The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Chapter 3329: Crimson Blood Forges Gold (I)

Marcus raised his head, feeling blood dripping from his forehead, mingling with sweat.

For a moment, he almost didn't remember where he was or what he was doing.

Suddenly, everything rushed back like a flood. The blasted area in front of him was still smoking, making it difficult to identify anything within its perimeter.

There were some frames, tracks, all mangled and blackened.

The Leman Russ had been completely destroyed. Several large pieces were scattered across the battlefield, with the turret, flung a hundred meters away, still smoldering.

It had taken their regiment a long time to get that thing out of the near-collapsed equipment bay, but it was all in vain. It only stood on the battlefield for a few minutes.

Gasping, Marcus climbed to his feet, feeling his battered body protesting.

Though his memory was hazy, he remembered running towards Mena, desperately trying to stop him from advancing.

Then, the alien fired. The guy who liked to sneak drinks at night was dead. All his flamboyance, his bravado, and charm, vanished forever in that terrible green flash.

Garn was dead too. The man who always talked about his four-year-old son and his wife who made excellent pies, with strong arms that could lift two men, yet possessed an unexpectedly gentle nature. When the alien's gauss ray took out everything below his waist, he still tried to protect his favorite heavy bolter.

Bonn's death surprised him the most. Though the man was sometimes annoying, he was a good company commander. Marcus had been a soldier for seven years, and he had seen many officers, few as sharp and intelligent as him. But his cleverness couldn't save him from being devoured by a swarm of metal beetles.

And so many others, so many people...

He once thought everyone was the best, and the officers always proclaimed that their comrades were elites, their weapons were the finest, and their officers were of outstanding character.

He believed it too.

After a moment, Marcus felt his senses returning. There was no time to mourn. Across the battlefield, new soldiers crawled forward from the rear, shaking their heads, cautiously rising to a crouch.

More were rapidly approaching, traversing the cratered ground, intent on closing the temporary gap in the fighting line.

Marcus got to his feet, his legs trembling, causing his whole body to shake.

Something had struck his head, and his left ankle was twisted and swollen.

Still, he was lucky. The corpses on either side of him were motionless. The tank explosion, which they had tried to use as cover, had taken out a dozen soldiers, but not him.

Marcus looked around, retreated, and began to limp back towards the relative safety of the friendly lines.

As he did so, he felt some strength returning to his legs, so he quickened his pace.

The smoke gradually dissipated, and the sounds of battle surged back in.

He stumbled backward and was soon overtaken by a group of ragged men, their combat uniforms torn and tattered, rifles in hand. A wave of relief washed over him.

He wasn't alone.

"What are you doing here, soldier?"

A harsh voice came from in front of them, followed by a group of people. The burly officer leading them roughly grabbed his shoulder, waving a sword in his face.

Marcus's vision was still unfocused, the effects of the explosion hadn't worn off, and his grasp of his surroundings was weak.

"Deserters will be executed immediately! The Orpheus Death Corps cannot tolerate cowards!"

The officer said sternly, seeing that Marcus had no weapon, he directly shoved a grenade into his hand.

"Keep up with us, the next attack is about to begin!"

Just as the man spoke, the charge trumpets sounded again, with answering shouts coming from all directions.

They were at the base of the outer archway steps of an alien temple, a key enemy target inside. The previous nine assaults had failed. There were only four entrances, with limited space for troops. Before, they had rashly tried to force their way in with tanks, resulting in disastrous consequences.

After all methods proved ineffective, the generals had apparently decided to continue the attack in the most basic way—

Assault, assault, continuous assault, using human lives as fodder!

On both sides of the steps, squads of soldiers began to advance. In the distance, groups of suicide bombers holding 'spike mines' were making their final preparations, screaming furiously from excessive stimulant injections.

Behind them, ranks of infantry advanced more cautiously, trying to avoid provoking these already half-mad men.

The generals were throwing in the entire division's reserve force without reservation. The whole army advanced, wave after wave of soldiers moving forward in unison.

Marcus had no choice. He was swept along, turning and moving, clutching his grenade tightly. As he passed a corpse, he picked up the dead man's gun.

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An abnormal silence suddenly descended on the battlefield. Soldiers lay prone on the steps, bayonets glinting in the eerie green light.

Seconds later, a shrill whistle sounded, and the officers straightened up, raising their command swords.

"Charge!!! For the Emperor! Die bravely!"

Without hesitation, the soldiers responded with piercing shouts, rising to their feet and charging forward.

Marcus was swept up and ran with them, his somewhat feeble voice joining the chorus of war cries. At that moment, he felt the gun in his hand was very light. The pain was forgotten.

But as the soldiers in front stepped onto the last step, a storm of light beams came head-on, instantly turning hundreds into ashes without even a scream. Some had their upper bodies erased, a quick death, but others were hit below the waist, or on one side of their body, causing their flesh to collapse, and the remainder would bring continuous pain.

Dozens of unlucky ones fell off the steps, and piercing howls echoed under their respirators as blood and entrails splattered.

The officers immediately went up and slit their throats with a sword, ensuring they would not make any more morale-damaging noises, and giving them a quick end.

The following people had to continue to charge forward.

Everyone was red-faced, eyes bloodshot, veins bulging on their necks, partly from the tension and excitement of the battlefield, and partly from the excessive drugs flowing through their veins. Each soldier had been injected with a combat stimulant composed of three drugs, which would put them in a state of high excitement and passion. Of course, there were many costs, but obviously "the future" did not exist in this graveyard. But some people, due to their constitution, wore off the drug quickly, like Marcus. Usually they would inject a second time, but the cost would be possible bleeding symptoms. He had seen that tragic state before, blood seeping from the nostrils and eyes, and the eyes also turning blood red.

Marcus's dose had been used on a comrade, and now he had none left. He even began to feel a sense of emptiness as the drug wore off—

But the battlefield would not let him off, and neither would the officers.