pertwk Chapter 73 Religion
Chapter 73 Religion
The statue has existed for countless millennia, its towering rock formations resembling both shackles that bind it and its guards and throne.
He easily pierced the dazzling sky. He had no face, held a scepter, and had enormous, angelic wings behind him, yet his body was hunched and twisted like that of an old man.
He, the rocky mountain beside him, and the statue itself were all bare, eerily shrouded in death, devoid of any life.
The surface of the rocks was completely devoid of vegetation, not even trees, wildflowers, or the sparsest and most tenacious weeds; Hector could not see a single one with his instruments.
Just standing on the sand and looking ahead, Hector found the sight before him so dazzling.
The sunlight seemed to be in particular conflict, and under its rays, they formed a shadow over each other.
The deep canyons, the low-lying ravines, and the steep cliffs and fissures all resembled gaping, dark maws yearning for life and flesh.
Without a doubt, it was an evil god, an evil god worshipped and conceived by the natives of this planet called Pilgrimage Star.
"You made a mistake, O'Shea," Hector frowned.
He was followed by Nicol Aulas and Osher Wardmaker.
"I... this was my mistake, sir." Wardmaker bowed his head in shame.
His blind faith prevented the advance team from thoroughly understanding the planet, leading to a heavy blow to the fleet.
"Religion, believers, mutation of flesh," Hector said, word by word, "and..."
Just as he was about to continue speaking, he keenly noticed a gaze that posed no threat but was extremely intense.
Hector stopped and turned around. Behind the Dawnbringer guarding him, he saw a man with a white Eastern European face.
The man wore a brand-new, one-piece white robe with a linen overcoat. His face had piercing wounds and severe abrasions from sharp blades, with only one eye visible, while the other was covered and protected.
Even with just that one eye, Hector could sense the other's fervent, burning respect, and the look of someone eyeing an imminent reward.
"Who is that?" Hector asked.
Nico Aulas, who had already straightened up because Hector stopped, looked in the same direction as Hector and was equally puzzled.
This was by no means a mortal technician from their Dawn.
He then turned to look at Wardmaker beside him, who was staring at the mortal with some disbelief.
When asked about the Primarch, Wardmaker spoke respectfully, his usually savage voice now lowered: "A bard, and also a fearless and noble warrior."
"His name is Lord Finn Baker."
"Very high praise." Hector raised an eyebrow and waved to Finn Baker.
Finn Baker, who had received the signal, was not intimidated at all. Under the envious gazes of his colleagues on the other side, he did not wait for the Astartes to make way for him. He simply bent down and passed under the Astartes' arms.
Then, waving his arms, he ran to Hector's side.
When he arrived, Finn Baker was leaning low to the ground, his hands on his thighs, his breathing as persistent as a broken old fan.
Every breath exhaled and inhaled seemed to carry the stench of blood.
Hector maintained this posture for quite some time, waiting for the mortal to catch his breath.
As the rumbling of the broken fan gradually subsided, Hector reached out a hand and, under the other's wide, seemingly about-to-jump eyes, helped Finn Baker to his knees to prevent him from collapsing from coughing too violently.
"This! This!"
Finn Baker trembled, vowing to himself that he would never wash his right arm again.
"No need for that, warrior," Hector bestowed upon Finn Becktroy with this honorific title.
"The battlefields of Astartes have always been cruel and brutal, not places where ordinary warriors can set foot, let alone a bard who has never been trained."
"You have demonstrated your noble and courageous qualities; I commend your bravery and loyalty."
"That day, I touched the Primarch," Finn Baker thought to himself, gazing at Hector.
The Primitive Being praised my courage and nobility, not disregarding my mortal status.
This is simply too dreamlike. If Finn Baker hadn't experienced it firsthand, he would have laughed at the other person, saying they must have been drunk and acting crazy, or perhaps they were still dreaming.
On this day, the bard lost the ability to sing on the spot.
Under Wardmaker's regretful gaze, he stared blankly as Hector departed, his mind replaying and revising his encounter with the Primarch. Though his lips remained closed, he could not utter a single complete word.
Only the onomatopoeic words like "ah" and "e" remain, like a child learning to speak, making onlookers laugh foolishly.
"How am I supposed to write this meeting into a story?" Finn Baker said, somewhat lost in thought.
Because no matter how he wrote, he could not express his ultimate praise for Hector within a limited and coherent sentence.
This time, he was somewhat embarrassed and frustrated, and walked back with trepidation and unease, heading straight for his camp.
"There is no need to continue negotiations."
"They broke their oath and launched a despicable sneak attack! We must make those who broke their oath pay the price! It is our duty to purify those abhorrent cultists."
"My lord, I agree with you on this matter."
"Before the strange signal emanated from that valley, the message conveyed by the counter-propulsion of the Dawnbringers and the Space Wolves did not deter any of the cultists, even as their own people were being mercilessly slaughtered by us."
"They will still climb onto the soldiers' armor without hesitation, crushing our soldiers with their strength and wearing them down with their blood and flesh, until those..."
A Dawnbringer company commander pointed to the mutated corpses being recovered and examined, his tone heavy, like the warm-up of a vehicle: "It's unbelievable that their mutated bone spikes can pierce through our armor."
As he spoke, he took the initiative to break off a bone spur from the wrist of a corpse, easily snapping it in front of everyone.
He showed it to everyone, then slammed it down on a gauntlet salvaged from a Space Wolf power armor. The crisp cracking sound of breaking bones was clearly audible throughout the tent. The relatively weakly armored gauntlet didn't even suffer a scratch on the paint.
"I don't know how they did it, but my lord, these are just ordinary bones, yet the armor of many fallen warriors has incredibly smooth bone spur marks."