Before the 28th Tomb

Chapter 29 28. At the Grave

Barbarus, northern mountains, cemetery outside the old stronghold.

Present.

The sky is always overcast.

Poisonous fog shrouds the planet.

In the Death Guard cemetery, rows of wooden crosses stand silently in neat order.

Beside nine newly buried wooden crosses, the faint, cool scent of damp earth lingers in the air.

Hades stands before one of the wooden cross tombstones, Laisa at his side, quietly sobbing.

Around him, beside the other crosses, stand others, mourning.

Three teams, nine people in total, were assigned to this transport mission.

The first team was wiped out under the heavy saturation bombardment of artillery fire, and the intelligence was lost.

The last melee fighter of the second team, with his legs blown off, crawled back to headquarters after his teammates died, and the intelligence was safely delivered.

He eventually died in the Death Guard's medical bay due to infection in his legs.

The third team suffered two casualties, escorting the marksman carrying the intelligence. The marksman was eventually discovered by Hades, who was on a night patrol, in a field furthest from headquarters. The intelligence was safely delivered.

The marksman died from blood loss.

Thus, everyone died, and the intelligence was safely delivered.

The quiet sobs of those around him occasionally reached Hades' ears, but Hades seemed oblivious, staring blankly at the cross before him.

The Death Guard believes in silent demise and reincarnation. These wooden crosses will quickly vanish under the corrosive effects of Barbarus' poisonous gas and acid rain.

When the last remains of the crosses disappear into this vast land, when the sadness begins to fade, this land will be replanted, and the wheat that sustains the lives of the people of Barbarus will silently replace these crosses, symbols of resilience.

The wheat will grow vigorously, silently growing until it is cut down by the scythe, completing its silent life.

Just like the people of Barbarus.

On Barbarus, death is commonplace.

Death is not worth such grief.

It is simply the daily life of the people of Barbarus.

Every Barbarus person knows this in their heart.

An elderly couple approaches, stopping before a cross. The mother cries, the father smiles. They do not regret their child's sacrifice for the greater good.

Even though they stand here now, before their son's grave, their hearts buried in sorrow.

A still-youthful boy stands beside another cross, holding a simple scythe issued by the Death Guard in his hand, vowing in a low voice.

He vows to avenge his brother. He will soon enter the Death Guard's official combat division.

The spark of revenge burns in the boy's dim eyes.

A tall warrior stands silently before a cross.

Wordless.

A weary woman hugs her two children tightly beside her, crying with great restraint.

A family still needs support; she cannot fall.

Your father fought so that you could have a future without oppression.

Children, remember, remember all of this.

A young woman cries loudly, cursing the Aliens, cursing her lover who was so eager to go to the front lines.

"Why did you abandon me?!"

"We agreed to go together?! My application to go to the front lines would have been approved in three days. Why did you run away first?!"

She shouts, desperately covering her head with her hands, kneeling, her disheveled hair erupting between her fingers.

There are still a few graves without mourners.

The person lying here was the last one left in their family.

A dull thudding of footsteps echoed, audible even on the soft black earth.

"Please accept my condolences."

The Primarch's towering figure came into view.

Mortarion wore a grey half-cloak over his usual simple combat fatigues, utterly unadorned and uniformly drab.

He was followed by Calas Typhon and two other Death Guard bodyguards.

Whenever a Death Guard member was lost, Mortarion would always make time to comfort the family.

If he was too busy to get away, he would send his bodyguards to do it.

The people at the cemetery were drawn to the tall, solemn Primarch, whose very presence added a layer of gravity to the already sorrowful scene.

The Primarch's innate charisma was ineffable, and the people at the graveside spontaneously gathered around Mortarion, waiting for words of comfort with heavy hearts.

They needed to be told that it all meant something.

That it was all worth it.

"These warriors bravely completed their missions."

"Even in the face of the Aliens' cunning ambush, they remained calm and fulfilled their duty to the best of their ability."

"For this, I offer my deepest condolences and respect to the warriors lying here."

Mortarion closed his eyes, facing the mass of tombstones standing on the vast earth, one hand placed over his chest in silent mourning.

The three bodyguards behind him also closed their eyes in salute.

The families of the deceased suppressed their overflowing grief and began to mourn as well.

Sad and bewildered children, grieving and hysterical young women, desperate and resilient women, angry and strong boys, indifferent and dutiful warriors, heartbroken and self-aware couples.

Barbarus, be silent.

As a tiny part of this vast and boundless universe, as a speck in this grand and romantic story, As small as ants, as humble as dirt.

You bow your heads, weary from a day's labor, but those who bow their heads and move forward are resilient warriors.

No sacrifice is too small to be disregarded, no effort too insignificant to be scorned.

After all, the spirit of resistance burns in your humble but unyielding hearts!

The living were silent, paying their respects to the fearless dead.

The silence ended, and Mortarion knelt down, talking carefully with the families of the deceased.

He comforted crying children, encouraged aspiring fighters, and made promises to haggard women.

Hope was small, but like tiny ripples, it began to spread outwards from Mortarion as its center.

Sorrowful, yet still hopeful.

Because they knew it all meant something, it was all worth it.

Mortarion promised them the future they longed for.

After hope came fighting spirit.

So as not to let down the departed, to strive together for the promised tomorrow.

Hades stood there, silently stunned.

Herrela's struggling figure before her death still echoed in his mind.

There was no unwillingness as he imagined, only the tenacity of a warrior to complete the mission.

Hades knew about Herrela's feelings for him.

He knew it all along.

But the girl's gratitude to her savior did not evolve into the lingering of personal feelings, but instead became the driving force behind her fight.

"Thank you, can I have one last look at you..."

"Please keep going... I believe Hades can lead everyone to liberate this land."

The warriors of Barbarus so believed in the beauty of the future.

Herrela was an inconspicuous microcosm of the thousands of them.

She had her own personal feelings, but still was not afraid to sacrifice herself for the liberation of this land.

Hades' mouth tasted bitter.

The Aliens must be destroyed, the oppression must be overthrown.

With the delivery of the strategic map, the Death Guard's all-round preparations were about to begin.

The final battle with the Alien Lord Nac'Lare was approaching.

Time was running out.

Herrela's final words echoed in his ears.

Herrela.

But this world was forever so cold and merciless.

The dead are gone, and the living take up the deceased's hopes for the future, continuing to struggle and walk in the world.

Hatred, anger, and the desire to change the future were all mixed together.

Time was running out.

Hades knew he had to make his final preparations.

Extreme revision, my writing skills are still not good enough, the author apologizes here (;Д｀)

Actually, there were originally another 9,000 words of interaction between Herrela and Hades, but at the suggestion of the readers, I urgently revised the original manuscript, deleted 5,000 words, and completely changed the detailed outline of this part.

It was only after being suggested by the readers that I realized this was a major poison point (;Д｀)

I got up in the middle of the night to revise the text at the limit (_).

More than 10,000 words of the manuscript were scrapped (;Д｀)

You are also welcome to give your opinions.

I wish you all a pleasant reading.