Chapter 215: They Can Speak. They All Can Speak.
The fleet from the Graia Forge World slowly docked, and with the safe arrival of the first batch of firearms, the second trial was about to begin.
Today was the day Hades was scheduled to inspect and collect the new batch of mortal auxiliary troops. They were to continue their training, whether it involved the operation of vehicles or preparation for administrative posts.
Hades sincerely hoped that Mortarion's training hadn't turned this batch into mute statues. Mortarion, of course, brushed off the concern with complete indifference, exuding a kind of absolute confidence that said "I know what I'm doing—don't interfere."
Hades ground his teeth in frustration. If not for the fact that he couldn't beat Mortarion in a fight, he would have absolutely straightened him out already.
But before he went to meet the mortal auxiliaries, Hades had another person to see—
A short, balding middle-aged man was trembling in the ranks of the tech-priests. One of the Graia Magos's side-appendages had clamped firmly onto the man's arm as if he might bolt at any second.
"Lord Hades, the man you requested—we've brought him," the Magos said with a deep bow.
The man beside him quickly followed suit, his plump body trying hard to bend in an awkward and almost comical way.
Hades pulled up a polite smile.
"Thank you, Magos. I'd like to speak with Fuller alone now."
The red lights flickered on the Magos's face, but after another deep bow—though clearly reluctant—he departed.
"Oh, thank you, my lord, thank you—those people are terrifying!"
Fuller immediately whipped out a greasy handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the sweat off his forehead while nodding profusely.
"The minds of the Mechanicus are indeed… different from regular folk. Thank you for coming, Fuller."
Hades gave a small nod. The reason he had summoned Fuller today was to further the training of those soon to be inducted into the administrative system. Fuller had once been an administrator in a hive city. Though he looked completely unreliable, there really wasn't a better candidate right now.
In truth, this rotund and greasy-looking middle-aged man had actually proven quite dependable. The schools across the Barbarus orbital ring were operating smoothly, and the watchers' regulatory audits hadn't uncovered any major issues. Hades could tell Fuller was taking his job seriously.
Even with the war effort in full swing and the Forge Worlds' endless demands occupying much of his time, Hades still made it a point to regularly check reports from the orbital ring to ensure nothing weird was happening on Barbarus, the homeworld of the Death Guard.
Currently, the administrative staff keeping the Barbarus system running were mostly the batch personally assigned by the Emperor back in the day. Their management style could be summed up as: ignore small problems, there are no big problems. But on a planet like Barbarus, which rarely caused trouble, it seemed to work out.
Meanwhile, the Death Guard directly managed key sectors like education, healthcare, and oversight. Hades had put together a ragtag crew to handle the education side, while Mortarion had repurposed his old medical personnel for the healthcare system. Oversight was handled directly by the watchers.
As it turned out, the former medics who had followed Mortarion during the conquest of Barbarus were surprisingly competent. After receiving further training from the Mechanicus, the medical system was functioning well and hadn't suffered from staffing shortages.
As for the education system… it was going better than Hades had initially feared. At least, literacy and basic numeracy were becoming more common. Though oddly, the physical development of students—boosted by the regimented schooling—seemed to outpace their mental development by quite a bit.
As Hades sat silently in thought, Fuller wiped his sweat again and carefully asked:
"M-My lord… may I ask… what exactly have you summoned this humble one to do today?"
"Training," Hades replied.
Hades spoke while deep in thought, then stood up.
"Come, I'll take you to meet your batch of students. You'll need to teach them the basics of administrative work."
Seeing Hades rise, Fuller quickly followed behind.
"M-My lord, I don't think I'm up to this…"
"Then recommend someone better."
Fuller fell silent. He realized the lord seemed burdened with thoughts. Little did he know that Hades was simply worrying about Mortarion's quality of instruction.
Fuller swore he didn't want to teach students like this. By the Emperor, he had already thought his life was hell enough. He'd nearly broken a bone getting knocked over in the hallway by a rampaging student, and he had even been the subject of an attempted poisoning by the little brats trying to test his resistance to toxins. Fuller thought his suffering had peaked—but now he realized it was far from over.
The speech from the legion master continued. Later, Hades and Fuller stood in an unassuming corner of the training hall. Fuller looked at the stern, deathly serious "students" standing tall and full of murderous intent… and started questioning his life choices.
Since when did administrative staff look like they were ready to die gloriously on the battlefield!?
Fuller clearly sensed the oppressive air radiating from Hades, but still subtly ducked behind him. The sheer gravity of the atmosphere in the room was just too much.
Hades, meanwhile, looked over the group with satisfaction.
Good—qualified soldiers. Serious. Ready to die without hesitation.
But… none of them looked anything like administrative personnel.
Mid- and lower-tier administrative staff only needed to be able to handle records and forms. Higher-level personnel, however, needed keen insight, political instincts, and a certain level of cunning and savvy—that slickness unique to bureaucrats.
That was exactly why Hades had brought Fuller here: he was the best embodiment of those qualities Hades could currently find.
But looking at this group, who looked like they couldn't even get a word out if you hit them with chainsword, Hades felt a wave of despair wash over him.
'Mortarion… thank you so very much.'
Oblivious to the two men emanating dark energy in the corner, Mortarion's speech continued atop the dais. From this point on, aside from those selected for the next stage of surgery to become Astartes, the rest would no longer be under Mortarion's direct command.
His dull armor glinted faintly in the light. Mortarion had not lit his censer today, making the imposing presence of the Lord of Death all the more striking. Opposite him stood the silent recruits from Galaspar.
"—I am pleased to have trained you. This reminds me of my time on Barbarus—training was hard, but people supported one another and held hope for the future."
During the previous phase of training, the resilience of these people had deeply impressed Mortarion. The harsh environment of Galaspar had forged in them a surprising tolerance. Their endurance in the face of adversity was astonishing. Those who crawl out of hell have little fear of the filth of the world.
"You, the people of Galaspar, have proven your resilience to me. Therefore, I declare the gates of the Death Guard open to you."
"The Death Guard accepts your deaths in its service."
Mortarion fell silent, then stepped aside as a servo-skull approached with two goblets of wine. The dark liquid inside gave off a pungent, bloody stench. Hades, hidden in the shadows, frowned—that was Mortarion's home-brewed poison again.
It looked like the cup meant for the mortal had at least been diluted.
Hades suspected Mortarion just wanted a drink, but then noticed the Death Lord glance in his direction.
[Just wait and see.]
The message buzzed in Hades' private channel. Still confused, Hades decided to go along and watch what Mortarion was planning.
"Now—one of you, step forward and drink with me."
"I, Mortarion, Lord of Death, Pale King, forge a pact with the people of Galaspar through death."
"This wine is laced with poison. The one who drinks it may die. If they perish, the pact is void."
Mortarion turned aside, patiently waiting for a brave soul to emerge. A stir swept through the crowd. He noticed Cinis hesitate—but then a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out ahead of her, striding quickly up to the platform.
Short brown hair. A scar cutting from his mouth. And piercing blue eyes like a wolf's.
Mortarion raised his brow.
"I presume you are not here for the Astartes selection."
"Yes, my lord. I am here for the auxiliary forces selection," the man replied with calm respect.
"Your name, or designation."
Mortarion picked up the two cups of wine and handed the smaller one to the man.
"They call me Wood."
"Very well, Wood—then let us swear this oath."
Mortarion first removed his gas mask and downed the cup in a single motion. The toxic brew scorched its way down the Primarch's throat, the poison mixing with the high-proof alcohol. Even for him, it caused a brief moment of dizziness.
"Please," Mortarion hissed.
Wood took a deep breath, eyes filled with a determination to die if necessary, and raised the cup. He drank.
Sweat beaded on his skin as his blood began to roar. The poison screamed through his system, and he felt like his internal organs were on fire.
Everyone could see something was wrong. The previously silent crowd tensed up, breaking the solemn atmosphere. Hades could hear their hearts collectively speeding up—some people even made a move to approach Wood, but Mortarion allowed it.
This batch was the best of the best from Galaspar. Under Mortarion's subtle guidance, they had developed a strong sense of pride and urgency about representing their people.
'If I fall here, won't that bring shame to all of Galaspar?'
Finally, Wood slammed the cup down, gasping, swaying slightly as he stood. His body was numb from the toxins, but he raised the now-empty cup high above his head—
He did it!
The crowd erupted into thunderous applause, cheers, whistles. People embraced one another in celebration. The tension that had hung in the air shattered completely.
"Thank you, my lord," Wood said hoarsely.
"This is respect that your people have earned," Mortarion replied, clapping a hand on his shoulder, then motioning for the crowd to help him down. The Primarch looked on with interest as they rushed up to embrace their hero. The Mortarion who had drunk the poison was, for once, uncharacteristically lenient.
Wood staggered about as the crowd swept him up and carried him around. Some young women were even trying to stuff bullet casings etched with their names into his hands.
[I told you—they can talk.]
Mortarion's voice rang out smugly over the private channel.
[Listen to their cheers and applause, Hades. You can't say they're mute anymore.]
[How did you do it?] Hades asked, astonished.
Mortarion was clearly enjoying his triumph.
[Just like that.]
[People who've lived long under pressure will adapt in their own way.]
After the conquest of Galaspar, Mortarion had taken time to study the social fabric of the Barbarus ring again. To his surprise, the people there weren't nearly as silent or grim as the ones in the Death Guard's ranks.
[I added something like a dueling pit to their free time, and offered captured goods from Galaspar's hive cities as prizes.]
[They naturally blossomed.]
Hades opened his mouth slightly, stunned.
[I didn't expect this. Really, I didn't.]
[There are many things you don't expect.]
Mortarion's voice came back, laced with mocking amusement.
[Now that they've passed my test, go find your "talking" candidates.]
Slowly, the pleased Primarch reattached his gas mask. In a cheerful mood, he tapped the ground with his scythe a few times, the dull clang echoing sharply in every ear. The crowd fell silent.
"You have one hour of free time. After that, someone else will be in charge of you."
"Your next instructor and selecting officer—"
"Commander Hades, step forward!"