40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 580 98. Dark Crusade (Twenty-three, Savita’s Green Skin Classroom)

Yago Savitarion knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt with his right hand. Dark brown, with a little bit of scarlet.

He loosened his fingers and let the soil slip away from his fingers, leaving some small and sharp stones. Sevatar stared at them thoughtfully for a moment before letting the rubble return to the earth.

He lifted up the chain saw halberd that had been stuck in the ground, wiped off the wet soil on the tail with his left hand, and carried it on his shoulders without any psychological pressure.

Anyway, he didn't bring a technical sergeant with him this time. There were quite a few Sons of Calth, but they probably wouldn't say anything about his behavior.

Sevatar smiled unconsciously. This was perhaps the first time in ten thousand years that he did not have to explain to the technical sergeants what caused the dirt on the weapons.

He led the team in a hurry and did not expect that this 'visit' would turn into such a situation, but he could understand why the person who brought them here would do such an irrational thing. Decide.

It was clear to Sevatar that Khalil Lohars, his instructor, had gone mad.

A certain moral paranoia in his past was now becoming a shackle, hanging around his neck, pulling him forward. He may be able to resist, but the price he pays must be very heavy.

Sevatar would rather he didn't resist.

He returned to Terra many times, and each time, the Sigilbearer would send his spies to deliver some valuable information to Sevatar. Sometimes they are detailed, sometimes brief, sometimes a name, sometimes a clue.

Savita accepted it all, he understood the key point: if the situation was not urgent to a certain extent, the seal bearer would not come to him.

However, on one occasion, what the mute guards brought was not intelligence, but a handwritten letter. There was no signature on the letter, nor any identifying heraldry. The content of the letter is very simple. It is just a person talking about a dream that does not belong to him.

The man said that in his dreams, he always felt like he was in a dark prison.

The man also said that he did not understand how the owner of the dream could survive.

Yes, how did he survive it? Sevita thought.

He continued to walk forward, feeling the morning breeze of the nameless planet beneath his feet.

To be honest, the smell of wind was terrible, but given the specifics of this battlefield, it was completely understandable. Orcs have always been smelly. Their body odor is almost the same as a biological attack, and some of them even smell bad.

Sevatar had seen with his own eyes some of the laziest and most unkempt soldiers jumping up and clearing their corpses out of the trenches between battles, as if they had suddenly acquired mysophobia.

And now he was walking in a battlefield full of dead orcs. It was roughly estimated that they had been dead for about two days.

The spores they left behind have begun to have an impact on the land. Except for the very edges, small green-skinned mushrooms have sprouted in most areas of the battlefield.

After a while, those so-called Scrooges and weak bastards will appear closely behind, and then

Sevatar sighed, stopped, put on his helmet, and began to wait patiently.

About a few minutes later, a panting orc emerged from a pile of corpses not far from him. It had obviously been waiting for a long time and was covered in blood, but it was still very energetic.

it shouted at him.

"Aha! Look who I saw! A big black fool! You're in bad luck if you bump into me! Give me that big blade in your hand that is very good at cutting things, and I won't chop it. How are you?!"

Low Gothic is poor and ugly, but it is still the universal language of the empire.

as always.

very good.

Sevatar appeared in front of it like lightning, and at the same time, he waved his chain halberd expressionlessly, gently knocking away the short green skin covered with teeth of the same kind.

It is not surprising for the orcs to do anything. Even an orc who hides in a pile of corpses and takes the teeth of his dead companions and ambush passers-by is not surprising.

He walked leisurely towards the place where the thing landed, but suddenly stopped again and turned his head slightly. Several sharpened bone arrows grazed his cheek with just a hair's breadth.

He turned to look at the other side of the battlefield and found that there were several other greenskins standing in the place where he had not yet set foot. They all had bows in their hands and were busy bending their bows and unloading arrows again.

Have an accomplice? Do you still know how to set up an ambush?

Sevatar raised his eyebrows, pulled out the bolter from his waist, and fired four gunshots, beating them all into pieces. After he finished this, he hung up the gun slowly, turned around, and saw a stunned greenskin who had just gotten up.

To be honest, it's not easy to see this emotion on their faces.

"You, you-" the greenskin stammered, pointing at him and shouting. "——What the hell are you?!"

Sevatar stood there and looked at it, not speaking, but also not attacking, just looking at it.

The result did not exceed his expectations. After a few seconds, the orc ran away. He was hanging at the back not too far but not too close, as if he was leading a lap on the training ground of the 'den', deliberately maintaining a medium speed.

Fourteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds later, Sevatar chased, or rather drove, the orc into a woodland that looked like a garbage dump.

Leather armor, chain armor, plate armor and other armors are all available here. Most of them are in tatters and stained with blood, hanging casually on the trees. The same is true for weapons, which are diverse, such as short swords, long swords, giant swords, spears, halberds and spears.

In addition to being relatively primitive, this place can be regarded as a very good place for selling weapons and equipment. If you could add more guns and turn those armors into bulletproof armor, some thugs and gangsters in the hive would be very happy to come here to spend money.

But they don't have the teeth to trade.

Savita couldn't help but smile at this fresh joke.

He walked quietly into the forest and watched the orc rush towards a group of orcs. It was ridiculous, but he was convinced that the noisy orcs were making a deal.

They gathered in front of several thick tree trunks that had been chopped off and laid horizontally. They held a large number of teeth in their hands, and their necks and bodies were covered with these tusks from the same kind.

An orc that was slightly larger than them stood in the center of the tree trunk, enduring their roars, and then roared back with an even louder voice.

This may be some kind of bargaining method

But everything collapsed on the spot after the orc shouted a long string of low Gothic words in panic. They looked at each other, and then dispersed in a rush, returning to the forest like a green torrent, and soon they were fully armed. ran back.

Their armor is very ridiculous. Plate armor is nailed on top of the leather armor, and a layer of chain mail from unknown sources is covered on top of the plate armor. They look bulky and stupid, and some even have the blood-stained flag wrapped around themselves. On the head, I don’t know what the purpose is.

Most of them choose to hold a stolen sword in each hand, and then carry replacement axes or throwing weapons such as spears on their backs. Admittedly, the scene looked comical and ridiculous, but Sevatar's expression turned serious.

Because he saw that some orcs were already holding crossbows. It was obvious that they were evolving.

If you continue.

Sevatar concluded his observation.

He simply showed up, rushed into them and started killing them. These orcs, who were still in the Iron Age and didn't even have a primitive musket, were not enough to pose a threat to him.

Flesh and blood flew everywhere, and the remaining limbs and broken arms flew up together with the roar of the chain saw halberd, like a dance. The engine of the chain halberd is the main rhythm of the dance accompaniment, and the roar and howl of the orcs are indispensable embellishments.

Sevatar's footsteps were brisk, walking through the green forest like a ghost, turning all the living creatures in sight into broken flesh and blood.

While he was killing, he even had time to think - as we all know, orcs can usually evolve in war, whether it is physical or technological.

As long as there is no wave that kills these creatures, they can suddenly appear again in a very short period of time, and this group will often be stronger than their predecessors.

This is an evolution that cannot be explained. The ecology of the orcs is complex and uncontrollable. Many scholars have tried to figure out why this race can be so pure and terrifying, but their final end was not very good.

Anyone who tries to take advantage of the orcs will be torn to pieces by the simple and stupid ways of these green-skinned beasts. Stupid indeed, but they are pure.

They are born to fight.

Sevatar's killing ended after three minutes. He caught up with the last living orc in the forest, and then cut him into ten pieces neatly. This is not because he is murderous or sadistic, but because these things are very tenacious.

Fatal injuries to other races only require an hour or two for orcs to fully recover. Even if their heads are cut off, they can be resurrected and fight again after simple suturing.

Of course, having said that, there are not many doctors with such skills among the greenskins. They have the position of doctor, but their doctors usually just use saws or hammers to brutalize patients at will.

Whether it can be cured or not is another matter, but they have to use some violence first.

In this case, not many orcs can successfully operate. But Sevatar didn't dare to bet. The technology he used surpassed these orcs for several generations, but they were not a race that could be guessed using common sense.

As long as one orc survives seeing him, they will probably start to think, after that

Sevatar sighed, turned off the chain halberd, and rushed back to the camp. If he had to choose an alien race that he least wanted to deal with, the orcs would definitely be the first one.

Fighting with these things is simply a kind of torture. They are rarely afraid. Even if they escape, they will come back soon, and most orcs will only get more and more excited as they fight.

A voice sounded softly behind him.

"Your reconnaissance appears to have been successful."

Sevatar turned around and threw his weapon to a passing son of Calth. The latter took the weapon in surprise and excitement, and then strode away. Sevatar himself took off his helmet, sneered and shook his head at the speaker.

"If you have something to say, just say it quickly, hunter, I'm not in a good mood right now."

The hunter nodded calmly. From those cloudy white eyes, Savita could not see any emotion at all. He hated this. Of course, he didn't hate the hunter, at most he was just a little dissatisfied with him.

According to his experience, all dissatisfaction between brothers can be easily resolved in the duel cage.

"Have you used your prophecy talent recently?" the hunter asked politely.

Savita resisted the urge to punch him now, and nodded with a frown on his face. His tone began to change: "No, what's the matter, great hunter?"

"Just wanted to let you know that I just completed a prophecy and it didn't turn out very well."

Sevatar took a deep breath.

In front of the civilians, auxiliaries and Astartes, he took a step forward, put his right hand on the hunter's shoulder, then spun his steps and led the hunter to an uninhabited corner quite naturally.

"Why can't you finish your words at once?" Savita asked very sincerely, his voice was very soft.

"I was about to say something, respected Legion Commander, but I was interrupted."

"What legion commander?"

"you."

"There is no longer the position of legion commander, and even if there is, it won't be me."

"So." The hunter gave a rare smile. "Perhaps we should call out Captain Van Cleef?"

Sevatar stopped.

"Do you really want to be beaten?" he asked calmly.

"Still not." The hunter said lightly. "I just want you to know that although I speak slowly, I'm not a showy person, and you keep interrupting me."

"So, what you just said was a form of revenge?"

The hunter shook his head: "I don't have the guts to take revenge on the great imperial hero Yago Savitarion. I just want you to know that there is something wrong with the planet we are temporarily parked on."

Savita frowned and threw all the unnecessary emotions out of his mind in an instant. He stared sternly at the hunter, waiting for his next words, but he did not disappoint.

In the next second, the hunter's cloudy eyes suddenly lit up with two points of dark blue light, which flashed away at an astonishingly fast speed.

A bolt of lightning suddenly jumped out from the palm of his naturally hanging right hand and struck the sky at a speed that exceeded time. Sevatar looked up and saw a patch of dark feathers descending slowly.

He stretched out his hand to grab it. Under the sunlight, the surface of the feather reflected an extremely colorful light. Sevatar narrowed his eyes, closed his right fist, and ground it finely into harmless powder.

The hunter nodded to him.

"It seems that you already understand." He said softly. "I think we have to be prepared to fight hard."

Sevatar nodded, agreeing with his opinion for the first time.