100 Dark Crusade (25)

At noon, Roboute Guilliman stepped onto the walls of Naros. The soldiers, spear in hand, breathed a sigh of relief at his arrival, their chests involuntarily puffing out.

"They trust me," Roboute Guilliman thought bitterly.

He composed himself and walked to Lord Camo, who was determined to go to the battlefield.

By any standard, he was an old man. However, his loose skin and full head of white hair gave him a dignified air against the backdrop of his family armor—but it was only a facade of dignity.

His age was far too great for him to wear this armor; the old lord's forehead was covered in sweat, and he even needed to hold onto the family banner beside him to stand.

Roboute Guilliman looked down at the stubborn old man, unsure how to judge him. He had tried to persuade the old lord not to go to war, but no matter how many times he tried, the old lord's answer was always a firm refusal.

This was in stark contrast to his other acts of complete obedience to Roboute Guilliman, a point on which he himself never offered an explanation.

Finally, several ministers provided the answer. They said that the old lord had two sons and a daughter, all of whom had died in the war against the Orks. If these events had not occurred, Lord Camo would probably have abdicated long ago.

Roboute Guilliman quickly realized what was hidden in the heart of the old man named Camo, but he couldn't understand it.

All told, he hadn't been "alive" for more than a month. He had never hated anything, not even the Orks. He knew these things were harmful beasts and Xenos that had to be killed without exception, but he didn't hate them.

"My lord, those beasts have been barking for quite some time now," the old lord said slowly, his voice filled with hatred. "It's been like this since my grandfather's generation. They come wave after wave, and die wave after wave, but Naros's iron wall still stands. And now, we have you, Son of God. So, please give the order."

He bowed deeply, as if he had nothing more to say. Roboute Guilliman glanced at him, then reached out and took a greatsword he had forged himself from the four servants.

He raised it high, the tip of the sword reflecting the blinding sunlight—that was the declaration, and there was no need for any other words.

The archers, who had been holding back for so long, drew their longbows, modified by Roboute Guilliman, and unleashed arrows carrying the hatred of the Naros. Arrows rained down, then came wave after wave, one after another, without end.

Naros is nestled against a forest and surrounded by mountains to the north, so timber has never been a problem for them. They even have three iron mines within the city. This is the biggest reason why they have been able to hold on until now; the Naros people are not lacking in iron tools.

In earlier years, when horse ranches had a sufficient supply of horses, they could even organize a real armored cavalry force. Although the Orks were fierce, humans were not weak either.

Roboute Guilliman watched the arrows pierce the bodies of the Orks without feeling any joy. He knew in his heart that this was only the beginning, and that the Orks didn't care about the rain of arrows at all.

Apart from a few wild beasts that fell after being shot in the head, most of the others swarmed toward the city walls the moment the arrows were fired.

Leading the charge was an exceptionally large Orks creature, clad in ridiculously designed armor, yet its face was so ferocious and terrifying that it was difficult to look directly at it.

Roboute Guilliman frowned, took two steps forward, lowered his greatsword, and leaned it against the edge of the city wall, then gazed down. He quickly realized his only oversight in recent days—he should have set up another defensive line in front of the city wall.

In this way, Naros will not be directly threatened.

But he had far too little time. During the day, he acted like a true monarch, handling state affairs with the old lord in his study.

At night, he needed to study new weapons technologies, improve the Naros's smelting methods, and make suggestions on how they trained their soldiers.

He had too many things to do, not to mention that he needed to secretly travel to the mountains every few days.

The taste of fresh flesh and blood was incredibly tempting to him, and it was the only food he was willing to eat. Strangely, the stronger the beast, the less flavorful it tasted, which often reminded him of deer and led him to a rather ominous suspicion.

However, he still did not eat people.

Absolutely not. Roboute Guilliman thought. He wouldn't even die.

"Open the west gate." Roboute Guilliman gripped his sword and spoke slowly. "Have the soldiers divide the battlefield according to plan. I will hold the main gate, and if things go wrong, ring the alarm bell."

"My lord!" the old lord called out hastily. "You want to—?"

"Yes," Roboute Guilliman said.

He raised his sword, flipped over, and leaped off the city wall, leaving the sixteen-meter-high wall—built by generations of the Camo Lord family and the residents of Naros— behind him. The soldiers were not surprised; in fact, they cheered.

This is the third time this has happened, and they've even started to anticipate what will happen next.

Roboute Guilliman granted their wish.

The greatsword was swung the instant he landed, as if it were nothing, the heavy weapon carrying pure power sweeping across the entire swarm of Orks before him. Blood splattered, and every Orks within the blade's reach was easily severed like straw.

Roboute Guilliman charged into the center of them and, with a few simple swings, dismantled most of the Orks' encirclement of the main city wall. Instead of pressing his advantage, he immediately returned to the front of the wall.

The enormous Orks creature roared and crushed its companion in the next second, charging towards Roboute Guilliman. Roboute Guilliman was already a giant, but this Orks was even more terrifying; it was taller than him, its body covered in bulging muscles and scars.

Roboute Guilliman swung his sword at it, but the beast actually blocked the lightning-fast thrust with its crude axe. It roared and swung its right hand, a huge cleaver coming down towards Roboute Guilliman's head.

Naros's acting lord frowned, sheathed his sword, and took two steps back to dodge the attack. However, for the Orks, this was only the beginning.

Its attacks were relentless, each one faster and harder than the last; it even grew more excited with each blow, a kind of pure joy flowing across its ugly face.

A surge of anger suddenly flashed through Roboute Guilliman's mind.

You've come here.

He gritted his teeth, gripped his sword tightly, dodged, parried, and gathered his strength.

They want to slaughter my people.

The Orks laughed maniacally as he gave chase, completely unaware of the counterattack that was brewing within him.

And yet he's acting so happy?!

Roboute Guilliman roared, "Die!"

He swung the greatsword in the most basic way, bringing it down at high speed. Both of the Orks's weapons shattered under the power of this furious blow, but the Orks was still grinning.

It laughed, then pulled another, slightly shorter machete from its back and began speaking in broken Gothic.

"The kids are right, Big Shrimp, you really are a good fighter!"

"Shut up, you cruel beast!" Roboute Guilliman roared at him. "You are not worthy to speak human language!"

"Human?" the Orks man muttered, swinging his knife and continuing his fierce attack, but he seemed somewhat disdainful and even began to argue back.

"Those little brats hiding behind you throwing things? They're clearly just shrimps, how can you be so stupid? Besides, we Orks say things like that too, how can you call them shrimps? You're even more of a robber than me!"

Roboute Guilliman's anger subsided quickly. He frowned, and made another new discovery: the Orks, or Orks, were not as stupid and only instinctively ferocious as the lords had recorded. They could think, and were even capable of refuting his words.

Is it evolution? Or was it like this from the beginning? If it's the former...

"Why aren't you saying anything, you big rascal?" Orks grinned. "You're not about to give up already, are you? I was hoping you could hold on a little longer."

Roboute Guilliman silently swung his sword at it, and in the next four rounds of swordplay, he found its weakness and, without any instruction, learned a whole new set of sword techniques.

He stepped back, lowered his sword, and lured the Orks to attack him. Then he immediately raised his sword to parry, while simultaneously rotating his wrist to send the greatsword flying from the Orks's hand.

Its face was full of surprise, and Roboute Guilliman swung his sword and beheaded it. Blood splattered out, and the ugly head fell heavily to the ground. Roboute Guilliman felt no joy, only more serious contemplation.

Why do I remember this swordsmanship?

No, it wasn't that I remembered it; it just suddenly popped into my head. And then, I learned it.

I used to simply swing my fists or use weapons, never employing anything that could be called swordsmanship. But now, what is this?

A question that had lingered in his mind since he became conscious followed closely behind, slowly rising to the surface.

What am I, really?

Naros's acting lord sheathed his sword amidst the cheers of his soldiers, watching the Orks retreat in panic, his heart filled with bewilderment.

I am not Roboute Guilliman, that much is certain. I don't need sleep, I hardly need rest, and my energy is virtually limitless.

There are some things I can immediately identify, and from that I can deduce their function, what they can become, and where they are flawed. I can think about and categorize everything I see, as if I were born knowing how these things should work.

Am I human?

He turned around and glanced at the city wall. The old lord was looking at him with a smile that strangely carried a hint of pride, while the soldiers were chanting his name and cheering for him.

Not far away, a small group of cavalry that had launched an attack from inside the city had finished their pursuit of the Orks and returned to his side. They surrounded him and began chanting Roboute Guilliman, a name that did not belong to him.

"I'm not human," he thought with a sigh of relief. "But I'm not a monster either."

Minutes later, the corpses of the Orks began to be burned in one go, while the civilians turned over all the land in front of the city gate with hoes and poured in a powerful compound drug with mercury as the main ingredient.

Before Roboute Guilliman arrived, their method was to sprinkle grease and firewood on the mixture and burn it continuously for days and nights. Now, they have a new method.

Everything was moving in a positive direction, in an orderly and orderly manner. Everyone in Naros had regained hope for their lives, all thanks to Roboute Guilliman.

Above them, a black bird silently watched everything, then quickly flapped its wings and flew away.

--

"Roboute Guilliman?" Jago Sevatarion pronounced the name in a questioning tone.

Kargio nodded silently, then pushed a trembling civilian into the center of the newly built room, which still smelled of raw materials.

Five armored giants, far taller than him, stared at him expressionlessly. They all shared a common feature: an inhuman paleness and completely black eyes.

"Tell me what you told me again, Daviel," Kargio said.

He had tried to use a gentle tone, but the heaviness in his words was still noticed by the commoner named Daviel.

He immediately put on a humble and ingratiating smile and nodded repeatedly at Kargio.

"Yes, yes, I understand, sir."

He began to narrate, his body trembling with fear, but he still tried his best to speak clearly.

Sevatar crossed his arms, avoiding directing his gaze at the man, or even near him. He knew perfectly well the effect his gaze could have on a mortal.

But others don't think that way—and of course, they don't need to.

Kaul Sahora sat in his seat, his fists clenched on the table, listening intently to Daviel's story.

Sheher Cold Soul frowned deeply, his thoughts clearly wandering far away.

Sevatar didn't even need to look to know what he was thinking. As a Chapter that worked closely with the Inquisition, the Blade of Judgement shared a similar thought process with the Inquisitor in some respects.

The Hunter is left aside; to Sevatar, he looked no different from a dead man as he sat there.

Skaradrik was the most unmoved; he lowered his head and leaned quietly against the corner of the wall, looking like a statue.

Daviel's account lasted about eleven minutes. This clearly well-educated man used all his wit and the most concise language to recount all the rumors about Naros and the name Roboute Guilliman.

He didn't even hide his background; according to him, he was the son of a court minister in a western territory. When he was seventeen, the territory was conquered, and he fled to another city with the lord's children.

However, the local lord did not welcome their arrival. The lord's son soon got into trouble for not realizing this and was eventually imprisoned. His daughter hastily married a cavalry captain for protection, and is said to have lived a very unhappy life.

Daviel himself secured a teaching position through his education and lived a fairly comfortable life. Until six months ago, the ever-growing tide of Orks engulfed the city.

"Very well, you can leave now," Sevatar said. "Someone outside will guide you to your destination."

Kargio stepped aside, Daviel nodded gratefully to him, bowed, and quickly walked away.

The door closed, Sheher Cold Soul was the first to ask his question.

How can we be sure that what he said is true?

Sevatar pointed to his eyes, expressionless.

"I know you can see through a lie—" Cold Soul sighed. "But there are far too many ways in this world to make someone believe a lie."

Without even looking up, Skaradrik asked, "Want to be tortured?"

Kargio's expression shifted subtly, but quickly returned to calm amidst Sevatar's head-shaking and Kaul Sahora's objections.

"Let that poor man go. I don't believe he's lying. Lies are meticulously crafted, every detail carefully considered, while many details in his words are very vague."

"No, Kaul, we must take this matter seriously," the Supreme Grand Master retorted, and immediately began a lengthy discourse.

"Leaving aside whether the city of Naros even exists, let's first consider whether this world is normal. First of all, the fact that colonists have been here has been confirmed by Calth's basic database."

"Although this planet only has a number, our ancestors did indeed come here. Even those worlds that were lost in the Old Night left behind a certain degree of technological legacy after being transformed by colonists."

"This planet was incorporated into the Imperium during the Great Crusade; the impact of the colonists should have been even greater. How could it have degenerated into this state?"

"So, internal strife? But even if it's internal strife, would everyone here abandon their good firearms and instead pick up primitive iron tools to kill each other? To put it bluntly, that would be far too inefficient and goes against human nature."

"Then, the theory that turning to nuclear weapons and other weapons causes the degradation of civilization? That's also untenable; there are no harmful substances on the surface here."

Kargio looked at him, becoming unusually serious at the very strange professionalism that Sheher was displaying.

"Now for the second question." The Supreme Grand Master shook his head expressionlessly. "If that commoner named Daviel is lying, then he is probably the most liar I have ever seen in my life, isn't he, gentlemen?"

"Following this line of thought, just how skilled and psychologically adept is he at lying? Not only can he give a plausible response in front of us, but he can also concoct a lie so perfect that it could fool Lord Jago Sevatarion."

Is this even possible?

He looked at Sevatar, who glanced at him and suddenly gave a cold laugh.

"No," the Grand Master concluded, followed by one final question. "Therefore, we can proceed to the last question. What if he wasn't lied to, but rather influenced by the lie itself?"

Hector Kargio took a deep breath and uttered a single word. "Daemon."

"No," the Grand Master of the Blade of Judgement corrected softly, "It's Chaos."

His voice was very soft, yet it caused the temperature in the room to drop slightly without warning. Kargio felt a chill, and an irrepressible rage.

At this moment, only Sevatar and the Hunter remained calm in the conference room. They exchanged a glance, and the Hunter slowly stood up, his extremely calm tone pushing the already serious atmosphere to its limit.

He mentioned the words "Tzeentch".

Twenty-five minutes later, a Thunderhawk Gunship flew out of the camp and headed towards the city, which was only vaguely indicated.

Naros.