The tall, slender figure instantly arrived at the ongoing slaughter below, and then a new massacre began with the swinging of chains.
The original xenos slave-hunting team let out an angry roar upon seeing the tall, slender figure, and relying on their numerical advantage, they launched an attack. But the man, whose skin was a sickly pale, merely flicked the bits of flesh from his chains before charging at the aliens. The ordinary chains in the hands of the rail-thin, tall man transformed into the scythe of the Grim Reaper; each lash was accompanied by the whistling of death, and each lash was accompanied by flying flesh and a rain of blood.
Initially, the aliens, relying on their numerical superiority, suppressed the man who had leaped down from the high wall, but within mere minutes, this silent man, willing to sacrifice some of his defense, massacred these aliens, and soon they were all slaughtered.
"Go!" Typhon, with the few remaining individuals, pulled a still-dazed Mortarion towards an intact slave-hunting vehicle, then started the engine. Taking advantage of the gap while the aliens watching from the city walls were frantically opening the city gates and rushing towards them, they vanished like the wind into the mist.
"Mortarion! My child, come back, face me, you can't run away, sooner or later you will come back to me!" On the steep mountain, the alien lord's piercing shriek, like that of a ghoul, seemed to echo from all directions, as if to tear human eardrums, and his voice stirred up green poisonous mist, creating ripples. "If you dare to escape, I will make sure you die without a burial place!"
"The Mortarion of the past is dead, now it is I, reborn. You'll see!" Mortarion suddenly stood up from the slave-hunting vehicle's bed, swinging the chain in his hand in a wide arc, sweeping it towards the pursuing aliens! Mortarion unfastened everything from his waist, cursing as he threw everything he could from his body and the vehicle towards the mountain fortress, seemingly venting the rage of years of imprisonment, and seemingly breaking free from the shackles his adoptive father had imposed upon him!
"Damn you!"
Mortarion used all his strength to shout towards the mountain fortress.
Typhon, who had now become a drift king, had no time to listen to what Mortarion was doing; he was squeezing the last bit of psychic power from his severely overdrawn body to control the vehicle, hurtling towards his unknown destiny.
In the Warp, the master of the garden was reducing the sauce over a large fire; he had finally found that feeling of carefully simmering fate. He joyfully picked up a newly born Nurgling from his shoulder, casually scratched a pustule on his waist, and yellow-white pus burst into his hand, which he gifted to this lucky one. The Nurgling in the Father's hand let out sharp squeals of joy, thanking the Father for his gift, and so more Nurglings were born around the Father.
The Father continued to concentrate on stirring the cauldron before him; countless diseases and plagues roiled in the pot, cheering the great Plague Lord for his manipulation of them. Although his destiny was already set, he still needed to maintain sufficient vigilance against the other beings like him in the Warp. Even a deity could not guarantee that fate would always follow the direction he had set, especially with that annoying presence constantly interfering with him. The Father's mind flashed with the image of that blue figure.
The scorching heat of the forge twisted the air, and the crisp clanging sounds echoed continuously through the mine, composing a symphony full of hope.
"Let's go, all the raw materials in the warehouse have been used up. We'll just have to wait for Corax's 'zero-dollar purchase'." Swain put down the exquisite longsword he had just finished. Besides the longsword, there were several power claws that had completed their quenching nearby; the slender claw blades emitted a deadly cold glint, telling everyone to stay away from these lethal weapons.
This was The Saviour Camp's largest weapon workshop, handling various matters big and small within the camp. Swain and Corax would occasionally moonlight as master smiths, crafting some weapons for Shadow Assassin, but unfortunately, due to limitations in various raw materials, most of what was produced here were still ordinary cold weapons.
Corax would occasionally go to the Spire and Kiavahr to 'acquire' some crucial original components for producing power weapons, and thus, as The Saviors' arsenal became increasingly complete, thefts at the Spire and Kiavahr became more frequent.
Although the technology in Corax's mind was enough to propel a Stone Age civilization into the interstellar era, this would take too long. Lycaeus was merely a mining planet, with nothing but ore; rubber, plastic, and other various raw materials all needed to be exchanged from supply stations. As for key components for power weapons, there was simply no way to exchange for them.
"Swain, a few little mice are trying to sneak into our camp. They don't look like people from the Spire, more like a reconnaissance team from Kiavahr. The Spire must be suspicious of us, should we just..." Nekser, guarding outside the weapon forge, made a throat-slitting gesture.
"Reconnaissance team? That shouldn't be it. If the Spire wanted to act, it wouldn't be that complicated; they'd just mobilize the garrison. They're probably here to investigate my and Corax's origins. Let Shadow Assassin have some fun with them, and by the way, interrogate them for intelligence on Kiavahr. The rest is up to you."
Swain didn't care about the lives of these people; his goal was to understand the current situation on Kiavahr. Most of his time and energy were spent coordinating the relationships between the various camps on Lycaeus within The Saviour Camp.
When camps of all sizes merged, it always took time for them to adapt to each other, while Corax's time and energy were mostly dedicated to training the miners drawn from various camps. Even the people from the Land of Sin had, through a brutal 'raising of gu' exercise forced upon them by the miners, decided on a new king. However, this king quickly submitted to Corax, and now The Saviour Camp provides them with various daily necessities to ensure their livelihood.
The price is that they will become a suicide squad, undertaking the most difficult and highest-mortality role among the four great military merits: the vanguard. The four great military merits are: vanguard, breaking the formation, slaying generals, and capturing flags. Completing any one is enough for a slave to achieve a leap in social status. There have been those in history who completed all four great military merits, but though not emperors, they had a 'Basic Annals of an Emperor' dedicated to them—the Hegemon-King of Western Chu! His divine bravery, unmatched through the ages.
Of course, Swain and Corax did not demand such heaven-defying achievements from them; being able to create some opportunities was already enough. The Saviour Camp was only responsible for their daily necessities; as for other weapons and equipment, they were not provided at all, depending entirely on their luck. This was undoubtedly a very harsh condition.
But this group of people still chose this path.