Chapter 264: Garro Wins a Great Victory Today, Hades Suffers a Crushing Defeat
[Nothing happened today.]
Vorx scribbled those few words into his diary, then let out a soft sigh of relief.
That exact same short phrase had already been repeated hundreds of times across the pages of his journal.
If only life could always stay like this, Vorx thought—staying here on Barbarus, no war, no death.
He had even entertained the thought of applying to remain on Barbarus permanently. But he knew he could never do that. His destiny was to follow Mortarion, Hades, and Garro, to march with the Death Guard in every war, and to be part of their endless cycle of death.
The Death Guard fleet had been docked in the Barbarus system for some time now. The Imperium had been very satisfied with their recent campaigns and so had granted them this extended period of rest. Other than the perpetually busy Mortarion and Hades, most of the Death Guard had enjoyed a rare stretch of free time.
Following Hades' example, Garro had established his own combat training division. He began instructing recruits in combat skills—and relentlessly pummeling them. Garro explained it simply: In times without war, the Death Guard must never be allowed to grow complacent.
Mortarion and Hades both approved of Garro's philosophy. And so the company captain went from beating recruits with a blank expression… to beating them even harder, still with a blank expression.
Vorx would sometimes attend Garro's combat training sessions himself, only to be beaten black and blue and tossed out like refuse. Yet he didn't come solely for the "getting beaten up" part—
Perhaps because Garro's expressionless face always seemed to radiate a faint air of grievance, there was exactly one person in the entire Death Guard who rarely showed up to his training sessions. And that person was none other than their commander, Hades.
Thus, during the breaks while waiting for their turn to be beaten, the Death Guard often gathered together to tell jokes. This was a tolerated practice—sanctioned even—by both Garro and Vorx, who sometimes joined in themselves.
No one really knew why Hades, the funniest among them, would frown upon such behavior. But since their commander had never explicitly forbidden it, the men simply kept their jokes out of his sight.
From time to time, even the Primarch himself would show up to observe, checking on the combat skills of the new Galaspar recruits—and, incidentally, listening in on their jokes. Though few dared speak freely in front of their Primarch, the moment Mortarion himself shared a mocking joke about psykers, the atmosphere relaxed completely.
The rule was simple: You can joke about anything, except the Primarch himself.
Thanks to their long stationing on Barbarus, the Death Guard had also been able to recruit skilled personnel from populous Planet 5 to join their training programs. This turned out to be an immense blessing—for the first time, the food brought out to the cafeteria by Death Guard kitchen crews was actually edible.
On those days, the commander had been especially pleased, and everyone knew exactly why.
As for how they knew… well, the answer was simple. Hades' own students had sold him out.
Under his teachings, they had come to believe in siding with the common people at the bottom. And so, when faced with the rest of the Death Guard, they resolutely betrayed their commander, spilling every secret "Hades strategy" they had collected. Rumor had it they still kept a few trump cards reserved for internal use only.
Vorx, of course, was deeply disheartened by the betrayal. That Hades' own students would turn on him was painful to see. But that didn't stop Vorx from trading some of his own knowledge for access to their exclusive internal strategies on Hades.
Most of the Death Guard viewed the students' betrayal of Hades with disdain. But there was no denying that, under his personal tutelage, they had become some of the most dynamic figures within the legion. They forged connections with the Mechanicum, with the Hadeshound units, with representatives from other worlds, as well as with Death Guard officers themselves. Their social web was vast, and some among them had already risen to positions of power within the legion. Their pace of advancement could only be described as meteoric.
In contrast stood Mortarion's poison classes.
The most notable outcome of those lessons was that more than half of the Death Guard now made a conscious habit of slipping poison into their own meals.
Rumor had it that, egged on by Mortarion, they were even using Hades as a test subject, placing bets on who could finally bring the commander down. The pot had already grown to an absurd sum.
Yet Hades showed no signs of poisoning at all. He carried on as if completely unaware that toxins were being mixed into his food.
Vorx couldn't help but curse his brothers in his heart for a moment, and he felt a pang of sorrow for Hades. Mortarion, Garro, the Death Guard themselves—all of them seemed to be taking their amusement at Hades' expense in their own ways.
Only Vorx remained steadfastly at Hades' side, serving as his strongest shield.
Though lately, Hades hadn't really been reaching out to him much, Vorx thought dejectedly. Instead, the commander scurried endlessly between the lab beneath the Black Tower, the lab aboard the Endurance, the Armoury, and Mortarion's laboratory doors—paying little attention to the Death Guard at all.
Only those damned cogboys and the boring Techmarines spent every day with Hades.
Vorx swore bitterly to himself again. If traveling to Mars weren't such a time sink, he would've gone there to learn a trade too—at least then Hades wouldn't keep treating him with that sort of "higher perspective."
Incidentally, under the joint direction of Hades and Master of the Forge Enrique, the second group of Death Guard had already embarked for Mars. The first group that had been sent was soon to return as well. The question was whether they would make it back in time for the Death Guard's next campaign.
Though Vorx was saddened that Hades seemed to know nothing of what was going on in the legion—so wholly absorbed in his laboratories and research—he could still understand him. Stripped of his title as commander, Hades was, in essence, an extraordinarily gifted Master of the Forge.
Up to this point, Hades had already contributed the following innovations to the Death Guard:
An improved super-heavy tank, the Death Crawler (heavier firepower, thicker armor, deadlier ammunition).
A ship-mounted machine-spirit-killer warhead, Nirvana (strictly forbidden to dismantle).
Two types of anti-psyker grenades with differing mechanisms, Black Round and White Round (very few even knew of their existence; fewer still were equipped with them—Vorx was fortunate enough to obtain two).
A flamethrower variant, the Wisp (its flames were corrosive, especially lethal against psykers—Mortarion generously supplied the chemical recipe).
A simple exoskeleton, the Black Lady (specialized for the Hadeshound units).
Vorx wasn't a Techmarine—he didn't really understand these things. All he knew was that whenever he asked about them in the Armoury, the looks on the Death Guard techs' faces were always the same: That man isn't even human.
From time to time, Hades would appear, wearing that cryptic smile of his, dragging Vorx into his armory to test out a new weapon. Usually, he was surrounded by a circle of murmuring cogboys—one of them, a Magos who wore a blackstone talisman on his robes, looked especially deranged.
Vorx didn't like them. He had quietly raised the matter with Hades in private once, but Hades had only been momentarily surprised, before smiling in relief.
"I understand your concern, Vorx. But don't trouble yourself—I know of it. Still, thank you for warning me."
Know of it? Know what, exactly?! Vorx thought anxiously. Hades doesn't even understand what's going on inside the Death Guard! If not for his own involvement, Vorx would've nearly spilled all of the legion's private affairs right there.
Generous, magnanimous Hades, deceived and kept in the dark by everyone around him—Vorx's conscience gnawed at him for days after. The guilt was so strong he even stopped attending Garro's combat training sessions.
When at last he returned, Garro merely glanced at him coldly, then said something cryptic:
"He sees and knows more than anyone else. If anyone should feel guilty, it's him."
Vorx didn't fully understand what Garro meant. But he did decide one thing—that he would raise Hades's place in his heart another tier higher.
. . . . .
Garro knocked on the door in silence, and the familiar voice of "Come in" came from behind it.
The Leader of the Grave Warden opened the door and saw Hades, who was in the middle of compiling the day's intelligence.
Unlike Vorx, who spent his days writing journals, Hades had his own daily pastime: collating intelligence reports.
Those little brats who thought they were so clever at hiding things—Hades could even find out what they had stashed under their pillows.
Seated behind his wide desk, Hades was still wearing a loose mechanic's vest, smudged with oil stains. Clearly, he had just come out of the laboratory, dressed as a Techmarine.
Not that anyone dared to underestimate him. His desk was covered in reports and data, and Garro knew there were only two people in the Death Guard with the authority to view such documents.
Garro stepped up to the desk out of long habit and began reporting while standing. Hades never looked up, continuing to sift through and cross-check the files.
When the report ended, Garro fell silent. A hollow stillness filled the room, broken only by the rustle of papers in Hades' hands.
Since Hades did not dismiss him, Garro remained where he was, waiting quietly inside that silence.
"War is coming."
The words came in Hades' voice, barely louder than a whisper.
Garro nodded gravely. Indeed, the time was close. According to the rhythm of the Great Crusade, the Death Guard had already stayed here far too long.
With a long sigh, Hades began to speak again:
"As of today, the Death Guard have remained on Barbarus for two hundred and ninety-three days. We've secured cooperative ties with thirty-seven worlds and direct bonds with nine of them. Among those nine are two hive worlds, four death worlds, one quarry world, and two civilised worlds."
"Most of the treaties were negotiated by you, me, Vorx, and mortal officials. Mortarion himself handled the levies and conscriptions on the death worlds."
The four death worlds were: a barren wasteland of stone, a desert of eternal night scoured by acid, a storm-ravaged world of roiling seas, and a volcanic land split by magma currents.
Hades found it curious how these four hellscapes had all ended up grouped together, right beside Barbarus. But in the end, such details mattered little. According to their pacts, the Death Guard would establish a handful of human settlements on each world and file for imperial tax exemptions on their behalf.
In return, the worlds pledged that all those who yearned for battle and strove for advancement would enter the Legion. The Death Guard, in turn, would use these planets as training grounds for recruits. Candidates from across the sector would come to these places to learn the true meaning of endurance.
"To this day, the ship traffic through Barbarus has reached a point of balance. Even if the Imperium refuses to formally acknowledge it, Barbarus has already become the hub world of this sector."
Hades paused.
"Garro, do you think that's a good thing?"
Garro fixed his gaze on Hades.
"I've never taken you for the sort of man who frets over whether something is good or bad."
Hades gave a laugh, though his eyes remained cold. In an instant, the smile faded, replaced by sternness once more.
"Yes, you're right. Regardless, Barbarus is indeed growing—and pulling the whole sector forward with it. But that also means it's easier to target, easier to strike down—"
"I trust in Lord Mortarion's system of stellar defenses."
Hades blinked in surprise, his eyes widening before he slowly murmured,
"…You're right."
"Very well," he said with a shrug, "in any case, the Imperium's orders should be arriving soon. All we need do now is wait."
"I still hope the orders don't come accompanied by one of those soul-draining Black Ships. Last time they gave me quite the surprise, though—dumped a bunch of 'gifts' on us."
Hades' detached manner returned as he rambled on, cursing Malcador as a black-hearted swindler, muttering rebellious jibes against the Sigillite's decrees.
"That's all, Garro. Go on, you've got things to do."
It was a dismissal.
But Garro didn't move. He looked at Hades deeply and said:
"Don't take too much on yourself."
Hades blinked in surprise. Then, instantly slipping into his theatrics, he threw a hand over his eyes and let out a pitiful wail. Someone who hadn't seen it before might've believed it, but Garro wasn't fooled anymore.
"Oh, Garro, you're the only one who understands me! Day after day, they drug me! And when they drug me, they don't even bother to lace enough food with it! They sell my data—sell it! And Vorx, that bastard, even bought some of it! Bought it, and didn't tell me!"
"Only you, Garro, only you! You're the one warm light in the cold, cold Death Guar—"
"Enough."
Garro cut him off.
"Or I'll drag you out from behind that desk and beat some sense into you."
Hades straightened at once, posture perfect, as if nothing had happened.
"You shouldn't be so violent, Garro."
"And you shouldn't put this much pressure on yourself, Hades."
"Barbarus' diplomacy, negotiations with the Mechanicum, new equipment research, training personnel… you've done more than enough."
"In truth," Hades replied gravely, "most of those tasks I delegated. I didn't handle them personally. Mortarion, you, and Vorx—along with Aubrey and the other Death Guard—took the lead on most of it. The mortal governors have done their part as well."
"Mortarion oversaw the creation of an entire system-wide defense grid. Vorx managed the fresh recruitment drives on three planets. And when the Mechanicum had me tied up, it was you handling the Legion's day-to-day affairs."
"But you've supervised it all. And even one Mechanicum liaison mission is a massive workload. On top of that, you've been managing other duties—and the entire intelligence network of the Legion."
Garro's face was as expressionless as ever.
"You're still carrying too much."
Hades slumped forward, collapsing onto his desk until the sea of papers nearly buried him.
"All right, fine, you're right, yes yes yes—yes yes yes."
"I know what we might face in the future, Hades. We all know."
Garro spoke with deliberate weight in every word.
"But I feel that you—more than anyone else—fear it. I never noticed before, because in front of others, you're always calm, composed, unshaken. But it's fear, isn't it? Because unless you were being chased by some monster at your back, no one would drive themselves the way you do in times of relative peace."
Hades' muffled voice rose from within the piles of documents.
"You're wrong, Garro. You're wrong."
"When you have nothing, when reality remains the same, there's nothing worth caring about."
"But—" he lifted one tired hand, and the desk's holo-projector lit up, displaying Barbarus. In the balance of nature and technology, the world has already become beautiful.
"Now it's begun. The building, the growth. I won't let it be destroyed again."
With anguish, Hades buried his head deeper into the files, muttering bitterly to himself about weakness, about how a damned cesspit could suddenly seem fragrant.
War left no room for sentiment. But in rare, fragile stretches of peace, when time itself allowed them to reflect on what might come, Hades could never stop himself. Always hoping to do more. Just a little more.
After all, there will never be a day when one is fully prepared—but with every extra bullet loaded, the chances increase by that much.
Garro spoke stiffly.
"I trust in Lord Mortarion's planetary defense system."
Hades waved a hand.
"You and I both know that's not all I mean."
"Then let's return to our original point. You've already done everything you could."
Garro stepped forward, pressing a hand on Hades' shoulder and giving it a pat. In that moment, Garro was once again the elder brother who had once led Hades into the Legion—not the paper-pushing office drone calmly waiting for death amidst bureaucratic files.
Though, truth be told, much of that change could be blamed on the very commander standing before him now.
"Hades, you've taught me a lot—what it means to bear responsibility, what it means to build. Once, I was utterly convinced that the Great Crusade was everything: war and bloodshed, resistance and destruction. But you showed me another possibility, another road the Imperium might yet tread."
"Though, I still hate the paperwork it takes to make that road real, and I sincerely hope you'll stop assigning me more."
He rattled off that last sentence quickly, then continued with his usual expressionless calm.
"You may not realize it, but I know how much you've changed things—how many people you've changed. You've already done enough. You've given them the present; you don't need to demand of yourself the future as well."
"Hades, you know so much—you know everything about the Death Guard. But what you don't know is the weight you carry within the Death Guard, or the silent changes they've made for your sake."
Hades raised his hand, signaling him to stop.
"Changes? You mean telling each other bad jokes?"
He let out a short, self-mocking laugh.
Garro stared coldly back at him, unflinching and deadly serious.
"Your understanding is far too superficial, Hades. You haven't truly taken the Legion's changes seriously—or perhaps I should say, you've never treated them as equals. You always see yourself as guiding them from above."
"Isn't that the case?" Hades muttered softly.
"Perhaps you arrogantly think you've changed the Death Guard, Hades. But in truth, it's the Death Guard who have welcomed you."
"They've welcomed you for all the effort you've given, and all the effort you will give. They've acknowledged you. Without their recognition, any decree you issued would've been nothing but an empty scrap of paper."
"You really haven't noticed, Hades—you don't look like a Death Guard at all, do you?"
Garro's words struck straight at the heart, merciless and precise.
"That's why the Death Guard are trying to change themselves. We want you to become one of us."
If Garro had to summarize all of Hades' so-called sayings, he would condense them into a single line.
That line would be: "He always tells the truth—tearing away the careless facade he wears."
In truth, Hades himself might not even realize it: he is the kind who burns hot on the outside but is cold within.
For only a heart of stone can remain unmoved before storms and tempests.
Only such a heart can decisively choose the path of greatest possibility in the face of human suffering.
Only such a heart can stay calm, gripping the helm tight, when everyone else is shocked into terror by reality.
If Hades truly were a warmhearted man, reality would have crushed him long ago.
And Garro knew that only the most genuine truths could ever stir even the coldest soul.
"The Death Guard welcomes you. I welcome you. Vorx welcomes you. Lord Mortarion welcomes you. The Death Guard welcomes you as a whole. Though you walk among us so often, you still believe none of us can reach your level, don't you?"
"That's why the Death Guard has been trying to change itself. Hades, you should have realized this by now—the Death Guard is trying to catch up to you… or rather, to welcome you."
Sure enough, Hades froze completely, his only response a stammered string of meaningless syllables.
"…Enough, enough… stop, please stop."
Garro crossed his arms, satisfied as he watched Hades falter—and finally break down.
"Don't carry so much pressure. Barbarus is what it is now, the Death Guard is what it is now. You've already done enough. And if you ever need help, the Death Guard will always be here—not just when you command us as our commander."
And with that, Garro left—bearing the triumphant air of a victor, carrying an odd, inexplicable lightness, as though a long-standing grudge had finally been repaid.
Little brat, he thought, Barbarus' little brat. No matter how powerful you've become, back then it was still me who chose you. At last, I've dragged you into a pit you couldn't climb out of.
Garro could feel it: ever since joining the Death Guard, Hades had always looked down on them, gazing from the vantage of someone above.
But now—today—Garro, together with the entire Death Guard, together with the thriving world of Barbarus, had finally pulled Hades down from his pedestal.
Come down, boy, Garro thought. When I was fighting on Terra, you weren't even born yet.
And one more thing—The Death Guard welcomes you.
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