Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

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Bottom of the Vengeance.

Unlike the bright lights elsewhere on the battleship, it was extremely dark here—after all, this was a purpose-built cemetery.

The dead don't need light, they just need rest. A faint beam of light fell from the sky and hit Sergeant Puliard's coffin, where his remains lay quietly, dry and thin, not at all like Astarte's.

He was the first resident here, and He Shenyan sincerely hoped that he would be the last.

"Raise your sword."

Insel stood in front of the crowd and whispered.

As his voice fell, the Astartes monks of the Iron Snakes raised their weapons one after another. The power sword and the chainsaw sword complement each other.

The sound of chainsaws and power swords being activated reverberated in the vast dark space, their crimson eyepieces gleaming in the darkness, watching the dead brother.

"Sergeant Priyad died. And the rest of his squad, whose file status has been changed to missing, I hope to see their return."

He Shenyan's voice came from the darkness in front of the coffin, and he slowly walked out of the deep darkness. The expression is calm and unable to be seen as happy or sad.

"Sgt. Priyad and his Damocles team were sent to that planet for an investigation mission under my orders, so I am to blame for their disappearance and the death of Sergeant Priyad."

The Astartes stood silently in the darkness, watching He Shenyan put his hand on the sergeant's coffin, and the golden light converged to illuminate his profile. also illuminated the unadorned coffin

With the advantage of distance, Insel could clearly see a line of small characters engraved on the top of the coffin lid.

'Never stop. ’

"I'd love to say I avenged them, but I can't say that—yes, Abaddon is dead. The Chaos traitor who called himself Warmaster was dead and his flagship was blown up by us. It's a good thing that there's nothing but unclimate Chaos Warbands around the Great Rift, but I still feel..."

He exhaled softly: "Angry."

"One Abaddon is not enough, and one ship is not enough..."

He Shenyan's voice was getting deeper and deeper, and the beam of light was getting darker and darker.

Incel could hear the coffin lid being slowly closed, and the dry and stiff rubbing sound was extremely uncomfortable. However, at the same time, a wave-like anger rose in his heart.

Yes, not enough. He silently agreed.

"Never enough, warriors. Brothers of Sergeant Priad, Astartes of the Iron Serpents... We have won, but are you satisfied?"

Four hundred and sixty voices said in unison: "No."

Two golden lights gleamed in the darkness, staring at a scarlet spot before him: "Yes, no. We are never satisfied."

His voice became high: "Unless all the enemies of mankind are killed by us!"

The golden light is brilliant, he is roaring filial piety.

"The hunt! Warriors! We're going to start the hunt! We don't accept any surrender, we don't accept any form of weakness or roundabout tactics! From now on, we'll find our enemies in the universe, and we'll smash them to pieces in the universe! We Find enemies on the planet and kill them on the planet! We'll fight in the forest, on the Gobi Desert, in the hive, wherever we need us!"

"Until they are all dead! Until that day we will be able to get back here...RIP to Sergeant Priyad."

They heard muffled laughter in the dark, and their hearts surged.

They have a thirst to kill, never before.

Never been.

-------------------------------------

"You killed it?"

"I wish I had killed it."

Angron said to He Shenyan through the medical cabin,

Half of his face is being repaired, and at this time, he can still see the pale bones and squirming muscles, which looks extremely terrifying.

"Its master took it away," he said gloomily.

"This... doesn't quite fit the character of Khorne."

He Shenyan replied thoughtfully: "She should be more happy to see the death fight between you and it, no matter who of you die is a kind of enjoyment for her."

As he spoke, he made a gesture: "We can put this question aside for a while - Angron, how do you feel?"

"Not very good," said Angron calmly. "I could barely feel my right hand, and the repair process was a little too long."

He turned his head and glanced at his empty right hand: "...and, why do I feel so itchy?"

"This is normal, you can't expect the medical cabin to treat warp creatures like you so smoothly." He Shenyan laughed, ignoring Angron's slightly distorted "What did you say?!".

"Itching is a good thing, it proves that your hand is being repaired. According to my estimation, if you continue at this rate, you will be able to come out of the medical cabin in three days at the latest."

"It's too slow." Angron frowned, then stretched out again. "But it's not going to be any better than me."

The Primarch of World-devouring Courage laughed, a smile that was inconvenient to describe thanks to his still-unrepaired face: "I almost chopped it up... Unfortunately, at the last minute, it but disappeared."

"There will be a chance."

"Yes, there will be a chance." Angron sighed.

"However, then again. There's nothing you can do to get me back to normal right away? It's really inconvenient."

He tried his best to show He Shenyan his left hand. Because the repair process inside the medical cabin required the injured to go to sleep, Angron's body was restrained. Although he was awakened briefly, the restraint was not lifted.

"No."

"Really?" Angron asked suspiciously. "You can move the planet and pull the traitors out of the warp, but you can't get me back right away?"

"cannot."

He Shenyan repeated his answer blankly.

Then he said angrily: "What do you think I am? Have a wishing machine that does everything you need? You are a Primarch! Essentially you have nothing to do with humans... You are a warp creature! Let You recover immediately? The demons who have seen ghosts have to wait for a while to be reborn after they die!"

"Hey! Forget about the subspace creatures!"

Angron gave a warning cry, and then was put on the medical cabin by the mage. He was lying still and began to shake his body involuntarily.

When he finally stopped shaking, the mage stepped up again and said unceremoniously, "Are you dissatisfied?"

"...Even if it's true, you can't say it anywhere." Angron made a small protest.

"I just said what happened?" He Shenyan rolled his eyes. "I said so in front of the Emperor himself. What are your dissatisfactions? When we get back to Terra, you can have a good chat with him."

"...What did you do?" Angron looked at him in disbelief, as shocked as seeing a greenskin who loves art and hates fighting.

The mage ignored him, he walked to the door of the room, the smooth wall cracked automatically, and the room fell into darkness again. Angron could only hear his slightly distorted voice: "Rest well, Angron, the battle is far from over."

Of course I know.

-------------------------------------

Awakening from the medical cabin, Givaudron coughed and sat up. Some of the healing fluid that had built up in his lungs had been expelled from his body, but some was still stuck in his throat, and he had to cough for a while.

After he felt completely accustomed, Givaudan walked out of the medical cabin. The lights came on automatically and stayed dim so that Givaudan could adapt. While illuminating the darkness, it also illuminated a figure sitting not far from him.

"...Sir?" Jivaldoren asked suspiciously.

The mysterious visitor showed half of his face from the darkness, and he didn't seem to be in a very happy mood. With a simple finger, Jiva Doren's sticky and naked skin became clean, and there was even an extra robe draped over him.

"Sit down, Givaudan, I have something to tell you."

A chair appeared behind Givaudron, just to fit his enormous size.

"What's the matter with you? Is it about the mission briefing? Yes, I haven't had time to write—"

"—No, it has nothing to do with this, Givaudron."

The mage sat in the dark, his fingers tapped the side eaves of the armrest of the chair, and his tone was calm: "I'm here to inform you about the death of Sergeant Priyad."

Givaudan nodded silently: "...Then, I hope he died in a proper way."

"That's true of him." The mage's voice was a little erratic.

"The planet was briefly pulled into the warp, where time lost its meaning. Sergeant Priyad's helmet recorded uninterrupted calls that lasted three hundred years, once a minute. According to the power armor itself server records, he climbed for 413 years, two months and five days."

The emperor is above.

Givaudan closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and was surprised to find that his voice was so hoarse: "How... how did he do it?"

"I don't know about it either, Givadoron, frankly, he should have died of a warp storm in his second hundred years of climbing - his helmet recorded some of Priyad's sergeant's Whisper, he'd complained a few times about the damn wind. But it wasn't the wind, my guess."

"You understand? He rejected death."

The mage said softly: "Then, after a full four hundred and thirteen years, two months and five days of climbing without supplies, no response, and no companions, Sergeant Priyad completed his task. Your mission, to be exact. He inserted the surface scanner into the top of the mountain, and he didn't call my name until he died."

He got up from his chair, put his hands behind his back, and paced the dimly lit room: "Death deserves, yes, he deserves death. But as long as he shouts like that..."

He Shenyan's voice sounded extremely confused: "I can all receive his signal - I can bring him back. Not only him, but the other members of the Damocles team as well. No one chooses to call me. name."

"I am here to ask you to answer this question for me, Givaudan."

After a long silence, Givaudron replied, "I can't tell you why, my lord. I don't think anyone can understand why Sergeant Priyad can refuse death by his own will. But... ..I can probably guess a little why they would choose not to call you by your name."

"why?"

"Because our lives are insignificant compared to yours," said Givadolen with the utmost seriousness.

"Each of our lives is the Emperor's currency - you're not in it, and if you are, it must be the one that's worth the price and will never be traded. We were Astartes long ago. At that time, I already knew my own destiny, but it is only death, so what is there to fear?"

"The only thing we fear may be this. Namely, our death itself, which cannot be exchanged for the same value - an Astarte killed five traitors before he died, well, he died well. Killed twenty One, he is eligible to enter the history of the Chapter, and the name will be sung..."

"And Sergeant Puliard..." Givaudan said slowly, very slowly. "He is our role model."

He Shenyan almost sighed.

madness.

According to his values, these Astartes seem to be stupidity carved out of a mold, even hopelessly stupid. They have countless hopes of surviving, but they choose the most severe path.

But...he had to say, yes, he had to--"Givadoron, I admire you."

Jiva Duolin heard He Shenyan's voice and saw his shining golden eyes: "You are right, Sergeant Priyad is our role model."

"Come on, Sergeant Jivaldoren, I have something to show you."

Blue light flashed and they appeared inside a bright room. Givaudan stared at the pair of power armor in front of him, a little lost.

Iron gray as the main body, the white shoulder armor has almost faded to black, and the red trim is also broken. The golden eagle representing the empire on the chest is still intact, but it also looks dilapidated.

The same is true of the Iron Snakes Chapter emblem on the right shoulder, which is almost obliterated to the point of being invisible. A power sword and a spear of the sea hung from his waist, and the bolter and three spare magazines hung intact on the right thigh.

"This is...?"

"This is Sergeant Priyad's armor, Givaudron."

As if to confirm his words, the goggles of the armor lit up with a buzzing sound. Jiva Doren clenched his right fist tightly and took two steps back, startled.

"This... him?!"

"Relax." He Shenyan said. "Sergeant Priyad himself did end his service, but his armor didn't seem willing."

"Frankly speaking, all the monks on the ship have their own armor, but your power armor is too old, Jiva Doren... So, are you willing to inherit the power of Sergeant Puliard? First?"

There was a smile in his voice: "We must respect the spirit of the machine, Sergeant Jiva Doren."

Givaudron stepped forward, picked up his helmet, and saw his own reflection in the scarlet eyepiece. Suddenly, he seemed to be tapped lightly on the shoulder.

"I see," replied Givaudron in a low voice.

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Three more tomorrow!