Warhammer: I don't want to become a stinky can!

but.

Hades looked up at the center of the church, where a lifelike statue of a god, entangled in vines and shedding tears, stood.

Sunlight streamed through the brilliant stained glass, illuminating the pure black sculpture and draping it in a shimmering veil of light.

The single tear beside the god's eye seemed poised to fall, as if lamenting the insignificance and ignorance of all living beings.

The outstretched arms seemed to be trying to grab the sons who could still be saved.

If a holy angel or a son of an emperor were here, he would surely marvel at the superb and exquisite achievements of this civilization in religious art, and lament that the artisans of this civilization have long since passed away.

But the person standing here now is an old farmer from Barbarossa, the strongest engineering student from Mars.

Hades glanced at the sculpture.

What?! Necromancers don't look like this!

past.

The white-haired woman stood quietly below the bishop's throne, silently gazing at the figure opposite her.

Colorful light shone upon her, and the dazzling light draped the woman in a dazzling holy garment.

The bishop opposite her was backlit, shrouded in dark shadows.

"Come back, child."

Bishop Mazel, standing before Reibo, spoke with a sigh.

“You are the first holy child in the prophecy, and you can walk in the realm of the gods without punishment.”

“They’re all fake.”

Ruibo spoke up, directly denying all of this.

“You claim to be gods while holding onto a device that harms the human soul, allowing everyone to perish in the harmful force emanating from this device.”

"Is it so hard to accept reality? Why do you insist on using those ancient rumors, which are nothing but nonsense, to support your position?"

"Child, you are too young to understand all of this."

"All men are sinners, consumed by their desires."

"But God chose to forgive, and our ancestors descended on Noah's Ark and settled in the divine realm under God's protection."

"You shouldn't be so obsessed with your desires, child."

"Just empty talk and nonsense."

Ruibo coldly stared at Bishop Mazel.

"You can't explain the so-called divine realm at all, so you use the guise of religion to deceive the world and make everyone suffer!"

"Ignorant, absurd!"

Seeing that the other party was only using scriptures to refute him, Ruibo knew that arguing was no longer very meaningful.

"I will reveal the truth to you and show you that your religion is nothing but a lie!"

After Ruibo finished speaking, she turned and left without looking back. In no time, she was picked up by her companions who were waiting for her outside.

Bishop Mazel stood there, his eyes filled with regret and hesitation.

“My child, if you truly tell us the truth, I will certainly choose your path.”

Standing on the bulletin board, the high and mighty bishop walked down and sat dejectedly on the rows of wooden chairs below.

The statue of God high up in the church gazes upon His believers.

How could he not want to know the truth?

If God loves the world, why would He allow them to continue to suffer through generations of repentance and self-reproach?

The evidence the child presented became increasingly detailed, proving the existence of a "high heaven," suggesting that humanity exists not only here, but also in another place, where the human soul and spirit exist in other forms.

The realm of gods, in fact, is an entity that destroys the human soul and spirit.

Mazel silently picked up the obelisk-shaped necklace and pressed it against his forehead.

God, forgive me for overstepping my bounds.

He let them go.

However, what Mazel didn't know was that the truth was often accompanied by disaster.

Endurance.

Calastiffon sat in his private lounge, closing his eyes to rest.

This should have been a peaceful meditation for him, but at this moment, he felt extremely agitated.

You should go see Mortarion, you know, Karas.

It was originally a plan that the three of you made, but the other two of them abandoned you.

"Do not."

Karas muttered.

Mortarian left them far behind, just as he had done back on Barbaros.

Karastiphon had been trying to catch up with Mortarion, but Mortarion was too fast.

He was born to be God's favorite.

There's no lie about all three being freaks; some people are just too outstanding, which is why they seem out of place.

After realizing he could not surpass Mortarion, or even stand shoulder to shoulder with him, Karastifon was depressed for a long time.

But when the Empire arrived, Karas felt a sense of relief upon learning Mortarion's true identity.

Yes, that's it. No wonder, now everything makes sense.

Karastifon thought darkly that although he was destined to never catch up with Mortarion, at least Hades was still on his side.

That was a different monster from Calathiphon.

Karas knows she is the offspring of an alien and a human, and therefore suffers from discrimination.

But aside from his identity, everyone acknowledges his abilities.

Karas also successfully became the leader of Barbarossa's previous main force.

And Hades?

He remained ostracized by the crowd, like a lost soul wandering the wilderness.

Whenever Karastiphon realized he was no match for Mortarion, he would secretly glance at Hades.

Something found solace in the dark corners of my heart.

He knew that this was not right.

But he couldn't suppress the thoughts that were gradually sliding into the abyss of chaos.

Later, Callas realized he was wrong.

A lithe figure on the dueling cage, a powerful and efficient fight.

It turns out he was always the one at the very back.

what.

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Chapter 119 War Preparations: Ready to Erupt at Any Moment

Endurance.

Preparations for the attack on Galaspa were underway, and Mortarian stood patiently but somewhat annoyed on the command platform above the large simulation room.

You need patience and time to hone a blade sharp enough to cut through the throat of an entire galaxy.

This idea somewhat soothed Mortarian's annoyed mind.

But the thought that the tyrant's whip would be lashing over other people's heads every moment made Mortarian unhappy again.

He had experienced that feeling before—that unforgettable anger, that pain that seeped into his soul, that constant erosion of him, that mockery that tormented his weakness.

No one has the right to arbitrarily place their authority over others, and no one has the right to vent their emotions on others' lives at will.

Someone always has to overthrow tyranny.

He pondered those words, just as he had years ago stood amidst the poisonous gas of Barbarossa, gazing at the distant lord's fortress.

If it wasn't done,

Then, that person will be him.

Beneath the hood of the Lord of Death, in the shadows, a pair of amber eyes, flowing with dark gold, stared down at the audience.

The largest simulation chamber on the Endurance is currently filled with chemical toxic gases simulating the primary planet Galaspa.

Ten thousand Death Guards are currently conducting military exercises.

The bone-white guards moved silently through the poisonous gas, without a sound, methodical yet incredibly fast. Without uttering a word, the death guards tacitly changed formations, marching at an astonishing speed.

Although in their original fate, the Imperials would associate the Deathguards with their role as heavy infantry.

But in reality, the Death Guard earned their name with their impenetrable, anvil-like defenses.

In infantry warfare, they were also known for their rapid marches.

Motalian also cherishes time.

He looked at the ranks below, arranged in multiple circles, and silently recited the strategic analysis in his mind.

These circular formations will be their only shield in the desolate wilderness where there is no cover.

If the war enters a third phase, this is the last way the Death Guard can survive.

It doesn't matter.

Either the tyrant dies, or they die.

Mortarian raised a hand in gesture.

The Death Guards, who had been moving in formation, suddenly changed their positions. The circle tightened, and they emerged from it in groups of three.

Spikes alternate, thrusting in and retracting, tearing apart the enemies surrounding them with lightning speed before returning to their protective ranks.

Soon, the enemy's corpses littered the ground, giving them ample space to allow the Death Guard to catch their breath for a few moments.

A few moments can determine life and death.

Mortarian smiled through his gas mask, clearly satisfied with the outcome of the exercise.

Company Commander Balasin, who was standing nearby, came over in time to report on the fleet's refit.

For the past few months, plasma cutters have been flashing constantly on the walls of the Endurance.

Tech-Sergeant and Mechanic, accompanied by their mech servants, traverse various ships, diligently fulfilling the Primarch's missions.

The tedious modification tasks piled up, outlining Mortalian's ambitions.

The refit of the Fourth Knight assault ship went smoothly. The arresting gear was modified to accelerate to its maximum speed in a short time, the bow was thickened, and the entire hull was reinforced to prevent the ship from falling apart at extreme speeds.

The remaining ships had their hulls thickened, and their artillery fire was concentrated on the hulls.

After Balasin finished his report, Vox stepped forward and reported his assigned tasks to Mortalian.

Vox was the first Barbalusian to hold a management position. A fine young man from the south, Motalian smiled and encouraged him to continue.

"The End, leading the remaining ships, has completed 63 percent of the asteroid collection mission. Of these, 32 percent of the asteroids have been completely processed and have reached the detonation standard."

good very good.

This was a slower step in Mortalian's plan, and he was pleased to see Vox accelerate the task to a satisfactory pace.

Mortarian looked at Vox and patiently waited for the boy to finish his report.

He looked at his pale skin, a distinctive feature of Barbarossian people.

This is a symbol of their life in poison gas.

As Mortalian listened to Vox's report, his thoughts drifted away.