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

Warning after listing:

Readers have commented that this story contains angst, and it currently does!

Warning: There is a knife, and there may be minor poisoning if your taste is different.

Chapters containing violence are marked with a warning; please choose to read them at your own discretion.

Remember, there's a knife!

Then I tried changing the tag, adding one with a knife, but it keeps getting rejected.

Group number 287540541, welcome to join!

I'm a casual reader, I've read the original work, but I haven't finished it (it's too much), and I don't have the money to buy copies.

Those who prefer Warhammer-style stories should probably skip this, as this story only borrows the setting from Warhammer 40k. It's basically still in the style of a light novel; the original is too hardcore for me to write.

If you like reading about the premise, you can continue reading. The protagonist currently has two cheat abilities: being untouchable and having exceptional scientific thinking. However, since it's the early stage, he's still at a novice level.

It's basically a story of an individual fighting against chaos.

I'm just an amateur writer, writing for fun, and I hope you all enjoy reading it too.

Corrections and explanations are welcome.

Chapter 2 Don't arrest me! Ugh!

Barbarossa, at night, in a medium-sized village.

Hades, holding a crossbow, leaned against the earthen wall, his entire body tense and motionless, aiming the crossbow intently at the doorway.

A soft rustling laugh came from outside the door. The wooden door panel looked as if it had been scratched with fingernails, and yellowish-green poisonous gas seeped into the room uncontrollably from the cracks.

Hades stared at the doorway.

A thin, eerily pale finger, covered in a blackish-purple slime, reached in from the top of the crack in the door.

It slid down slowly until it reached the bolt. The moment the slime touched the iron bolt, rust instantly spread onto the metal, turning a nearly new iron bolt into a rusty mess.

Hades anticipated this and raised his crossbow; he only had one chance.

A soft laugh rose again, brushing past Hades' ear.

With a flick of the finger, the bolt was smoothly sliced ​​open like tofu, fell to the ground with a dull thud, and ended its working life.

A huge, eerie human face peered in from the very top of the door, its pale eyes, taking up half of its face, curiously searching for its toy.

In the blink of an eye, the instant the alien peeked into the room, Hades drew his bow and arrow, the arrow flying straight toward the ridiculously large eye!

At the same time, without hesitation, Hades picked up a dagger, holding a crossbow in one hand and a dagger in the other, and rushed towards the door. This alien body called the Pale Laugher was like a long-legged spider, and even if the door was blocked, Hades could run out from under its legs!

Hades made up his mind. After rushing out, he ran into the cornfield. These aliens were not slave-capturing teams of the lords, but rather groups of creatures that roamed in the poisonous fog. They had very low intelligence and attacked villages simply to feed.

The Pale Laughing Ones typically don't stray from their pack and move slowly, meaning that Hades has a chance of survival as long as he runs out of their sight and out of the monsters' hunting circle!

The eerie smiling face seemed oblivious to Hades's resistance as the arrow pierced straight into the monster's pupil.

"Hiss! Hahahaha! Aa ...

Crimson blood spurted from its eyes, blocking the doorway, while the monster's legs throbbed wildly! The immense pain made the smile on its face even more sinister!

Hades ran out from under the monster's feet, using his dagger to parry the wildly flailing legs, but his left arm was still struck hard! Blood splattered!

Running out of the house, Hades saw four or five more Pale Laughing Ones wandering around the village, their gruesome corpses held high above their heads. He recognized Hedyla, who used to play with him; her entrails were splattered on the faces of the Pale Laughing Ones, and their limbs were still struggling—

Hades felt his teeth pierce his lower lip, drawing blood. Anger and resentment gripped him simultaneously, and his mind raced—

The gap was too large, so we had no choice but to run away.

Without the slightest hesitation, adrenaline amplified his senses to the extreme, and he ran desperately toward the white cornfield outside the village, his heart pounding, the wind rushing past his ears.

The pale, laughing creature chased after him closely, its insect-like, pointed feet making a scraping sound as it dug into the soft earth.

Hades could feel its anger; the monster screamed behind him.

—We're almost there!

Hades leaped into the towering cornfield, the corn leaves scraping his face painfully. He ran for his life, the poisonous fumes swirling around him—he was running towards a place with even denser toxic gas, but he had no choice!

When you are weak, there is nothing you can do but run away!

……

Hades didn't know how long he had been running. He kept running and running and running. The sounds behind him gradually faded away, and the hoarse roars faded into the distance. Gradually, all he could hear was the sound of the wind and the crackling of corn leaves.

—That monster went back—

These social monsters don't wander too far on their own; they are in the lower to middle tier of the Barbarus food chain.

He made the right bet.

Hades stopped running when he reached the edge of the cornfield at the very edge of the village.

As the effects of the adrenaline wore off, Hades felt a sharp pain in his chest. He didn't know if it was from the thud of his heart, the pain from inhaling too much poison gas, or both.

His legs were trembling, and blood was dripping from his left arm. Under the influence of the poison gas, the wound had begun to fester.

Hades first looked around to make sure there were no monsters nearby.

He tried to tear open his clothes to bandage himself. In Barbarossa, bleeding is extremely dangerous, as it means you are more easily spotted by hunters and that poison gas can kill you through your wounds.

This is why Hades decided to bandage his wounds first and then find a place to stay for the night; wandering around bleeding was not a good option.

He tried a few times, then found his hands almost frozen—they were stiffly held in the position of gripping the dagger and crossbow.

He had to wait a little longer, trying hard to regain control of his hand. Finally, he regained sensation in his hand, and used his dagger to cut off a piece of the hem of his long-sleeved shirt to do a simple bandage on his left arm.

No herbs, damn it, he forgot to bring them.

Finally, he shook his left arm; bloodstains stained the torn sleeve, and the smell of blood was still there, but the bleeding had stopped.

There's no way to clean the wounds or remove the smell of blood. The water available directly on Barbarus is contaminated, and the drinkable water needs to be filtered beforehand.

Hades realized he had been too careless; he could have brought a water bottle and herbs, but the sudden attack interrupted him and he only took his weapons and gas mask.

Still careless.

This means that the time ahead will be very difficult.

Hades gritted his teeth. Every part of his body ached. The little bit of thin porridge he drank for dinner was not enough to cover the exertion he had just experienced. His limbs felt weak and his mind was blank.

In other words, now he has to kneel down if any poisonous toad attacks him.

He reloaded the crossbow, put it back in his pocket, and, knife in hand, staggered through the cornfield. He knew there was a newly dug grave in the nearby cornfield, where the carriage containing the dead man's body was also located, and he could find some cover there.

However, in reality, Barbaros never showed any pity for the weak.

A commotion arose in the distance, and Hades quickly burrowed into the depths of the cornfield. He lay half-prone, clutching his wound tightly with his hand to prevent the smell of blood from escaping.

As time went on, Hades was able to clearly distinguish those sounds.

Footsteps, wails, the distinctive roar of steam-powered vehicles, the clatter of tank tracks.

Holy crap!!! Holy crap!!!

It's a slave-hunting squad from a high-ranking alien lord!

Is Hades really going to send this here today?!

Although the puppets under the lord's spell had little reason, they could easily distinguish the smell of blood in the poison gas, and Hades didn't expect to escape detection.

In an instant, a huge net, soaked in poison, fell precisely on Hades' head.

Hades did not struggle; he could not break free of such a thing on his own. He could only make the desperate choice of remaining still for the time being to conserve his strength.

He was dragged out of the cornfield and roughly shoved into the overcrowded back of a truck.

He numbly looked around; men, women, and children—everyone was crying in despair.

There was no chance of winning, not even a sliver of a chance. The power disparity was enormous in this world filled with absolute malice.

This is the world of Warhammer, where weakness is always the original sin.

He can't save anyone; he can't even save himself.

Despair and exhaustion overwhelmed Hades, and he fainted.

Hades is crying like a jerk who's had his toes stepped on today.

Well, a little bit of torture, a little bit of torture is good for the soul. The protagonist's weakling fate will have to continue for a few more chapters, after all, he's still young, and it's a Grimdark world.

The author tries to strike a balance between being abused and being unstoppable.

Later on, after becoming the Death Guardian Astartes, the protagonist will have his unparalleled moments.

Chapter 3 A Life Not Yet Destined to Die

Hades, clutching the dagger, awoke amidst the jolts and cries of the people.

He shook his head, and his consciousness gradually returned.

I just fainted from exhaustion.

The truck carrying the people was still moving slowly forward. Based on the incline, Hades judged that they were climbing mountains—and had already reached a low to medium altitude.

As the night in Barbarossa ends, the puppets who have finished hunting slaves are transporting them to the alien lord's fortress atop the mountain.

Hades gritted his teeth and crawled into the completely enclosed cage containing them, tapping the floor as he searched for the weakest point in the cage.

Yes, he wanted to escape, even if there was no hope, even if the odds were against him. As long as Hades had a breath left, he would never give up.

He refused to accept his fate.

Even if captured, he can struggle with his limbs to find a way out; even if his limbs are broken, he can bite his enemy with his teeth; even if his teeth are broken, he can stare at his opponent with a contemptuous look and spit out a mouthful of blood to tell him that Hades will never accept his fate!

There was only one chance to escape, and it could only be now. If time continued to pass, the slave caravan would travel to a higher altitude—where the gas in Barbarossa was far more deadly, and the makeshift gas masks the people made were utterly ineffective against it. They would struggle to their deaths in minutes of agonizing suffocation.

Lacking information about the mountainous terrain, Hades could only decide to break the cage first. At this point, he could only adapt to the situation and take it one step at a time.

In the cramped, enclosed space, people wailed and wept. Hades squeezed past those around him, shutting out all other noises, and tapped the floor, intently searching for the weakest spot.

Finally, he found it.

He shoved aside an old woman sitting on top, sobbing (she looked old, but was probably only thirty). The woman completely ignored Hades; most of the people in the warehouse were consumed by fear and could only weep.

He took out his dagger and began to chisel at the ground. The poison gas was a great help to him; the floor, which had been exposed to the poison gas for a long time, was not as hard as it looked. Hades quickly chiseled out a small pit.

A higher concentration of poisonous gas drifted in through the small hole, and Hades saw hope—small, but present.

But it's still not enough.

Hades continued to dig frantically, the clanging of his chisels and the toxic gas seeping in from outside slowly rising from beneath him.

As he acted, the crying in the carriage gradually ceased. These villagers, who had spent their entire lives hiding and weeping, driven to the brink of collapse by fear, stared blankly at Hades' actions.

They seemed not to have realized what Hades was doing, but at the same time, they did—

Now is still a time to struggle.

A strong, lean young man emerged from the crowd; he was dressed in rags and had a cunning look on his face.

He crawled to Hades' side on his knees and patted Hades on the shoulder.

"let me help you."

Hades was taken aback. He turned to look at the man and found that his hands were empty.

"You don't even have a knife, how do you plan to help me?"

The young man paused for a moment, then lowered his head and spoke as if he had made a great decision.

"I am a psionicist."

Hades' mind went blank. There were practically no living, adult, healthy psionicists on Barbarus.

A thought flashed through Hades' mind like lightning.

"You're Typhon? Karas Typhon?!"

The other party nodded bitterly.

"What? Even now, you still look down on me as a freak?"

Hades shook his head instantly, his gaze fixed firmly on Typhon, his eyes shining brightly.