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

……

Thortan Wo Bron glanced into the hall and said, "Zorris, is this kind of lunatic really worth wasting our manpower to monitor?"

Since the outbreak of all-out war, Camp Anvil has expanded many times in size.

It is nominally a battalion, but its actual size is comparable to that of a regular legion.

The camp was filled with teenagers, including not only Rocks people but also teenagers from various city-states.

After the Unification War, the role of the Anvil Camp also changed.

Today it is divided into five battalions: Anvil, Sword, Shield, Hammer, and Dagger.

The Anvil Battalion is composed of newly joined teenagers who are still receiving basic training from Miltiades.

Perturabo himself wields the Hammer, commanding Olympia's only armored division;

Barabas was in charge of the swords, and practiced the warriors' daily drills;

Hakor commanded the shield, protecting the palace and the safety of Locus;

Zoris was in charge of the dagger and was responsible for internal investigations, mainly targeting priests and nobles.

Bron was one of the first one hundred and seventy-four children to join Camp Anvil.

He was supposed to inherit his father's stonemasonry skills, and in fact he was indeed gifted in carving.

But in order to save a bite of bread for his family, he joined the Anvil Camp.

When the camps were divided, he felt that he should join the Hammer, or at least the Sword and Shield.

But fate played a huge joke on him, and he got involved with the dagger by accident.

Zoris was his superior, but all the children of Camp Anvil were brothers and sisters to one another.

They fight for the same ideal, and their bond is stronger than blood.

Bron will strictly follow every order of Zoris, but in daily contact, they will still call each other by their intimate names.

"Don't let your guard down, Thortarn." Zoris lowered his voice. "He's a madman, but those who call themselves 'gods' may not all be illusions."

Braum frowned. "My Lord has clearly stated that the gods do not exist."

Zoris: "But there are evil spirits that disguise themselves as gods. Our Lord's Father has warned us to be especially vigilant against such beings."

"What exactly are they?" There was a hint of uneasiness in Braum's voice. The unknown is the most terrifying.

Zoris shook his head. "No one can tell what they really are."

"So how can we tell?"

"Be alert, watch, and wait. When they bare their fangs, we will be able to tell."

"But if a beast shows its fangs, it will hurt people."

"If evil spirits could be easily eradicated without cost, they wouldn't have to compare themselves to gods."

Zoris: "Continue to monitor. This is an order from our Lord himself."

Braum nodded silently. If our Lord had not personally called for attention to this fanatical priest, how could elite warriors like them be sent to carry out such a trivial task?

Braum stared at the man kneeling and weeping deep in the temple, his fingertips stroking the dagger at his waist. "Why don't we just kill him?"

"My Lord has not given such an order."

"But my Lord has not forbidden it."

A fanatical priest who curses our Lord in the temple every day, such a person deserves to die!

Zoris: "Evil spirits cannot simply tear through the Veil and descend into the world. To manifest in the material universe, they must drill a 'hole' through the Veil through a profane ritual of sacrifice."

"Psychics are walking holes. If they are bewitched or possessed by demons, they will bring disaster to the world they inhabit."

"Lodusk is not a psyker. He must use sacrificial rituals to open the orifices, and these rituals often require blood and souls as sacrifices."

"Lodusk can't cause any harm. He needs to contact more people before he can perform the sacrifice ritual."

"By monitoring him, we can follow the clues and catch all the cultists lurking in the dark."

Killing one person is not the goal, killing a group of people is.

Killing people won't solve the problem, killing them all will.

At most, Lodask is just a lure, a piece of bait for making a nest.

If Perturabo wanted to eradicate the pollution in the soil, he had to pull out the poisonous weeds growing in the soil.

At the same time, Perturabo was also curious whether the "Gods" would pay attention to Rodax.

If so, how will they bless him?

The gods cannot influence the real universe out of thin air; they must rely on a medium.

The medium is either a psyker, a desecrated object imbued with the fel energies of Chaos, or a fragment tainted by fel energy.

These agents can open small holes through which they can deceive people.

If the bewitched person further enlarges the hole, the Chaos Demon will become reality.

But without a medium, they cannot reveal even a single word to their believers in the real universe.

……

"Oh my God!"

Lodusk cried before the statue until he fainted and then woke up again, with dried tear marks covering his haggard face.

When he trembled and raised his bloodshot eyes, the cold stone sculptures of the gods still looked down at him with an unchanging posture.

Gorzek and Calaphis, the kings of kings, sat high in the center of the gods, their bronze-cast muscles gleaming falsely under the ever-burning fire, their iron robes folds thick with dust.

The goddess of fate holds a tattered spindle, the goddess of life's golden cup has long been dry, the bowstring of the god of love has long been broken, and the blade of the god of death is rusted...

At this moment, it seemed as if all the gods of Mount Telephas had gathered here, but they were more terrifying than the deepest darkness.

"Why?"

Lodusk collapsed to the ground, trembling all over, his pupils constricted violently with fear.

Before he fainted from crying, the statues of the gods were still shining with extraordinary majesty in the golden sunlight, but now they are beyond recognition.

"Crack!"

The statues of Gozek and Calafis were covered in cracks, their heroic bronze bodies covered in rusty moss, and their iron robes turned into rotten debris.

A blue double-headed eagle stood on the spindle of the goddess of fate, and sticky pus oozed from the golden cup of the goddess of life.

The silver bowstring of the god of love is broken, the arrow is broken, and the rose gold forged arrowhead is covered with mildew. Only the inscription on the bow arm symbolizing love is still vaguely visible.

The blade of the Grim Reaper's sword was covered with honeycomb-like holes, and the victory gem embedded in the hilt shattered into pieces.

Colorful and strange colors slowly seeped out from behind the gods. These colors twisted and squirmed, intertwining with each other, extending into tentacles in the air.

What’s even more terrifying is that the faces of all the statues have been distorted into abominable appearances, as if they have been corroded and corrupted by some indescribable existence.

The air was filled with a suffocating smell, a strange intertwining of the scents of blood and joy.

In a trance, Lodusk heard the statue emit a twisted sneer, and the gentle whisper suddenly turned into a piercing scream.

Just when he was about to collapse, the illusion suddenly disappeared.

The statues of the gods have regained their majesty, their bronze bodies are as smooth as new, and their iron robes are spotless.

The spindle of the goddess of fate is intact, and the golden cup of the goddess of life is shining.

But Lodusk still crawled back in fear. At a certain moment, he seemed to see the truth of the world - the gods were dead.

"No… this isn't true, it's not real!"

But Lodusk crawled backwards on his hands and knees as if he had seen the most horrific nightmare, because he clearly saw the statues of the gods showing a hideous smile!

Rodusk stumbled out of the temple, his bloodshot eyes wide open, almost tearing out of his sockets, and his laughter as maniacal as that of a hysterical madman.

"Hahahaha! It's fake! It's all fake, you can't fool me!"

Zoris' pupils suddenly contracted. "Soltarn, you keep an eye on him. I'll lead the search of the temple!"

Zoris quickly turned and rushed into the temple, his sharp eyes sweeping over every corner of the temple.

However, everything was normal inside the temple.

The bronze statues of Gozek and Calafis still stood majestically, the stone face of the goddess of fate was as cold as frost, and the golden cup of the goddess of life was shining with a warm luster under the reflection of the eternal flame.

In the eyes of believers, they are majestic gods.

But in Zoris's eyes, they were nothing more than cold stone sculptures.

He had indeed believed in the gods, but ever since following Perturabo to join the Anvil Battalion, his foolish faith had long been replaced by the light of reason.

Zoris and his men searched the temple carefully inside and out, even checking the cracks under the base of the statue, but they found nothing unusual.

"In the end what happened?"

Zoris frowned. It was impossible for Lodusk to become a madman for no reason.

Zoris didn't think that Lodax was pretending. If Lodax pretended to be crazy, Zoris would keep a closer watch on him.

But his collapse was so sudden and so complete, as if his faith had collapsed.

What did he see in the temple?

Why was Lodusk the only one who saw it, and how did he see it?

Zoris turned and glanced at the temple's dome, pillars and statues, but all he saw was cold stone carvings and a flickering eternal flame.

He turned around, but still nothing.

There are no mirrors here either.

……

“Fake…all fake!”

Lodusk staggered back to his residence, and without even taking off his clothes, he threw himself into the bed and wrapped his trembling body tightly in the heavy quilt.

Cold sweat soaked the priest's robe and stuck to his skin, but it was far less biting than the chill in his heart.

"The gods are dead?"

"How can the gods die?"

"Who can kill the gods?"

"Impossible! Who can kill the gods? It must be fake, all fake!"

"But if the gods are not dead, why don't they bring down divine punishment? Why don't they punish the blasphemers?"

Lodusk curled up tighter, as if that would protect him from the truth.

"The gods simply do not wish to visit the mortal world in person. Yes, that must be the case!"

"No! They are dead! They died a long time ago!"

"They are not dead!"

"died!"

"not dead!"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Lodusk covered his ears tightly, his teeth chattering, as if this could block out the noisy whispers in his mind.

But those voices are still there, like countless selves arguing inside my skull.

Some are sharp and piercing, some are soft and gentle, some are gentle and slow, and some are furious.

They chatter incessantly, tearing at each other and refuting each other, like countless flies buzzing in your ears, unable to be shaken off.

"Shut up!" he hissed.

"You should shut up!" a shrill voice sneered.

"Shut up too!" another voice roared in frustration.

"I won't shut up!" the third voice snorted.

"How about stopping for a moment and sitting down to have some soup?" The fourth voice was very gentle.