My Life as A Death Guard

Barbarus, Northern Mountains, Xenos Overlord Necare Territory, Middle of the Mountain.

Now.

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The oppressive sky loomed heavy, with thick, toxic fumes flowing like tangible rivers around the warriors.

Mortarion swung his war scythe, the iron chains wrapped around its lower part clinking ominously.

Each arc of the blade was swift and deadly, every swing of the scythe unleashing a storm of blood and gore.

Countless severed limbs and bodies piled up at his feet, black and yellow pus oozing from their wounds, gradually soaking into the ground beneath him.

Nearby, five of his elite guards, led by Calas Typhon, were also fiercely wielding their scythes in battle.

Endless waves of xenos and puppets, armed and screaming, surged forward, only to be torn apart by the sweeping scythes.

A little further away, Hades was also engaged in a deadly dance with his scythe.

He compressed the Black Domain to within five meters around him, slaughtering the dense clusters of puppets as he spun his scythe, like a wild dancer performing a death waltz among them.

When the enraged advanced puppets attempted to close in for the kill, they were suddenly stunned by the intensified pressure of the Black Domain, temporarily losing their combat ability.

Some even collapsed under the immense pressure, trembling on their knees.

Each spin of the scythe reaped a harvest of lives.

Hades, seemingly tireless, continued his deadly dance, the experiences of the southern battles having honed him into a warrior now adept at efficiently and precisely taking lives in combat.

The only mercy I can offer my enemies is a swift and precise death!

As the dark mass of puppets dwindled to a few that fled in panic, the warriors simultaneously lowered their scythes.

Mortarion’s guard Huznir took a gun from his back, aiming at the few stragglers.

Gunshots rang out, and the puppets fell lifeless to the ground.

If someone were to look up from the base of the mountain, they would see a path of piled puppet corpses, like a twisted, writhing worm slowly crawling towards the higher reaches of the mountain.

“That went quite smoothly, I’d say,” Huznir’s voice broke the silence.

“We must remain vigilant; this is only the beginning,” Mortarion’s deep voice rumbled from within his armor.

As if in response to Mortarion’s words, Hades’ voice suddenly rang out from a place that was “unseen and undetected” by the others.

“Dodge!!! From above!!”

Echoing Hades’ warning, a faint red glow flashed in the swirling toxic fog above.

The seven warriors quickly ran towards the nearest defensive barrier, sparks flying around them.

When the blood-red fireballs revealed their menacing forms in the sky—

—those on the ground roared in fury.

“Fire!!!”

Death Guard Morag stood beside a cannon, his war scythe pointing directly at the blood-red tide above the mountainside.

Cannons, previously deployed on the flatland at the mountain’s base, began to roar, countless bright yellow shells shrieking as they tore through the poisonous fog.

These brilliant yellow streaks pierced the layers of mist, stabbing at the heavens!

Let the screaming shells shout our deafening war cry!

As Mortarion pulled Hades, who was covering their retreat, into the bunker, the bright yellow barrage collided with the blood-red tide, tearing into it, exploding in mid-air, with dazzling fragments raining down, screaming towards the ground.

After the first bright flower bloomed—

A hundred more flowers blossomed in competition.

The sky brightened.

All of Necare’s remaining artillery was unleashed, but the cunning Xenos Overlord could not have foreseen that the once-insignificant humans had mastered the technology to improve and produce artillery.

Ha, arrogant xenos.

Today marks your demise!

As the roaring sky calmed and the trembling ground stilled, the group climbing the mountain crawled out of the bunker, now a wreckage battered by the explosion’s shrapnel.

The ground, plowed by the devastating barrage, was littered with burning corpses, the stench of death so pungent that even those in sealed breathing suits could smell it.

The flames burned quietly.

“Good thing we worked overtime to get those cannons in place,” Hades said, his voice slightly relieved.

Before this, after the Death Guard had just secured the flatland at the mountain’s base, they received information from the old stronghold in the rear.

A faint golden light had appeared amidst the ever-present toxic clouds over the equator of Barbarus.

Then, someone claiming to be an emissary from Terra arrived.

He said he had come to find an old friend and was waiting at the old stronghold.

Mortarion immediately changed his plan to assault the summit three days later, deciding to begin the climb as soon as nightfall ended.

For this, Calas Typhon had argued with Mortarion.

Calas Typhon believed that the Death Guard, having just fought on the plains, needed rest, and that attempting to climb on the same day would prevent the full deployment of heavy artillery.

But Mortarion insisted on climbing immediately.

That so-called emissary from Terra…

Mortarion felt a wave of unease when he heard the name.

This couldn’t be good news.

Mortarion had often questioned what he really was.

As a child fallen from the sky, where exactly did Mortarion come from?

During Mortarion’s argument with Calas Typhon, Hades joined in as well.

But contrary to his usual cautious advice, Hades uncharacteristically supported Mortarion’s plan.

“Give me one night. We don’t need to deploy everything, just focus on setting up artillery in the areas most likely to be attacked.”

The next day, after a brief rest, Mortarion and his elite Death Guard saw the cannons, crudely camouflaged and set up at the base of the mountain.

And a disheveled Hades with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes.

Mortarion looked up at the sky, now silent once again, with the toxic fog swirling rapidly.

It seemed Hades’ preemptive deployment had been crucial.

“Well done, Hades.”

Hades shrugged, his armor creaking.

“Time to move on.”

He looked up, and the mountain path ahead twisted and wound its way towards the summit.

Like ice feeling the heat of the sun, Hades could vaguely sense that golden power at the mountain’s base.

Hades’ task was now straightforward.

Assist Mortarion in killing his foster father. If successful, it would reduce the likelihood of Mortarion’s future betrayal.

Even if they failed, the Emperor would likely arrive to save them, meaning they were unlikely to die.

Hades knew that in a game where he didn’t necessarily able to win, but could never lose—

He usually liked to gamble.