Chapter 260: Returning Home, Becoming a Street Punk, Scaring Children
The corn in the fields had grown lush.
Walking along the ridges, Hades stretched out his hand thoughtfully. The corn leaves brushed against his arm, making a rustling sound.
The corn stalks, modified by the Magos, had clearly grown taller. These originally short white corns had become taller than a man. Before, they only reached his chest; now… they still only reached his chest.
The fields were quiet, with few people around. The Barbarus population remained sparse as ever. In the distance, a large agricultural hauler roared away. Even further, at the edge of sight, a scythe shimmered faintly in silence.
It was Mortarion's statue.
It's made by the Barbarusians themselves—while the Death Guard were campaigning in foreign lands, the gradually wealthier Barbarusians launched a crowdfunding effort and used the money to erect a towering statue.
That colossal Mortarion now stood in the very center of Barbarus' most prosperous city.
Neither he nor Mortarion, who lacked any artistic sense, would ever have come up with such a thing.
Hades narrowed his eyes, gazing at the statue.
This was not Mortarion of the Legion. He wore no power armor. Quite the opposite—he was Mortarion of Barbarus. This tall, gaunt scarecrow figure wore light armor forged by Barbarusian craftsmen. A linen hood covered his eyes, hiding the true face of the Lord of Death.
He gripped a scythe, pointing toward the tallest peak.
A fine idea, really. Hades still remembered when they had just landed from the Stormbird and gone to investigate the planet—the expression on Mortarion's face had been completely blank.
Standing beside Mortarion, pointing at the enormous statue, Hades was sure he nearly burst out laughing.
"Mortarion, this is the symbol of the Barbarusians' love for you!"
The Lord of Death seemed to want to say something. Mortarion stared at the statue for a long time, and finally squeezed out a few words:
"....There's no need… it's useless."
But that didn't stop Mortarion from circling the statue several times afterward, then muttering to himself for a good while as he stared at the flowers people had laid at its base.
The blank-faced primarch strolling under his own giant statue had no idea that more and more Barbarusians were gathering in the square.
It looked like Mortarion would have to deal with the trouble he had drawn himself. The clever Hades slipped away at once. With Vorx and the Grave Wardens by his side, Mortarion would be fine.
Hades had no interest in watching Mortarion's upcoming giant fan meet. He'd already seen more than enough of that back when he lived on Barbarus.
So, after leaving a few words, he decisively made his exit.
Compared to crowded places, the empty wilderness suited him better. Though technically, Barbarus no longer had any "wastelands"—everything was now either grassland or farmland.
Not that it mattered; back when he lived on Barbarus, he hardly interacted with crowds anyway.
Free of Mortarion and his entourage, Hades enjoyed a rare moment of peace. He first went to the old graveyard site by memory. But with the terrain changed, it had become a lake. The blue water quietly reflected the clouds above, just as calmly gazing back at Hades.
Not bad. This place was nice and quiet.
Hades crouched down, stirring the water with his hand. Ripples slowly spread out, then faded back into stillness.
Looking at his reflection in the lake, Hades thought: war just eats up time, and before you know it, a whole lifetime passes for someone else.
Herila's younger sister, Laysa, was dead too—killed on the Barbarus ringworld.
As the pioneer of the ring's community healthcare system, her body had been preserved in the ring's largest hospital.
He had thought of burying Laysa together with Herila, but she had her own plans.
Hades reflected—it really hadn't been decent of him. He had taken both of Laysa's granddaughter away to the battlefield, not leaving her even one. That was practically cutting off her bloodline. Who was left to care for her in old age?
But Laysa never scolded him, perhaps she hadn't dared to.
She hadn't scolded him then. And now, she would never have the chance.
Hades idly stirred the water for a while longer. Tangling with the dead wasn't much fun, so he left.
Not having to listen to Mortarion's speeches was great, but if you asked Hades what exactly he'd come out here to do, he honestly had no idea. All he'd ever done in the Legion was grind away like a beast of burden. Apart from eating, he hadn't developed any hobbies.
He glanced thoughtfully at the white corn beside him. It wasn't ripe yet, but maybe he could—
No, no, he couldn't. He couldn't just yank up somebody else's crops and eat it. Hades had some dignity, some principles, some sense of propriety.
So he kept wandering along the edges of the fields. Even without food, it counted as a walk to aid digestion.
If only corn had grown this tall back then, Hades thought, he wouldn't have had to worry every day about what Mortarion would eat.
Now look at Mortarion, eating so little in the Legion—back then the bastard had wiped out the grain stores of an entire village, forcing him and Calas to beg for food from neighboring villages. And now he complained that he ate too much!
Hades strongly felt that such a word was outrageous.
As he walked, a familiar aroma of roasted grains drifted toward him.
Huh?
Well, since he had nothing better to do….
Hades ambled over—and froze, eyes wide.
Another statue?
What the hell?!
It was a life-sized figure carved from black stone, dull and unpolished. A tattered cloak draped over the body. The figure sat hunched on a rock, both hands clutching a great scythe, as though watching over the fields—or perhaps simply dozing.
And the smell Hades recognized came from a little bag hanging on that scythe.
This was him—this was a statue of him?!
Though it's far cruder than Mortarion's monument, and only life-sized, it was still enough to leave him dumbstruck.
Mock Mortarion, become Mortarion. Good thing Mortarion wasn't here to see this.
Clicking his tongue in amazement, Hades circled his own statue several times.
He couldn't understand it—how did he have a statue?
His reputation on Barbarus had been nothing but wretched back then, hated and shunned by nearly everyone. Only a handful of people had pitied him enough to talk with him at all.
He reached out to touch it.
The statue's cloak covered the face, so there was no carving of his features.
Tsk. He had wanted to see just how handsome they imagined him.
After indulging in a moment of vanity, he promptly took down the bag of grain from the statue's scythe.
He knew this tradition well—back in the day, villagers used to give him food the same way, though usually hung on a stick.
Well, no need for politeness. It was meant for Hades anyway. He, the real deal, would just sign for it on behalf of the statue.
Soon enough, the bag of roasted grain was empty. Hades shook it out. Nothing left.
Just then, he heard a rustling sound. Bored, he turned his head—and saw a sturdy little boy crawl out of the cornfield, holding a stick. The kid looked six or seven.
The boy stared at Hades, squatting there like some street punk beside the statue, clutching an empty food bag. Then his eyes flicked to the statue. His face showed pure shock.
Heh, thought Hades, little brat—bow down and worship. The great Hades himself has arrived.
But then he saw the boy's eyes fill with tears.
Wait—what?! Why are you crying?!
"Don't—don't cry! Hey, kid, what's wrong?"
Hades swore he used his gentlest voice and most peaceful expression. He didn't dare stand up. With his size, standing would probably scare the child half to death.
"This big brother is a Death Guard. Whatever it is, tell big brother—he'll help you."
Maybe it was Hades' genuine kindness, or maybe just the intimidating reputation of the Death Guard, but the boy stopped crying. Wiping his eyes, he looked at Hades.
"You ate the offering I left for the spirit of Lord Hades."
The boy spoke in a hoarse voice, and his very first sentence nearly sent Hades to the grave.
Hades thought for a moment, then spoke again, beckoning the boy over with his hand:
"I'm a Death Guard. I know Lord Hades. Why are you bringing him food offerings? If there's something you want to say to him, I can pass on the message for you."
"Just think of it as compensation for me accidentally eating your food."
As it turned out, Hades' silver tongue still worked well enough. The boy slowly walked up to him and asked:
"Really? You actually know Lord Hades?"
"Of course. I know him well. If I'm lying, then I'm a dog."
Hades said this with a perfectly straight face—while, in his mind, barking a few times for good measure.
"Alright then, I believe you, sir Death Guard."
The boy said brightly:
"I hope… when you meet Lord Hades, you can tell him I also want to become someone like him—to protect the village, to protect others."
"It's not just Lord Hades you know. Others protected the village too—like Lord Mortarion."
"That's different!"
The boy suddenly raised his voice, leaping to defend his idol:
"Lord Hades is a lone hero! He roamed the wilderness all by himself, needing no one's help! And they don't even know! I drew maps of where Lord Hades traveled—he was consciously using the smallest range of activities to cover the most villages!"
Thanks for the praise. I really am amazing, Hades thought silently.
"Alright," he said aloud, "I'll make sure to deliver these words to Lord Hades. Do you have anything else you want to tell him?"
The boy swallowed hard.
"Tell Lord Hades… I'll train hard, eat well, and help my dad harvest corn. When I'm old enough, I'll go to school on the Ring."
"I will become a Death Guard!"
Hades blinked.
"If you want to become a Death Guard, you can't go around crying all the time."
The boy instantly blushed, sniffling.
"I won't cry. I'm a man! It's just… you ate the offering I worked so hard to prepare, so I felt sad."
"Worked so hard? Wasn't that just the most common kind of dried grain?"
"No! Some of those seeds can only be found up in the mountains. They're so bitter and foul-tasting that people stopped growing them long ago."
That actually surprised Hades.
"Why not use other grains instead?"
"How could I! That would be disrespectful!"
"The roasted grain offerings for Lord Hades follow a fixed recipe. I always go into the mountains early with the others to collect the seeds."
"Others? So it's not just you?"
Hades was growing more and more astonished.
"Yes." The boy nodded. "We all bring food to Lord Hades, to pray for a year free of disasters and for a good harvest. And whoever eats the offering will be blessed—with a chance to become a Death Guard."
Hades fell silent.
So on Barbarus… had he become something like a local earth god, a guardian spirit of the land?
"Wait—so you're saying there's not just one statue of Hades?"
"Of course not! Lord Hades protected so many villages back then—how could there only be one statue—"
Hades' expression suddenly turned serious.
"Kid, I'm Hades. Take me to find those statues. Once we find them, we'll split the offerings—twenty–eighty. You get twenty, I get eighty."
"What?! Wh-what are you saying?!"
Hades activated the projector on his gauntlet, displaying his serial number and name.
"You can read, right, kid? Look closely. H–A–D–E–S. Hades."
The boy went speechless. Mouth agape, he stared at Hades in shock.
"But you… you just said…"
"Woof," Hades replied.
The boy nearly fainted from shock. Pointing at Hades with a stammer, his face flushed red, tears welling up again.
"Forget about that. I am Hades. Take me to those statues—I don't have much time left."
Hades looked him straight in the eyes with all the sincerity he could muster.
"I'll take you to have some fun. You show me the way."
He stretched out his hand, motioning for the boy to come closer. The boy hesitated, then walked over. Hades grinned slyly.
"Ready? No crying allowed—"
Suddenly he sprang to his feet, scooping the boy up into his arms.
Patting the boy's back, he said, "Let's go, let's go. You guide me. Your Lord Hades will give you a taste of the wind's speed."
And so, that very day, the fields around the nearby villages saw a laughing whirlwind-dog tearing past, raiding every food bag left hanging on the Hades statues.
Later, Mortarion watched Hades in silence and handed him a piece of cake from the banquet table.
Hades waved it away and let out a burp.
"No thanks. I'm full."
Mortarion raised an eyebrow.
"Hades… you didn't raid the villagers' crops, did you?"
"Do I look like that kind of person, Mortarion? Am I that kind of person?!"
"You are," Mortarion replied flatly. "Judging by the way you slipped away after leaving only a note—you are exactly that kind of person."
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