Mosan, What Is Your Ninja Way?

Chapter 19. Mosan, what is your ninja way?

Barbarus, Southern Swamps, Morit Village.

The third year since Hades arrived in the south.

Thick fog billowed, white waves rolled like the sea, and wisps of icy chill eroded the temperature of their surroundings. Toxic mists constantly tried to drown any traveler within them.

Hades and Mortarion sat among the mists. Seeing Hades suddenly turn serious after joking around, Mortarion could not help but become earnest as well.

"That... Death."

"Hmm?"

"You are fighting for the people, right?"

Hades cautiously glanced at the skinny youth leaning against Mortarion's side. This youth was the epitome of the countless resistance fighters who followed Mortarion's uprising—

They abandoned everything from their past, silenced themselves in pain, and did so solely to make themselves strong, to become even stronger, so that they could become unbreakable blades in Mortarion's hands and strive for the liberation of humanity.

Yet, what if Mortarion was not as he appeared, what if he was not fighting for the liberation of humanity?

The moment Hades finished speaking, Mortarion's gaze instantly sharpened. His amber eyes flickered in and out of the fog, resembling the eyes of a predator lurking in the jungle.

"I have always done so. Why would you ask that, Hades?"

Hades sighed lightly.

"Then what if an opportunity arose where you lost everything you had before, in exchange for the victory of the people?"

Why ask such a thing?

Mortarion silently clenched his fists. Of course he would, why wouldn't he? After all, it was humanity that gave him, someone who previously possessed nothing, renewed meaning.

"I would naturally choose the people. It is these people who chose me, and they are willing to become my blades, so I shall certainly not fail their trust. And... Hades, you should not ask such a ridiculous and childish question."

It was humanity that allowed Mortarion to find his own meaning, and he certainly would not abandon these companions who followed him.

"Then what if you lost everything, including being forced to abandon your revenge against the Alien Lord Nac'Lare?"

Before Hades's voice faded, Mortarion erupted instantly, his giant scythe pointing straight at Hades's neck.

The scythe whipped up a gale, cleaving straight through the waves of fog, and the white mist across the sky was instantly split in two! The blade's wind continued to surge forward, shattering the fog a hundred meters away!

Damn it, too fast!

Just as Hades managed to muster his strength to raise his scythe in block, that heavy and massive scythe unique to Mortarion was already resting against Hades's neck.

Was this the strength of a Primarch?

At this moment, Mortarion knelt on one knee on the ground, holding the scythe in one hand, while his other hand carefully lowered the youth's head to the ground.

His eyes stared fixedly at Hades—cold, suspicious, fearful. Hades was certain he had just caught a trace of madness in Mortarion's eyes.

Had Hades colluded with the aliens?

"What did my foster father say to you?"

"No, nothing at all. I haven't encountered Nac'Lare."

Hades tried to make his tone as relaxed as possible, but clearly, the icy sensation coming from his neck threatened him at every moment—Mortarion even deliberately suppressed his strength so that the scythe's edge pressed right against Hades's artery.

Mortarion fell silent.

"Then why did you say that?"

Why would he ask this? Why did he ask this? Was he controlled by the aliens? Did he no longer trust Mortarion?

"I want to know which is truly more important: humanity, or the plan in your own heart?"

"Are you helping humanity because of your hatred for Nac'Lare, or did you choose to rebel against the aliens because of humanity?"

Was it just that?

Was it just for this that he asked him this?

Yet Mortarion himself had indeed never considered this question.

What, then, was Mortarion's own answer? .

Hades felt Mortarion's scrutinizing gaze slice through him over and over, as if eager to dissect Hades entirely.

He could naturally sense that Hades's blood pressure was rising and his heart was pounding wildly right now.

Seeming to ascertain that Hades harbored no malicious intent and had not been controlled by witchcraft—

"Clang!"

Mortarion lowered the giant scythe. The heavy scythe struck the ground, splashing droplets of mud, and the dull thud slowly echoed through the thick fog.

"Such a scenario does not exist."

Mortarion said softly.

"It does not exist. The people here are oppressed by the aliens, and these alien lords will never stop enslaving and abusing humanity."

"As long as the aliens are not eradicated for a single day, a true dawn for humanity will never arrive, and the liberation I promised them will never arrive."

And that bastard. That arrogant monster bloated with witchcraft. That scum who viewed them as livestock!

"Nac'Lare must be slain! I will slay him with my own hands and bring true liberation to humanity!"

Hades watched as Mortarion became entangled by anger and remorse.

Yes, had it not been for that man from beyond the stars, the question Hades just asked would never have held true; Mortarion would have ultimately amassed his strength and then slain his inner demons.

Yet... Hades knew that man, the Emperor, would descend.

At that moment, the question Hades asked would take on substantive meaning; its existence was an inevitability.

Just as it was written in the original history,

He would descend.

He would sit inside an ornate, carved, golden flyer crafted from humanity's most advanced technologies.

He would ride upon his throne, descending upon the widest, most fertile black soil of Barbarus.

He would walk upon this land slowly and dramatically, and the toxic gases of Barbarus that never dissipated year-round would automatically fade around him.

His features would be handsome yet blurred, his figure tall and stalwart, and his golden armor would shimmer with the most exquisite colors any human could imagine.

Compared to him, everything on Barbarus would pale into insignificance.

The very first Death Guard outpost to discover him would kneel before him, weeping in tremors.

Oh, Mortarion,

The people you trusted, the companions you took pride in, the soldiers you relied upon, would willingly submit to him.

Even if you gave these people everything you had, even if you promised them your future, even if you trusted them with boundless expectations.

Yet that man merely stood there, and he had not even spoken a word yet.

They submitted, and they had already surrendered everything they possessed.

After all, he was the Emperor.

After all, they were human.

He would walk forward with the most graceful posture imaginable to mortals, healing the very first wounded soldier he encountered, even though that soldier's injuries seemed entirely incurable.

He would cure him, the wounds would heal in an instant, and the rest would kneel before him, chanting praises to the miracle.

They would joyfully usher him into the fortress you had painstakingly built, they would invite him to sit in the noblest seat in the council hall, and they would gather around him, listening to him speak of distant miracles and dreams of days gone by.

And you, Mortarion.

You had just hurriedly fled in defeat from a failed offensive, anxiously and in terror listening to your sentinel report this miracle from beyond the skies.

You wanted to look less like a beaten hound, so you mustered the courage to walk into your own council hall, but the very first moment you laid eyes on him—

You knew you had already lost everything.

You had been abandoned by your humans.

You were a beaten hound.

"I am... your friend, having come to Barbarus to seek a noble soul," he would add. "To seek you."

"Across thousands of worlds, you have been away from the Imperium for far too long. My lost kin, it is time to return to our embrace. I assure you, glory and riches are within reach. The dawn of a new era is at hand."

He wanted to make you submit, to make you leave with him.

How could you possibly go?

Barbarus, the people upon Barbarus—this was your everything.

Yet clearly, this fellow had already taken all of this away.

Aside from his hatred for Nac'Lare, Mortarion possessed nothing at this moment.

He saw it too, gambling with you using your hatred and your future.

Yet that battle with Nac'Lare was one you had lost.

Lost thoroughly, losing everything.

At this moment, the seed of betrayal had already been planted, quietly awaiting germination.

The "anchor" locking the past, present, and future was set.

He in the High Heavens smiled with gratification.

Hades looked at the Mortarion before him. His eyes were filled with rage toward his foster father Nac'Lare, yet hope and steadfastness for liberating humanity were also mixed within.

How was he supposed to alter this predetermined fate?

Congratulations, today Hades was once again working hard to improve his conversational skills so as not to become a stinky tin can.

All the chat groups I posted in got raided (;Д｀), just add QQ 2834827638. I don't check QQ much, so replies might be slow.

I added Mortarion's psychological journey. To be honest, when reading the chronicles of Mortarion, I get this exact feeling. This guy hates the Emperor, in a sense, truly because the Emperor was just way too flashy when He descended, while Mortarion himself was a Primarch who utterly sucked at being flashy and grandiose—and then he got utterly wrecked.

Later on, I'll also supplement the 100 reasons why Mortarion hates the Emperor (cough cough, an exaggeration).