My Life as A Death Guard

— Barbarus, Southern Swamp, Morit Village —

— The third year Hades arrived in the south —

The thick fog rolled and billowed, its icy tendrils seeping into every pore, the poisonous mist constantly attempting to suffocate any who dared traverse it.

Hades and Mortarion sat amidst this fog, the mood growing serious as Hades, who had been joking moments before, suddenly turned solemn.

“Hey, Reaper.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re fighting for the people, right?”

Hades glanced cautiously at the emaciated young man resting beside Mortarion.

This youth was a microcosm of the countless rebels following Mortarion into battle.

They had forsaken everything, silencing their pain to become stronger, all to be Mortarion’s unbreakable blade fighting for humanity’s liberation.

But what if Mortarion wasn’t fighting for humanity’s liberation as he appeared to be?

Upon hearing Hades’ question, Mortarion’s gaze sharpened instantly, his amber eyes flickering in the mist like a predator’s in the jungle.

“I have always fought for them. Why do you ask, Hades?”

Hades sighed softly. “What if there was a chance to secure victory for the people, but it meant you had to give up everything?”

Why ask this? Mortarion clenched his fists silently. Of course, he would do it.

Why wouldn’t he? It was humanity that had given him newfound meaning after having nothing.

“Of course, I would choose the people. They chose me to be their blade, and I will not fail them. Hades, you shouldn’t ask such absurd and childish questions.”

It was humanity that gave Mortarion purpose; he would never abandon his comrades.

“And what if you had to give up everything, including your revenge on the Xenos Overlord, Necare?”

Before Hades could finish, Mortarion sprang up, his massive scythe aimed at Hades’ throat.

The scythe’s blade cut through the fog, cleaving it in two, the force dispersing the mist for hundreds of meters.

Damn, he’s fast!

Hades barely managed to lift his own scythe in defense when Mortarion’s unique, heavy scythe was already at his neck.

So, this is the power of a Primarch?

Mortarion, half-kneeling, carefully laid the young man’s head on the ground with one hand while holding the scythe with the other.

His eyes bore into Hades, filled with coldness, suspicion, and—Hades was sure he saw a flash of madness.

Was Hades colluding with the Xenos?

“What did my adoptive father tell you?”

“No, he didn’t. I haven’t met Necare.”

Hades tried to keep his tone light, but the cold metal pressing against his artery made it difficult.

Mortarion had clearly restrained his strength, ensuring the blade just grazed Hades’ artery.

Mortarion was silent.

“Then why ask?”

Why ask this? Was he controlled by the Xenos? Did he no longer trust Mortarion?

“I want to know what’s more important to you: humanity or your plan.”

“Are you helping humanity because of your hatred for Necare, or did you choose to fight the Xenos because of humanity?”

Is that all?

Was that why he asked?

But Mortarion had never considered this question.

What was Mortarion’s answer?

Hades felt Mortarion’s scrutinizing gaze repeatedly dissecting him, as if he wanted to cut Hades open and examine him entirely.

Mortarion could feel Hades’ elevated blood pressure and racing heart.

Seemingly convinced of Hades’ lack of malice and absence of sorcery control—

Clang!

Mortarion lowered his scythe, the heavy blade thudding into the ground, splattering mud, the dull sound echoing slowly in the thick fog.

“Such a situation doesn’t exist.”

Mortarion spoke softly.