179 Terra (41, In the Eyes of Mortals

Ollanius Persson found his legs were trembling.

This is not a good thing. People always hope to remain brave and that everything can become the best version of what they imagine. But the world is always cruel, and it will inevitably send a warning with certain signs at some point.

It will use this to tell you that you are not brave, just as I am not wonderful.

But what choices do people actually have?

Reluctantly, Ollanius Persson reached out and grasped the blade of the Apollonian Spear, complying with Constantine Valdor's request.

"Looking back on the past is something you must do," said the Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal, standing opposite him.

His Auramite armor was soaked with thick, sticky blood, which was slowly spreading along the magnificent patterns, gradually staining the seemingly perfect gold with crimson.

The whole process was very natural, as if it were meant to be. They were not created for this purpose, but they evolved this effect through long-term killing.

However, in stark contrast to this bloody yet aesthetically pleasing scene, Valdor's expression was calm, so calm that it was impossible to tell that he had just experienced a massive massacre.

This expression made Adebiman Basley, who was squatting above them, narrow his eyes slightly and slowly reveal a somewhat wicked smile.

"You really don't know how to talk. Even we don't often use such a commanding tone, Lord Constantine Valdor."

"The lieutenant of the Third Company of Night Lords chuckled, as if mocking Valdor. The enormous Daemon head he crouched on was ablaze, yet the black flames did not harm him in the slightest."

"Words are pale; actions often speak louder than words," the Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal replied calmly, without even glancing at his adjutant. "So grasp it, grasp it tightly, Ollanius Persson."

Ollanius Persson raised his head and gave Adebiman a dry look. The latter shrugged and lightly jumped off the Daemon's head.

It wasn't quite dead yet; its spirit from the Warp was being tortured in the dark flames, its wailing screams echoing endlessly, but no one present found the sound noisy.

Who would hate the screams of the enemy? No one present had any extra kindness to spare, and no matter how much the war had worn down their humanity, even if they were to give away the last bit of goodness they had left, they would not give it to the Daemon.

Ollanius Persson turned to look at the thing, his Adam's apple bobbing.

He lived a long time, and although most of his memories had faded into the deep scars left by time, he still remembered some things.

For example, there are the Unborn, beings that arise from the tides of Chaos, born with twisted forms and equally twisted life forms. They are almost immortal, and can only be truly killed in a few circumstances.

Ollanius Persson knew some methods before and had even practiced some of them, but now he added a completely new piece of knowledge—of course, this wasn't the only new knowledge he had left in his mind today.

From the moment the eerie Ghost of the Eighth Legion carried him along through the thick fog, a series of new yet increasingly unsettling pieces of knowledge began to flood his mind.

In the fragmented and chaotic flow of time, he followed the Night Lords in their hunt for the scattered Word Bearers, watching them fight, win, or die. The number of the former and the latter was almost equal, which greatly shocked Ollanius Persson.

In his view, these Astartes of the Eighth Legion were already inhumanly powerful. Their skill in committing bloody murders was almost unparalleled in the entire galaxy, yet the Word Bearers' depravity was completely on par with theirs.

Undoubtedly, such a description is strange, contrasting a corrupt and twisted traitor with a legion completely loyal to the Imperium and humanity, but Ollanius Persson remembers many things and has seen many things.

In other words, he could vaguely sense what the Night Lords were hiding beneath that human skin.

He wasn't surprised by this; after all, this was his Eighth Legion. He knew that man and how ruthless he could be when necessary.

Then, the encounter that Constantine Valdor had just finished brought him to Ollanius Persson's side. It's hard to say that this was a coincidence, at least Ollanius Persson himself didn't think it was.

Rewinding time several decades, back to when Ollanius Persson was still joining the army in order to have his own piece of land, he had already heard of these golden-armored guards surrounding the "The Emperor" back then.

People spread news about them and the Emperor from street to street, but most of those who had actually seen them chose to remain silent, as if they wanted to keep that glory permanently in their hearts through silence.

Only a few busybodies like to loudly proclaim the majesty of the Adeptus Custodes and the Emperor in the streets, making it sound as if they had actually seen them with their own eyes.

Ollanius Persson had heard some of these people's stories before, not for any other reason than sheer curiosity. He left when he heard about the "golden guard," and judged that the stories were half true and half false, a standard trick of con artists who only told half the truth.

If he were to give his opinion, then in his view, the story of the Emperor smilingly receiving an artist or a soldier is definitely fake, but the story of the Golden Guard is most likely true.

At that time, he felt that the person he knew truly remained unchanged. He also wondered how someone's fondness for a certain color could transcend so many years.

But now, when he saw Constantine Valdor with his own eyes, he realized that they were actually far more than just so-called "guardians".

Each of them is his eyes, his mouthpiece, his outstretched limbs. Their grip on weapons is equivalent to his grip on weapons; their killing is equivalent to his killing.

In other words, he is watching him.

Ollanius Persson took a slow, deep breath, then released his grip under Valdor's icy, almost murderous gaze, letting his fingers slide naturally off the spear tip.

His combat gloves had long since been thrown into some stinking mud puddle, yet his right hand remained unharmed, as if the unique weapon knew exactly when it was supposed to hurt him.

Ollanius Persson naturally grasped this, and thus felt even more compelled to sigh.

"No, I refuse," said Ollanius Persson. "Unless he comes to speak with me in person."

"He's busy," the Adeptus Custodes refused curtly. "You understand his busyness, Ollanius Persson. Although I despise your betrayal, you are truly one of the few people on Terra who understands him right now. So stop acting so naively."

"I can't be bothered to refute your 'naive' viewpoint, but I've never understood him," the man who once stood shoulder to shoulder with the Emperor spoke slowly. "Just like I still don't understand what this gem is."

He pulled it from his chest with his left hand. It was quietly bound by a rough metal chain and hung around his neck. The heavy weight had already cut deep bloody marks on Ollanius Persson's neck, making it look horrifying, as if he would be beheaded by that weight at any moment.

Ollanius Persson held it and tapped the gem lightly with his finger. Valdor immediately glared at him angrily.

A nonchalant, fake smile slowly spread across the veteran's face, "Let's get down to business, shall we, Lord Constantine Valdor?"

The Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal nodded coldly.

"Look, he asked me to give this gem to 'him,' so the question is, 'who is he?' And where is 'he'?"

Ollanius Persson deliberately exhaled the sigh that had been held back in his chest, intentionally provoking Valdor's disgust.

"You'd love to see this," Ollanius Persson thought with a mocking laugh, before uttering the following words.

"I'm not someone who doesn't know the gravity of the situation; I know just how critical Terra's situation is right now. So, let's be honest with each other, sir. I'll speak the truth."

"If I were to fight for humanity and die here, making this my final resting place, I would be honored. After all, this is my home planet, and no one wants to be buried in their homeland. But I will not fight for him again unless he explains everything to me."

He suppressed his smile, raised his head seriously, and looked into Valdor's eyes. His gaze possessed a terrifying penetrating power, as if he wanted to stare through those eyes at another person.

"Everything," he said softly. "Nothing, nothing hidden. That's my only condition."

Valdor stared at him intently.

Adebiman Basley whistled. "I'm truly flattered to hear so many secrets—well, good luck, Company Commander Ollanius Persson, I have other matters to attend to."

He blinked, and the black flames in his eyes suddenly surged. The fake smile, after a brief pause, transformed into a truly terrifying grin. Ollanius Persson knew then that this group of killers among killers, assassins among assassins, had found another group of targets to kill.

But can you kill them all?

Ollanius Persson suddenly felt like asking him this question, and so he actually asked it, "How long are you going to do this?"

The adjutant raised an eyebrow in slight surprise and glanced at him. He then turned to look at Constantine Valdor, and only after seeing the very obvious contemplation on the Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal's face did Adebiman finally smile, walk over to Ollanius Persson, and affectionately put his arm around his shoulder.

"Alright, Company Commander, brother," he whispered, even using the word "brother." "You've hit the nail on the head, but I can't answer you because we don't really know the answer either."

"But you might..."

"Shh," Adebiman winked at him. "Some things are better left unsaid. Leaving room for interpretation is a very important literary technique. Haven't you seen our published poetry collection? It's a collection co-authored with the Raven Guard."

Ollanius Persson shook his head.

"And what about the book from our exclusive Remembrancers, Bellros von Sharp?" Adebiman asked cheerfully.

Ollanius Persson nodded.

"Ha, I knew you'd seen it—anyway, take care of your own affairs first. If we're both lucky enough, maybe one day when you're trembling in the darkness, you'll see us again."

He burst into laughter, released his grip, and shoved Ollanius Persson in front of Constantine Valdor, who happened to be looking up.

A thick fog roared in, instantly enveloping the Night Lords. A gloomy flash of lightning disappeared in an instant, and when the fog dissipated, they had vanished without a trace. All that remained were the still-burning corpses of Daemon and the souls of the undead being interrogated in black flames.

Ollanius Persson had no time to observe this scene any longer, for Constantine Valdor had already seized him and pierced his chest with the Apollonian Spear. In that instant, his eyes were pure gold.

Ollanius Persson uttered an ancient curse at him, meaning coward.

"Constantine Valdor" answered him in the same ancient language.

"Ollanius," he sighed calmly, "What is it that you want to know?"

--

Drifting, as if returning naked to the mother's embrace.

Ollanius hadn't felt this way in a long time. It was sad, but also quite normal. He had long forgotten his mother's face. His memory was shattered into millions of completely different fragments, unconnected yet all originating from the same source.

These are all the roles a man has played throughout human history: potter, soldier, lumberjack, priest, teacher. The professions he has held and the lives he has experienced are countless, yet his mind has not grown at all in the immeasurable long span of time.

In myths and legends, those who live a long time often serve as wise mentors who guide the protagonists. They have white hair but youthful faces, and their eyes shine with Radiance. They are always able to utter surprising and humorous remarks.

But Ollanius was not that kind of person. He was a cynical, conformist, suffering from a long life and a broken mind, always switching between a state of daze and a desire to do something.

But he wasn't like that at the beginning. He was once just as ambitious, hoping to use his eternal life to do something for humanity—or rather, for himself.

Until he met him, until they burned the Tower of Babel

And so everything began to crumble; friendship, trust, and everything else vanished into nothingness.

"You destroyed me!" Ollanius heard one of his own voices scream. "You burned everything I cherished to ashes! How could you even attempt to wield that power?!"

"There's no point in bringing up the past," the Perpetual replied coldly. "If you've only come to vent your anger on me, trying to find a way to quell this resentment that has lasted for tens of thousands of years—"

"--No."

Ollanius Persson coughed as he stood up from the darkness.

"No."

He spoke forcefully, stuffing his profile, his name, and those chaotic fragments back into the depths of his heart, like squeezing a flintlock pistol barrel back and forth with a swivel, forcing lead bullets and gunpowder inside.

He did it, even though it was very difficult, he still managed to do it.

He's fired tens of thousands of flintlock musket rounds.

"I'm not here for an explanation, I'm not some nagging idiot, or some country bumpkin. Besides, you bastard will never admit you made a mistake," Ollanius Persson said. "I don't care why you always try to keep everything a secret. Your terrible personality isn't my fault, and I'm nobody to you. I'm not your problem. I'm only here for one thing, and only one thing."

After saying this, he shook his head absently. The Apollonian Spear was still affecting him; the weapon's embryonic form originated long ago. Ollanius Persson recognized it the moment he saw it. Frankly, he was somewhat surprised, because he hadn't expected it.

"You actually—" Ollanius Persson lowered his head and began to vomit. "How did you make it?"

"A few brilliant ideas, and tens of thousands of years of trial and error," the Perpetual said. "The former is far more important than the latter."

Ollanius Persson looked up and wiped his mouth. His tongue was numb, as if what he had just vomited was not undigested food and stomach acid, but poison.

He coughed again, feeling as if the world was turning upside down, but thankfully he could still stand and didn't collapse into his own vomit. Ollanius Persson braced himself on his knees, bent over, and began to gasp for breath.

"The gem," he mumbled. "Who do you want me to give it to?"

I can't say.

"You fucking--"

"--This isn't because of secrecy, or because I think you're not qualified to know," the Perpetual interrupted him, continuing, "Until the dust settles, all answers are meaningless. Even if I told you, the answer could change at the last second. But you need to carry it with you until then, Ollanius."

Ollanius Persson didn't speak, but slowly straightened up and pulled the metal chain off his neck so that the Perpetual could see the deep bloodstain.

"Your new friend, the one named Malcador."

What's wrong with him?

He gave me a task.

"Indeed." The Perpetual nodded slightly. "But that's not your primary task. You have other things to do before you reunite with them."

A cold smile crept across Ollanius Persson's face, "How strange, you're now willing to explain what I need to do in just a few words."

"Isn't this what you asked for?" the Perpetual retorted. "Or do you still feel it's not enough? Do you have any other demands?"

Ollanius Persson slowly shook his head.

"That's all," he said. "Probably."

"So--"

"--No, I have one last question." Oll Persson suddenly interrupted him. "I need you to tell me, do you really understand what you're doing?"

No one answered, only Constantine Valdor's eyes, now calm, and his right hand, outstretched in a way that could not be refused.

"We should set off now," said the Adeptus Custodes Marshal, his voice unusually weary. "We still have a long way to go."

What he said is true.

This chapter is 5k words long. I'll have dinner first, then there'll be another chapter. The voting for the extra chapters ends before midnight tonight. Considering that there are people who want to read all three extra chapters, I'll extend the deadline according to the number of votes and write all three.

After all, the Chinese New Year is almost here.

(End of this chapter)

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