186 Terra (XLIV, Sowing Hope)

Ollanius Persson had lost count of how many Astartes he'd encountered on Terra, but he had no time to concern himself with that now.

The thought flashed through his mind like a shooting star, then vanished just as quickly. And now, something else was troubling him even more. This other matter, far more important than that fleeting idea, was what kept his attention.

He also needs to focus.

"Almost there, almost there, hang in there," he muttered to himself, blood and sweat streaming down his forehead.

The Boltgun, made of rags and hanging from his shoulder, was punishing his lower back for his incorrect walking posture; the rough, hard butt of the gun was slamming against his bones with a sharp pain. But this was nothing compared to the agony his fingers were experiencing, which was almost making them numb.

This wasn't the first time Ollanius Persson had experienced such a moment. He could vaguely recall many kinds of pain, but they were all memories of the past and not as profound as the one before him.

But he had to continue. He had to endure the pain, hunger, and exhaustion; he had to endure it all.

"It's as if I was born to endure all of this, ha."

"One more step, you bastard!"

He abandoned the idea, stepped onto a dirt slope, and roared as he dragged an Astartes clad in black armor up the slope amidst a hail of bullets.

He couldn't have done this on his own; he relied on the glowing gem in his chest to accomplish this feat. Yet, he still had to bear the consequences and responsibilities—the bare bone worn away at his fingers by the seams of his shoulder armor was proof of that.

He kept walking, walking, single-mindedly and intently, oblivious to the bullets whizzing past his head or ears. A few minutes later, he dragged the giant back into a trench filled with the smell of blood.

An Astartes approached, Ollanius Persson looked up and recognized him from his red and gold armor and insignia.

This was a Blood Angels, and exactly the kind of Blood Angels he needed—a junior healer, a squad Apothecary.

The man's face was covered in blood, and his deliberately shaved short hair hung wetly on his head. He approached Ollanius Persson, gently pulled Ollanius Persson's hand away, and silently began his examination.

He seemed to lack complete medical equipment, possessing only a rudimentary medical external arm guard attached to his right hand, which was now emitting a series of rapid beeping sounds on the pale-faced, tightly closed-eyed Raven Guard's face.

The Blood Angels shook his head sadly.

"You are brave, mortal," he said, his voice low and deep, his back to Ollanius Persson. "But you are more than just brave; you pulled him back from the front lines with your own hands. It seems many miracles have happened today."

"But this venerable brother of the Raven Guard has left us forever. His meninges failed to function properly, and the omnipresent evil forces diminished the aid from the surgery. He is dead, but we will remember him."

"How can we remember him?" Ollanius Persson gasped for breath, uttering a sarcastic remark that seemed to be directed at no one in particular. "We don't even know his name."

The Blood Angels silently turned around and drew his Boltgun from his waist with his left hand. Ollanius Persson also took out his gun from behind him and switched off the safety.

"But we can still know each other's names. What's your name, soldier?"

"Ollanius Persson." Ollanius Persson said, glancing down. Only then did he realize that the white cloth strip on his chest had disappeared.

"I am Meros," the Apothecary introduced himself. "I come from the 9th Company of the Blood Angels, and I am an Apothecary. Now, you and I will live and die together."

He stood up and began firing at the attacking enemy from above the trench. Ollanius Persson turned around with difficulty, poked the muzzle of his gun out through the pre-drilled peephole, and pulled the trigger all the way down.

There was no need for aiming anymore; the ground was shaking. The trenches wouldn't have been shaking unless the enemy was charging in a mass attack.

He didn't know how the Imperial Fists managed to do that, but the trenches they built were indeed incredibly sturdy. Except for artillery bombardment or mass charges, they wouldn't budge an inch.

Amidst the roar of gunfire, Ollanius Persson quickly emptied his first magazine and began changing to his last.

In that instant, his complaining nature once again took over.

He thought that if Constantine Valdor could give him a little more time, he could get more supplies. But he was always in a hurry, even more so than he was, and in the end, for the sake of securing one front, he chose to temporarily part ways with me.

If you're so capable, then finish the job in one go, you golden-haired bastard. If you die, who am I supposed to find to guide me now?

The veteran, his face contorted with rage, inserted the magazine into the Boltgun and pulled the trigger all the way down again. He could barely hear anything; his eardrums had been severely damaged once more.

Hearing the firing of two Boltgun at such close range, one of which was Astartes- sized, he no longer expected the gem in his chest to heal him again.

Moreover, sometimes he would rather be deaf.

"War is eroding what little humanity you have left, Ollanius," a voice told him. "You still have a chance to escape, to get rid of all this."

Yeah, yeah, and then what? To eke out a living like a fucking caveman, hiding in the galaxy, watching these bastards enslave humanity?

Ollanius Persson retorted to himself, suddenly grinning broadly.

"They're here!" he shouted. "Prepare for close combat!"

He sheathed his Boltgun, drew his bayonet from his waist, and attached it to the underside of the barrel. The Apothecary nodded to him, then knelt down again, a gleaming serrated dagger suddenly popping out from the medical external arm guard on his right hand.

"We will live and die together," the Apothecary said solemnly.

Ollanius Persson didn't hear those words; he was busy calming his racing heart.

The first enemy to jump into the trench appeared half a minute later; he was Cultists far stronger than many of his brethren.

His body was swollen in a strange, absolutely abnormal way, neither like muscle nor fat. His eyes gleamed with madness. Ollanius Persson rushed over and stabbed him to the ground with his bayonet.

He resisted, clumsily swinging his broken machete, trying to cut off Ollanius Persson's legs, but he was too slow; Ollanius Persson had already smashed his head to pieces long before that.

His death is the beginning, but when will the end come?

The second enemy arrived quickly: a Daemon with a human face and a dog's body. With agility far exceeding that of the Cultists, it pounced on Ollanius Persson and knocked him to the ground. The Apothecary saved his life, and Blood Angels a serrated dagger to dismember it, then pulled Or up. The two of them began to run wildly along the trench.

They shot and killed the enemies who jumped down to try and intercept them, running without looking back, completely ignoring the bullets flying from behind. They could keep killing for a while, because those charging ahead were always these Cultists and low-level Daemon who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

→

At first, these Cultists were all barely clothed and looked savage. However, after Ollanius Persson had been deep in the darkness for a while, he saw something that chilled him to the bone.

For example, the Cultists suddenly put on military uniforms, and some even had the Imperial Aquila completely covered by the Chaos Star tattooed on their foreheads. He could roughly guess the reason, but he couldn't control it or do anything about it.

For example, right now, facing enemies surging like a tidal wave, the only thing Ollanius Persson can do is run, run like crazy, and try not to fall behind.

Meros cleared the way for him, the Blood Angels's back resolute. No Cultists could approach them; those wielding blades or spears were cut down, while those with explosives strapped to their bodies were shot one by one.

Their fanatical actions would inflict heavy casualties on the enemy ranks. However, such easy slaughter could not last long, and soon, a Sons of Horus came after them.

"Traitor," the Apothecary muttered hatefully.

The Sons of Horus did not answer, but instead drove away the fanatical Cultists and repelled the Daemon with even stronger shouts. He stood before Ollanius Persson and Meros with his sword in hand and slowly raised it.

The Apothecary charged at him, and Ollanius Persson raised his gun to cover him. The Sons of Horus turned sideways, using his shoulder armor to block all the bullets, and forced back the Apothecary, who only had a serrated dagger. He began to pace slowly, his gaze cautiously sweeping over his former brother, now his mortal enemy. Ollanius Persson coughed up a mouthful of phlegm mixed with blood and began to take a deep breath.

Not wearing a helmet, not wearing a helmet, and still trying to play this stupid one-on-one game.

He raised his gun and began to aim with all his might. Behind him, the Cultists muttered obscene and vulgar language in Low Gothic, and it was then that Ollanius Persson realized his hearing had returned.

He was somewhat annoyed—hadn't I already told you? You can keep me deaf all this time.

Meros launched a second charge, fighting the man at a speed Ollanius Persson couldn't even see, and then separated again after a dozen seconds. Ollanius Persson couldn't see what they did to each other, but he could see the result.

Meros's left hand was completely severed below the elbow by the traitor's blade, but the Sons of Horus was not faring any better. With a determination to exchange injury for life Blood Angels plunged his serrated dagger deep into the traitor's weak side of the abdomen, creating a gruesome, bleeding gash.

Ollanius Persson began to aim.

You only have one chance, understand, old man? If you miss, you'll die here. If you hit, you can live for another ten seconds, and that will allow this Blood Angels to live a little longer.

He was so engrossed in reading these things that he completely forgot about the jewel on his chest and the task he had been given.

The gem made no comment, merely emitting a faint glow that went unnoticed by anyone. Then, Ollanius Persson vaguely heard a strange, almost imperceptible commotion behind them. He ignored it, but suddenly remembered the Raven Guard and felt a pang of guilt.

Not long ago, they sacrificed hundreds of lives to help Ollanius Persson and Constantine Valdor pass through a horde of Daemon, but now, he has left one of them behind in the enemy's camp.

He will be insulted, he will be. They will not let him go; they will savagely tear open his armor, take out his entrails and devour them, break his bones, peel off his face, and proudly treat him as a trophy.

Ollanius Persson's fingers trembled for a moment; he had an urge to turn and fire behind him. He quickly forgot the impulse and began to take deep breaths with complete rationality and calmness.

Meros remained silent and charged towards the Sons of Horus. The other raised his sword, ready for battle. The world before Ollanius Persson began to slow down, and he miraculously saw the Sons of Horus's movements, as well as Meros's movements.

The Apothecary was still using his old tactic of trading injury for life, attempting to strike the still-bleeding wound again with his short blade. The traitor, however, raised his sword high, intending not to parry or entangle any further, but only to kill him cleanly and decisively with one blow.

His name flashed through Ollanius Persson's mind.

The supreme, damned, cursed, Lord whom I both despise and love—

He pulled the trigger.

The explosive bullet spun out of the barrel, striking his wound before the Sons of Horus's sword could fall.

Blood splattered.

So precise, so deadly. The human-sized Boltgun cruelly destroyed the pride and life of this Astartes. His eyes widened as the blade fell limply to the ground.

A sudden burst of noise erupted from all around. The Apothecary rolled over, picked up the Power Sword, and quickly turned around. Like a tiger among sheep, he began to sweep away the heretics, while still managing to pull Ollanius Persson away.

"That was a perfect shot, Ollanius Persson!" he exclaimed in praise. "You bought us a few more minutes of life, you earned us honor!"

He swung his sword and killed a Daemon that tried to charge at him. Ollanius Persson didn't answer, but instead stabbed the enemies surging towards them with his dagger. He was out of bullets; that was his last shot.

"That was truly a fateful final shot," he said with a wry smile.

"And now, we will use this time you've earned to kill even more traitors for the Emperor and Terra!" the Blood Angels roared, his resolute words causing even the most heartless and emotionless traitors to waver for a moment. "For Sanguinius!"

For

Ollanius Persson took a deep breath.

"Perhaps we don't have to die," he said. "There's someone—"

He was telling the truth, though he didn't finish his sentence. A dark Shadow stirred up a bloody wave among the Cultists, his hands flashing with Lightning Claw, his blood-stained face twitching. Even from such a distance, Ollanius Persson could clearly see his face.

That was the Raven Guard he had rescued, the Raven Guard whom Meros had diagnosed as dead, whose name was Alastor Rorschach, and whose brothers called him Raven.

He reached them in five seconds, covered in blood, his body parts cruelly sliding off his armor, the Raven Guard emblem gleaming in the blood, as if he had returned from hell.

"Let's go," the crow mumbled. "Before they find us."

They started running again, and Ollanius Persson's lungs and legs began to torment him once more, yet he felt a wave of dizziness. He didn't know where Constantine Valdor was, nor how much longer his mission would last, but he seemed to realize something.

So, this is what I'm supposed to do?

He looked down at the gemstone, which was glowing, as if in approval.

Update complete. This chapter is 4k words long, totaling 12,000 words.

By the way, do you think this is okay? One chapter of side story and one chapter of main text per day. I don't think there's a problem with writing it, but I feel the reading experience might be a bit disjointed. The root cause is still the issue of Qidian's volume division.