My Life as A Death Guard (Warhammer 30K Male MC)

A faint, pale-yellow glow filtered through the glass, casting a dim light onto the floor of the Fourth Horseman.

Hades stared at a section of the window, his scalp tingling with unease.

Beyond the glass, tiny as grains of rice, the Necron ships were closing in on the Iron Warriors' fleet.

At most, they were a little over one standard Terran hour away from entering firing range.

He swallowed slowly.

After their tense and unpleasant exchange, Mortarion and his Deathshroud had immediately returned to the Death Guard fleet.

At the same time, Mortarion had commanded his dark green ships to hide within a field of debris near one of Graia-106's moons.

Since Galaspar's main fleet had yet to return, the Death Guard's current forces were not at full strength.

Moreover, the Imperial-supplied vessels had not yet fully integrated with the remnants of the original Death Guard fleet.

This meant that, at this stage, the Death Guard could not serve as the main frontline force in a space battle.

Thus, they had no choice but to retreat and avoid combat—for now.

Of course, Hades had his own reasons for supporting this decision.

The Death Guard had already suffered heavy losses at Galaspar—in this battle, they couldn't afford to take too many more.

Hades kept his gaze locked on the small group of Necron ships.

Their vessels were compact, shaped like scythes.

Based on his prior encounters with Necrons, Hades hesitantly identified them as Jackal-class and Dirge-class raiders.

Against them stood a fully operational Iron Warriors fleet.

Hades pondered this for a moment.

These smaller ships… they felt more like a probing force, testing the Imperial fleet's strength.

But even Necron raiders would be a serious problem for the Iron Warriors.

Necron ships possessed inertialess drives, allowing them to accelerate to absurd speeds in an instant.

For most organic beings, such acceleration would result in catastrophic disintegration, their bodies violently tearing apart under the sheer force.

But Necrons had no flesh to worry about—only unrelenting, merciless efficiency.

And their technological superiority meant that current Imperial naval weaponry was frustratingly ineffective against Necron fleets.

That being said…

The Necron ships before the Iron Warriors weren't moving particularly fast.

They were advancing deliberately, exploiting the Imperium's arrogance and ignorance of their capabilities.

Hades focused intently on the approaching ships.

Then, suddenly, a realization struck him.

The Iron Warriors' fleet formation was highly concentrated.

At its absolute center was the Iron Warriors' flagship, the Iron Blood.

Nestled among her offspring, the Iron Blood drifted in quiet vigilance.

Its plasma shields shimmered faintly, a soft glow rippling across its colossal hull.

But on the far side of the fleet—away from Graia-106— the Iron Warriors' defenses were visibly weaker.

That was not good.

He had to find a way to warn them.

But Hades knew that even if he did, it probably wouldn't make a difference.

From their brief interaction earlier, it was clear that Perturabo was already furious with Mortarion.

He wasn't going to listen to the advice of a Death Guard commander.

Still, he had to try.

Hades first sent a request to the signal transmission station aboard the Fourth Horseman, asking for a private communication channel with the Iron Warriors.

Normally, this kind of request would require Primarch approval—

But at that moment, Mortarion was busy addressing his Legion.

For now, he had temporarily handed command of the fleet to Hades.

Since they were hiding within the moon's debris field, it seemed highly unlikely that the Death Guard would be engaged in any direct battle.

So, unwilling to watch the Iron Warriors' fleet swatting at a few "flies" in space, Mortarion promptly decided to pursue "more meaningful" matters instead.

Mortarion considered watching the Iron Warriors waste their time fighting a handful of small ships to be a pointless endeavor—though he never actually said it aloud.

Still irritated by Perturabo's behavior, he knew he needed something to distract himself—something to push his infuriating brother's image out of his mind.

And what better way to calm himself than to spend time with his own sons?

After all, a true leader knew how to delegate authority.

Mortarion did not consider himself a tyrant—of course, he had to provide his subordinates with opportunities to gain experience.

And so, Hades found himself standing here, in the command chamber of the Fourth Horseman.

He wanted to say something sarcastic about it, but at this point, he just felt numb.

Now he understood how Calas Typhon had managed to run the Death Guard into the ground back in the day.

Forget it. Whatever.

A distinctive electrical hum signaled that Hades' transmission request had gone through—instantly.

He had requested a direct communication line with one of the Iron Warriors' Trident, Dantioch.

Back when he was aboard the Iron Blood, Hades had secured Dantioch's private communication frequency.

At the time, it might have looked like they were just standing against the wall for punishment, but in reality, Hades had sent communication requests to the Trident members.

Most of them rejected his request—

But at least one of them accepted.

[ . ]

The channel connected.

Silence.

Hades quickly spoke first.

[ Hello, I am Deathshroud Hades, also the Techmarine of the Death Guard. ]

[ I am currently responsible for enemy observation and response on behalf of the Death Guard. ]

He paused for a moment.

[ Speaking in my personal capacity, ]

[ The enemy's ship engines are highly unusual—they appear to be designed for short-range acceleration. ]

Hades hesitated.

Would the Iron Warriors accept it if he directly pointed out their fleet's weaknesses?

[ . ]

Still silence.

Hades' mind raced—he needed to salvage this.

He quickly added,

[ I would like to share intelligence on the enemy with the Iron Warriors. ]

[ I believe your observations and understanding of the battlefield far exceed what the Death Guard has gathered—there is much we can learn from you. ]

[ . ]

Still no response.

…Shit. Did he dial the wrong number?

Then, a deep, measured voice broke the silence—

Like metal gears slowly grinding into place.

[ Understood. Thank you for your insights, Deathshroud Hades. ]

[ In my personal capacity as Dantioch, ]

[ I will share Iron Warriors' intelligence with you in return. ]

Within the iron jungle, behind his helmet, Dantioch's gaze remained fixed on the figure before him.

Perturabo stood in silence, staring at the strategic map on the war table.

There, within the atmosphere of Graia-106, enemy forces had begun to deploy a small number of aircraft.

Any incoming transmission requests from another fleet would, of course, require the Primarch's approval.

Even direct messages to private channels would be intercepted by Perturabo.

After all, he prided himself on maintaining precise control over every battlefield.

Dantioch realized that his Primarch had overheard the conversation.

Yet, Perturabo showed no reaction.

Dantioch remained silent—he knew Perturabo would not appreciate the Trident members speaking at this moment.

Perturabo stared in silence at the approaching Necron ships.

Sleek hulls, compact engines protruding from their undersides.

Faster.

Countless pieces of data converged in Perturabo's mind.

Then, it struck him—

In previous intelligence reports, these silent, rusted, machine-like xenos were noted for their extraordinary ability to withstand extreme acceleration.

No, no matter how fast they were, their numbers were still too few.

It's just a mere handful of ships—nothing more than eggs smashing against a rock.

Perturabo began his calculations.

If the Iron Warriors' first wave of torpedoes landed at least 30% of their hits, they would eliminate the enemy ships before they even entered effective range.

Did the Death Guard seriously believe they could teach him how to conduct warfare?

Was his brother watching him from the shadows, just waiting for him to falter?

Watching him weakly disperse his fleet out of fear?

Perturabo remained motionless.

The order to attack was given.

A squadron of Iron Warriors' cruisers broke formation and rushed toward the Necron vessels!

Meanwhile—

'An early assault?'

'That works too,' Hades thought.

This would test the enemy's speed while breaking their formation.

The cruisers would likely be lost, but their sacrifice would give the rest of the Iron Warriors' fleet time to adjust their positioning and response.

'At least they understood what I was trying to say.'

Hades felt relieved.

Though, he did wonder—how had Dantioch managed to convince Perturabo?

He considered it for a moment, but quickly dismissed the thought.

That was Iron Warriors' business.

Why should he, a Death Guard, care?

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