious, you'll probably want to kill them. Or, rather, kill them again.

But luckily, most of the people who died with you didn't leave their bones behind. From this point of view, Cowes is really gentle with you. It covers your bones with rough wind and sand and cancerous earth, shelters you from the wind and rain, and sweeps away dust.

For 10,000 years, no matter how the earth's crust moved, no matter how traitors dug the ground, you were never discovered. Even your juniors didn't notice you, they didn't know it at all, and you were lying two thousand three hundred and thirty-one meters above their heads.

Carlil bent down and slung the skeleton on his shoulder.

He didn't really have anything to do when he came to Kaus, he just wanted to come, and a fragment lurking there answered his call.

The fragment had fallen between Sergeant Herlock's bones in some unknown year and month, and was now in his hands.

It was a bonus, but Carlil wasn't really happy to get it. He didn't even want to tell anyone else about it, to make it special.

With his eyebrows lowered, he slowly walked out of the pit, the psionic light flickering, bringing the dirt around him back into the pit.

In a few minutes at most, it will be back to its original appearance, and it will be indistinguishable from the rest of the surface of Coos. The dead gray Gobi Desert is home to inconspicuous mutant plants with rocky skins that can devour the soil and spread in them.

Carlil looked up at the sky.

He wasn't very well versed in science, but, anyway, the atmosphere that Couss once had or something like that had completely disappeared, and the sunlight had become incredibly intense.

He narrowed his eyes and removed the psionic protection of his eyes, and the pain was born. He was briefly blind, and if self-healing is not accelerated, the process may be permanent.

Carlil laughed at the moment, and he shook his head, blood slowly spreading from his closed eyelids, spreading and crisscrossing his pale face. Then, he slowly lowered the bones on his shoulders.

He couldn't see, but he could hear clearly, something moving softly not far from him. They wore no shoes, and the soles of their feet were as hard as stones.

His otherwise extremely restrained sceptual webs had received a little permission at this moment, and they couldn't wait to start spreading, just as they had been on Nostramo.

With their help, Carlil clearly 'saw' the people, or rather, things, that were slowly surrounding him.

They are strangely shaped, and some are unable to maintain even the most basic human form. 10,000 years ago, their ancestors were already terrifying-looking, and these people are far beyond the scope of horror.

They represent the exact opposite of civilization, and Carlil can easily draw evidence of this from their ignorant needle-tip eyes.

They were all armed with rudimentary weapons, mostly crude spears. The bone is used as a handle, and the stone is polished into a blade. There are also a few stronger ones with metal spears in their hands, and judging by their color, most of them are taken from some of the Kauss who were unfortunately killed in battle.

It's ridiculous, the dead don't have a shortage of weapons at hand, but these creatures would rather not use them, but dismantle them and polish them again to turn them into savage weapons

It's as if they would rather wear human skins than any clothing.

Passively opposed to civilization, or deliberately guided by others?

Carlil walked up to the nearest mutant with his bare hands, intending to get an answer from him.

It's true that he is not good at thinking, but he is very good at finding traces and finding answersSometimes, doing it is a better way to find the answer than thinking.

It's like now.

He threw a punch that made the upper part of the savage thing disappear completely.

The crimson flesh splattered in the air, but Carlil felt like laughing - the genes of humans are so powerful, ten thousand years have passed, and these people have been able to keep their blood bright red despite endless inbreeding and mutation and degradation caused by radiation.

It's not an absurd drama.

He literally laughed out loud and began to quantify the killings into one number after another that passed under his hands. Two, three, fourWhen the number becomes seven, these people flinch.

When it turned sixteen a second later, they cowered and roared and began to run wildly, trying to escape the monster with its stinking blood on its hands.

Instead of giving them a chance to escape, Carlil wasted an extra ten seconds to kill the remaining eleven people completely.

And just like that, the wandering tribe disappeared. Their corpses would be devoured in a matter of hours, and creatures would have a hunger for their flesh and blood, whether they were wandering mutated beasts or their own kind.

Carlil knows this.

He quickened his pace and returned to the place where the sudden battle had begun, and picked up the skeleton again.

This senseless killing brought him little catharsis, in fact, in his life, he only had the pleasure of killing one thing.

He knew he was out of control at the time, but, then again, who's to say he's not out of control now.?

Two hours later, he walked back to the residence of the sons of Coss, where Yago Sevitalyon had been waiting at the door for a long time, as if he was sure that he would return.

"Who is this?" He asked politely, pointing with his right hand to the skeleton on Carlil's shoulder.

"Sergeant Herlock, attached to the sixty-first company of Numinas."

"Oh, he's an antique, just like me. However, you quietly left us and walked out, just for him? ”

"I just want to get out there." Carlil said. "We don't have anything to do anyway, do we? We have a lot of time before the Glory of Macurag arrives. ”

Sevita chuckled at his words, almost silently mocking.

However, despite his performance, his eyes remained fixed on the skeleton, as if he could see something in it that ordinary people could not see

Carlil knew at a glance that his talent was working.

As a child, Yago Sevitaleone was able to communicate with animals, and although they didn't necessarily exist, they did inspire him.

They bring to him the stories of the dead, the words of the dead, and endless visions. After he became the First Reserve, the talent was sealed until a few days ago, when it made a comeback.

"What do you see, Sevita?"

Silent, Sevita did not answer. His body was trembling, but his demeanor was becoming terrifying at a speed visible to the naked eye. He clenched his teeth suddenly, causing them to collide in unison, and then he bent down and held out his hands towards Carlil.

"What?" Carlil asked.

"Bury him." Sevita said.

"What made you change your attitude suddenly?"

Sevita let out a smirk that couldn't be more obvious, and deliberately let out a long sigh.

"I see him, he's my comrade-in-arms, and even though we've never met and don't know each other's existence, he's been fighting side by side with me on the same battlefield for the same goal, hasn't he, instructor?"

He blinked, staring at Carlil, a pleading in his eyes already welling up.

"You know what, Yago?"

"What?"

"Your psychological problems are getting worse and worse." Carlil said, and handed Sergeant Herlock's bones to Sevita. "You really should find a doctor to treat you, and if you continue like this, I'm afraid you'll go crazy one night."

“.”

"What's wrong?"

"It's up to me to say that to you." Sevita replied angrily. He turned around and walked into the darkness with the skeleton that had not weathered for 10,000 years.

Carlil knew that he would go to Calgio, the warband leader of the sons of Coss, to discuss the funeral, and that Robert Killiman's sons would not refuse such a matter, and they had a good tradition of remembering history.

Carlil also knew that their database must still have Herlock's name in store. For 10,000 years, his name lay alongside millions, tens of millions of other names whose bodies could not be found, in the deepest part of the database.

And then, what will be? A beautiful funeral?

Carlil shook his head, turned around, and walked towards the surface again.

Herlock didn't need these things, he just wanted to see the traitors die, the war won, and then there would be no bloodshed and no sacrifice.

But, perhaps, all he wanted was to stand in his farmland and smoke a whole hand-rolled cigarette and watch the wheat waves flutter across the river. In the blue sky, gunboats with unarmed weapons whizzed by, transporting food.

+ Shall I ask him, Father? +

Carlil paused, looked at his shadow, and shook his head.

"The living should not call out to the dead unless you want to be answered." He replied softly. "But, Conrad, are you now the living or the dead?"

+ I can say the same thing to you over and over again. +

Carlil smiled and said, "Come on, then, let's question each other endlessly." ”

+You should really find a doctor to treat it+

As the words fell, the moonlight in his shadow dissipated.

(End of chapter)