40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 686 68. The belated trial (twenty-eight, ten thousand chapters)

The demonic tide surges, the wind howls, ashes and flames rise together, and the unparalleled power of evil occupies every inch of darkness. Pairs of blood-stained hands or claws cling to sharp blades that have been soaked and twisted by hatred. , massacred here.

They can't wait any longer. The endless hatred all over this world is driving these demons into an even more terrifying hell.

Rusixu held his hand ax and looked at everything in front of him, and was speechless for a moment.

He had many questions to ask and many things to say, but he couldn't say even a single word when it came to his lips. He could only watch the demons ruthlessly passing by him like the cold wind in the cemetery, rushing towards the extremely evil beast. .

They treated him like nothing, concentrating solely on killing - something they were just too good at. Long before tearing apart human skin, they possessed extreme ruthlessness and peak killing skills.

And now, they have entered a new realm, and even Ruth cannot accurately describe it. At this moment, the Fenrisians only felt disbelief and another emotion that should not have appeared.

Deplore.

Finally, he called.

"you--"

The syllables were barely out of his mouth before Ruth swallowed them back. He realized that the unspoken question might sound ridiculous. Just by taking a look at their appearance at this moment, Russ could figure out the answer without thinking.

He looked at these former heroes and today's evil spirits, demons, ghosts, and monsters. They had spent their entire lives training themselves to be humans' first line of defense when facing these things, but in the end they had to leave everything behind and become them. The most hated enemy.

Russ gritted his teeth, his anger surging endlessly, but at this moment, a voice sounded behind him. It was extremely strange, and every syllable sounded like a companion drawing a sword.

"——This is our fate." It said in a calm voice.

Russ turned around and saw a tall, thin demon.

It clearly has ferocious horns on its head, but it has no animalistic features and its human face remains the same. It wore a set of broken armor, with countless ashes filling the gaps, and the broken armor was firmly bound to the demon's body. A pair of bat wings were folded behind his back, and the tops were covered with dull blades.

Such an evil image, but Russ could not move his eyes away from its face. He knew this demon, or rather, he knew what it looked like before.

"Fel Zalost?" Russ asked softly.

The demon nodded slowly, his eyes as deep as black holes. Its pale face was covered with dark red fine lines, which flickered on and off like breathing.

"Exactly, sir. But I think you don't need to be so sentimental. In ancient times, the wild tribes needed night watchmen. They risked their lives to patrol camps, maintain fire sources, and warn tribes. The same is true for us. Essentially, "I think this is just a night watch mission."

Russ raised his head and was silent for a long time, and then he made a joke without any sense of humor: "But how can there be such a long night, the third company commander of the Eighth Army?"

The devil smiled and seemed to like this title. Of course, its smile seems to have nothing to do with kindness or gentleness.

It walked to Ruth's side and replied: "The era of the legion has passed, sir, and I am no longer the third company commander. Anyway, I am glad to see that you are safe and sound."

As he spoke, the demon shifted his gaze to a giant wolf beside Russ. The creature didn't seem to like its gaze, but it still endured and stood still. Even though its hair had already stood up, it didn't move even half a step.

"Please forgive me."

The demon leaned down and apologized to it, and then reached out to touch the body that was tightly wrapped by Ruth. The movement was very fast and very careful, but the giant wolf still became extremely irritable for this.

It began to pace and wander around Russ, its canines sticking out of its lips, shaking menacingly. The Fenris squatted down, hugged it, locked it in its arms with half restraint and half comfort, and began to soothe it with ancient languages. The instinct is stirring at the moment.

The demon took a few steps back until it was sure that the distance would no longer make the wolf uncomfortable, and then it spoke.

"The lion's soul has left his body -"

It said, raising its hand meaningfully and pointing behind Ruth.

There was no need to look back, the Fenrisians knew exactly what he was referring to. He slowly exhaled a mouthful of turbid air that still smelled of blood, his expression becoming a little dangerous.

The devil saw all this, so he immediately spoke again: "——It's not too late now, we just need a complete exorcism."

"Exorcism?"

Russ stared at him and asked. The emotion of the giant wolf in his arms was quickly returning, which seemed to have the same effect on him. The lost sense of humor was back.

The Wolf King grinned and asked in the same tone as before: "I have to find someone to bring a mirror and put it in front of us, Feir, and then you tell me what you just said again."

The devil smiled, and the broken lines on his face suddenly lit up, as vivid as hot blood.

"You heard it right, it's about exorcising evil spirits. But we can't do it."

Russ stood up and hung the hatchet back on his belt.

At this time, he had regained all his composure - in theory, this was unlikely. The power he borrowed from Fenris would lead him to madness. The hunter and the king were a lesson. He should be the third sacrifice.

But now, the influence was far away, and he didn't even notice when it happened. He thought about it and inevitably felt a chill on his back.

The things he had discussed with Lion El'Jonson over and over again in the past ten thousand years came to his mind at this moment. In fact, these discussions can be summarized into two questions.

Will he come back?

What should we do if the person who comes back is not him?

Rus looked at the demon expressionlessly.

The latter understood, nodded slightly, and answered calmly: "He has regained his life. Before the boundary between life and death is completely blurred, even if he loses all his humanity, Caryl Rohals will still only be Caryl Rohals. In other words, my lord -"

The demon suddenly raised his right hand, and the bat wings behind him stretched out suddenly, and the lines like blood vessels lit up. In the blinding red light, countless ashes hung upside down and flew behind Rus. The Fenrisian turned around slowly and saw a pile of severed limbs.

It was not until then that the last few words of the demon's speech came softly into his ears, just like the whispers of the Eighth Legion that were famous in the galaxy.

When they speak like this, you know that something is going to die.

"- If one day he dies again, he will be buried as a human."

"Is this a good thing?" Rus stared at the severed limbs and asked.

"Of course it is a good thing for him. However, it is probably very difficult to make him die completely."

As the demon answered, he walked past Rus, and its footsteps sounded like a burning flame.

The Fenrisian's nose twitched, gently sniffing the ash-like breath, and a wave of extremely disgusting horror surged in his heart, which he could not control.

"We will do our best to kill this evil beast." The demon said indifferently. "But what happens after that will require you and your helpers."

Helpers?

As if to echo Rus's thoughts, a roar sounded from above. And this was not the sound of the demon tide that came to kill as promised. There were only a few of them, and each one was extremely silent.

Rus looked up and saw a figure wrapped in a very faint golden light. He fell like a meteor, and plunged into the essential land after the illusion was broken - that is, countless corpses.

Blood and flesh splattered, the golden light dissipated, and a face that Rus had seen before appeared in front of him tiredly and fiercely.

"I should leave, Lord Rus." The demon whispered without turning his head. "If we continue to talk, I'm afraid you will have to spend a lot of time on him next."

"I understand, see you in the winter, Fel Zharost. Ask me to say hello to your brothers and tell them that I have prepared mead for one day."

Rus turned around before he finished speaking.

He howled and summoned another giant wolf. The latter leaped out of the void behind him, solidified quickly once it landed, and then ran towards the person who fell to the ground with its brothers.

The wolf king followed closely behind, with blood-stained hair dancing wildly, and its demeanor was more like a wild beast than a human.

His behavior naturally set off alarm bells in the heart of the fallen man, but when he saw the face of the newcomer clearly, indescribable shock and complex emotions emerged one after another. When Rus really rushed in front of him, he exclaimed directly.

"Rus?!"

"Hey, don't you even add a respectful title?" The Fenris man asked happily, and grabbed his shoulders before he came to his senses. "I say, I have a job here that I need your help with, how about it, young man?"

Zabriel, with wrinkles on his face and gray hair, was silent for a few seconds before he smiled bitterly.

He clenched the badge in his right fist, feeling its still warm temperature, and a few glimmers of enlightenment flashed through his mind. However, before he could answer yes or no, the impatient Fenris people pulled him to the other side completely opposite to the magic tide.

The dark angel stretched his neck and looked back. The surging magic tide and the huge monster being besieged made his eyes twitch and his muscles tense.

Obviously, he also felt the unspeakable evil like Russ. However, unlike Russ, he knew nothing about the truth of the matter.

Russ, who had already learned about his past experience from the lion, did not stop him from looking around, but coaxed and even half-forced him to a place where the darkness was about to break.

The soft light fell from the top of their heads, illuminating the two of them. One was covered in blood, and the other was covered in dirt. The two looked at each other, and finally, it was Zabril who hesitated and spoke.

"Sir."

"You remember to use a honorific now? Forget it! I don't like adults to come and go. Only a few people and those who meet me for the first time can call me that. Do you understand? Just call me Russ."

The dark angel instinctively took a few deep breaths to control the speed of his heartbeat and the flow of blood. When he finally controlled himself and wanted to answer Russ, the latter pulled over a giant wolf carrying something on its back.

It seemed very reluctant, and its black and gold eyes, exactly the same as those of the wolves, stared at Zabril tightly, even making him feel a little scared - and this ominous premonition was fulfilled when Russ reached out and tore off a cloak.

The Dark Angel's knees softened and he knelt down suddenly.

Rus was not surprised by this. The lightness on his face disappeared completely, leaving only coldness. He looked up at the warm light that was slowly pouring down, and howled again.

The other wolf turned around and ran without hesitation, as fast as a gust of cold wind. In less than half a second, it returned to Rus with a spear in its mouth. The latter reached out to take the weapon, raised his hand and stood up, throwing the Spear of Dionysus fiercely.

It actually didn't have too many magical features, only the extreme sharpness could be regarded as an advantage, but sometimes, the simplest things can have the most direct effect.

Following the explosion sound made by the spear, Zabril looked up and saw the dim golden color piercing the darkness sharply. Then, a big hand pressed on his shoulder.

"Be ready, helper." The wolf king warned seriously. "You will have a long way to go, and you can only rely on yourself for this journey."

As soon as he finished speaking, the scenery around him changed rapidly, like a rag that had been torn. Zabril had seen too many things that could not be described in words during this period of time, but at this moment he remained calm miraculously.

He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, clenched his fists and felt everything around him - then he heard a sound of something breaking, and something roaring in frustration, and finally, the whistling cold wind.

The Dark Angel opened his eyes and looked around, and suddenly found that they were in a piece of ice and snow, surrounded by white snow.

No, wait, that's not them.

Leman Russ and the two giant wolves were gone, leaving only his spear standing in place. Of course, there was also a corpse.

Zabril could no longer maintain his superficial calm, and couldn't even take a deep breath. He gasped briefly, and the white mist came out of his mouth and nose, quickly turning into ice, and the little heat left in his body was slipping away quickly.

He didn't know where he was yet, and he had no idea of ​​the harsh environment here. And now, he didn't care about it. He just knelt down, pulled off the right hand nail that had completely failed, and tried to touch the neck of the corpse.

As expected, no beating came along his painful fingers.

Zabril fell back with a muffled groan, and then immediately got up. He ignored the dizziness in front of his eyes and did several more checks, and the results were no exception. His understanding of the human body told him: Lion El'Jonson was dead.

He stared at the withered face blankly, without saying a word. The sun was hanging high in the sky, not only did it not provide any warmth, but it made his eyes darker.

But

After only three seconds, Zabril closed his mouth, and his teeth collided with each other, making a muffled sound.

He clenched his right fist tightly and punched himself. Pain struck, blood and broken teeth splashed out, finally dyeing the white and desperate snow with a second color.

Well, there is a way to go, right?

The Dark Angel stood up, lifted his father, and carried his now thin body on his back, holding the spear in his hand, ready for the long journey.

Soon, he found himself in a vast snowfield, the snow was very thick, but there was a faint green in the far horizon. He carried the body on his back and limped towards them, using the spear as a crutch.

At this time, a question slipped into his mind-how heavy can a Primarch be?

Zabril asked himself this, and soon another voice answered. That voice was reliable and steady, slowly ringing in his heart.

There are many answers to this question, depending on who you ask.

I asked Lion El'Jonson.

So, was he armored?

No, he was dead. He even bled out.

Then he must be terribly light now, right?

Yes.

Zabril's nose suddenly felt sour for no reason. Did he want to cry? Maybe, maybe there was a moment when he was so weak.

However, the man who was carrying his father's body slowly forward in the cold wind; wearing tattered armor, walking with difficulty, and being attacked by the cold, there was no tear in his eyes, only pure willpower roaring silently.

Zabril strode forward.

One minute, two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes-he walked for two hours and twenty-two minutes, without stopping or slowing down.

The heat generated by the exercise did not turn into sweat, but it did warm his body that was almost frozen at first. The white mist produced by his breath turned into frozen ice and was swallowed into his mouth, turning into a little water source to replenish a little bit of insignificant physical strength.

He made use of everything, even his own grief-he wrapped the hands of his father's body around his shoulders and used the body to keep warm.

And now, green is right in front of him.

So, what are they? The answer is coniferous forests, towering like spires, with branches covered with snow. This is good, it means that this extremely cold place he is in, whose name he does not know, still has a complete natural environment.

And where there are green plants, there will naturally be animals, at least there are bugs.

Zabril stopped outside the coniferous forest and observed carefully. Soon he saw several moving shadows in this impenetrable spire forest. He slowed down his pace to approach one of them, and then immediately threw the spear.

Blood splattered, steam billowed, and a male deer fell down without pain. Zabril stepped forward quickly, pulled out the spear from its heart, and then put down the body, and began to drink blood like a barbarian.

He didn't know how many days he hadn't eaten, but he knew that this meal was exactly what he needed. In just a few minutes, he ate the huge male deer until it was boneless, just like the greedy ghoul in myths and legends.

But he didn't continue, just peeled the skin, removed the fascia, and rubbed the bloody inside on the snow quickly several times, until it became a fur cloak that could temporarily retain some heat, and then stopped immediately.

He stood up, wrapped the cloak around his neck, roughly tore a part of it with his fingers, and then tied it into a knot, then carried the body again, held the spear, and came under a tree.

It was very tall, at least ten meters. Zabril bit the middle part of the spear and began to climb with his hands and feet. He was so agile that he reached the top in a short while.

He looked into the distance and easily saw a dark area in the white snow. At first glance, he even thought it was a cliff or a steep wall, but soon he realized that he was wrong. How could there be a cliff that towered into the clouds and even reached the sky?

Past knowledge and the information he had read during the Legion slowly emerged, and coupled with the fact that he was not sure whether Leman Russ was real or fake now-soon, Zabril came to a conclusion.

He was now in Fenris.

And the steep cliff was the wolf pack's lair, the Wolf Fang. Or as they said: Et.

Zabril let go and jumped off the needle tree. The height of more than ten meters was no problem for him, not to mention the snow as a buffer. As soon as he landed, he quickly found the direction and walked towards the Wolf Fang.

However, he couldn't always be so lucky. Soon, Fenris showed him his worst side. In just a few breaths, the sky suddenly darkened, and the broken storm slowly gathered on this dark curtain.

Snow fell, the wind howled, and visibility was almost unacceptable. If Zabril was not an ordinary person, he would have been lost in the blizzard.

But even if he was an Astarte, what could he do? He would still suffer in this cold wind. In a short while, many scars appeared on his exposed skin, and the blood coagulated due to the low temperature before it could flow out.

Realizing that something was wrong, the Dark Angel stopped immediately, bit the spear again, and at the same time tore the knot with one hand and pulled the cloak, and with the other hand supported the lion's now withered body, and carefully wrapped him in the fur, leaving only two hands outside for him to hold for support.

Without the warmth of the thick deerskin, Zabril soon felt the real chill. He had never been so cold before, but it was inevitable.

His power armor was damaged, the machine soul was destroyed, and the soulless machine was left to add weight in vain. The internal life support system had long been shut down, and it could not even bring any warmth now, but only added weight, leaving him with a series of deep footprints in the snow.

And if he knew anything about Fenris, not just superficially like now, then he would know how dangerous this matter was - creatures always learn to coexist with the natural environment, and Fenris is no exception.

There are things in this desperate place that only appear when the wind and blizzard come, tracking down any unfortunate people and eating them clean.

Zabril knew nothing about this, but he was a Dark Angel after all. After the eleventh minute of the blizzard, he realized that something was wrong, and his intuition was warning him.

This abnormal instinct, which he had just gained after countless life and death and tempered by the fire of war, told him that something was targeting him.

Zabril believed it firmly, but he did not do anything he shouldn't do. He still held the spear in his hand as a crutch, his pace did not speed up, and even his breathing was normal.

He was very patient, waiting until when to show his claws, but that thing seemed different. Soon, accompanied by a flash of shadow, some kind of behemoth suddenly pounced from the end of Zabril's perspective.

The Dark Angel, who had been prepared, took a step back, raised the spear in one hand, and did not exert any force, but just raised it and aimed at the attacker. The latter had no way to avoid it because of his huge size, and could only let the spear penetrate his body and let out a painful roar.

The wind and snow were surging, and the stench of the beast's bad mouth was pungent. Zabril looked up without changing his face, and then he found that the attacker was actually a giant bear that was almost as big as an armored vehicle.

It was completely white, even its ten claws, which were thicker than the Astartes' combat daggers, were of this color. And at this moment, it was bleeding - seeing this scene, Zabril didn't know what to think.

What? You have grown into a figure that can eat me alive, but your blood is still red? Why don't you just bleed some Warp maggots?

The Dark Angel cursed the mutants in this damn place of Fenris, pulled out his spear with his backhand, and retreated rapidly at the same time - if he was half a second late, the giant bear's right claw would have ripped him open.

In nature, size is equal to combat power, and he didn't want to use his broken steel to test whether the claws of that thing were sharp. But the giant bear didn't seem to be as cautious as ordinary predators who would pause for a moment after missing a strike to wait for observation.

Perhaps because it was injured, it followed with a roar, ignoring the shining spear tip in Zabril's hand. Faced with this opportunity, the Dark Angel naturally accepted it without hesitation.

This time, he stabbed the spear with force. Although it was one-handed and the strength was not enough, it was accurate.

The Spear of Dionysus, which was covered with broken lines, pierced deeply into the chest of the giant bear. According to Zabril's idea, it should have pierced the heart of this thing and then passed through the body. But the fact was completely opposite to his idea. The spear penetrated to a certain distance and it seemed to be difficult to go deeper as if it was resisted.

Without caring about the reason, Zabril immediately abandoned the spear and retreated, and pulled out the combat dagger on the outside of his thigh with his backhand. The beast had already rushed over, and its two small and somewhat ridiculous eyes were full of ferocity.

Zabril only needed to take a look to understand that the purpose of this thing had changed from predation to a fight to the death.

Obviously, it is not an ordinary animal. It does not have the nature of seeking benefits and avoiding harm. It does not know when to stop and stop when it is good. If you insist, it is even a bit like a human - this extreme revenge mentality made Zabril frown for a while, and it was quite difficult.

He originally hoped to make this thing retreat, but according to its current appearance, a deadly battle is inevitable.

After making a decision, the Dark Angel held the battle dagger across his chest, and rushed towards the giant bear that he was completely unable to defeat at the moment. This is simply a suicidal act. Judging from his current armed state, a head-on confrontation is obviously not the best choice, but he did it anyway.

In a flash, the giant bear's five sharp claws collided with the monomolecular blade, sparks flew everywhere, and Zabril felt a strong sense of shock in his right hand holding the knife, as if he was holding a rusty knife to cut a rotten tree root soaked in water.

He gritted his teeth and threw the knife, dodged sideways, and barely avoided the giant bear's bite. Then he immediately reached out to grab the spear stuck in its body, twisted his wrist, pulled out the spear with his backhand, and even dodged another claw attack with his footsteps while pulling out a large piece of flesh and blood.

The evil wind blew across his cheek, and the snow and wind came, and the chopped snowflakes fell on his cheek like blood, with a great impact that made people confused.

But Zabril had no time to think at this moment. He held the spear, roared, aimed at the giant bear's head, and stabbed it from bottom to top. His opponent was not to be outdone, and the remaining five claws swung forward with terrifying power that could break a tree with a palm.

Two muffled sounds flashed by, blood splashed, and Zabril staggered back two steps, his chest was a bloody mess. He looked down at himself and saw pale broken bones and a beating heart.

And what about the giant bear?

It was standing there, not moving at all. Its half-upright body swayed slightly in the wind and snow, and blood flowed out of the hole on its head, flowing down like a waterfall, dyeing its fur and the spear itself red.

Zabriel raised his hand to cover his chest.

Damn it.

He suddenly felt a strange itch in his throat, but he coughed up blood foam. There was no way, so Zabril had to walk to the side of the beast he had just killed and raised his hand to try to pull out the spear.

The giant bear fell on its back, startling the thick snow. Zabril looked down at its claws and found that his own flesh and blood were hanging on them. He wanted to curse the monster raised in this damn place, but he really had no strength left. He could only lean on his spear to barely stand.

The only thing that made him happy was that the corpse behind him was still on his back, and one of his hands was tightly held by him.

Zabril could no longer support himself and fell to the ground trembling. He tried several times to stand up, but it was always in vain.

His self-healing ability was taking effect, helping him to stop bleeding, but he was so badly injured that even if he was lucky enough to survive, he would have to go into shock at this moment.

Adrenaline could not help him, and his transformed body was now exhausted. The Dark Angel had to rely on willpower to untie the corpse of the original body and put it behind him.

He only had time to do so much before his eyes fell into darkness.

Ten minutes after he was unconscious, a storm bird tore through the snow curtain and cast a dazzling light above his head.

——

Bjorn raised his hand and pressed his brother's shoulder, then asked: "Are you sure?"

The blind man answered without turning his head: "Since I asked you to come, it means I am 100% sure."

He paused, and the work in his hands slowed down a little - as if to increase persuasiveness, he turned his head to look at Bjorn, and his empty eyelids made this gaze weird and absurd. But neither he nor Bjorn laughed.

"100% sure." Azek Ahriman said. "I'm not kidding."

"Okay." Bjorn said. "Then he will be handed over to you, I will tell the wolf priest to stay away from you."

He turned around and gestured to the four wild wolves who were waiting for orders and covered in blood. They nodded in unison, and then immediately turned around and left, doing what they had to do.

Those who needed to be healed healed their wounds, and those who wanted to rest rested, but according to Bjorn's understanding of them, these five young wolf cubs would definitely run directly to the banquet hall to eat and drink to their heart's content, disgust their brothers with their stench, and then loudly proclaim what they did last night.

They would definitely tell others with great pride that last night, they had fought a bloody battle with the ancient evil spirits under the ice of the Far North with the blind man. And until dawn, they did not die.

Of course, if they don't seek treatment after eating, then the description of 'not dead yet' may have to be changed.

Bjorn suddenly felt like laughing.

"You taught them well -" Lone Wolf smiled lowly and patted Ahriman on the shoulder. "——If your brother named Kayon knew that you were so open in our place, he would probably have to hold a meeting to scold you again."

"Are you done yet?"

Ahriman cursed impatiently and suddenly raised his hands, the blood-stained scalpel shining in the dim light to show where his attention was at the moment.

But Bjorn did not answer, but laughed wildly, and Ahriman turned to him angrily and roared.

"The alpha wolf has already called you! Could it be that you have Alzheimer's disease? Go and see him, and stop bothering me here! Didn't you see me suturing his wounds?!"

Bjorn finally stopped smiling, shrugged, and walked to the door of the dark room without forgetting to mention one more thing at the end.

"What do you think he would think if he woke up midway and found out that we sent a blind man to treat his injuries?"

"The old antiques of the First Legion don't like you stupid wolves." Ahriman said coldly.

"You're fucking blind," Bjorn cursed, then turned and walked away.

There is a cold wind outside the dark room, which means that this place does not have a complete heating design like other places in Ete. Indeed, this is the abandoned part.

Et rises from the depths of Asaheim's tallest mountain and has been continuously transformed and built over thousands of years. The appearance may still be roughly the same as it was ten thousand years ago, but the inside is completely different.

Bjorn saw clearly that this was a good thing, and that stopping at it would only lead to disaster. However, he also knew very well that without Leon El'Jonson's visit every century, these transformations would never have been so easy.

Although wolves are frighteningly open-minded in some places, they can also be described as stupid, superstitious, stubborn and conservative.

Bjorn finished his thinking and stopped in front of a naturally dug cave. It seemed that there was no one stationed here, but there were many pairs of eyes shining in the darkness. Pale gold, dark pupils, with pure heat.

"What are you looking at here?" the oldest member of the wolf pack asked coldly. "Don't you have anything of your own to do?"

"Leader——"

"Shut up." Bjorn scolded him coldly, interrupting him forcefully. The wolf obviously couldn't stand this kind of thing, and the bone ornaments hanging on the armor rattled.

Bjorn narrowed his eyes and looked at him forcefully, his sharp canines protruding from his thin lips, bringing a burst of wildness. Years passed by, but his face didn't look any older, it still had the stern look of a knife-and-axe-cutting person. Especially at this moment, his gaze was particularly oppressive.

A few seconds later, the wolf who was looking at him sighed, looked away, and muttered: "I will correct my mistakes when I know them."

"I will take care of everything." Bjorn softened his tone and told him. "Believe me, no one's lifeline will be cut off today."

After saying that, the wolves retreated silently and disappeared into the darkness. Bjorn strode into the grotto. The place was very primitive, and the inner walls were so rough that they seemed to have never been polished at all, but they revealed a deep darkness that absolutely transcended nature.

There was a tall stone platform in front of him, which was extremely smooth. There were two deep pits where he stood, which fit his feet.

The power of time is so powerful. Bjorn thought.

His shoulders suddenly sank, for no other reason than the withered and thin body on the stone platform.

a thousand years.

Bjorn closed his eyes and exhaled a breath, and suddenly the roar of wolves could be heard in his ears. They started from the lowest level of Eter and worked their way up, constantly colliding in the gaps of stones, pipes and mechanical components, and finally landed in his ears.

He could hear the sadness in it, and he also understood that the wolves already knew about the leader's departure.

Yes, Leon El'Jonson, leader of the wolf pack. Ten thousand years ago, Gunnar Gunhilt himself admitted it. For thousands of years, he continued to fulfill this responsibility. And now, ten thousand years later, he is lying in front of Bjorn, no longer alive.

The lone wolf looked away to avoid his own grief, and instead reached out and grasped a spear. Suddenly, the cold wind howled, and a voice sounded from the bottom of his heart.

"Why are you so sad, Bjorn?"

"Leader dies"

"Oh, go to hell." Leman Russ cursed softly. "He is not dead. You hear me clearly. He is not dead. Do you understand? Find all the rune priests now. I have something to say to them."

Bjorn pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and said in his heart: "With all due respect, Alpha Wolf, not everyone is like you, you can-"

"——What can you do?" The Wolf King interrupted him sullenly, exactly the same as his behavior not long ago. Bjorn choked, but still wanted to finish his words, but Russ didn't give him this chance at all.

"Stop being so coquettish here, worrying about this and that!" the Fenrisian shouted sternly. "I'll tell you again, he's not dead! Did you hear clearly? My father, Ahriman is blind, and you are deaf, right? You two are really good brothers. Do you need me to call Thunder and the others over? Let him see what you look like now?"

".Why do you speak so harshly, Primarch?"

A hissing sound came from the bottom of his heart. Bjorn let go of his hand unbearably, leaned his spear against the side of the stone platform, and turned to flee.

He was ready to do as Russ said and call all the rune priests over. Apart from that, he didn't think about anything else, but his steps were much lighter.