In the Mist

Chapter 18 17. In the Mist

Barbarus, the Southern Swamps, Morit Village.

The third year since Hades arrived in the south.

Mortarion stood in the dilapidated old courtyard, supporting the man in front of him who was about to kneel.

The man was hunched over, old and blind. One of his eyes was a cloudy white, the other filled with tears.

Mortarion saw much in that eye – fear, unease, gratitude, all mixed together. The man was practically choking with emotion.

"Do not kneel."

Mortarion said softly.

"You have been enslaved for too long. This should have ended long ago."

He looked at the hunched, trembling people in the courtyard and raised his voice slightly.

Even so, Mortarion's voice was like a wisp of silk in the breeze.

"I offer you a new path."

"Join us! If you have no weapons, we will forge them for you. If you have no armor, we will make it for you. Stand up, everyone!"

"There is no need to fear witchcraft any longer!"

"Join us."

The people listened in terror to everything this stranger said. He was so tall, tall and gaunt, like the Grim Reaper swaying in the wind.

His words seemed full of magic, each sentence filled with inspiring power, yet his tone was so gentle, like a lullaby a mother might hum at night.

But most of the people here had been completely overwhelmed by fear. They were crushed, they had succumbed, they were utterly incapable of thinking about anything further afield.

Even though the stranger's words were full of hope, these people had no memory of a distant future, of change, of leaving.

The leading man – his name was Regen – cautiously looked up at the stranger who was holding his hand.

Those amber eyes were also looking earnestly at him, looking at a person who was ugly and insignificant, completely consumed by fear.

"Sir, thank you. We are so loyal to you... but, but the fields here must be replanted."

He shrugged timidly, as if even refusing would be met with cruel punishment.

But nothing happened.

The hands still held him gently, there was no contempt or disgust in those eyes. He simply looked at him earnestly, then looked at the villagers behind Regen.

Then he let go.

"Very well, the choice has been made."

He nodded and pulled his hood back up.

Then he picked up his scythe, turned, and disappeared into the mist.

Mortarion stood in the mist, watching the young man stumble and run through the poisonous fog.

The further he got from the village, the more lethal the gas became.

After he left, the young man left the village, following the scythe marks Mortarion had deliberately left behind.

Come, let me see your resolve, your tenacity.

Mortarion remained silent.

There was a slight tremor on the other side of the mist. Mortarion turned his head and glanced at it, then returned to his original posture.

It's him. It's been a while.

While observing the young man, Mortarion's thoughts sank into the past.

Most of the northern strongholds had now been taken, and all the northern lords except for those near his foster father Nac'Lare's territory had been killed.

The main northern stronghold was now working hard to produce and consolidate its territory. The attack on his foster father Nac'Lare would have to wait.

But the Death Guard's progress was far faster than Mortarion had originally expected.

And the key to the rapid progress was in the south.

Originally, Mortarion had only sent out an advance force to protect the local people as much as possible and organize armed resistance.

But first, Hades alone held off the attacks of the southern lords, providing a foundation for Typhon and the Death Guard to cooperate with other villages.

Later, with Hades's help, Typhon and the Death Guard also obtained the manufacturing technology for weapons such as artillery and battering rams.

With the help of long-range heavy firepower, this Death Guard advance force successfully took the initiative to attack and occupy the lords' territories.

In the Death Guard's battles, the task of eliminating the lords in the south went exceptionally smoothly. They didn't even need Mortarion's help.

Mortarion had come this time only to inspect the Death Guard in the south and see if there was anything he could do.

But after listening to Typhon's report, he realized that Typhon was even more competent than he had imagined. Typhon had led the Death Guard to successfully liberate most of the southern regions.

And now, only the last two or three strongholds remained.

Then Mortarion had nothing to do.

Mortarion wouldn't directly demand that Typhon hand over leadership. He wasn't a despot like his foster father. He gave his subordinates enough space to grow on their own and win their own glory.

What's more, he and Typhon were friends.

So Mortarion continued to let Typhon lead the south, while he went to find the small villages that had been deliberately ignored because of the terrain.

Just like in the beginning, Mortarion killed the monsters attacking the villages and then entered these small villages to persuade them.

Thinking of this, Mortarion frowned unconsciously.

Abandon these marginal villages and attack or integrate those large human strongholds.

This was indeed an efficient strategy. Typhon was smart.

But it shouldn't be.

Every potential fighter should not be ignored.

So Mortarion came, wandering in various small villages—

—the young man in the mist knelt down, trembling and struggling in the mud, his limbs twitching, seemingly still trying to climb forward.

A strong child.

This young man never looked back once.

He never thought of retreating.

Mortarion thought, as he quickly strode forward, taking out a wool mask soaked in herbal wine.

He walked over, carefully picked up the young man from the dirty ground, and pressed the wool mask to the young man's mouth and nose. He looked at him, at a strong fighter.

"If you don't look back, you will continue to suffer like this in the future."

Mortarion said softly, "It's painful. Are you strong enough?"

The young man struggled to breathe, anger and unwillingness squeezing him, his breathing beginning to become rapid, rapid to the point of danger—

"Make me strong enough."

After squeezing out these words with difficulty, the young man finally fainted, wholeheartedly entrusting himself to Mortarion. Of course, he believed this stranger who had just appeared in his life less than two hours ago.

.

Mortarion skillfully picked up the young man and returned along the road he had come.

No need to worry about this young man. As long as he wore a gas mask, this Barbarus native would be fine soon.

Sometimes, the resilient people of Barbarus only need a little clean air.

Layers of thick white mist kept tugging at the corner of Mortarion's clothes, futilely seeming to want to keep the Death Lord in place.

Ignoring these mists, Mortarion's footsteps did not falter.

But when he reached a depression where the mist gradually dissipated, Mortarion stopped. He stared at that direction—

From the dense mist in the distance, a figure emerged.

It was his old friend, Hades.

A Warhammer chat group has been created, welcome to discuss the plot, Warhammer power, etc. 287540541

This chapter references the short story "The Horus Heresy: Unity" by Vokes, a Death Guard from Barbarus.

Yes, that young man is Vokes! (A very famous Death Guard, later turned into a stinky tin can, sad.jpg)