Picked Up a Poison Gas Canister

35. Picked Up a Poison Gas Canister

Emperor's Dream, private luxury recovery room.

Three months before the augmentation surgery.

.

The once-luxurious, fragrant recovery room was now filled with Barbarus's distinctive toxic gas.

Servitors had been specially dispatched to collect the gas from Barbarus. The compressed gas was then mixed with the air aboard Emperor's Dream in the proper proportions before being released into this vast, empty recovery room.

The room's owner, Mortarion, sat beside the bed, quietly flipping through a thick book.

He wore no gas mask. On Barbarus, this concentration of toxic gas could practically be called refreshing air.

Mortarion wore simple white casual clothes. The loose, comfortable fabric hung slackly from his body, revealing the bandages and medical gel beneath.

Other than a bed, a workbench, and a massive bookshelf crammed with books, the room contained nothing else.

Mortarion had ordered all the flashy things removed. He truly could not appreciate those glittering golden ornaments carved with excessive complexity, nor carpets sewn from thousands of kinds of silk cloth that praised the warriors' achievements.

Waste. Utter waste. And a smug display of one's own taste.

Mortarion could not understand the Imperium's behavior, but he had accepted the Emperor's mission.

After he had severed Nac'Lare's head and fallen unconscious, it was the Emperor—his so-called biological father—who had saved him and Hades.

When Mortarion awoke, that golden figure slowly approached him.

He showed Mortarion the scale of the Imperium. He showed Mortarion how many human worlds were currently struggling under Xenos rule.

He invited Mortarion to liberate those humans suffering in dire straits.

He promised Mortarion a vast and powerful space army, and an opportunity to transform the people of Barbarus.

.

"Mortarion, my child, join us."

.

Without question, Mortarion agreed to the Emperor's offer.

The terms he offered were too tempting, and the power he displayed was too overwhelming. Mortarion had no other choice.

Before the Emperor, no one had any choice but submission.

No one.

Perhaps the man called the Emperor was a good person?

Such childish, absurd thoughts filled Mortarion's mind.

Over these past months, Mortarion had recuperated peacefully in the recovery room.

The enormous Star Rings still under construction revolved above Barbarus.

His Death Guard had been taken to those Star Rings, where they would undergo Imperial augmentation, become Space Marines, and become Mortarion's true blades.

Mortarion had seen those Imperial troops known as Space Marines. They were simply... unbelievable.

Bodies stronger than any mortal could attain, reflexes beyond human limits, exceptional memory, combat experience that could be passed down through generations, power armor designed specifically for war.

If Mortarion had possessed seven such warriors on Barbarus back then, he could have pacified every Xenos on Barbarus within a month.

At the thought of leading such an army in the future, Mortarion could not help feeling excited.

He would lead these powerful warriors and save humanity from the hands of the Xenos.

"Ding."

The recovery room door made a soft sound, interrupting Mortarion's thoughts.

Someone had arrived.

Probably another researcher here to examine his injuries, Mortarion thought impatiently. He had recovered long ago. These injuries did not warrant such a long recovery period. He did not want to waste any more time recuperating. He wanted to see his army.

But as the door slowly slid open to the right, and faint golden light shone in from beyond it—

The visitor wore simple clothing: an extremely plain brown linen shirt, loose trousers that nevertheless showed off long legs, fine golden thread embroidered along the edges, and a golden olive wreath resting quietly atop black hair. Every gesture displayed elegance and nobility.

—It was the Emperor.

Mortarion did not move. Stubbornly pretending that a medic had entered, he continued acting as though he were reading.

He did not want to bow.

The Emperor entered and frowned slightly in displeasure. The lavishly furnished recovery room had been stripped down to only the barest necessities. The elegant, magnificent golden statues had been removed. The carpets praising warriors' achievements had been removed. The various furnishings ordinary people enjoyed for relaxation had vanished as well.

The entire room was even filled with toxic gas!

The Emperor could not help frowning again, as though deeply dissatisfied with Mortarion's arrangement.

But he quickly resumed that calm, even benevolent expression. He walked over quietly, ignored Mortarion's little bout of stubbornness, and sat directly beside the bed, next to Mortarion.

Only then did Mortarion reluctantly raise his head.

"Good afternoon, Father."

"Good afternoon, Mortarion."

Then the Emperor raised his head and looked around.

"This air is your... personal preference?"

"Yes, Father. I don't particularly like the air that was originally here."

Mortarion spoke with a calm expression and complete confidence.

The Emperor nodded lightly and continued in an even tone.

"Child, I hope you can pay attention to your public image."

The first time Mortarion had left the recovery room for a walk, he had ignored every Custodian Guard who saluted him.

Mortarion did not reply.

"As a leader who will soon command a legion, you must set a good example for the Imperium of Man."

"Understood. I will pay attention, Father."

This time, the Emperor had no patience to continue the topic. He beckoned, and a Custodian Guard carrying a tray entered.

The Emperor took a specially made syringe from the tray.

His golden eyes turned toward Mortarion.

"Your friend, Hades, suffered more serious injuries and is still receiving treatment."

"And for his augmentation surgery, we need some of your blood."

Hades—his closest friend, his right-hand man. Mortarion was deeply worried about him. In his final memories, Hades had been on the verge of death, not seeming as though he could survive.

Mortarion extended his right hand without hesitation and rolled up his sleeve.

The Emperor still wore that perfect expression, calm yet divine and compassionate. He precisely inserted the needle into the primarch's tough skin, and blood slowly began to flow.

Mortarion watched his blood drain away little by little.

"Is this for cultivating a set of augmentation organs specifically for him?"

Mortarion asked. In fact, through his constant reading of Imperial books, he had learned that Space Marine augmentation surgeries implanted modified organs carrying the primarch's genes.

"Yes, you are very clever, my child."

The Emperor's indifferent voice sounded. He lowered his head and silently watched the syringe.

Enough blood had been drawn.

Mortarion eagerly pulled back his arm. Thanks to the primarch's powerful healing ability, the needle wound rapidly closed.

"Will he be all right?"

Mortarion still remembered the power Hades had unleashed before death. If not for Hades, he would not have succeeded.

But that power—what exactly was it? It did not quite match the traits of Blanks that Mortarion had read about.

.

The Emperor raised his head, his golden eyes staring emotionlessly into Mortarion's amber eyes—

Mortarion's expression instantly turned blank.

In a single moment, the Emperor withdrew his gaze, and Mortarion seemed as though nothing had happened.

Mortarion silently watched the Emperor leave, then lowered his head and resumed reading.

"Ding."

The door closed.

Bonus Scene:

The Emperor wore a kind smile.

Inside: My fist is clenched.

It wasn't amnesia, don't worry.

The Emperor actually doted on Old Morty quite a bit. I think it was because Mortarion's stance suited the Emperor's tastes especially well.

Mortarion: Extreme human supremacist + extreme rejection of Xenos + materialist god of war.

Speaking of materialist gods of war, after Mortarion ascended to daemonhood, he even tried to explain science to one of Nurgle's Great Unclean Ones, leaving the other side speechless.