Pressure from 161!

Pressure On!

Greenskins...

After uttering his final words, Sanguinius could no longer rise. He sank completely into unconscious slumber—

Guilliman and Angron, standing beside him, looked at each other, unable to understand why the Orks had arrived on the battlefield at this moment.

Meanwhile, Hades, who had been vigorously wiping blood and slime from his armor, suddenly froze as if petrified.

He had a bad feeling.

Hades slowly turned his head and met Mortarion's gaze. The Pale Lord looked as though his parents had died; with his eyes, he told Hades exactly which batch of Greenskins had arrived.

I can feel them calling to me.

Mortarion spoke softly, ensuring only Hades could hear him.

He watched Hades' expression completely stiffen. After a long while, Hades finally forced out several words.

"Th-they... they didn't all die?"

Hades could think of only one possibility: that this Greenskin clan had not collapsed, and had instead come looking for him. At that very moment, the sole silver-white pendant remaining at his waist was gleaming.

After so many battles, that accessory of living metal had long since melted into a strange shape whose original form could no longer be discerned.

"That Greenskin Warlord didn't die."

Thud, thud, boom.

It was over.

In an instant, countless scenes of his own social death flashed through Hades' mind, including several versions involving actual death.

His brain trembled. He dared not imagine the Imperium's shock upon seeing a Greenskin army shouting, "For touching his face! For Boss Black!"

He would be fine, since the Greenskins were shouting about touching his face. Mortarion would definitely suffer the social death first. But anyone who gave it a little thought could figure out who Boss Black beside "touching his face" was.

The Pale Lord fell silent for a moment, staring at the