40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 549 67. Dark Crusade (5, Poison of Faith, plus update 5/)

The sky in this world is a gloomy iron-gray color, and it is raining, giving it a haze-like texture. The ground was muddy, with some green grass shaking in the rain. There is a huge dead tree not far away. It is very big, but there are no leaves left.

If someone suddenly decided to hang it upside down and look at it, they would probably identify it as a huge, branchy tombstone holding up the sky.

Not far from this tree, there are rows of dilapidated thatched houses taking the beating in the rain. They have obviously not been repaired for a long time and have long lost their function of protecting against wind and rain.

Of course, buildings are buildings after all, and they can still tell something. For example, this used to be a village, but now it's deserted
No, maybe there are still people out there.

This man is naked and walking in the rain with a blank expression on his face.

He was tall and strong, and his eyes under his wet blond hair were as blue as the ocean. He walked barefoot in this muddy and deserted village, looking extremely noble.

As long as you ignore the scarlet on his lips and hands, he is almost a walking demigod, and his body alone is enough to fascinate people.

Every muscle on that muscular body possesses a supernatural beauty. For artists, they are the ultimate fantasy that can only exist in dreams.

But if a well-trained soldier looked at this demigod, he would probably feel shuddering. Soldiers are dedicated to killing, and they understand exactly what this muscle means.

What is Rain?
In another quick burst of pain, he got his answer. So more questions were thrown out one after another, and then answered one after another.

He began to know what wood was, what rot was, what iron was, what rust was, what clothes were—and then, looking down, he looked, and the first desire was born.

A certain innate analytical ability came into play, tightly connected to the database in his brain.

Because of his strong association ability, the word "deer" brought up some memories that had been deep in his heart. At this moment, he could clearly remember that he had eaten the babies of a doe in front of her.

For example, the things that were falling in front of him and floating on his body were called rain.

She just stood in front of him sluggishly, trying to use her wet nose to nuzzle the tiny pieces of flesh and blood in his hand, and then whined softly, as if she wanted to persuade her child to stand up and leave with her.

He curiously walked into the thatched house, touched the rotten wood with his hands, picked up the rusty iron pot and the discarded rags to observe carefully, and even began to taste them.

They brought pain, but they also brought something that made him increasingly confused.

There are so many of these memories that if you put them together continuously, you can even deduce the time in detail. Just like that, he knew that he had been in the mountains for about two months.

Just like that, his first desire was satisfied, and more followed. The first desire he had to deal with was hunger. This concept was not unfamiliar to him. He had some memories of eating wild beasts in the mountains.

But he didn't understand, he didn't even know what his own name was.

The cries of those animals before they died seemed to still linger in his ears. Among them, the animal he ate the most was deer.
He was stunned again.

A lot of indescribable knowledge is being crowded into this newborn brain. They are very cruel. They don't care whether he can accept it or not. They just rush into the brain cells and occupy their own place.

So this is rain?
His confused brain began to beat inside his skull. This was the first question born in his life.

He acted quickly, and half an hour later, he found many messy clothes and tattered sheets in the surrounding houses. Lucky for him, he also found a box of sewing tools left behind by someone unknown.

The elegant animal didn't stop, maybe because of fear, maybe because it had given up resistance.

He was stunned.

I need clothes.

He stretched out his hand and caught a few raindrops. He watched as the transparent, cold water stopped in his palms, moistening his skin and bringing a strange touch.

Even though their size seemed a bit strange to him, he managed to use the knowledge in his mind to sew the clothes and sheets together into a filthy rag robe.

Then, then.
He fell to his knees and grabbed the edge of his throat with his hands, wanting to vomit. A strong sadness rushed into his simple heart. If he was really 'him', then he would not have this emotion now.

However, he is not 'he', he is just an existence fabricated by faith.

Those who believed in him brought their simple concepts of good and evil into his heart. In contrast, there were also a series of extremely complex views of right and wrong. And now, they were hitting him.

He understood that he was not condemned for foraging because he was hungry, it was a part of nature. But he also felt that his act of eating a mother's child in front of her was simply cruel.
Regardless of whether the deer has the same emotions as him, he shouldn't do this. He also has a mother, and he-

——Wait, mother?

The sad giant suddenly opened his eyes wide.

A name rushed into his heart along with the beliefs that shaped his existence. It was a white-haired woman wearing an archon's robe and holding a cane. Her name is Thalasa Yutun, and she is Robert Guilliman's adoptive mother.
My name is Robert Guilliman?
He frowned deeply and slowly stood up from the ground. There were still some things he didn't understand, but as he remembered this name, many other things were also remembered.

For example, among his responsibilities, he is the Lord of Macragge and the Lord of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. He is also the Thirteenth Son of the Emperor and one of the great Primarchs.

Robert Guilliman is so great. He is a demigod walking on earth. He is born with powerful power and the wisdom to make good use of this power.

He is fair, but never ruthless. He is kind, but he will never let any evil person go. He...
Is this person really me? The giant frowned, thinking silently.

He was keenly aware of the inconsistency between these descriptions and his current situation. If he was really Robert Guilliman, then he could not be in such a situation.

What's more, in his memory, just a few months ago, he was still eating wild beasts in the mountains. How could Robert Guilliman be in such a miserable state?
Of course, there is another crucial question - where do these words, or knowledge, come from?

Silently but confused, he stood up and walked out of the shabby hut. It was still raining outside, and the ground of the abandoned village had been completely soaked by the rain. The mud pits were like natural broken mirrors, cutting his image into pieces of uneven sizes.

Through them, the giant was able to piece together his own appearance. He squatted down and carefully observed his broken face. Only the simplest and most direct confusion remained in his blue eyes.

"Who am I?" he muttered to himself in unfamiliar High Gothic.

A few seconds later, he heard several screams, the sound of horse hooves, and the sound of waving weapons. He almost didn't need to distinguish them, and he could easily identify them.

They were carried to his ears in the rain and wind. He frowned, stood up, and strode in that direction.

Along the way, he passed the huge dead tree again, and a black bird stopped at the top of one of the branches and stared at him. It didn't bark, didn't move, didn't even blink, it just stared at him deeply in the wind and rain.

The giant stared at it, wondering what this creature was thinking, but he couldn't care less now. He seizes the time and continues to rush towards that place.

Behind him, the bird quietly fluttered its wings and took off, flying into the mountains without saying a word.

The mountain was filled with the smell of blood. Even if the word massacre was used, it was not enough to fully describe its brutality. The grass was overflowing with blood and bones, and the grass was flattened by the corpses of cleanly eaten animals. Their blood also feeds these plants, making the land soft and the insects reveling.

This special bird takes in all this, but does not stop, but continues to fly. It flew for nine nine minutes, arriving at its destination—an empty cave—at the speed of a slow bird.

It stopped in front of the cave, and its eyes began to emit light. The bright blue light was as illusory as the light in the mirror, and everything inside was completely illuminated. The cave was filled with dried blood and nine rotting corpses.

They had been dead for at least a year, and the robes they wore had long since merged with their flesh and blood, rotting like another layer of skin. In each of their hands was a dagger and a small wooden statue.

The bird jumped over, picked out the statues with its hard beak, and placed them next to the corpse.

The faces of those statues were no different from Robert Guilliman's.

The bird tilted its head and stared at them for a long time. Then, its shining gaze looked past them and the corpses and towards the depths of the cave. There lay an open sarcophagus, empty inside.

It jumped deeper into the cave, fluttered its wings and jumped onto the top of the coffin. There was a line of small writing left on it using something like a carving hammer.

'Our Savior'

The bird opened its beak, pecked out the words one by one, blurred them, corrected them, and even added a sentence in the end. When the work was completed, it couldn't help but make a squawking sound, as if it was proud of itself.

'The hypocritical savior, a simple creature born from the flesh and blood of beasts, let me wait and see what ending he will have'

(End of this chapter)