Observations from the 50th Company Era (11, The Dead Return

Calth

This was Karyl's first visit to it.

Even if we go back ten thousand years, he had never been here before, but that didn't stop him from understanding this place. So, why is this world so special?

Ironically, there's only one reason—because so many people died here, practically the entire world was wiped out.

Even a normal Chaos invasion isn't this extreme. Even the Khorne's army, which thirsts for skulls and slaughter, will leave behind some of the weak that they disdain to kill as slaves or other things.

Unlike Calth, which was bombed from the very beginning of the war, endless bombing followed by targeted demolitions, cult rituals, and Daemon invasions. Loyalists and traitors fought each other on this blood-soaked land, disregarding all other consequences.

The tragedy lies in the fact that when the loyalists achieve a brief victory and look back, they discover that what they fought for has already vanished.

Civilization was destroyed, cities were scorched into ashes by a rain of fire from the sky, and the people they swore to protect became the skeletons buried beneath. The sounds of children or university students reading aloud were no longer heard; only corpses, ruins, blood, and tattered flags remained.

There were no insects in the pit; they were the most adept at seeking advantage and avoiding harm, and they had already left the moment Karyl arrived.

He knew he was losing control at the time, but then again, who can say he isn't losing control now?

He observed the dust intently and soon made a discovery. Half a minute later, he dragged a deformed skeleton out of the ground, but compared to before, the ground where he was standing had become a deep pit.

And if you were still conscious, you would most likely want to kill them. Or rather, kill them again.

Karyl received no answers; he could not give those souls any responses, and he could not even save what he cherished most.

Then he realized that, ultimately, this was not the failure of one or two people, but a desperate struggle of an entire race in the face of overwhelming malice.

"I should be the one saying that to you," Sevatar replied in a muffled voice. He then turned and walked into the darkness, carrying with him the skeleton that had remained intact for ten thousand years.

He didn't actually have anything to do in Calth; he just wanted to come, and so a certain fragment hidden there answered his call.

It's truly laughable. The fallen soldiers certainly had no shortage of weapons, yet these creatures preferred not to use them, instead dismantling them and refining them into savage weapons.

It's as if they'd rather wear human skin than any clothes at all.

Is it a passive opposition to civilization, or a deliberate attempt to be guided?

Karyl approached the nearest mutant with his bare hands, intending to get answers from him.

In just a few minutes, this place will return to its original state, becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the surface of Calth. A deathly gray desert, inconspicuous mutated plants with skins as rough as rock, where soil-eating insects will thrive.

From that moment on, the souls that ventured to the wasteland no longer carried only deep-seated hatred. Beyond hatred, these people who died because of Calth possessed something else—a thought, or a question.

He squinted, removing the psychic protection from his eyes, and thus, excruciating pain began. He was temporarily blind, a process that could be permanent if his healing process wasn't accelerated.

Karyl looked up at the sky.

Jago Sevatarion was able to communicate with animals even as a child, and although those animals may not actually exist, they did give him inspiration.

"What is it?" Karyl asked.

They brought him stories of the dead, words of the dead, and endless illusions. This talent had been sealed away after he became the first reserve, until a few days ago when it returned.

It was a pleasant surprise, but Karyl wasn't really happy about getting it. He didn't even want to tell anyone else about it or make it special.

With his eyes lowered, he slowly emerged from the deep pit, his psionic light flashing and drawing the surrounding soil back into the pit.

With lifeless eyes and hollow voices, they wandered across the wasteland, questioning the blood-red sky.

I imagine that after you died, your body was mostly covered by the mud stirred up by the bombing. Your colleagues and your superiors ran over it, their bullets and blood covering it, and of course, the corpses of traitors—you must have kept them company.

"Your psychological problems are getting worse," Karyl said, handing Sergeant Herlock's remains to Sevatar. "You really should see a doctor; if this continues, I'm afraid you'll suddenly go mad one night."

What made you suddenly change your attitude?

"What did you see, Sevatar?"

Sevatar gave an obvious fake smile and deliberately let out a long sigh.

The corpse was formerly known as Herlock, from the Numinas 61st Company in Calth.

However, he was ultimately not a philosopher or scholar; throughout his life, his greatest skill was nothing more than killing. He failed to save anything, just like these people.

Just like now.

They all carried rudimentary weapons, mostly crudely made spears with bone handles and stone blades. A few stronger men held metal spears, which, judging from their color, were mostly taken from some of the unfortunate Calth who had died in battle.

This fragment, which somehow ended up among the bones of Sergeant Herlock, is now in his hand.

Although it was never exactly flat, it certainly wouldn't have been treated like this before Karyl arrived.

Two hours later, he walked back to the Calth's Sons's encampment, where Jago Sevatarion was already waiting at the door, as if he had known all along that he would return.

Karyl also knew that their database must still contain the name of Herlock. For ten thousand years, his name had lay among millions, tens of millions of other names whose bodies could not be found, in the deepest part of the database.

Before he was freed from his predicament, he would endlessly ponder this question in the darkness, trying to find an answer.

"I saw him. He's my comrade-in-arms. Although we've never met and neither of us knew of the other's existence, he did fight alongside me on the same battlefield for the same goal, didn't he, Instructor?"

This is, in a way, an absurd drama.

"And who is this?" he asked politely, pointing with his right hand to the skeleton on Karyl's shoulder.

"What?"

He wasn't very knowledgeable about science, but in any case, the atmosphere or something similar that once existed in Calth had completely disappeared, making the sunlight incredibly intense.

For ten thousand years, no matter how the earth's crust moved or how the traitors dug, you remained undiscovered. Even your descendants failed to find you; they had no idea that you lay 2,331 meters above them.

Crimson flesh splattered in the air, but Karyl could only laugh—human genes were truly powerful. Ten thousand years had passed, and these people, despite endless inbreeding and the mutations and degeneration caused by radiation, could still maintain their bright red blood.

"What a miracle," Karyl thought.

Karyl was fully aware of this.

They are grotesque in appearance, some even unable to maintain the most basic human form. Ten thousand years ago, their ancestors were already considered terrifying in appearance, but these people have surpassed them, far exceeding the scope of mere horror.

This pointless killing brought him no catharsis; in fact, throughout his life, he only ever felt pleasure when killing one thing.

He could no longer see, but he could still hear clearly that something was moving softly not far from him. They were barefoot, and the soles of their feet were as hard as stone.

His previously extremely restrained sensory network was now given a slight permission, and it began to spread impatiently, just as it had when he was on Nostramo.

When it turned sixteen a second later, they cowered and howled, and began to run wildly, trying to escape the monster whose hands were stained with foul-smelling blood.

Karyl knelt on the ground, scooped up some rough dust with one hand, and felt its weight.

Sevatar remained silent, offering no reply. His body trembled, and his expression grew terrifying at a visible pace. Suddenly, he clenched his teeth, making a rhythmic clanging sound, and then bent down, extending his hands toward Karyl.

Ten thousand years have passed, and yet your remains still appear before me in near-perfect condition, Sergeant Herlock. This is truly a miracle that even the God-Emperor they speak of could not possibly perform.

Sevatar chuckled softly at his words, a near-silent mockery.

Why?

Why is this happening?

But perhaps, all he wanted was to stand in his own farmland, finish a whole hand-rolled cigarette, and watch the wheat sway in the breeze across the river. Gunboats, unarmed, roared past in the azure sky, carrying food.

Should I ask him, Father?

Karyl stopped, looked at his Shadow, and then shook his head.

But you were lucky; most of those who died alongside you didn't leave behind any remains. In that sense, Calth was incredibly kind to you. It covered your bones with harsh sandstorms and cancerous soil, sheltering you from the wind and rain, and sweeping away the dust.

He blinked, staring at Karyl, a pleading look rising in his eyes.

"Bury him," Sevatar said.

He stared at it, motionless, his dark eyes reflecting the skeleton's current state of dignity. It had no hands or feet, and there were some rather severe injuries near its pelvis, spine, and ribs. Even after so much time had passed, those marks were still clearly visible.

Now, only Karyl Lohars and this corpse remain here.

They represent something completely opposite to civilization, and Karyl could easily glean evidence of this from their utterly ignorant, pinpoint eyes.

With their help, Karyl clearly "saw" the people, or rather, the things, that were slowly surrounding him.

He was a member of the Ultramar Auxilia and a sergeant. At the very beginning of the Battle of Calth, he was dealing with the recruited soldiers at the Imperial Army assembly point in Rude Province.

Then he died.

He then burst into laughter and began to quantify the killing, turning it into numbers that flowed through his hands. Two, three, four... When the number reached seven, these people began to back down.

That's when things started to change.

Karyl bent down and hoisted the skeleton onto his shoulder.

"Oh, he really is an old-fashioned person, just like me. But you left us behind without a word, all for him?"

He himself is not good at thinking, but he is very good at finding clues and searching for answers. Sometimes, doing things is a better way to find answers than thinking.

"The living should not call upon the dead unless they desire a response," he replied softly. "But Konrad Curze, are you now one of the living or the dead?"

And then what? A grand funeral?

Karyl shook his head, turned around, and walked back towards the ground.

"What's wrong?"

Karyl gave them no chance to escape; he wasted an extra ten seconds to kill the remaining eleven men.

Karyl wanted to give them an answer.

However, despite his performance, his eyes remained fixed on the skeleton, as if he could see something invisible to ordinary people.

Karyl knew at a glance that his talent was at work.

He quickened his pace, returned to the place where the sudden battle had begun, and once again carried the skeleton on his back.

Herlock didn't need these things; he just wanted to see the traitors all dead, the war won, and then no more bloodshed and sacrifice.

The sun Calth down fiercely on him, yet it caused him no harm. It was as if everything that might harm a normal person was nothing more than a gentle breeze and the warm winter sun to him.

He threw a punch that completely obliterated the upper body of the savage creature.

"Do you know, Jago?"

At that moment, Karyl laughed. He shook his head, blood slowly seeping from his tightly closed eyelids, spreading and crisscrossing across his pale face. Then, he slowly lowered the skeleton from his shoulder.

They fought, and although they inevitably failed, they still sowed the seeds of resistance for future generations.

Karyl knew that he would go to Kargio, the Chapter Master of the Calth's Sons, to discuss the funeral arrangements. Roboute Guilliman's descendants would certainly not refuse such a thing, and they had always had a fine tradition of remembering history.

"I just want to go out for a walk," Karyl said. "We have nothing else to do anyway, don't we? We have plenty of time before the Macragge's Honour arrives."

In the pit, Karyl brushed the dust off the skeleton and then gently lifted it up. The dust on its body slowly slid off from the gaps in the bones, making a rustling sound.

"Sergeant Herlock, belonging to the Numinas 61st Company."

And so, this wandering tribe vanished. Their corpses would be devoured within hours, devoured by roaming mutated beasts and their own kind, all of whom would be filled with a lust for their flesh.

"."

They were all failed Vengeance, ultimately left with only hatred itself.

I can ask you the same question again.

Karyl smiled slightly and said, "Then let's begin. Let's keep questioning each other endlessly."

You really should see a doctor for treatment.

As soon as he finished speaking, the moonlight in his Shadow vanished.