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

Besides, he had already learned to prove his determination with actual actions rather than dwelling on careless words.

If his self-esteem is so affected by such a small verbal error, how can he shoulder a heavier mission?

"Each Overlord is different," Typhon chuckled from beneath his mask. "Some are taller than Mortarion, others are only half a head taller than a mortal. But they are all equally ugly, uglier than their stitched puppets."

"Then..." Scolval stopped talking after just one syllable, realizing that some issues are best never touched upon.

Typhon had no idea what Skorval wanted to ask, but he took the initiative to reveal the scar.

"I never met my so-called 'father.'" He pronounced the word with a deliberate emphasis, each syllable sounding like he was chewing broken glass. "He raped my mother and then abandoned her at the village entrance like a rag."

"At first, the villagers knelt to welcome her return, believing the Overlord would show favor to the village. But time soon proved this was just a cruel game." The filter element of Typhon's gas mask made a heavy sound of inhalation. "So, they poured all their fear of the Overlord onto her, drowning her in the most brutal lynching."

"I was too young then to remember much. Even my mother's face has faded into a blurry silhouette in my memory."

Skelval's hand rested on Typhon's shoulder. "It's alright, Kargath. You still have us. From the moment you first fought alongside us, you've been a brother of the Death Guard, forever!"

Typhon slapped his hand away in anger. "You seem to have misunderstood one thing. I joined the Death Guard earlier than any of you. The teacher personally admitted that I was the first captain of the Death Guard. You are the newcomer!"

"It's all the same." Scolval laughed nonchalantly. "We are all Mortarion's Death Guard now!"

Typhon remained silent, but a silent rebuttal was surging in his eyes.

They are indeed Death Guard, but who says that Death Guard must be loyal to Mortarion?

The teacher is the founder of Death Guard!

If it weren't for his teacher, Mortarion would still be serving as the Overlord's executioner. Is he qualified to be the Lord of the Death Guard?

Typhon's gaze fell on Mortarion's back, and a barely audible snort escaped his nose. The next second, his eyes were fixed firmly on Wop, a fervor and yearning that bordered on devout.

What kind of savior is Mortarion?

He is just a Primarch!

"They're coming," Wop suddenly warned.

Kvir and Lask raised their muskets at the same time, and the other warriors silently drew their sickles and battle axes, forming a defensive circle with their backs to each other.

Their vision was engulfed by the gray-white miasma, and they could only see vague outlines within ten meters. In the thick fog, a sound similar to crawling was seeping in from all directions.

"boom!"

Kvir and Lask fired at the source of the sound at the same time, and the monster in the thick fog roared in pain.

When it stepped out of the poisonous haze and came within ten meters, the Death Guards finally saw its appearance clearly.

This is a condensed entity, stitched together from fragments of animal and human corpses, and is far more deadly than other puppets!

It was about the same size as a steam tracked vehicle, with sticky saliva flowing from its two nostrils. The organs of a Glock beast were removed and reused, and it made a whistle-like roar.

Its twisted, bulbous body is balanced on seven muscular legs, some transplanted human limbs, some from other animals.

A quivering bundle of muscle tissue holds a cluster of eyeballs.

Like a spider drawn by a mad child, it is an ugly mass of pure deformity.

Mortarion's scythe drew a silver arc of death through the mist, heading towards the twisted beast of slaughter.

The other Death Guards swallowed their saliva unconsciously. This was not an ordinary puppet that the overlords would use to plunder mortals!

However, just as the Death Guard drew their weapons and prepared to charge, Mortarion's scythe dropped.

The beast had been ripped open by the sickle, and its gushing entrails emitted a strong stench. Its dying howls were extremely miserable, like a child's, echoing in the foothills for a long time.

Typhon's knuckles turned white silently under the tight leather gloves, and Mortarion's pretended relaxation was too deliberate.

If he were the Overlord, he would definitely give priority to sniping the defenseless Primarch, and the rest would be just a group of lambs to be slaughtered.

So, where is the overlord?

Typhon and the others suddenly heard a slight sound, as if something was cut.

The Death Guard's gazes were drawn to Mortarion, who stood in the swirling mist. The body at his feet, bisected by the scythe, was still twitching, its broken spine twisting nervously like a dying centipede.

Broken organs gushed out from the cracks, turning the ground into wet mud.

Skorval turned his head stiffly, "Is that the Overlord?"

"That should be the case." Typhon stared at the muddy tips of his boots. What on earth were these people doing here?

Kwell and Lasker managed to fire two shots, though they had no effect. But the others were even worse. They were simply here for a picnic.

Mortarion could complete the hunt alone, and Wop took the initiative to give him space to display his skills, but the others were really no different from a burden.

Mortarion did consider giving them a chance to prove themselves, but the Overlord was too impatient, and a reckless attack cost him his foolish life.

As expected, the Overlord's stitched face was frozen with the same expression as the other deceased - confusion and shock.

It could not understand until its death: is this still the mortal who has been bullied by the overlord for thousands of years?

"What can we do without Mortarion?"

Scolval hung his head dejectedly, with indescribable complex emotions surging in his heart.

Every rebel fighter knew that it was Mortarion who single-handedly reversed the situation in which the Barbarus were bullied by the Overlord.

Without Mortarion, they wouldn't even have the courage to resist, let alone shake the Overlord's rule and end their lives.

They were grateful to Mortarion, but it was incredibly frustrating.

Wop: "Let's go, there are still enemies up there."

This inspired others, and the enemies?

Although they knew that most of the remaining ones were puppets, as long as there was a chance to fight, it would be fine!

If I can’t defeat the overlord, can I still defeat the puppet?

What's bullying the weak and fearing the strong? This is called a different strategic division of labor!

The palaces of the Overlords are all similar, gray castles and fortresses, with a network of caves running through the mountain ridges connecting to the flesh workshops and slave warehouses.

There are still dozens of puppets in the Overlord's castle. The Overlord could have driven them to consume the energy of the Death Guard, but it probably didn't want to lose its men in vain, so it decided to crush the invading enemy personally.

Unfortunately, he didn't expect that his enemy was Mortarion, and even if he tried his best, he couldn't defeat him.

Mortarion did not intervene much in the battle in the castle. Typhon and others cooperated with each other to lure the puppets one by one and surround and kill them.

The moment they stepped into the flesh workshop, the stench of rancid blood covered their mouths and noses.

Hundreds of human skins hung on the walls like dried bacon, and the most recently peeled ones were still dripping with sticky blood.

These are the treasures of the overlord, and unqualified human skins have been covered on the surface of the puppets.

On the central workbench, a half-finished puppet made of broken flesh and limbs lay quietly, its bloody tendons exposed to the air. The overlord had not yet had time to use witchcraft to drive it.

Another bloody corpse was still twitching, her skin completely peeled off, the exposed texture undulating faintly with her breathing. Judging from the outline of the bones, it could be judged that this still-breathing 'material' was a living girl not long ago.

"Sorry, we are late. The Overlord is dead. May your soul rest in peace."

Mortarion wanted to close her eyes, but was afraid that touching her would hurt her. After a long silence, he ended her young life with his sickle.

Even though the Death Guard who had followed Mortarion up the mountain were determined warriors, some of them covered their mouths and noses when they saw this scene, stumbling towards the door, their retching sounds mixed with the bitterness of bile.

These 'semi-finished products' are far more lethal than those puppets.

Mortarion pushed open the heavy iron door, and the rusted hinges groaned harshly.

In the corner of the warehouse, dozens of ragged mortals huddled together like a frightened herd of beasts, the shadows of the Death Guard reflected in their cloudy pupils.

"The Overlord is dead, you are free."

Mortarion's voice was surprisingly soft, as delicate as a breeze frozen by cold rain, yet it exuded an unquestionable purity and resolve.

But these mortals who had been imprisoned for too long no longer believed in reality. They curled up in a dark corner, and no matter how Kvir pulled and persuaded them, they just trembled and curled up tighter, refusing to move an inch.

Mortarion turned and left silently, returning a moment later with a half-broken body and slamming the Overlord's remains in front of them.

"He is dead," Mortarion's voice echoed through the darkness. "You may examine his body with your own eyes. All suffering is over. You are free."

The crowd finally began to stir, and a few brave souls tremblingly lifted the familiar black cloak, revealing the Overlord's frozen face of astonishment.

Even though there was only a cold corpse in front of them, just seeing that distorted face was enough to make them tremble all over.

The fear of this former tyrant still torments their nerves like a thorn in their flesh, as if even death cannot sever the fear that is deeply rooted in their bones.

"That's why I have to free them."

Mortarion's voice was so soft that it was almost a whisper. He was both warning his companions and reaffirming the path he was taking - all oppressors must die!

Chapter 128 It Must Have Been Wop's Doing! (5K)

Although Chogoris is famous for its beautiful scenery, the nomadic tribes living on the grasslands must migrate constantly, looking for different settlements in summer and winter to adapt to the seasonal changes in Chogoris.

A year in Chogoris is only 3/4 of that in Terra, so Chagatai Khan, who is four years old this year, is only equivalent to three years old in Terra.

It was in this year that Chagatai Khan made up his mind to conquer the world.

"Foreigner." Chagatai Khan suddenly spoke, "How many years did it take my brothers to unify their home planet?"

Wop: "In standard Terran years, three to five years. The shortest time was taken by Angron, who only took half a year."

Chagatai Khan's brows suddenly furrowed. "Half a year? How did he do it?"

He had no doubt about the stranger's words. This certainty came from the stranger's consistent honesty over a long period of time. The truths he told were never mixed with any falsehood.

The sincere treatment accumulated over time has built a high wall of trust in his heart.

"His legions stumbled upon his homeworld of Nuceria, and by the time he conquered the first city, his legions were already upon Earth."

"Although Nuceria was not yet fully unified when I left, it often took only a week, or even a day, for a legion to conquer a world, depending on the level of local technology."

Chagatai Khan: "What if it's Chogoris?"

"If it's a whole army coming, it'll only take one day."

Small fleets are often short of manpower and have to slow down their pace when occupying.

However, the main force of the legion is sufficient in strength and moves swiftly, often completing the conquest in a very short time.

The specific time it takes is directly related to the local technological level. A world like Chogoris, which is still in the feudal era, does not even have the ability to break through the defense of Space Marines.

Those Storm Seers might indeed cause some trouble to the Space Marines, but in the final analysis, they are just minor incidents that can be solved with a few explosive shells.

Chagatai Khan crushed the cup, and humans cannot imagine things beyond their own cognition.

He was very smart and became Khan at the age of three and had already begun conquering the world.

Wop also told him many interesting stories about the Empire, but his specific understanding of the Human Empire was still vague, and the fact that the Empire conquered Chogoris in just one day was completely beyond his expectations.

Is his world so terrible?

Wop: "You don't have to compete with the Legion. Besides, you have a Legion too."

Perspective determines cognition, just as people standing on the ground can never understand why decision makers in the clouds regard the boulders in their eyes as insignificant grains of sand.

This is similar to the emperor's golden hoe.

Chagatai would be shocked because he had not yet returned.

"My Legion?" Chagatai Khan's lips curled up in a mocking arc. "They can conquer my world in just one day. I'm afraid I'm no different from a barbarian in their eyes. Will they let a barbarian like me lead them?"

"You are the Primarch, their genetic father. They will be happy to have you lead the Legion, as Legions without a Primarch are often inferior in the Imperium."

"You don't have to underestimate yourself. Chogoris has limited your knowledge, but the Empire will bring you to the galactic stage. Only there can your talents be fully realized."

Wop's consolation had obviously worked. Chagatai Khan's expression eased slightly. The corners of his lips curled up slightly, but there was still a hint of coldness in his expression. "But I must conquer my world first. How old were my brothers when they started conquering?"

Even the Primarch cannot avoid comparison. That's human nature.

The weak always like to belittle others to cover up their own incompetence; the strong constantly surpass themselves and climb to higher peaks.

The Primarch was the latter.

They will not compare themselves with mortals, because no mortals can compare with them.

But brothers who are connected by blood are the best whetstones.

Even though they shared the same extraordinary powers, someone always came out on top, and each Primarch yearned to prove himself the foremost among his brothers.

Wop paused thoughtfully. "They usually start with babies."

Chagatai Khan's sharp gaze was fixed on him, as if to carve a question mark on his face: What does it mean to start from infancy?

"When I found them, most of them were still babies."