Chapter 120: Hades is Also Working Hard to Save People Today
The stench of corpses filled the wastelands of Galaspar. Near the hive city, bodies had already been piled into small, towering mounds.
On the bloated hive city, a massive hole was clearly visible, with wisps of smoke and fire occasionally drifting out.
Mortarion silently watched as his two brothers descended from the shuttle, slowly pressing his parched lips together.
Originally, each Primarch, upon being reunited with the Imperium, would be guided through their integration by the Primarch who found them, learning how to be a proper Legion Master and gradually assimilating into the Empire.
Mortarion’s ntor was supposed to be Horus, but due to a twist of fate, it was Malcador who oversaw his integration into the Imperium instead.
As a result, Mortarion had little direct interaction with his so-called "blood brothers."
Even so, he had learned to identify them from Malcador’s descriptions of each Primarch.
The figure walking ahead was relatively short, clad in an obviously distinct suit of master-crafted black steel power armor. However, unlike most, this intricate and refined armor did not cover his hands, instead revealing silver-white cybernetic limbs—tal so flawless and resilient that it seed indestructible.
Mortarion caught that detail imdiately. That must be Ferrus Manus. According to Malcador, Ferrus was, like him, born on a death world and pursued logic and efficiency to an extre degree.
That was good news, Mortarion thought.
Through his previous conversations, he had realized that he wouldn’t get along with all of his brothers. Within Malcador’s vague and carefully worded descriptions, Mortarion had picked out those he would likely dislike.
For instance, one of his brothers was a psyker. Another was obsessed with glory and grandeur, a trait that Mortarion found utterly incomprehensible.
But Ferrus was here. That was promising. Mortarion hoped his brother would fairly judge the achievents of the Death Guard, as this assessnt would determine how the Imperium would position his Legion—and which battlefields they would be sent to.
Behind Ferrus, an exceptionally tall figure approached silently.
This man was massive, even taller than Mortarion himself, and broader than if three unarmored Mortarions were stacked together.
Apart from the Emperor, Mortarion had never seen anyone taller than himself.
He felt a brief mont of tension but forced himself to relax, keeping his gaze locked onto the second arrival.
A fleeting question crossed his mind—why wasn’t the taller one walking in front?
That thought quickly passed.
The second figure wore a suit of erald-green armor, sculpted with intricate dragon-scale engravings. Due to the precise angles of the carvings, even under Galaspar’s dim daylight, the armor shimred with a radiant brilliance.
His skin was an unusual shade of pure black, and fire burned within his eyes.
That must be Vulkan, Mortarion thought.
According to Malcador, Vulkan was a compassionate Primarch.
Compassion? Would he understand the Death Guard’s compassion through death? Would he judge them fairly?
Mortarion did not know. He simply stood in silence, waiting to welco his two brothers.
Beside him, the Deathshroud Terminators also stood wordlessly. Yet, Mortarion knew there was one person missing from their ranks.
The feeling of being judged by others was unpleasant, and Mortarion could feel irritation creeping in once more. However, eting two brothers who, at least on the surface, seed agreeable helped to dull his unease.
But soon, he would realize—he was wrong. Terribly wrong.
As they drew closer, even soone as taciturn as Mortarion could imdiately sense that sothing was off.
The newcors remained silent, and in Vulkan's fla-lit eyes, Mortarion even caught a glint of moisture.
Mortarion’s heart clenched abruptly.
Doom had arrived.
"Greetings, Brother. It is good to see you."
"Ferrus Manus, Lord of dusa, Primarch of the Iron Hands."
Ferrus gestured for his honor guard to step back while extending his iron hand toward Mortarion.
"Mortarion, Lord of Barbarus, Primarch of the Death Guard."
"I am also pleased to et you," Mortarion muttered behind the cover of his respirator mask.
Compared to his brother’s firm and resonant voice, Mortarion’s was hoarse and rough.
They shook hands—his brother’s grip was powerful and unyielding.
Then, slowly, Mortarion shifted his gaze to Vulkan and extended his hand as well.
Vulkan hesitated, managing only a strained smile before taking Mortarion’s offered hand.
"Vulkan, of Nocturne, Primarch of the Salamanders."
The Lord of Fire burned hot—so hot that even through power armor, Mortarion could feel the searing heat, like molten rock.
They released their grip quickly.
"I’ve reviewed the data from this battle and the Death Guard’s performance," Ferrus Manus took a deep breath, his deep-set eyes fixed on Mortarion as if restraining sothing.
"But I would still like to hear it from you—explain this campaign to us in your own words."
Mortarion blinked slowly. Sothing felt off. But he decided to proceed, introducing his two brothers to the Death Guard’s victory.
The Lord of Death turned slightly, allowing his brothers a clearer view of the towering mound of corpses.
Vulkan swayed slightly.
"These were the rulers of Galaspar’s tyranny. But now, every single one of them is there."
"The tyrants oppressed the people, treating them as property, crushing them generation after generation."
"But now, that oppression is no more."
"The Death Guard uprooted the entire governing system of the Galaspar system. Not a single remnant was left behind."
"In a single day, we dismantled their entire regi."
Saying this, Mortarion felt so satisfaction. His Death Guard had not failed him, nor had he failed them. He had eradicated tyranny.
"Brother… Mortarion, may I ask you sothing?"
Vulkan’s voice broke the silence.
"?“
Mortarion turned to look at Vulkan in confusion, but the shadow of his hood concealed his eyes.
"Those… those people moving on top of the corpse pile—what are they?"
On the densely packed mountain of bodies, ragged figures moved sluggishly.
At first, Vulkan assud they were scavengers looting valuables from the dead, but after watching for a long ti, he realized they were not taking anything—not even a single piece of jewelry.
"They’re counting," Mortarion said indifferently.
"The oppressed need to feel for themselves that their oppression has ended. They need to stand up on their own."
"So…?"
Vulkan was puzzled.
"So I told them to count exactly how many tyrants had died, so they could comprehend the weight of their oppression’s end."
Vulkan was utterly speechless.
He could not understand. He could not force himself to understand. Was this so kind of tradition from Mortarion’s bleak death world?
"You… did you ask these people if they wanted to do this?"
Vulkan carefully asked his final question. But Mortarion’s response shattered him.
"?"
Why would he need to ask?
These raggedly dressed people could not possibly comprehend Mortarion’s reasoning, and with so many matters to handle, he had no ti to concern himself with such things.
What? Talk to a local? He would rather sit in the dicae bay for a while.
Vulkan finally broke. The Fire Dragon spoke slowly but with unwavering resolve.
"Brother… you cannot replace one tyranny with another."
Mortarion froze.
Was Vulkan calling the Death Guard tyrants?
They had brought liberation. Mortarion had even ensured that the people personally witnessed the execution of the tyrants.
Tyranny?
He had barely done anything—why was he being accused?
Then, suddenly, Mortarion rembered that this particular brother was known for his rcy.
He let out a subtle breath of relief.
He’s just too rciful, Mortarion thought.
If Vulkan had grown up on Barbarus, in a world of death, he wouldn’t think this way.
But then Ferrus spoke. He first turned to Vulkan, offering a look of reassurance. Vulkan nodded, signaling that he was fine.
"So, brother, is this what you wanted us to see?"
"Setting aside words like ‘tyranny’—I imagine Guilliman would be interested in discussing those—but I don’t focus much on such things."
"What I want to ask is: Since you purged all of Galaspar’s administrative officials, where do you plan to find their replacents?"
Mortarion was montarily stunned. After a pause, he spoke slowly.
"The Imperium will send administrative personnel. They have already dispatched the tax departnt."
Ferrus gave a small smile, but the furrow in his brow did not relax.
"Brother, we all have our own views on the Imperium’s taxation, but surely you realize that for a massive hive-world system like Galaspar, the Imperium cannot send that many administrators in such a short ti."
In reality, aside from major planets or crucial strategic locations, the Imperium rarely sent full administrative teams to newly conquered worlds. Typically, they would deploy a tax departnt, install a few symbolic bureaucrats, and then leave the rest to the planet’s native population.
Mortarion fell silent. He had not considered the administration of the hive cities after the war. He only knew that their factories had ceased operation.
But isn’t that just how war works?
"The Death Guard can oversee local governance."
"I hope that is a viable solution."
Ferrus replied rcilessly.
"But on this planet, where administration requires specialized education, I doubt you’ll find enough qualified officials in the short term."
Mortarion said nothing. He quietly hid himself within the shadow of his hood, but he knew—he was not defeated.
"This is my first ti dealing with such matters. No one told that, beyond war and victory, a Legion must also concern itself with the affairs of re mortals."
"But the Death Guard’s performance in battle was far from satisfactory, Brother."
Ferrus pressed on, aiming to tear Mortarion down with words.
"The fleet suffered excessive losses. And in this campaign, the Death Guard’s casualty rate—compared to other battles—was astonishingly high."
The Death Guard had lost over ten thousand troops in this battle alone, though most were newly inducted recruits.
Ferrus stared disapprovingly at his grim, gray-cloaked brother. Poisonous fus and tattered robes concealed most of Mortarion’s body, obscuring any visible reaction.
Could this newly returned brother share Perturabo’s cold, detached attitude toward his own Legion and sons?
No Primarch would praise such an approach.
Mortarion shifted slightly, causing toxic mist to swirl through the air.
"These were necessary sacrifices to liberate this region," he rasped.
Ferrus noted how eerily hoarse Mortarion’s voice was, as though it had been eroded by acid over ti. Given their physiology, it should be nearly impossible for any Primarch to suffer permanent damage.
"Did you truly liberate this place?"
Ferrus asked.
He simply could not comprehend this brother’s strange logic—his tendency to avoid the real issue when the data and reality spoke for themselves.
Was he truly indifferent to the imnse sacrifices?
From Mortarion’s behavior thus far, Ferrus had deduced that his brother placed great importance on certain ideological "values."
But not in the conventional sense—not a pursuit of glory, nor a deliberate choice to attack Galaspar for the sake of honor.
After all, by any asure, this battle could not be described as "glorious."
Ferrus knew that his dear friend Fulgrim pursued perfection and honor on the battlefield, winning each war with style and elegance.
But he was ashad to compare their past victories to what had transpired here, on Galaspar.
A aningless battle.
Ferrus thought.
Enormous sacrifices and losses, all for the conquest of a star system that could not imdiately contribute to the Imperium’s production—one that, in fact, required further Imperial support.
The scales were not balanced.
Why hadn’t his brother abandoned this place? Why not let the Imperium simply surround this sector, waiting until it was truly needed before launching a coordinated assault with other Legions?
Before making his judgnt, Ferrus had conducted an exhaustive review of his brother’s campaign, ensuring a comprehensive assessnt of its outcos.
There were at least three pocket empires nearby, all better suited for the Death Guard’s first campaign. Mortarion could have made his first war speech atop one of their picturesque howorlds.
"Brother, based on reality and post-battle evaluations, I do not believe this campaign is worthy of inclusion in the annals of the Imperium."
By tradition, a Legion’s victories were recorded by Imperial scribes and publicized across the Imperium.
Legions that triumphed under difficult conditions and demonstrated exceptional prowess would be further honored, sotis even receiving direct comndations from the Emperor himself.
But not all battles were recorded.
Disgraceful battles—those with excessive losses or unimpressive outcos—would be buried, vanishing into the vast currents of Imperial history.
Clearly, this campaign was unfit to be the Death Guard’s debut battle—the one ant to establish their reputation among their brother Legions.
Ferrus was thinking on Mortarion’s behalf. After all, so of their brothers were far less forgiving.
He turned to the silent, motionless Mortarion, whose toxic mists continued to swirl.
"You—"
You will not insult or my Legion’s victory. You rely seek to steal the Death Guard’s triumph, to judge this war by your so-called standards.
War has only one standard—victory or defeat. Do not shackle us with your tedious criteria, do not rob us of our victory.
Mortarion knew this kind of hypocrisy all too well.
During his younger years, when he was still weak, his foster father would assign him all manner of tasks. And every ti Mortarion completed them, his father would simply move the goalposts, changing the standards.
Just like now.
They had won, yet now their victory was being judged on whether they had enough mortal bureaucrats afterward?!
Poisonous, seething words—words to defend himself and the Death Guard’s honor—were about to spill from his lips like a toxic cloud—
Then, behind him, there was a disturbance in the ranks of the Deathshroud.
Ferrus and Vulkan, standing before him, looked past him with puzzled expressions.
Mortarion halted his words and turned around.
There, standing fully armored in the cataphractii-pattern terminator plate of the Deathshroud, was Hades.
On his left shoulder, the emblem of the Death Guard.
On his right, the cogwheel of the Adeptus chanicus.
Hades took a slow step forward, as though he had just climbed a mountain, wearied by the journey.
Hades clasped his fists against his chest, performing the Aquila salute.
"Apologies for the interruption, my lord. The data you requested has been collected."
What data?
Mortarion was glad to see Hades awake and felt guilty for not visiting him.
But now, all those emotions—including the anger from before—were drowned in confusion.
His face was full of doubt, though fortunately, his respirator mask concealed it from Ferrus and Vulkan.
Hades, however, gave him no ti to react and quickly continued speaking.
Ferrus and Vulkan, noticing that Mortarion was neither annoyed nor reprimanding the Deathshroud warrior for interrupting, assud this was all part of Mortarion’s plan and chose to remain silent.
"The secondary survey report on Galaspar’s hive city distribution and production capacity has been completed. The population structure and original division of labor have also been preliminarily assessed."
"The Adeptus chanicus’s Tech-Priests have analyzed the findings as well."
"The conclusion is that Galaspar is suitable as a Death Guard recruitnt world, so your previous concerns can be put to rest."
What?
He hadn’t considered using Galaspar as a recruitnt world—
"Is that so?"
Ferrus’s words interrupted Mortarion’s thoughts.
Ferrus fixed his gaze on Hades, his eyes lingering on the Adeptus chanicus cogwheel emblem on the warrior’s shoulder pad, lost in thought.
If he had been sent to Mars at the ti of the Death Guard’s founding, he wouldn’t have been able to receive an official Adeptus chanicus insignia, would he?
But Ferrus quickly shifted his attention back to what Hades had just said.
If his peculiar brother intended to turn Galaspar into a recruitnt world, then his actions suddenly made much more sense.
It was certainly more logical than simply seeking to "liberate" it.
After all, Galaspar, as a massive hive world, had an abundant population and resources, with the capability to produce vast quantities of weapons and ammunition.
Ordinarily, the Imperium wouldn’t grant such a valuable world to a Legion—it was simply too rich.
But the difficulty of conquering this system ant the Imperium had little interest in it.
By disregarding the blockade, insisting on its conquest, and suffering heavy losses in doing so, the Death Guard could now petition the Imperium to designate Galaspar as their recruitnt world.
Could it be—
Ferrus cast a aningful look at Mortarion.
Could it be that he had deliberately eliminated all administrative personnel to increase the Imperium’s difficulty in establishing control, making it easier for the Death Guard to claim the system’s resources?
Such foresight… how unexpected.
Typically, aside from Guilliman, few of the returning Primarchs focused on securing recruitnt and supply sources for their Legions so early.
Ferrus also knew that Mortarion’s howorld, Barbarus, likely couldn’t sustain a large population.
Was Mortarion’s previous behavior rely a smokescreen to conceal his true intentions while reporting to the Imperium’s administrative offices?
So that’s how it is…
No, Ferrus thought, Primarchs rarely had much fondness for the Imperium’s bureaucracy.
"I see, I misunderstood, Brother."
Ferrus said, "We are all brothers, you can rest assured."
"May I ask a few more questions regarding your plan to make Galaspar a recruitnt world?"
Mortarion stood silent before him.
Then, Hades' voice rang out—hoarse like Mortarion's, yet firm and powerful.
"My lord, Lord Mortarion, busy with the affairs of the Legion, has entrusted this matter to . Please allow to answer your questions."
"Very well."
Ferrus was not the type of Primarch to dwell on such formalities, so he went ahead and asked about the structure of Galaspar and its surrounding star systems.
To his satisfaction, the Death Guard Techmarine answered his questions with concise summaries and abundant data.
"Good, very good."
"I am pleased to et such an outstanding Death Guard Techmarine. What is your na?"
"I am Hades of the Death Guard."
< >
Mortarion stood in silence, watching his two brothers board a distant shuttle. With a thunderous roar, the judges departed.
Throughout the conversation, it had been Hades answering Ferrus and Vulkan’s questions.
At first, Mortarion was puzzled, even slightly irritated, but he quickly noticed that his two brothers’ attitudes toward him had shifted.
Especially Vulkan—when Hades "casually" ntioned that search-and-rescue teams had already been dispatched to retrieve children for future Death Guard indoctrination, the once-darkened Vulkan practically radiated light.
Nothing had changed except for the decision to use Galaspar as a recruitnt world, so why had their attitudes shifted so dramatically?
But since Mortarion had no objections to acquiring another recruitnt world, he simply remained silent and listened to Hades' responses.
Mortarion blinked and turned to look at Hades, who was still standing there.
Hades had undoubtedly figured out so unspoken evaluation criteria—he had learned the rules of this ga.
Would Mars teach such things?
He was about to ask—
However, on the other side, Hades, feeling lightheaded, suddenly realized his nose was bleeding. The imnse volu of calculations and data processing had left his brain overheated.
His chest ached—his second heart felt like it was about to burst.
The sheer shock of waking up only to hear that Mortarion was about to et Ferrus and Vulkan had been overwhelming.
He had even considered the possibility of Vulkan getting into a fight with Mortarion.
There was no ti to hesitate. Drawing on his mories from his past life regarding the other Primarchs, Hades had rushed to the eting.
When an Apothecary tried to stop him, Hades quickly calculated that walking a few steps or even engaging in a brief scuffle wouldn’t land him in a Dreadnought—so he decisively flipped the Apothecary over his back and bolted.
At the sa ti, he had contacted Garro, Vorx, the other Captains, and Enrique, demanding all available data on Galaspar.
Without hesitation, he had also ordered Vorx to conduct real-ti searches to supplent the information.
The good news was that Galaspar was indeed an ideal recruitnt world, and he had successfully bluffed his way through.
Hades looked at Mortarion, who still seed bewildered, as if he were about to question him further.
Mortarion, you mother—
Bang!
Unable to hold on any longer, Hades collapsed to the ground.
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