Asclepius knew that in the first place, Fujimaru Rika didn't want to take him with him to Pamenio - it was he himself who shouted "how can you not bring a doctor in that case" when he heard that "this trip is likely to be against the god of plague".

He also understood why the Master hesitated.

The god of plagues. God of Medicine. You don't need any expertise to see that there is a clear opposition between the two. But just as water can extinguish a fire, but a fire can evaporate water, it is always the volume that determines the final outcome between the two opposites.

Asclepius knew very well that his self as a human god could never be compared to a galaxy-level rule god in terms of size. He also knew what kind of rotten character he was, and once he saw a strange illness, he would move forward uncontrollably, and it was too easy to jump into the trap - in order to really follow, he made a lot of promises with Fujimaru Rika before he reluctantly agreed to her.

After actually stepping on this battlefield and actually coming into contact with the disease spread by the "God of Plague", he knew even more that the Master's worries were not only so.

These diseases, which are essentially derived from subspace pollution, can even directly distort people's cognition. If this happened to him, and the filth reversed the knowledge he possessed into a technique to spread the plague, the consequences would be unimaginable.

But he came anyway because Rika Fujimaru still brought him with him. The Chaldean lord may have been concerned about this, but she was willing to take the risk. She even did say, "If this time, your research goes astray because of something strange, I, as your sponsor, will definitely be the first to slam my fist in the face." ”

Asclepius, then, decided that he should never betray her trust.

He left the makeshift infirmary in a spirited formless form, and moved through the city as quickly as a breeze. He crossed the broken walls and ruins that had not yet been repaired, the civilians who were stunned by the sound of the siren, the officials who waved their arms and roared loudly, the logistics teams that were urgently mobilized under military orders, the various armored vehicles and commanders who were huddled together and tried to solve the problem, the mortal soldiers who were nervously building fortifications and barricades, the corpses that died in an instant due to the torn protective suits, and the space marines who were plagued by the pollution of subspace but still survived. came to the front of the battle line where there was a fierce exchange of fire.

Beneath the buzzing swarm of flies, the rancid stench of the plague weighed down like a suffocation. With the roar of bombs and the roar of promethine engines, the puffy and massive Plague Warriors battle their ultramarine-painted cousins. Although in fairy tales, similar stories always end with the triumph of good over evil, this is not always the case in reality: the Ultramarines are obviously more numerous, but with their strange psionic powers, the death guards are in full swing, and the Empire is already showing signs of weakness in the melee.

Powerful and filthy psionic energy has infiltrated every inch of the land, turning it into a battlefield that no mortal can tread—literally. Even though their hazmat suits were of the highest level and intact, physical defenses meant little to the contamination of subspace. As soon as they dare to come near the battlefield, even if they only glance in the most central direction, the so-called blessings from the garden will immediately wrap around them, and laugh at their body, mind, and spirit, unless someone nearby is willing to help them maintain their last loyalty with a bomb before then.

Space marines may be able to resist this corruption temporarily, but not permanently. The Ultramarines, who continued to resist in the melee and became more and more sluggish as time passed, silently annotated this. Among them, those Primordial Brothers are in better shape than the Firstborn Sons, and they are the ones who support this line of defense more, but it doesn't seem to last long.

Beneath the buzzing filthy air, the plague warriors were clearly strengthened even more. Many of them were even taller than the original Space Marines, which would have been nearly impossible. Such a large body did not slow down their movements, and the huge body contained an incredible vitality under the blessing of Nurgle. Here, it takes enough firepower to kill a Plague Warrior to kill a Primordial brother back and forth three times, and a Plague Warrior who wants to incapacitate his cousin often only needs to have their rusty, morbidly glowing scythes penetrate the opponent's power armor and touch the opponent's flesh.

But more often than not, they are cut in two.

Ordinary people may not understand, but Asclepius can see what a sinister breeze is wrapped around the plague warriors. This is of course an unfair battle, but where is there absolute fairness in war?

Of all the plague warriors, the most prominent and courageous one was naturally the one who planned and commanded it all. Typhonse was larger than his guards, but his movements were strangely more graceful and swift. Shrouded in a swarm of flies, he smoothly wielded the massive scythe in his hand, reaping the lives of the Ultramarines who dared to approach him at a tricky angle. The other two Terminator guards at his side also moved forward with him in unison, quickly clearing a small area of temporary safety.

"I am Typhonse, the forerunner of the mortal world of my loving father, the lord of the sickness and the swarm—" he shouted in the direction of the center of the city, his voice hoarse and cracked as if it had been muddled in slimy, and the formless psionic fluctuations spread around him as a result, "Lackeys of the Corpse Emperor, puppets of the Damned!" I felt your gaze and came out to face me like a warrior! ”

- I can't stand it anymore.

Asclepius knew that his presence here could be a terrible decision and a strategic mistake. The enemy was more connected to the gods they served than he had originally hoped, and on the outskirts of the city, so far from the temple, his spiritual base could not be adequately protected—but he couldn't stand it anymore.

"—Critically ill." In the scattered light like golden sand, the spirited Asclepius emerged on the edge of the battlefield, "Fourteen fungal infections, twenty-one parasites, and hundreds of other manifestations of diseases that I don't even bother to count—no doubt the lesions have penetrated deep into the brain." The advice from leading doctors is to remove it as soon as possible. ”

Strangely, the volume of this passage was not high, and it should have been drowned out in the noisy battlefield noise, but it could be heard clearly by everyone present. Typhons had apparently noticed the doctor who had appeared nearby in his mortal form, and had even made a lot of noise about him, but he hadn't intended to pay much attention to him at first, and just casually pointed in his direction, sending out an invisible wave of psionic energy that contained a lot of blessings.

This spell can even kill a Space Marine. No matter how the mortal had come so close to him, Typhonse felt that was enough. He thought his call had had no effect, and was ready to continue his fight, but at that moment, he caught a glimpse of a long mechanical snake leaping from the man's staff, opening its mouth just in time to swallow the formless spell he had unleashed—and then, still, as a living thing, snaking its way through the air, hovering around its owner.

Typhonse vaguely sensed some undesirable psionic fluctuations, and felt a faint threat from them.

For a moment, he wanted to retreat, but then he remembered that it was a task given to him directly by his loving father, and that the great grandfather God was watching his every move in the garden. Drawing some false courage from this thought, he turned back in the direction of the mortal he had failed to kill with a single blow, and asked aloud in the middle of the battlefield, "Who are you?" Are you the mortal herald chosen by the carrion on the throne? ”

"You're not going to see her. Your kind of corpse is out of the classification she's allowed to view. Asclepius said coldly, "Although it may seem wrong for me, the doctor, who vows to treat all patients, to say this, I truly feel that your best destination is the incinerator." ”

"Ah, foolish mortals, do not understand how beautiful these blessings are." Typhonse's tone was a little regretful, "If I had the time, I might have patiently taught you all this—but not now." If you know where the puppet chosen by the carrion is, tell me about it, and maybe you will survive. ”

"This is not a battlefield that mortals can meddle in!" At Asclepius's side, an Ultramarine, who had fallen out of the battle circle due to a wound in both legs, yelled at his enemies as he spoke, hoping to drown out the loud noises on the battlefield, "Aren't you a doctor at the makeshift infirmary?" Get back to your post! ”

Asclepius, as usual, and out of efficiency, chose to respond first to those closer to him: "My post is here. Don't you need a doctor for battlefield first aid? ”

"What-"

Then, answer your first question: Who am I?"

Asclepius turned to the battlefield, ignoring anyone. Driven by magical power, the serpent soars and seems to be growing larger out of thin air. Then he lifted up the serpent's staff, which was the only rod remaining, and proclaimed in a loud voice under the flow of the aether to which he had been called:

"I'm 'Ophiuchus.'"

The immortal serpent, symbolizing "molting and being reborn", swims in the air, and the filthy and rancid air seems to be purified out of thin air. A breeze seemed to blow, and the ultramarines who were disturbed by the supernatural plague suddenly lightened, as if their shells had recovered their health in an instant.

"I am the 'god of medicine.'"

As he continued to proclaim, a soft glow flashed over Asclepius' staff. The surviving Ultramarines who had fallen to the ground from their mortal injuries glowed with a similar light, and the wounds they had previously been left behind began to heal at a rate beyond common sense - even the most advanced think tanks with the knowledge of the corresponding school could not be able to heal so many different wounds on the fighters at the same time with such precision.

"I am the 'son of Apollo.'"

He had never liked his identity, but he did inherit half of the blood of the sun god. Asclepius hated the stupid gods and forsaken his own half of his bloodline, but if it was the only way to solve the problem, he would never refuse as a pragmatist.

As the name was sung, the golden light on the short staff burst into flames, and the swarm of flies flying in the air seemed to feel something, and suddenly panicked—and then countless flies and insects burned and fell to the ground under the golden light, as if a rain of fire had fallen from the sky.

Typhons began to panic. But another voice, a voice from the garden of the Most High, rang in his ears, and he was able to muster up the courage to hold the scythe in his hand again. At the same time, the words of the mortal in black in the distance still did not end:

"I am the Captain of the Argo, the father of medicine. I am a doctor who rejects the gods and upholds the dignity of human beings. I am 'Asclepius'. ”

He lowered his staff and raised his other hand, hidden in his sleeve—

"Resurrection Fraught Hades."

Miwoo (none)

There are a total of 7K2 today! Boast! (fluffy lying on the edge of the ice cave)

(End of chapter)