40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 549 67. Dark Crusade (1, Poison of Faith, plus update 5/5)

The sky in this world is a gloomy iron-gray color, and it is raining, giving it a haze-like texture. The ground was muddy, with some green grass shaking in the rain. There is a huge dead tree not far away. It is very big, but there are no leaves left.

If someone suddenly decided to hang it upside down and look at it, they would probably identify it as a huge, branchy tombstone holding up the sky.

Not far from this tree, there are rows of dilapidated thatched houses taking the beating in the rain. They have obviously not been repaired for a long time and have long lost their function of protecting against wind and rain.

Of course, buildings are buildings after all, and they can still tell something. For example, this used to be a village, but now it's deserted

No, maybe there are still people out there.

This man is naked and walking in the rain with a blank expression on his face.

He was tall and strong, and his eyes under his wet blond hair were as blue as the ocean. He walked barefoot in this muddy and deserted village, looking extremely noble.

As long as you ignore the scarlet on his lips and hands, he is almost a walking demigod, and his body alone is enough to fascinate people.

Every muscle on that muscular body possesses a supernatural beauty. For artists, they are the ultimate fantasy that can only exist in dreams.

But if a well-trained soldier looked at this demigod, he would probably feel shuddering. Soldiers are dedicated to killing, and they understand exactly what this muscle means.

But he didn't understand, he didn't even know what his own name was.

A lot of indescribable knowledge is being crowded into this newborn brain. They are very cruel. They don't care whether he can accept it or not. They just rush into the brain cells and occupy their own place.

They brought pain, but they also brought something that made him increasingly suspicious.

For example, the things that were falling in front of him and floating on his body were called rain.

He stretched out his hand and caught a few raindrops. He watched as the transparent, cold water stopped in his palms, moistening his skin and giving him a strange tactile sensation.

He was stunned.

So this is rain?

His confused brain began to beat inside his skull. This was the first question born since he was alive.

What is rain?

In another quick burst of pain, he got his answer. So more questions were thrown out one after another, and then answered one after another.

He curiously walked into the thatched house, touched the rotten wood with his hands, picked up the rusty iron pot and the discarded rags to observe carefully, and even began to taste them.

A certain innate analytical ability came into play, tightly connected to the database in his brain.

He began to know what wood was, what rot was, what iron was, what rust was, what clothes were—and then, looking down, he looked, and the first desire was born.

I need clothes.

He acted quickly, and half an hour later, he found many messy clothes and tattered sheets in the surrounding houses. Lucky for him, he also found a box of sewing tools left behind by someone unknown.

Even though their size seemed a bit strange to him, he managed to use the knowledge in his mind to sew the clothes and sheets together into a filthy rag robe.

Just like that, his first desire was satisfied, and more followed. The first desire he had to deal with was hunger. This concept was not unfamiliar to him. He had some memories of eating wild beasts in the mountains.

There are so many of these memories that if you put them together continuously, you can even deduce the time in detail. Just like that, he knew that he had been in the mountains for about two months.

The cries of those animals before they died seemed to still linger in his ears. Among them, the animal he ate the most was the deer.

He was stunned again.

Because of his strong association ability, the word "deer" brought up some memories that had been deep in his heart. At this moment, he could clearly remember that he once gnawed her babies in front of a doe.

The elegant animal didn't stop, maybe because of fear, maybe because it had given up resistance.

She just stood in front of him sluggishly, trying to use her wet nose to nuzzle the tiny pieces of flesh and blood in his hand, and then whined softly, as if she wanted to persuade her child to stand up and leave with her.

Then, then.

He fell to his knees and grabbed the edge of his throat with his hands, wanting to vomit. A strong sadness rushed into his simple heart. If he was really 'him', then he would not feel this emotion now.

However, he is not ‘he’, he is just an existence fabricated by faith.

Those who believed in him brought their simple concepts of good and evil into his heart. In contrast, there were also a series of extremely complex views of right and wrong.

And now, they were hitting him.

He understood that he was not condemned for foraging because he was hungry, it was a part of nature. But he also felt that his act of eating a mother's child in front of her was simply cruel.

Regardless of whether the deer has the same emotions as him, he shouldn't do this. He also has a mother, and he-

——Wait, mother?

The sad giant suddenly opened his eyes wide.

A name rushed into his heart along with the faith that shaped his existence. It was a white-haired woman wearing an archon's robe and leaning on a cane. Her name was Tarasha Udon, and she was Robert Guilliman's adoptive mother.

My name is Robert Guilliman?

He frowned deeply, and then slowly stood up from the ground. There were still some things he didn't understand, but along with this name being remembered by him, many other things were also remembered together.

For example, his duties, he was the monarch of Macragge, the monarch of the five hundred worlds of Ultramar, he was also the thirteenth son of the Emperor, and one of the great Primarchs.

Robert Guilliman was so great, he was a demigod walking in the world, born with powerful power and wisdom enough to use this power well.

He was fair, but never ruthless. He was kind, but would never let any evil person go, he.

Is this person really me? The giant frowned and thought silently.

He was keenly aware of the inconsistency between these descriptions and his current situation. If he was really Robert Guilliman, he would not have fallen into such a situation.

Moreover, in his memory, just a few months ago, he was still eating wild beasts in the mountains. How could Robert Guilliman be so destitute?

Of course, there is another crucial question - where did these words, or knowledge, come from?

He stood up silently but confusedly and walked out of the broken hut. It was still raining outside, and the ground of this abandoned village had been completely soaked by rain. The mud pits were like natural broken mirrors, cutting his image into fragments of uneven sizes.

Through them, the giant was able to piece together his appearance. He half squatted down and carefully observed his broken face. There was only the simplest and most direct confusion in his blue eyes.

"Who am I?" He muttered to himself in a strange way in High Gothic.

A few seconds later, he heard a few screams, as well as the sound of horse hooves and the sound of waving weapons. He could easily identify them without having to distinguish them.

They were sent to his ears in the rain and wind. He frowned, stood up, and strode in that direction.

Along the way, he passed the huge dead tree again, and a black bird stopped at the top of one of the branches and stared at him. It didn't call, move, or even blink, but just stared at him deeply in the wind and rain.

The giant looked at it, not understanding what the creature was thinking, but he had no way to care now. He hurried to that place.

Behind him, the bird flapped its wings silently and flew into the mountains without a sound.

The mountains were filled with the smell of blood, and even the word massacre was not enough to fully describe its cruelty. The grass was full of blood and bones, and the carcasses of animals that were eaten clean crushed the grass. Their blood also fed these plants, making the land soft and the insects reveled.

This special bird took in all of this, but did not stop, but continued to fly. It flew for nine nine minutes, and arrived at its destination at the speed of a slow bird - an empty cave.

It stopped in front of the cave, and its eyes began to emit a bright blue light, as illusory as the light in a mirror, and everything inside was completely illuminated. The cave was full of dried blood and nine rotten corpses.

They had been dead for at least a year, and the robes they wore had long been integrated with their flesh and blood, rotting like another layer of skin. Each of them held a dagger and a small wooden statue in their hands.

The bird jumped over, picked up the statues with its hard beak, and placed them next to the corpse.

The faces of the statues were no different from Roboute Guilliman.

The bird tilted its head and stared at them for a long time, and then its glowing sight passed over them and the corpse and cast into the depths of the cave. There lay an open sarcophagus, with nothing inside.

It jumped deeper into the cave and flapped its wings to jump onto the top of the coffin. There was a line of small words on it with something like a carving hammer.

‘Our Saviour’

The bird opened its beak and pecked at the words one by one, then corrected them and even added a sentence at the end. When the work was completed, it couldn’t help but make a cackle, as if it was proud of itself.

‘The false saviour, a simple creature born from the flesh and blood of a beast, let me wait and see what kind of end he will have’