40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 369 89. The Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (8, 7k)

John is a farmer.

To be more precise, he was a farmer on Macragge. His ancestors had been hard workers, and Macragge had never treated them badly. The land passed down from his ancestors is still in John's hands, but he still considers himself a farmer, not a farmer.

This is a very old-school thought, and if we were to study it in detail, it would probably become endless. It originated in Macragge many years ago, when King Konnor was still in power.

Back to the topic, how old-school is John? To give an example, he doesn’t even want to replace workers with machines, even if doing so will bring dozens of times more profits.

"This will leave a lot of people without food," John always told his son. "We have more than thirty helpers. If I let those damn machines run into the fields to help us work, where will those people go to make a living? Their grandfathers once worked in the fields with my grandfather. I won't let them. This tradition is gone.”

His son listened very carefully at the time, but later he stopped listening, and the young man's attention shifted to other places. For example, participating in the selection of new recruits of the Ultramarines - John had nothing to say about this. He was neither proud nor wanted to stop it.

His daughter, his son's sister, was quite proud of this matter. She spent all day promoting her brother's ambitions in school. Then everything fell into place. John's son entered the Ultramarines and entered the sea of ​​stars. And never come back.

Twenty-one years after his departure from Macragge, John received a letter from the front lines in which the Primarch Roboute Guilliman personally apologized to him.

He admitted that it was his 'wrong command' that led to the death of John's son. Although the specific details cannot be disclosed, his son definitely died in battle with honor. Guilliman's court gave John a large compensation and two special tributes.

A replica of an Ultramarines company banner, from his son's company, now hangs prominently in his home. There is also a monument in the southern city of Macragge, with his son's name on it.

Separately engraved on it.

John did not hate Robert Guilliman, he knew the price of war. His wife didn't hate him either, or in other words, she didn't have the chance to hate him. She died a year before that letter came back.

But his daughter was very dissatisfied with this. She cried all day long and even refused to go to the university to teach students.

John was very worried about this, but what else could he do? His children are all grown up and have minds of their own. And he is already sixty-three years old and no longer young.

He doesn't want to undergo life-extending surgery. As for the fields, he plans to hand them over to a young man who is less advanced and who is as interested in the fields as he was when he was young.

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

For example, at this time, he was standing on the ridge of the field holding a hoe and saw countless meteors falling from the sky.

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

He soon got the answer, because a meteor fell from the sky. John stood there for several seconds before he realized that the thing was about to land in his field. He saw this from the trajectory, but it was a needle-like intuition that really set him in motion.

John roared at the top of his lungs, his voice as if he had returned to his youth when he sang all night in the pub.

"Run!" he roared, waving his hands at the workers in the fields. "Leave where you are, leave where you are! Run!"

At first, the workers just stared blankly at the falling meteor and did not move. On the contrary, after hearing his roar, I suddenly realized that I should run for my life, so I immediately scattered and ran in an orderly manner along the field ridge towards the evacuation facility.

During this period, at least a dozen people came to take John with him, but he refused them all. This gray-haired old man sat on the edge of his field with a hoe, determined to witness the falling meteor with his own eyes.

Tens of seconds later, it landed heavily on the ground he used to grow cotton. The shock wave caused by hitting the ground spread hundreds of meters, and he still fell from the field ridge to the ground, hurting all over his body.

The body that had been tortured by joint disease and age for a long time should have taken a breather before regaining the strength to get up, but the laws of nature were no longer useful to John at this moment.

He immediately turned over and got up from the ground. Smoke and dust scattered, covering almost everything. The flames were blazing, making his eyes very uncomfortable. John grunted, carried the hoe and walked over there.

There was no doubt that his behavior was very bold, but the guards' accusations were no longer something he needed to care about - he had a strong intuition in his heart that this was the return of his son.

This feels illogical, but there are always things in the world that don't require logic.

He pushed deeper and was soon coughing from the smoke, but that didn't matter because John always found a way to do something. He rolled up his clothes to cover his mouth and nose, and walked near the meteor with the burning smoke that was enough to poison his lungs and take away the air.

The cotton field has been destroyed to the point of destruction. A huge pit has replaced it, and everything around it is filled with the aftertaste of fire and destruction. It should be heartbreaking to see the land being trashed like this, but John had no time to be sad because he saw a drop pod.

A trace of subtle joy rose in the old man's heart: Is it possible? Is it possible? What if? What if Robert Guilliman made a mistake and my son didn't die in battle, but just disappeared?

He held the hoe tightly and carefully climbed down the pit. It went smoothly at first, until he slipped and slipped.

This fall was much more serious than the previous one. He lay on the ground for a while and then managed to straighten up. There was a sharp pain in his forehead, and the things in front of him became blurry. At this moment, he heard a strange muffled sound.

He thought it was his hallucination at first, until the sound kept coming, one after another. It sounded like a blacksmith was forging iron, or someone was breaking something with a hammer.

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

He rolled down from the burning drop pod, his armor was mottled and his face was covered with scars. John was stunned - he didn't think his son looked like this.

"You!" The giant noticed him immediately, his voice sounded like it was filled with blood. "Get out of here, civilians, it's not safe here!"

"Who are you--"

"——Leave!" The man glared at him and used the huge warhammer to prop himself up.

The weapon was covered in blood and looked extremely cruel. It wasn't until he stood up that John realized how tall this man was, and the last hope in his heart disappeared.

This should have been painful, but John found his feet more firmly on his feet.

What on earth are you thinking? Came here alone? He asked himself, he knew very well that Robert Guilliman would never lie, Ishmael died in battle, that was it.

But what about this person? who is he?

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

The giant looked at him, his expression switching back and forth between irritation and thoughtfulness so quickly it was almost ridiculous. After a while, he spoke. Although his tone was not gentle, his words were relaxing.

"Put that hoe down, civilian. If you're going to hurt me, you're going to at least need a bolter. A muddy hoe isn't going to hurt me."

"I want to know who you are!"

"I am Perturabo, the original body of the Fourth Legion Iron Warriors, and you." He looked up at the sky. Thick smoke obscured everything, but he seemed to be able to see the sky, his eyes were very focused. "You're a Macragge, right?"

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

The giant sighed: "I don't want to repeat it again, civilians, please leave quickly. Find yourself a safe place to stay. Me and everything I bring are not your concern."

"But you stand before me."

"so?"

"By Macragge law—" John shouted. "—Anyone, whether civilian, official, soldier or legionnaire, should fight for Macragge!"

"Then?"

"You said you were a Primarch. I don't know if that's true. Anyway, I haven't seen Robert Guilliman with my own eyes. But the Word Bearers are besieging us. Lord Valiant said this many days ago. .How do I know if you are with them?"

Perturabo almost smiled.

"If I were, do you think you would still be alive to say so many things to me?" he asked.

John looked at him for a while before putting the hoe down.

"I guess so."

The old man nodded nonchalantly, then sat down on the ground again, his legs weak and his body trembling. He dropped the hoe, clasped his hands together, and sighed deeply, deeply.

Perturabo stood and listened. Among thousands of different sounds, he captured the one he needed. Even from the sound of fast-moving vehicles, he could even tell that at least three airships were moving towards him.

This discovery made the Lord of Steel lose the desire to move. What's more, after landing in this way, I am afraid that the only way to soothe the nerves of the Ultramarines is to stay in place. He stood there and waited patiently.

".grown ups?"

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

"But you are the Primarch."

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

"That was before," John muttered, looking up at Perturabo and asking a hesitant question. "But why are you here, my lord?"

"I said, me and everything I bring are not your concern. But you are very courageous, civilian. What is your name?"

"John."

"Just John?"

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

"Very well, John, I can tell you a little bit. I am here to find Robert Guilliman, the Lord of Macragge." Perturabo replied reservedly. He understood that the situation was urgent, but Necessary etiquette is still required

And he was about to meet with Robert Guilliman's legion soon. Perturabo believed that treating a civilian in Guilliman's territory well would make the atmosphere of the meeting more favorable to them.

Furthermore, he really liked the courage shown in this old man.

Of course, he won't say it explicitly.

Do all Ultramarians possess this fearless quality? He thought and got an expected answer.

"But-" John's eyes widened. "—He is not here, sir."

"I know," said Perturabo.

——

"Our Primarch is not in Macragge, Lord Perturabo," Valentus Dorro said.

"I know." Perturabo said, raising his hands and letting two medical servitors stitch up the wound on his ribs. His expression was very calm, as if he had not been hurt at all. "He's in Cowes."

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

"Don't be stupid, Hero Valentus." Perturabo raised his eyes and glanced at him, pronouncing the word "hero" very seriously. "The orders of Horus are no secret to us, we know what he did."

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

"Everything happens for a reason," Perturabo said simply, frowning slightly.

The hand of the medical servitor was running back and forth across his wound with a needle and thread. The single-molecule needle barely penetrated his flesh and blood, but the thread required the combined efforts of the two servitors to penetrate his flesh and blood. He could feel every centimeter of their penetration, it was almost a punishment.

Valentus was also aware of this. After much thought, he released his hand holding the sword and began to report a huge piece of bad news to Perturabo.

"I need to report something to you." He pursed his lips seriously. "Your brother, Vulkan, Lord of the Fire Dragons, one of the Emperor's sons, succumbed to his injuries. Our doctors confirmed the news twelve minutes ago. I'm sorry, but we are unable to treat a former body."

Perturabo narrowed his eyes, pushed the servitor away, and picked up his war hammer.

"Take me to him." The Lord of Steel ordered.

"Why?"

"Take me there, Yingjie." The original body showed his teeth and said coldly. "Then you'll know why."

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

They walked along the long corridor into the underground depths of Robert Guilliman's palace. After passing through several iris-unlocked metal gates, they arrived at an extremely professional medical room.

Even with Perturabo's critical eyes, there was absolutely nothing wrong here.

A huge iron bed is placed in the center of the hall, the medical equipment has been moved aside, and the personnel have been evacuated in advance. The bed was covered with white cloth, revealing a strong figure.

The Lord of Steel strode over and threw his war hammer to the ground.

Valentus frowned, feeling irritated by the huge reverberation, but what Perturabo did next really challenged his nerves - Perturabo pulled away the white cloth , grabbed Vulkan’s body.

"Your throne is above, what are you doing?!" Yingjie shouted sharply. "Are you going to desecrate the dead?!"

"Quiet." Perturabo said without looking back, and opened the eyelid of his brother's one eye, focusing on observing the dilated pupil. After a few seconds, he put him down, picked up the white cloth and covered the body.

"He will wake up in a few hours. Send someone to monitor his condition and notify me as soon as he wakes up."

Perturabo said without emotion, his words causing the anger on Valentus Dorro's face to fade into a look of confusion.

He couldn't understand Perturabo's words, and he couldn't even figure out for a moment whether he was crazy or whether the sullen Primarch, who was famous for his erratic temper, was crazy.

Perturabo glanced at him, walked over and picked up his war hammer: "We are not crazy, Yingjie. It's just that I know some things that should not be known. For example, my brother will not die."

"What did you say?"

"He will not die, Valentus." Turning his back to him, Perturabo sighed tiredly. "How else do you think we escaped from Horus?"

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

He had been shocked too many times in a short period of time, and his facial muscles even showed signs of spasm. This state lasted until twenty minutes and gradually improved. By that time, they had moved to another place to talk, and there were more people present.

"Continue." Perturabo ordered, and manually put on the armor for himself. "I didn't tell you to stop, don't stop, Dantioch, do you understand?"

"Understood," the Warsmith said, turning so that the Ultramarine officers and an elderly woman in front of him could hear better.

"We ventured into the warp after that. The voyage went smoothly at first, but the cursed traitor soon caught up with his fleet."

"The number of his wolves has been reduced a lot due to the turbulence of the subspace, and we are no longer as stressed as before. However, something even more incomprehensible happened. Horus appeared directly in some way. On the bridge."

"He was alone, but invulnerable to any bullet or sword. We suffered heavy casualties, and then the Dragon Lord asked us all to stand back and let him and the other Primarchs deal with the matter. And then Horus—"

He turned to look at his primarch.

"—Go on," Perturabo told him nonchalantly. "We have nothing to hide from the Ultramarines, and I didn't tell you to stop, Dantioch."

"As you command, Primarch." The Iron Warrior sighed heavily. "Then, he killed Vulkan. He also seriously injured Lord Mortarion and used his blood to summon some evil things in the warp. I'm not sure whether it was a group or just one."

"It's a group."

Perturabo intervened again.

"It's a group," he repeated. "That thing is a collection of malice, a swarm of flies, but that's just a superficial manifestation. What it really is is a disease. I'm not sure what it is, but it's definitely a disease."

"Primarch?" Dantioch looked at him.

"Forget it, let me tell you." Perturabo shook his head. "You go down and rest first."

"As ordered." The war blacksmith took steps and left the room.

The Lord of Steel clasped his wrist and checked the operating status of the power armor. His expression was still very calm, but the words he spoke next were as chilling as a poisonous snake's message.

——

"I am tired of fighting you, Vulkan," said Horus Luperkar, his armor covered in blood.

"I admit that you are indeed a challenging opponent, but you can only leave me with a little scratch. So, do me a favor and just lie there and don't move anymore, how about it?"

In response, Vulkan, with his jaw shattered and his head barely humanoid, twitched his right fingers.

The Shepherd God sighed: "You can't be my opponent, why don't you understand?"

"Then let me do it." Mortarion said hoarsely, and the silence in his hand cut through the air, making a sharp sound.

The eyes of the Lord of Death are like spitting fire, and there are blood and tears flowing down from his eyes. The bridge was littered with corpses, including Iron Warriors, Salamanders, and Death Guards. They died with angry eyes, dripping with blood, making this place almost like a slaughterhouse.

"Face me, traitor!" roared the Barbarus, charging forward. "I will avenge Vulcan!"

"No, Mortarion!" Perturabo shouted to dissuade him.

He was half kneeling on the ground, and Horus had just lightly knocked him back dozens of meters, and also caused more serious internal injuries. He saw clearly that if he wanted to pose a threat to Horus, it would take three people together, or at least two people.

But the Lord of Death couldn't listen at all at this moment, and he rushed straight towards Horus. The latter smiled slightly, raised the Worldbreaker in his hand slightly, and the warhammer hit Mortarion's breastplate like a missile falling.

Ceramic steel, fine gold, and bones all made a crisp cracking sound, and blood gushes out of the Lord of Death's mouth and nose. However, he roared and rotated his wrist as if he was not injured at all, and the war scythe moved in an extremely rough manner. Smashed down hard.

Silver light flashed, and the Scythe of Silence actually created a bone-deep wound on Horus's face. Blood spattered. Horus took two steps back in surprise, feeling happy instead of angry.

His weird smile looked extremely distorted on his increasingly terrifying face.

"Interesting." He laughed. "This is not what I expected, Mortarion. You seem to have broken through yourself. But this is something that shouldn't happen. You are already strong enough. Stop it, stop here, brother. Don't go any further. Come on. The God of Corruption won’t like you like this.”

"I curse you! And your damn god!" the Lord of Death roared inarticulately, dragging the silence and running away again.

Perturabo followed closely behind, and the Lord of Steel's face glowed with an inhuman light at this moment. Horus still had the energy to smile. He knocked down Mortarion first, then grabbed Perturabo's war hammer with one hand, pulled it away, knocked him to the ground with his backhand, and threw the war hammer away. In the past, it was like throwing garbage.

"You cannot win," Horus declared calmly. "I have been hoping that you can enter the subspace from the beginning, and now that you are actually here, I am invincible, brothers."

He grinned, his sharp canine teeth gleaming, and a burning red light suddenly appeared in the depths of his eyes.

"You are just a monster, don't call me a brother." Perturabo said with difficulty. "Vulkan is right. The Horus I knew is dead. You are wearing his skin, but you..."

He spat out a mouthful of blood.

"It's just a monster!" Mortarion roared and stood up from the ground, completing the second half of his sentence. His world-famous strong physique seems to have taken a step further at this moment, turning into a kind of tenacity that cannot be explained by science at all.

He dragged his remaining body and rushed towards Horus again, his will to fight so strong that it appeared in his eyes like burning. But his enemy smiled and took a step back, raised his right hand, and a thick green light suddenly appeared.

In the light, a swarm of buzzing flies suddenly appeared. The Lord of Steel hammered the ground angrily and forced himself to stand up. Of course he recognized the true identity of these flies. Why should he forget?

After picking up the warhammer, the Lord of Steel will work with Mortarion to kill Horus - until those flies begin to explode, one after another, without stopping, a vast and terrifying image briefly lives through these flies that are still dying. flies appeared on the bridge.

The green light flourished, and the three rotten eyes that Mortarion had seen appeared in front of them at this moment.

How can I describe this thing in words? No, no words can describe His terror and kindness.

He is a cancer, growing. He is 7,770,777 different diseases. He is the reincarnation of life and death. He is filled with the blackness of decay. He is twisted and wrapped in Geller's stance wherever he appears. The ship made countless demons roar and praise His name.

Horus lowered his head slightly and read out His name.

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

Who is the sacrifice? For what seemed like an eternity, Mortarion understood everything. His teeth began to chatter, and then they all shattered. Blood spilled from his lips and teeth. He trembled and raised the sickle in his hand high.

"How dare you-" he growled. "--I am going to kill you!"

——

"Then what?" Tarasha Youton asked with a pale face.

Perturabo leaned back in his chair silently and shook his head. He was unwilling to describe what happened next. It was rare in the world for him to be able to speak up to this point, but this obviously did not satisfy the Ultramarines.

"My lord, how did you come to Macragge?" Valentus asked, his expression extremely serious. "I don't understand. But I think about it following your words. If that thing really exists, how did you escape?"

"Ask my brother Mortarion." Perturabo smiled mockingly, his smile full of bitterness. "The thing tried to make him give in, and before our eyes, he began to torture him and his dead heirs. But he resisted until the last moment, and even-"

He closed his eyes.

"Leave me alone for a moment," he said. "I will talk about these things later."

There is one more chapter, which is expected to be updated 15,000 times today, with 5k additional updates. I may not be able to finish it, but I will continue to finish it tomorrow.