Warhammer, I'm a nanny, not your father!

After years of training, the young man's psychic power has become very strong, and he can easily crush the Pale King's head, but he always maintains restraint.

He could only precisely manipulate his psychic energy to emit light in the darkness to dispel it, or use his psychic energy to bind those terrifying puppets, creating opportunities for other warriors to harvest.

Henda Skelvar swallowed hard, pulling his neck away from the Pale King's claws before severing the golem's head with his scythe.

As the black blood splattered, Scolval jerked his head around, his Adam's apple rolling several times before he managed a hoarse voice: "Thank you, Typhon."

His knuckles, stained with rotten blood, unconsciously clenched the handle of the sickle, with the fragments of the Pale King's flesh still stuck between his fingers, as if saying thank you would take more effort than chopping off ten heads.

Typhon's eyes gleamed mischievously. "I won't acknowledge your verbal thanks. How about buying me a drink when you get back?"

Scolval's tense shoulders finally relaxed. He wiped the rotten blood from his face and said in a hoarse but solemn voice, "After this battle, if I can return alive, I will definitely treat you."

"That flag is not going to stand!" Typhon raised a teasing smile, "But don't worry, just for this glass of wine, I will never let you die!"

Typhon hummed softly, controlling more Pale Kings as he strolled through the darkness.

Scolval and the warriors unconsciously gathered around the young man. Whenever the Pale King's decayed body froze under the psychic restraints, the warriors rushed forward and hacked them to death with their sickles.

When the last remains of the Pale King fell to the ground with a loud bang, the whole world was silent.

Scolval plunged his sickle into the mud, leaned on the hilt, and panted heavily.

Typhon's face was very pale, and he staggered back two steps.

"How are you?" Scolval helped him up with concern.

"No, I'm fine." Typhon took a deep breath, a tremor still lingering in his voice. "I just used my mind too much."

The stinging pain caused by the overspending of psychic energy made his vision filled with tiny black spots. People who were not psychics would not understand that controlling these puppets was actually much more difficult than killing them.

But the price is worth it!

Just like his teacher taught him, if he wanted people to accept him, he had to fit in with them first.

If you always stay out of things, why should others treat you as their own?

Mortarion earned the love and respect of others because he always led the charge in battle.

The giant's heavy footsteps rolled across the bloody ground, casting a shadow over them. "Typhon, are you okay?"

Typhon shook his head. The giant wasn't questioning his body, but his spirit.

But he didn't hear any strange sounds. If he did, he would tell Mortarion immediately. He would not endure it alone. Only a fool would always think of carrying the burden alone.

It's not like there's no one to share the burden with him, so why is he showing off?

"Seventeen soldiers died, and there are many injured." The blood-stained braid fell on Kweil's face, and her expression was very ugly.

Although they wiped out all the minions of the overlord, they paid a heavy price.

Many of the dead were her relatives. They were the earliest warriors under Mortarion. They were once plunderers and now Death Guard.

But what is most infuriating is that the sacrifice of blood and life may not be exchanged for anything at all.

The villagers were still huddled around the fire, numb as souls, not even daring to look up at the warriors fighting for them.

Mortarion walked towards the fire in silence.

The villagers finally responded and walked towards the soldiers under the leadership of the village chief.

"You shouldn't have killed them." The village chief's voice was very hoarse. "They would have left after the harvest. You can leave now, but we must pay the price for this."

The warriors' faces, stained with rotten blood, were twisted with anger, and their knuckles turned white from clenching their weapons.

There was anger and confusion in their eyes as they looked at the villagers. They never expected that these rescued people would not even say a word of gratitude!

He was clearly timid in front of the Pale King, but now he can accuse them with great righteousness!

Mortarion looked down at these numb villagers, his thin face showing no contempt, only evaluation and judgment.

He saved these mortals because they still had human form, but he would never allow these numb souls to join his army.

These bodies that cover their mouths even when crying will only cause the sharp blades to be covered with cowardly rust.

His army needed tough Barbaros, not timid livestock.

They are not tough enough.

Mortarion: "Typhon."

Typhon understood, "Take those children with you. They just turned back."

Mortarion didn't even have the patience to persuade them, because it would be fruitless.

They don’t even have the courage to look back, so why should we expect them to be grateful or follow us?

Those kids were different.

The numbness solidified in their eyes is not innate, but the shackles cast by their fathers.

The admonition of accepting fate has been passed down from generation to generation, and the silence when facing the butcher's knife is engraved into their bones.

These young souls can still be reshaped, they just lack a good teacher.

"No... please!" The mother hugged the child tightly in her arms, her voice filled with broken tears. "You can ask for anything, but don't take my child away. Don't take him away!"

A sarcastic arc appeared on Kweil's lips. "You almost killed him with your own hands just now, and now you start loving him again?"

The child in her arms cried because she squeezed too tightly, so Scolval pried her hands open and took the child away without mercy.

Mortarion watched the farce coldly, his heart unmoved.

They could have followed the Death Guard and gained new life, but instead they stubbornly curled up in the quagmire of decay.

When the Death Guard took their children, they only clenched their fists and suppressed useless anger in their throats.

How ironic!

When faced with the minions of the overlord, they were as numb as the walking dead;

But at this moment, they dared to express deep resentment towards the Death Guard who had just saved them.

Just because the Death Guard are human like them, these insensitive souls dare to show their hideousness in front of their benefactors;

Just because the savior is more compassionate than the abuser, they dare to vent their long-suppressed anger on the savior.

They are pitiful, but by no means innocent.

"This is not necessary."

Typhon pushed a child back into the crowd. He had learned the same numbness as his parents in silence. Such a person could not save Barbarus.

"Want a sip?" Scolval handed the water bag to Typhon.

"Thank you."

Scolval frowned. "Could you please not say thank you?"

Typhon: "Didn't you just thank me?"

"I thank you because you saved me, but it's just a small thing."

"Why don't you thank me for such a small thing?"

"We are comrades-in-arms. This is too alienating."

Typhon raised the corner of his mouth with a playful arc, "I thought you didn't consider me a friend."

Scolval turned his head and said, "I admit that I used to be prejudiced against you, but that's all in the past."

"Okay, I forgive you."

"What do you mean you forgive me?" Scolval's voice was filled with dissatisfaction, but he suddenly choked when he met Typhon's lowered gaze.

Typhon lowered his head, but he could see the disappointment in his eyes. "So you didn't want to apologize to me. I was too sentimental. I'm sorry."

He deliberately lowered the ending tone, but it made Skolval feel so guilty that he wanted to commit suicide on the spot. Damn it!

Scolval said in a dry voice, "I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" Typhon raised his eyebrows, causing Scolval's cheeks to flush unnaturally. "I've already apologized!"

"I have forgiven you, so are we reconciled?" Typhon dragged out the last syllable.

Scolval turned his face away again, his Adam's apple rolling a few times before he squeezed out an awkward acknowledgment from between his teeth:

"You...are barely a qualified warrior."

Typhon protested unhappily, "What do you mean by reluctantly?"

"I admit that your psychic powers are powerful, but without them you are definitely not as good as me."

"Skolval, just wait for me. I'll challenge you to a duel when I get back!"

"Look, it's getting anxious."

"Skolval, fuck you!"

……

The Death Guard returned with laughter and joy. When the team climbed over the last ridge, the majestic city wall built of gray granite finally came into view - that was the safe haven they had longed for.

The city was once a camp for raiders, gangs who had lived here for generations, hiding from the Overlord and his minions.

Until Mortarion arrived with the men of Heller's Pass, defeated their leader in combat, and managed to convince them to join the war against the Overlord.

The city has since become a base for the resistance, a safe haven for mortals in the toxic world of Barbarus.

After entering the city, these battle-hardened soldiers finally relaxed their tense nerves.

Mortarion and Typhon simultaneously abandoned their armies and strode across the cobblestone streets. When they turned the last corner, they saw little Debbie pacing back and forth at the door, her young face full of anxiety.

Mortarion's eyelids twitched nervously. "Debbie, what happened?"

When Debbie saw the two of them, she burst into tears, "Teacher...Teacher is gone."

Chapter 125 Then you ask me? (5K)

Wop slowly opened his eyes, and the glaring sunlight made him subconsciously raise his arms to block them.

As the vision gradually became clear, an endless green grassland spread out before my eyes, like green satin carefully ironed by the gods, extending to the junction of the horizon and the blue sky.

Wop woke up instantly. This was definitely not Barbarus!

There is no such a large grassland in Barbaros, let alone such a blue sky. It is abnormal for Barbaros to have no poisonous fog.

He wouldn't stay in Barbarus forever; he would go to other worlds sooner or later, but why now?

They had just sown the seeds of revolution, and Mortarion's journey had just begun. He shouldn't leave now.

Besides, where is this place?

With such a vast grassland and blue sky, this must be a beautiful world.

Among the many home planets of the Primarchs, only Macragge, Chogorris, and Olympia can be described as having beautiful scenery.

"First rule out Olympia."

The land of Olympia is only composed of endless steep mountains, which cannot produce vast grasslands.

As for whether this is Macragge or Chogorris, he can ask someone. As for how to find someone.

Wop squinted his eyes and looked at the skyline. On the skyline where the grassland met the sky, a small, blurry black dot slowly spread out like an ink stain dropped into clear water, and there was a group of riders riding their horses and waving whips.

As the distance between the two sides continued to shorten, the group of riders had obviously discovered Wop.

They quickly adjusted their direction, whipped their horses, and galloped straight towards where Wop was.

The sound of horse hooves was like thunder, stirring up waves of grass and drawing a clear track on the boundless grassland.

In a blink of an eye, the riders surrounded Wop in the center. The horses under their crotch were strong and tall, with flying manes and highly recognizable high braids on their heads, which fluttered in the wind.

It’s confirmed, it’s Chogoris.

The leading rider tightened the reins and looked down at Wop. "Are you a Khitan?"

The riders around had already tensed their bodies, and their hands holding the reins all pressed on the scimitars at their waists.

Amidst dozens of hostile gazes, Wop slowly shook his head: "No."

However, Woppe's denial did not convince them, but instead aroused deeper suspicion in the eyes of the riders.

Because there are only two kinds of people in Chogorius, the nomadic tribes and the Palatine Empire.

Wop did not have a high braid, and his attire was out of place for a prairie rider. His exquisite clothes were obviously very valuable. No matter how you looked at him, he looked more like a Palatine noble, just as conspicuous as a sheep that had strayed into a pack of wolves.