NOVEL WEB Chapter 101: As Long as You Don’t Die, Keep Learning
Mars.
The presence known as “Hades” had thrown the entire Techmarine Training Base on Mars into chaos!
“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”
The guillotine!
Hades had his arm wrapped tightly around Space Wolves Manning’s neck—Manning’s third time in the dueling cage—and squeezed!
Manning clawed at Hades desperately, his eyes rolling back as he tried to break free.
Unfortunately for him, Hades, like a mountain of flesh, pressed down relentlessly, not giving the wolf even the slightest chance to escape.
When Manning finally stopped struggling and his legs went limp, Hades let out a slow breath and released his grip.
The completely exhausted Space Wolves lay motionless this time, not even twitching.
Breathing heavily, Hades stood up and scanned the crowd below.
In the audience, the Techmarines—sitting or standing—wore complicated expressions. Most of them bore visible injuries.
The faces of those present reflected a mix of shock and disbelief.
“Anyone else?”
Hades wiped the sweat off his forehead.
He was starving.
Back with the Death Guard, at least Apothecary Leo would inject him with something to keep him going.
The crowd below was silent. No one answered.
Hades, his head swimming, staggered off the cage and headed straight for the cafeteria, not giving it another thought.
What he didn’t know was the hushed conversation that followed among the Techmarines after he left.
A newly arrived Ultramarine, eyeing the battered Space Wolves who had just been thrashed, cautiously spoke up:
“Was Hades always this strong?”
The other Ultramarines exchanged glances, silently agreeing to no longer categorize Hades as “an easy-going, friendly guy.”
Severius of the Ultramarine slowly said,
“Maybe… he just didn’t want to draw attention to himself before.”
Previously, this Death Guard had always been mild-mannered—a good-natured Techmarine.
But… What Techmarine could get a Primarch to personally visit them?!
And while Severius had always classified Hades under “competent in combat,” what he’d just witnessed went far beyond “competent”!
Three times he defeated Manning, plus three Iron Warriors, an Imperial Fist, four War Hounds, a Luna Wolves…
Oh, and two Ultramarines.
Severius’s back still ached from being slammed to the ground earlier. The memory of Hades using sheer size and strength to disarm him and pin him down remained vivid.
To be honest, being forcibly pinned to the ground didn’t feel great.
Especially when the other guy was heavy.
Severius would never admit that he had deliberately calculated Hades’ energy levels and only challenged him when he thought Hades would be too exhausted to fight effectively.
But clearly, everyone had underestimated Hades.
That guy—he must have been holding back in previous duels.
The terrifying gap in strength, coupled with Hades’ clever use of his weight to conserve energy in later fights…
Not to mention that endurance!
Even if his techniques and combat skills were excellent, that extraordinary stamina was unparalleled!
Fourteen matches in a row!
And he was fighting bare-handed while the others used weapons.
In the first five matches, most challengers approached Hades with the mindset of “You’ve been playing dumb this whole time, haven’t you?”
But when Hades disarmed his sixth opponent bare-handed, the atmosphere shifted.
By the time he had toppled his tenth opponent, they understood why the Primarch of the Death Guard had sought him out.
Even if Hades had never come to Mars, he could easily have become the Legion Champion!
Some others were beginning to plan.
The Luna Wolves were the first to recall that Hades had progressed the fastest in their earlier training sessions.
Fast learner, masterful combat skills, incredible stamina, and an unusual relationship with his Legion’s Primarch—
How could someone like this stay so low-key?!
Honestly, excelling in just one of these areas could make someone famous in any Legion.
But…
The Luna Wolves silently watched Hades’ retreating figure. Aside from the unconscious Space Wolves, the other Techmarines also observed him leaving.
Who exactly is this guy?
Everyone present had already decided to list Hades as one of the most notable Death Guard contacts they knew.
Some couldn’t help but sigh.
It’s hard not to feel inferior when comparing oneself to others.
Most of them were fringe members of their Legions, but now, suddenly, a Death Guard Techmarine of such caliber had appeared.
Some had already resolved to build a better relationship with Hades, though his rapport with the Techmarines had never been bad to begin with.
But the ones who felt the worst? That’d be the Iron Warriors and War Hounds.
Hades casually tore open a packet of concentrated nutrient solution and gulped it down, the acrid taste flooding his mouth.
“Anyone else?”
He muttered, bitter liquid hitting his stomach.
The Iron Hand across from him shook his head, still catching his breath. Hades blinked and let him leave the cage.
Tossing the packet aside, Hades let a servitor pick it up once more.
This type of nutrient solution was meant to be diluted or injected, but Hades had developed a new method:
Drink it straight.
Hades didn’t have the time or patience to dilute his concentrated nutrients. He was busy.
Ever since meeting with Mortarion and Malcador, Hades had realized he couldn’t afford to waste time anymore.
No more slacking!
He had to return to his Legion before the Galaspar campaign and plan his next moves.
Time was running out.
This urgency drove his current frantic behavior.
Hades threw himself into the Techmarine curriculum, learning day and night. Though he was now in a state where everything seemed to “click,” the endless sea of knowledge remained exhausting.
When he grew tired of studying, he’d drag someone to the dueling cage.
The good news was that plenty of volunteers were eager to fight him, though every single one ended up pinned under Hades.
Some Ultramarines suggested sparring with specific weapons, using Hades as a training partner, to which Hades gladly agreed.
Of course, that time Hades had swung a greatsword like a club.
After the Ultramarines set the precedent, other Legions’ Techmarines also proposed custom dueling rules.
Hades agreed to every one.
But outside of sparring sessions, Hades was rarely seen. He spent most of his time swimming in a sea of knowledge, replacing meals with nutrient solutions.
This was a stark contrast to his previous reputation as someone who slacked off, gossiped, and took it easy whenever possible.
Though some Techmarines privately grumbled about it, they eventually reached a consensus:
“If our Primarch came to see us personally, we’d be even crazier than Hades right now!”
Aside from studying and fighting, Hades occasionally visited the Priest Korklan.
Korklan’s research lab was a sight to behold.
Countless xeno-tech artifacts were neatly categorized and stored, twisted bodies floated in incubation tanks, and eerie fluorescence flickered in the darkened space.
Priest Korklan stood at the center of the room, welcoming Hades.
The Tech-Priest no longer showed the slightest sign of his earlier panic. His crimson robes draped down, shrouded in shadow.
“Welcome, Lord Hades.”
Hades felt a wave of exasperation. Wasn’t this the same guy who wanted to use him for a thesis not long ago?
He chose to ignore the nutrient tanks containing human bodies and instead followed the Priest to view the Xenos technologies.
Most of it was technology from minor races. Hades glanced over it briefly and found nothing worth noting.
Mere tricks, or perhaps petty creations.
Nothing of substantial value.
However, as they neared the end, some small trinkets, clearly decorative, caught Hades’ attention.
With the Priest Korklan’s consent, Hades picked up the small black ornaments and appeared deep in thought.
No, these ornaments were just crude imitations. But this material… Hades felt a flicker of recognition.
The feeling was fleeting, disappearing almost as soon as it arose.
Hades carefully held up one of the trinkets—a black necklace sculpted in the image of hands cradling a sun, with inscriptions etched on it.
This… This was not its original form.
The race that made it would not have crafted it in this way.
Hades thought inexplicably.
“Where did this come from?”
Hades looked at Priest Korklan.
“Another Priest who studies engine technology. I made a deal with him to keep these trinkets he was about to destroy,” Korklan replied.
“Is there something wrong, Lord Hades?”
These trinkets, obtained by Priest Korklan from another Priest, contained faint anti-psychic fields. Believing this was a natural property of the black stone material rather than any craftsmanship, Korklan had taken them back.
“Can you trace the exact origin of these trinkets?”
The lights before Priest Korklan flickered.
“It may be difficult, but I can do it,” he said.
As it turned out, it took years before Hades finally received news from Korklan regarding this matter.
In the meantime, Hades examined other inventions by Priest Korklan.
The portable psychic detector piqued his interest. Korklan was also developing a device to identify untouchables, though the instrument was far from reliable.
Hades dismissed the Priest’s attempts to clone untouchables.
Not feasible.
Knowledge whispered in Hades’ ear.
Though the Priest persistently sought a sample of Hades’ blood, Hades sighed and reluctantly agreed.
Perhaps it could work?
Nonetheless, Hades preferred inorganic technology.
After briefly surveying Korklan’s collection, Hades instructed the Priest to mass-produce the portable psychic detectors, intending to equip the Death Guard with them.
He also took one of the untouchable detectors, intending to modify it.
When Hades successfully improved the detector and returned it, Priest Korklan was so overwhelmed with gratitude that he nearly prostrated himself—though that is a story for another time.
Finally, Hades noted Priest Korklan’s hesitant demeanor and realized there was no avoiding it.
“Lord Hades, could you use your anti-psychic field on me once more?”
“Without using a weapon for conduction this time. My wetware and hardware can handle it.”
Resigned, Hades extended his hand.
<+>
The Endurance
The Primarch returned from Terra, stirring minor ripples in the otherwise stagnant Death Guard.
These ripples soon subsided under the Death Guard’s atmosphere of silence.
Standing at the strategic analysis podium, Mortarion observed the legion’s training reports with satisfaction.
The hiss of his respirator echoed.
The Death Guard moved silently across the training grounds, the sounds of gunfire and scythes slicing through the air resonating intermittently.
Whenever a casualty occurred, comrades would seamlessly fill the gap.
Yes, within the Death Guard, roles were not reassigned upon need. Instead, preselected successors would immediately assume the responsibilities of a fallen comrade, minimizing disruptions.
The emphasis on heavy infantry training also pleased Mortarion.
The establishment of the Death Guard’s Librarium, the Undertakers, was progressing steadily. Though no new psykers had joined, their operations and psychic enhancements had been adjusted.
Unlike offensive strategies, the Undertakers focused more on defense and supporting the main forces against psykers.
As for the Death Guard’s commissars, known as the Grave Wardens, Mortarion paid them little attention.
He wasn’t particularly optimistic about this peculiar new division.
The Grave Wardens were primarily seasoned veterans, their identities obfuscated and disguised, then distributed across various units.
Mortarion decided to let Barasine and the others experiment with them.
He reminded them to involve Vorx in their efforts as well.
While Mortarion was the Primarch, he saw no need to micromanage every detail of the legion.
Delegating authority appropriately was his way of indulging his subordinates.
Ultimately, he decided to leave the Grave Wardens to Hades, as it had been his idea to create them.
Mortarion picked up the next report and thought silently.
The Imperium’s order for the Death Guard to participate in the Great Crusade was about to sound.
<+>
Barbarus.
“Not feasible.”
A Magos Biologis stood beside a corrosive river, engaged in a heated argument with a colleague.
“You can’t purify this directly—it will destroy the entire ecosystem!”
“If we eradicate the native species entirely, then recondition the soil and atmosphere, we can turn this planet into an agri-world!”
“This is a Primarch’s homeworld—are you suicidal?!”
“Then what would you propose?”
“The ecosystem here has already fully adapted to these conditions!”
Unbelievable. The ecosystem of Barbarus defied all logic.
While they had encountered many toxin-ravaged worlds before, none were as absurd as Barbarus.
Plants that should never grow thrived; animals that defied evolutionary laws roamed freely.
How did those pus-covered vultures take flight? How did those toxin-rooted plants bear low-toxicity fruit?
The Magos Biologis’s logic processors were overwhelmed.
<+>
Tn: Nurgle magic, I presume