Chapter 315 Barbarus's War
At first, the appearance of the hermit Fath caused quite a stir in Mortarion's haven camp.
The dark-skinned, weather-beaten old man, supported by the young man in black robes beside him, got down from the iron frame connected to the rear of Mortarion's vehicle, and landed slowly but steadily. on the land within the camp.
The leader Mortarion personally introduced with a straight face that this was the mysterious hermit who had been helping behind the Overlord War for several months. Now, after negotiations and discussions between the two parties, Hermit Fath finally agreed to come out and join Mortarion's battle ranks as a provider of wisdom.
The fact that an old man and a young man can live alone in the mist-filled mountains and valleys for many years is not only an abnormal phenomenon in the common sense of the Barbarus people, but in fact, it is completely bizarre even in the most bizarre way. A tall tale that even the local legends would not dare to compile.
No one can understand how two mortals like them survived the poisonous fog, the ghosts of the cold night, the lack of living resources, and the plunder swept by the overlord like a strong wind, and lived alone in the depths of the wasteland. and even provided foreshadowing and assistance to their venerable Reaper Mortarion.
Some warriors choose to trust Mortarion's judgment, pay respect to the two assistants who have made great contributions, and are willing to find food for the old man that is easier to chew and digest, or to surround him after returning from victory. Next to the old man, listen to this wise man telling about the starry sky and ocean that Barbarus has never heard of.
Other warriors cannot help but wonder whether this is a conspiracy of a certain witchcraft overlord, using some small favors to deceive the trust of their leader who is strong on the outside and soft on the inside in the hope that in the future, Talion willingly sacrificed his life for the Overlord's rule.
In any case, the old Fath and the young Morse sent one piece of advice to Mortarion, and brought one battle after another to many camps and settlements. After the victory, the masses pragmatically put aside their doubts and obtained the nourishment of victory from the wisdom of the hermits.
After discovering that the old man Faz could accompany them to drink Barbarus' poisoned wine, the deep fighting friendship between the two parties reached its peak.
It was a good day when Mortarion returned from a great victory, returned to his safe haven from his military stronghold in the northwest, and invited his warriors to a feast.
On that day, as long as the returning combatants could still open their mouths, they were carried to the central square, expecting the few machines that had been joined by a clan that was skilled in craftsmanship to build them for them. What kind of soul-shaking fine wine can flow out of the brand new brewing machine.
According to Mortarion's order, the water used for brewing was naturally the poisonous rain dropped by Barbarus, and the fermentation raw materials were the grain harvested from the wheat fields.
At first, everyone just took a small sip. Relying on their own toughness, they survived a wave of severe pain that burned through their hearts. They patted each other on the back in cold sweat to celebrate the victory.
Soon, some people who were particularly interested in the pungent and refreshing pain, or soldiers with painful faces who had lost consecutive boxing bets with their comrades next to them, began to taste the second glass of poisonous wine.
Mortarion drank cup after cup with them, monitoring the situation. If someone clutches the clothes on his chest and falls to the ground with a face as stiff as a mask, he will call the medical staff for him after more than fourteen seconds.
For Mortarion, the previous poisonous rain did not add much flavor to the clean water that passed through the water purifier. At most, it was just the difference from clean water to light herbal tea. Only now, after careful refining and brewing, did Barbarus's poisonous wine finally give him a feeling of stimulating his taste buds.
Mortarion squinted his eyes, letting the burning sting spread warmly in his body. He was intoxicated by the drunkenness brought by the poisonous wine. Suddenly he saw an energetic old man walking like wind. As he approached the row of machines that brewed poisonous wine, his eyes widened immediately.
In the square, some soldiers who could still stand noticed the actions of the hermit Faas and rushed forward to avoid seeing the tragic scene of the old man foaming at the mouth and dying on the spot seven seconds later.
However, after the old man drank the first cup, his ravaged face gradually turned rosy, and his eyes shone with a sharpness that did not match his age. With just one glance back, the mortal warriors named Death Guard trembled in awe and did not dare to say anything.
"A toast to you, Mortarion." Fath raised his glass to Mortarion.
Mortarion walked from the steps on the side of the square to the center, bent down to take a glass of wine, and touched Fath lightly.
During the next period from midnight to early morning, the two of them engaged in a silent drinking contest without giving in to each other. By the time the weak sunlight penetrated the thick fog and fell on the eaves of the Haven City Gate Outpost, not a drop of poisonous wine was left in the several brewing machines.
The two figures still stood on the ground, letting the morning light pass over the two resolute but slightly white faces.
After staying up all night, the crowd watching how the two would decide the outcome knew that it was the final moment of the battle, and they all sat up and down. He stood up and stared attentively at the next move of Fath and Mortarion.
After looking at each other for thirteen seconds, Mortarion's legs swayed slightly, stretched out his hand to support the large iron can of the brewing machine, and began to pant.
Cheers immediately echoed in the haven of dawn.
It was precisely this way that the Emperor finally achieved a great victory in drinking for the first time in various meeting ceremonies with his heirs.
Morse put the matter through some minor artistic processing and sent it to the Perturabo case through the carrier of letters. Presumably the next time Perturabo and Leman Russ get a chance to communicate, Russ will learn about this and laugh out loud, drawing out a chain of inequalities in which he is better than the Emperor and better than his new brother. .
In addition to the short leisure time used to celebrate victory and soothe the spirit, the Barbarus people almost always implement the silence and resistance they were born and trained in the poisonous fog, following the path of Mortarion's scythe. Pointing direction.
They try to get enough rest and sleep at night, living in groups in settlements sheltered by firelight, resisting the unusual calls coming from the thick fog and the noise of demonic nails scratching on smooth surfaces.
When the dying sunlight illuminated the path of battle, they fought day after day wearing heavy armor, using heavy weapons or large swords and clubs before receiving Mortarion's call. training, learn how to judge the concentration of fog and compare the resistance ability of the body's anti-gas armor, and learn how to put into use the captured weapons of the sorcery overlord.
The constant attempts to adjust armor and enhance the armor's protection have resulted in a lot of lives being wasted in Barbarus' poison gas pools or death restricted areas that are rarely visited by humans, and also caused the Death Guards to constantly wear their armor. The ground thickened until it completely developed into distinctive heavy armor.
Their march was not fast, but heavy enough. And irresistible, showing a destructive quality. When a dark mountain range is surrounded by the Death Guard troops that are gradually becoming famous in Barbarus, it is basically equivalent to the arrival of a completely ruthless battle of annihilation.
Mortarion is often at the forefront of battle sequences, relying on his far stronger physique and ruthless endurance to create a winning start for his team.
Deep in the mist, his scythe swung like a crescent moon across the battlefield. The blade shuttled, pierced, cut, and pulled through the entrails and flesh of sorcerer golems and ferocious beasts, pulling out the rotten entrails from the enemy's chests. Then he threw it at his feet together with the corpse, indicating the enemy's death. From the mouths of two extraterrestrial visitors, Mortarion confirmed that sorcery puppets still have the ability to feel emotions, that they understand the meaning of pain, and that they can be robbed of their consciousness by the fear of facing death. Perhaps this is the power of destruction and the horror of death - as long as there is still the instinct of thinking, and the closer the ability of thinking is to the innate nature of living things, the more the enemy fears death.
Death creates the foundation of power. Mortarion gradually touched upon this point of view. This was the way of rule that Naklay and he had emphasized many times, and was the root of the tyranny imposed on Barbarus by the sorcerer overlords.
He used to sneer at it, and the more Nacre emphasized this to him, the more he couldn't stand it. But in his own battle journey, Mortarion himself rediscovered this law.
Or maybe, this thought never left him. After all, his name is the Son of Death, and his legion is called the Death Guard.
But, Mortarion thought, death brings fear, fear brings obedience, and obedience brings the basis of power.
What can truly crown power should be a word that is contrary to death.
His squad followed his path through the blood, firing blazing cannons or wielding huge machetes.
These weapons were snatched from the hands of various overlords, which made the process of unifying the army's armaments too unattainable.
Cold weapons are not a big problem, but the ammunition adapted to each gun may not have a second box of storage. Therefore, the increasingly manic equipment department asked them to put these messy and unreplenished ammunition Throw away the firecrackers when they are used up. If there are no weapons available on the battlefield, you can also use them as sticks and daggers.
The heavily armored warriors are also more inclined to use large-caliber firearms at close range, causing the blood and dark poison to burst and explode in the smoking muzzles, splashing everywhere.
No matter what, this never affected the morale of the Death Guard army. They marched quietly on the battlefield - some guys liked to shout and touch the gun barrel with a wisp of smoke. Touch the side of the forehead and proudly tell Mortarion that they are invincible; or rush to Mortarion at the end of the reconnaissance mission and excitedly report that there are no enemy troops in this direction because they are in the process of reconnaissance. Zhong conveniently cleared out all the guards at the overlord's stronghold.
Mortarion warned them condemningly not to be so relaxed in the battle, not to let their blood flow unnecessarily between the fortresses and fortresses in the mountains because of distraction or excessive mental excitement. between.
During the months of war, Mortarion once suffered from the casualties of his soldiers, and resented the fragility and fragility of mortal flesh. These biological weaknesses and dregs accumulated over tens of thousands of years make mortal bodies unable to bear the hardness and weight of their souls.
He needs a legion with enough physical strength and fighting will to keep up with his pace, otherwise, objectively speaking, they will be dragging each other down. Even if Mortarion wanted to fight to his heart's content and bring mortals with him to fight, the unchangeable differences in physiological conditions would cause him repeated setbacks.
Mortarion was also confused and frustrated by his own strength.
His unparalleled power is like a natural curse, or a gifted function. The richer the methods and techniques he gained from intuitive calculations in battle, and the colder and sharper the bloody thoughts that emerged, the more he felt that he was a weapon born for war.
It was too late to feel resentful about the purpose of his birth. When Mortarion saw the mortal Fath and the wizard Morse leaning against the door railing at the entrance of the haven, waiting for him to return, one seemed to have endless patience, and the other seemed to have endless patience. When a person is wandering around in a daze with nothing to do because he obviously cannot wait any longer, he feels that his behavior of depressingly obsessing over the meaning of his birth and doubting whether the two of them are essentially the same as the overlord is hopelessly weak.
With the help of Morse, Mortarion planned the location and outcome of each battle, using limited material and time resources to optimize the path, sequence and method of solving the battle.
Transfer stations one after another were destroyed, and transportation links one after another were destroyed and overturned. Mortarion's chemical bombs made outstanding contributions.
The monitoring radar station was suddenly blasted, the mountains collapsed, and the signal was interrupted, making the overlord's army feel as helpless as mortals in the fog.
Warehouses and workshops were uprooted and burned to the ground. Military factories and civilian factories that provided the overlord with a wealthy life were captured by the Death Guard, and the enemy lost the source of its supply chain.
At the same time, the scout team, headed by another psyker, Karas Typhon, worked day and night, exploring the mountains and fortresses, reporting to Mortarion every information needed for the war. A message.
During such a long-lasting and constant offensive, the Barbarus Resistance Front swept across the entire dusk planet, like a beacon suddenly lighting up in the mist, the light penetrating into the depths of darkness.
More and more overlords fall under Mortarion's scythe. They are often immersed in extreme shock before they die, and they don't understand why their extremely strong rule is suddenly destroyed by the bottom. Subversion of the lowly race. Those who hand Mortarion a self-righteous letter of alliance and invite him to become a member of the Overlord often die faster.
Mortarion, with no extra emotion in his heart, cut off the overlord's head step by step and threw it at the door of the hermit Fath. He began to understand that the true gift the Emperor had given him when they first met was a template for behavior. No explanation is needed, no report is needed, all the Emperor wants is the victory of the Legion and the surrender of the enemy.
Finally, there was only the last enemy left in front of him.
The sound of heavy but steady breathing penetrated Mortarion's mask and echoed under the dark mountains. He raised his head, looking through the rolling poisonous fog and accumulated clouds, staring indifferently at the dark realm exposed in the gap between the lightning and cumulus clouds.
On the day he escaped from Nakre's fortress, he jumped off this towering cliff and fell into an unprecedented freedom in his life.
In this year's war, Nakre's army has been retreating steadily, and all the subordinate subordinate forces under him have been killed. Mortarion will not accept any surrender. Destruction and death are the only good news he brings to his enemies.
The same goes for Nacre.
Mortarion's fingers slid over the scythe, the blade tilted forward slightly, silver light passing over the blade, and it stopped in the silence of preparation.
Behind him, the Death Guard awaited the call.
The hermit Faz and the wizard Morse ignored the well-meaning advice of the people in the haven and insisted on following the end of the team, waiting for the final battle that was bound to come.
(End of this chapter)